Artorius noted her tired expression but said nothing. He suspected that his father’s failing health was placing a great strain on Juliana. Because he did not know when he would be returning home again, he resolved that he must do what he could to provide for both of them. For a brief moment, he surmised this journey might be the last time he ever saw his father.
“Centurion Justus Longinus reporting, sir!” The burly, copper-haired man snapped a sharp salute, which Pontius Pilate returned before clasping his friend’s hand.
“You are most welcome!” the procurator said with much fervor. “Please come inside, you look parched.”
“Thank you,” Justus replied. He barked some orders to his optio, who marched at the head of a column of legionaries. The brightly painted shields and gleaming plate armor contrasted sharply with the shabby auxiliaries seen in the province, drawing the curious and somewhat fearful gaze of many onlookers. Doubtless it would have caused more alarm were their numbers not so few.
Justus removed his helmet and followed Pilate into the atrium of the governor’s palace. A servant walked over with a tray bearing two goblets of watery wine, from which Justus drank deeply. “I’ve brought three centuries from the eastern legions.”
“And Artorius should be arriving within the next month, I hope,” Pilate observed. “His letter came to me two weeks ago. Three weeks after it was dated. Of course, we know the imperial post moves far quicker than legionaries on the march.”
“Well, unless they’ve met with some unforeseen disaster, they have undoubtedly arrived in Rome by now,” Justus added. “Give them a couple weeks to assemble and arrange transport, plus the travel time by sea, and yes, I think they should be here within another month. And just so you know, though I have three centuries with me, there is only one other centurion besides me.”
“Artorius is bringing the others,” Pilate replied. “Only one has command experience as a centurion, the rest are newly promoted.” He handed Justus a scroll that had come from Rome with the names of the senior officers coming from the western legions.
“I know Magnus and Praxus,” Justus said. “Or, at least, I’ve met them. Cornelius I am not familiar with.”
“He came from the praetorians,” Pilate explained. “Sejanus felt that at least one of the guard should be in a leadership position within the cohort, to give it the emperor’s personal touch.”
He noted the scowl on his friend’s face at the mention of Sejanus, though Justus held his tongue. There was an intense hatred between the two men, which had caused Pilate many uncomfortable moments, even at his own wedding feast! Justus was a lifelong friend, despite the difference in their social status and birth. And while Pilate did not feel the same sense bonding with Sejanus, the praetorian prefect was his benefactor, and so there was a large amount of personal loyalty, if not brotherly affection.
“Cornelius may be a praetorian, but he has line experience,” the procurator continued. “Do not forget I was, and technically still am, a member of the emperor’s bodyguard.”
“I did not say anything,” Justus asserted, even though his expression of contempt showed his loathing for Sejanus had not dissipated at all over the years. He quickly sought to change the subject. “What are your orders while we await the rest of the cohort?”
“Keep your men in Caesarea,” Pilate directed. “Have them form a presence within the city to let the people get used to seeing legionaries. Keep the patrols small, no more than two squads. They are here to bring order, not cause alarm. Also, feel free to check on the barracks, which I ordered construction of as soon as I received authorization to stand up the cohort. I confess I had hoped to house an entire legion within Caesarea.”
“I will personally oversee the quality of the barracks construction,” Justus asserted.
There was another issue which Pilate wished to address. He struggled with how to articulate it properly. In the end, he decided the direct approach was his only option. “I have to ask, what are your feelings about falling under Artorius’ command?”
“The same as any other pilus prior,” the centurion shrugged.
“Justus, do not play dumb with me…” Pilate started to say.
“Alright!” Justus snapped. “Apologies, sir, but you want to know something I have never wished to discuss with anyone. You want to know if I blame Artorius for the death of my son, is that it?”
“Well, do you?”
“I don’t know,” Justus shook his head, his face red and suddenly dripping nervous sweat.
“I do not mean to cause you unnecessary anguish, old friend,” Pilate said reassuringly. “However, with your seniority to the other centurions, you will be Artorius’ second-in-command. I need to know if the past will come back to haunt either of you.”
“Artorius is my friend,” Justus asserted. “Though I have to keep reminding myself of that. The logical side of me says that Gaius knew the risks when he joined the legions. And I was not at Braduhenna, so I can never know exactly what happened there. All I do know is they were cut off with their backs against the river, with over half the men in their century either dead or wounded by the time it was over. Even Artorius was amongst the fallen injured. And for all that, I keep asking how they ended up there in the first place? The other side of me, the father who still grieves for his lost son, wants to know whose fault was it they ended up stranded and horribly outnumbered? I loved my son more than anything else in this world! I would have gladly died in his place…”
“I am sorry, Justus.”
“Flavia says that Gaius’ death must have been the will of the gods,” the centurion continued. His hand was resting against the wall and his head bowed slightly. “Ha! I say there are no gods, and if there are I have already blasphemed against them to the point that for me there is no salvation. My wife is a deeply religious woman, and I cannot imagine the fear that set in her when I destroyed every last statue and image of a Roman deity within our house. You wonder if there will be trouble between Artorius and I? No, there will not be. I know deep down that Gaius’ death was not his fault. And I have my duty to perform. That is about all I have left in this world.” He then stood erect and composed himself. “And now, with your permission, I will take my leave and begin my duties.”
Pilate nodded and Justus quickly saluted before donning his helmet and leaving once more.
Diana elected to remain with Primus and Juliana during their stay. Though her own family was wealthy with a large palatial house in Rome, she preferred the honest company of her husband’s parents. She would pay respects to her father before their departure, though this would be more out of obligation than love. There had been a strain between Proculeius and his oldest daughter ever since the passing of his first wife. The woman he was now married to was little more than a girl when he wed her. She was, in fact, younger than Diana and possibly younger than Claudia. Who her father spent his life with was his own business, but what upset her was his demeanor towards Artorius. Because he was a soldier who came up from the ranks, Proculeius viewed him as an unworthy addition to the family, despite the fact that Artorius, as a ranking centurion would be elevated into the equites upon his retirement from the legions. A centurion pilus prior was still authorized to wear the narrow purple stripe of an equite on his toga, with most of the less nobility viewing them as peers. This was not the case with Proculeius.
It wasn’t even contempt with which he treated Artorius, but rather indifference, as if his daughter were not married at all. She knew that what would complicate matters further was when she finally broached the subject of Metellus, as legally he was Proculeius’ only grandchild. It was such family matters that the young legionary wished to discuss with his father during the ride towards Rome.
“Proculeius is a jackal,” Artorius said bluntly. “His father was a great man, but I think he cast a shadow too great for his son, which made him bitter. He’s accomplished nothing on his own merit in this life, and he knows it. He barely acknowledges me, and he does not even know you exist.”