Artorius shuddered at the mentioning of his predecessor. Six years later, and he could still smell the man’s retched breath and the stink of rotten alcohol as he stabbed him in that very office. There was even still a splotch of discoloration in the corner from where the bastard had bled to death.
“After he was discharged in disgrace,” Valens continued, “We had Macro for ten years. Then the mercifully short reign of that abhorrent shit-heap, Fulvius. And now we’ve had you for the past six years.”
“Tyranus will be fine,” Artorius asserted. “At least he’s no coward like Fulvius was; he was with the Fifth at Braduhenna.”
“Hmm,” Valens said with an approving nod. “That alone will give him a measure of immediate respect from the ranks. You understand my concern, of course. I spent my entire career so far with this century, as have you. Many old friends have long since departed, but those who replaced them are no less my brothers.”
“And the men who join us in the east will now become our brethren.”
Artorius had planned this deliberately. He had already said goodbye to everyone he needed to. The few personal possessions he had kept in the centurion’s quarters had been removed by his servant, Nathaniel, the week before. Once he relinquished command to Centurion Tyranus, he would simply walk away and hope that he would not look back.
The entire Third Cohort was assembled. All six centuries were in parade formation ten ranks deep, the decanii standing on the extreme right of their respective squads. The signifier stood centered in front of each century, with the centurion and optio flanking him. Dominus, Centurion Pilus Prior and Commander of the Third Cohort, stood in front of the formation, Praxus next to him. Though he had received his promotion orders and wore the transverse crest of a centurion on his helmet, he was performing his last official act as optio of the Second Century. He would read the order relieving Artorius of command and assigning it to Tyranus.
Artorius, Tyranus, and the century’s signifier stood with Dominus. Artorius had told him that he did not wish to address the century, as he had already said what he needed to them. In reality, it was emotionally overwhelming for him. He had served with some of these men for his entire sixteen years in the ranks.
“Men of the Second Century!” Dominus shouted to the assembly. “Your reputation as one of the most valiant companies of fighting men ever seen in the imperial army is well deserved. For the past six years Centurion Artorius has led you through hell to immortality. Though we lament his departure, we know that he leaves with the honor of the Second Century, the Third Cohort, and the entire Twentieth Legion within his soul. We hail his ascension to the rank of centurion pilus prior and further welcome Centurion Tyranus into our ranks.” He then turned to Praxus and nodded.
As he unfurled the scroll, Artorius took the signum of the Second Century for the last time. He clutched it to his chest and closed his eyes for a moment.
“Centurion Titus Artorius Justus!” Praxus shouted. “You are relieved of command; receive now the gratitude of the Twentieth Legion for your honorable and valiant service as you pass the imperial signum to your cohort commander!”
Artorius opened his eyes and took a deep breath as he handed the standard to Dominus. “With the passing of the Signum, I relinquish command!” His booming voice echoed across the parade field.
Dominus then passed the standard to Tyranus.
“Centurion Lucius Tyranus Damian,” Praxus continued. “You are now commander of the Third Cohort’s Second Century. Accept the imperial signum!”
“With the receiving of the Signum, I assume command!” Tyranus then passed the signum back to the signifier, who turned about and marched back to his place in front of the Second Century.
Both centurions then turned to face Dominus. Though with his promotion he was now the same rank, Artorius still rendered the customary salute to his now former cohort commander before briskly walking away. He then heard Dominus give the order, “Centurion Tyranus, take command of your century!”
“Sir!” Tyranus then marched to his place at the head of the company of men Artorius had led for so long. He marched at a brisk pace and was out of sight even before Dominus dismissed the formation. He did not look back.
When Praxus caught up with him, Artorius had removed his helmet and was walking as quickly as he could towards the main gate of the fortress. Even though he was several inches taller than his friend and had a naturally longer stride, Praxus struggled to keep up with Artorius’ pace.
“Easy there, old friend,” Praxus said as they reached the gate.
Once outside the fortress, Artorius finally slowed his pace to an easy walk. “Damn it, but I’ll miss them,” he said, quickly rubbing his hand over his face.
“It’s not the end,” Praxus replied. “It’s just a new beginning.”
Artorius smiled and let out a sigh as he saw what his friend inferred.
A caravan of wagons awaited them. All of their personal possessions were stacked in chests and crates. Praxus’ wife, Lucilla, and their children waited at the front of one, along with their servants. Lady Diana was with their servants, including Proximo and Nathaniel, at the back of a wagon. Nathaniel opened a large trunk and started to help his master out of his armor. Artorius handed him his helmet and then removed his belt and the harness bearing all of his campaign medals and decorations before pulling off his armor. Once Nathaniel had taken his hamata chainmail, Artorius strapped his belt and gladius back on.
“You’re not ready to go yet?” Magnus laughed as he walked up, leading his horse.
“I admit I had a bit of a hard time saying goodbye to the Second Century after all these years,” Artorius said.
“I understand. Remember, I had more years with them than you did,” Praxus retorted before giving him a friendly slap on the back.
“And you know you didn’t leave all of us, sir,” a voice behind him said.
Artorius turned and laughed as Felix walked towards them with the thirty legionaries Macro had allowed him to take from the legion. Eight had come from his former century. Among them his adopted son, Metellus, who smiled and nodded at him. It was a relief for Artorius to have so many of his friends with him in this next chapter of his life. As he pondered for a moment, he almost pitied Centurion Tyranus. He had come from the Fifth Legion by himself and assumed command of a century in which he did not know any of the men. He then looked to his right and saw twenty more legionaries approaching him. These were the volunteers from the First Legion who had been accepted into the cohort. Their packs were bulging with all of the meager possessions a legionary could carry.
“Where do you want us, sir?” the Decanus leading them asked.
Artorius pointed them toward an empty wagon that had its tarp pulled back.
“All legionaries can store their packs and personal belongings in that wagon,” the centurion replied.
“Yes, sir,” the decanus replied. There was a murmur of relief from the soldiers. Since only centurions and options were authorized horses, they would be walking all the way to Ostia and Rome. This was nothing new for men accustomed to marching twenty-five miles per day in full kit while on campaign. However, if they could avoid carrying their packs, which were far heavier than normal with all of their possessions, so much the better. Felix and the decanii quickly formed up a work detail to stow the men’s personal baggage.
“Felix, post six men to the head of the column,” Artorius ordered, “the rest will fall in on either flank.”
“Yes, sir,” the tesserarius replied. “I also received word that the volunteers from the Fifth Legion are already posted at the second relief outpost, fifty miles from here.”