“Good,” the centurion said. “How many men are we picking up from them?”
“Twenty-four,” Magnus answered. “Between them and the lads we have with us there’s almost enough for a full century.”
“There will be a lot more by the time we get to Ostia,” Artorius replied. “I sent word for the volunteers from Hispania and North Africa to link up with us there. Given the time it is going to take for us to even get to Rome, I daresay they will spend quite a bit of time waiting for us. I received word last week that an optio from the praetorian guard named Cornelius has been selected to command one of our centuries. I sent a message that all volunteers are to report to him. He will keep accountability of our lads until we arrive.”
“A bloody praetorian,” Valens spat as he joined his friends. “I hate those pompous twats!”
“I checked his service record, and he does have some line experience,” Artorius replied. “He was among the praetorian cohorts that stormed the Angrivari stronghold alongside us.”
“Well, I have to give him some respect for that,” Valens conceded. “I just hope fifteen years of policing the streets of Rome and serving as one of Sejanus’ pets hasn’t ruined him.” As they continued their banter, the decanus from the First Legion walked over with a map in his hands.
“Sir, I’ve been checking our route of march,” he said. “If we skirt south and west to avoid the snow of the Alpes, it will take us at least a month to get to Rome.”
“You’ve never been to Rome, sergeant?” Artorius asked.
“No, sir,” the man replied. “I was born and raised in Belgica.”
Artorius raised an eyebrow and then remembered that with the empire being as vast as it was, the majority of legionaries who had sworn to defend Rome with their lives had probably never seen the Eternal City. The soldiers who expanded the empire during its years of conquest often settled in the areas near their last posting. Cities sprung up in their wake, bringing Roman culture to the far corners of the known world. Over generations many of their descendants would carry on the tradition of serving in the legions. When the young decanus first enlisted as a legionary, it only made sense to post him to the nearest legion where there were always vacancies, rather than sending him clear across the empire. The only reason Artorius and Magnus had been sent so far from home when they first joined was because there were no legions posted near their homes in Ostia. That, and all reinforcements were sent to the Rhine to fight in the Germanic wars.
“Well, you are correct,” Artorius stated. “If we can arrange transport from the port city of Massilia, that will save us at least an additional week on the march. Once assembled in Rome, we will take ship to Caesarea; about ten days of sailing under ideal conditions.”
“So anticipate an additional week retching over the side of a ship,” Valens added, drawing a chuckle from Artorius.
“By the time we get to Judea, all of us will have a better understanding of just how large the empire really is.”
Chapter VII: Across the Empire
Thirteen days into their journey and the volunteers of the First Italic Cohort arrived in Augusta Raurica, at the northern base of the Alpes; the vast mountain range that separated Italia from its northern provinces. It was midafternoon and the city was swarmed with legionaries who were there on holiday. The Emperor Augustus had commissioned numerous recreation buildings for the city, and it served as a place that soldiers were sent on leave.
“The men could use some leisure time,” Praxus said as he eyed the anxious faces of their legionaries.
“They do look a bit worn,” Magnus concurred.
They had been marching for almost two weeks and were starting to show all the signs of wear. Even without having to carry their heavy packs, two weeks of straight marching, at twenty-five miles per day, took its toll. Thankfully, the trek had been largely uneventful, with the conglomerate of men from various legions following the main road that ran north to south along the Rhine.
“Alright,” Artorius remarked. “We will stay here for three nights.” He then called over Felix and the decanus from the First Legion, whose name he had learned was Cicero. Artorius was baffled at how his detachment had somehow ended up so critically short on officers.
In a normal century the ratio of legionaries to decanii was at most seven-to-one. Yet of the seventy-four men from the three legions along the Rhine they had picked up, Cicero was the only decanus. In order to assist, Metellus and two other legionaries had been temporarily appointed as acting squad leaders.
Even though Artorius made a point of never using his influence to further his son’s career, he secretly hoped the position would be made permanent once the entire cohort was assembled. He thought perhaps there may be opportunities for his promotion. He fought against such notions. Even though patronage was often more important than ability and nepotism ran rampant throughout the legions, Artorius was determined Metellus would make his own way in the ranks. Even though Artorius was Metellus’ cohort commander, he would not allow them to serve in the same century together. In a way it hurt him, for he loved his son and was proud of the man and soldier he had become. Nothing would please him more than to fight on a battle line with Metellus at his side. Yet as a leader Artorius knew that perception, along with good order and discipline of his men, was far more important than his personal feelings. There would be no misconceptions of favoritism with him, no matter who it involved.
“Acquire billeting for the men,” Artorius ordered his tesserarius. “They are to first conduct repairs of their sandals and kit with a full inspection by both of you before they are permitted to take leave.”
“Yes, sir,” Felix and Cicero both replied.
“Acting-Sergeant Metellus!” Cicero shouted, forcing Artorius to smile.
“I say we find ourselves a comfortable place to bed down for the night,” Diana said as she guided her horse over to her husband, leaned over, and kissed him gently on the cheek.
“I will encamp with my soldiers,” Artorius replied. “If you wish to find rooms for you and the other wives, please do so.”
“The others can do as they please,” Diana replied, “But where you are, so am I.”
When all was settled, they laid his cloak out on the ground, took some blankets from their baggage cart, and lay on the ground, using Artorius’ saddle pack as a pillow. The night air was cold, and the ground damp beneath his thick cloak but wrapped in a few blankets and with Diana’s head on his chest, Artorius was reminded once more why he loved this woman so much. In that moment, as he gazed up at the infinite stars that lit up the cloudless night, there was no other place he would rather have been.
The next morning the three centurions went for a ride while their men completed repairs on their kit whilst indulging in the excesses offered by the city. As Lady Diana was the only spouse with a horse, she alone was able to accompany them. In fact, Artorius insisted she join them. They rode at a fast cantor on the dirt road that took them through the mountains towards Augustodunum, a hundred miles to the west. Diana was uncertain why they chose this particular road, but all three men seemed to be searching for the same thing.
“Think we’ll even know it when we find it?” Magnus asked as they watered their horses in a creek that ran parallel to the road.
Artorius looked around and took a deep breath of the mountain air. “It’ll be an open meadow on top of a flat rise with the road sloping down in either direction.”
“Oh, that should be easy,” Praxus replied sarcastically, “There’s only, maybe, a hundred places matching that description between here and Augustodunum!”
“Ass,” Artorius retorted. “You were there, too! One of us should be able to recognize the place.”