“One does not usually shun patronage,” Cassius observed. “However, I think Calvinus respected you for it. I rarely see him, just during public assemblies of the plebian tribunes when matters are discussed that pertain to the praetorian guard, but I have no doubt he knows about your arrival in Rome. You might consider paying your respects to him and to another old friend, Aulus Cursor.”
“I would like to see Cursor again,” Artorius said. “We fought in many of the same battles, and yet we never even met until after I became a centurion. Where can I find him?”
“Well, he was recently appointed as an Aedile, so probably inspecting one of the bathhouses or brothels. Of course, there are hundreds of each within the city.”
This brought a brief chuckle from both men. The Aediles were official magistrates of the Roman government. They were primarily tasked with the licensing of brothels and bathhouses while overseeing the hygienic inspections of both. It was hardly what one would expect a man who’d once saved a legion to be appointed to do.
Cassius was serious once more. “I sent word to Centurion Cornelius. He knows where to meet you. I believe he has also made some of the arrangements for your transportation to Caesarea.”
“Thank you, sir. I am much obliged to you.”
“Good day, centurion,” Cassius said as the two exchanged salutes.
As Cassius left, Artorius saw in his face the same eternal anguish that haunted all survivors of Teutoburger Wald. Master Centurion Macro was also a survivor. One of the few to escape from captivity and pending execution following the battle. Though Cassius was a national hero for having organized a successful stand and extraction that saved the lives of over a hundred soldiers, nothing could ever relieve the sense of loss he had suffered. Several of the tribunes in his legion had been lifelong friends; they had grown up together, were on similar career paths, and had been doing their compulsory service in the legions. All were killed. Cassius was the only officer of the equite class to survive the disaster, and none of the senatorial legates or laticlavian tribunes lived. Artorius had felt similar loss at Braduhenna. The difference being, despite their terrible losses that battle had been won.
The campaigns of retribution that came six years after Teutoburger Wald had been Artorius’ first, and for him it had been a personal vendetta. He sometimes wondered how differently his life would have been had his brother not been killed in that terrible place.
As he sat by himself, the centurion contemplated something that had lingered inside him for some time. Just how many people had he killed in his career? He honestly did not know for certain. It was not unusual for a legionary to go his entire term of service without bloodying his gladius. Patrolling the frontiers, building roads, and conducting the mundane tasks of garrison life made up the vast majority of a Roman soldier’s career. Contrary to what many thought, the life of a legionary was far less glorious than the depictions on columns and friezes that adorned popular artwork and monuments. When a legionary stood on a watchtower at the edge of the frontier, weighted down by his heavy armor, wrapped in his cloak while the rain poured down on him, his feelings were those of misery and boredom rather than glory.
When battles did occur, the total amount of time a legionary spent on the fighting line often amounted to no more than a few minutes. With multiple ranks constantly rotating, for every five minutes a soldier spent fighting he spent roughly twenty-five resting. And if the battle was over quickly, he may not get a chance to engage at all. Yet whether it was fate or just dumb luck, Artorius had most often found himself in either the first or second rank during major battles. At Braduhenna, his first battle as a centurion, Artorius’ century had fought by itself, rather than as part of a larger cohort formation. Therefore, Artorius had been out front the entire duration.
He had been personally trained by the late legendary Marcus Vitruvius, the most perfect killing machine the Roman Army had ever unleashed. And though there were many occasions where he would score only superficial injuries to his enemies or be unable to close the distance effectively, when Artorius was on the fighting line, enemies of Rome often died. After his final skirmish on the Rhine, he’d heard some of his younger soldiers complaining they had not been able to kill anyone. He thought they should consider themselves lucky.
As he sat brooding for a moment, the door opened once more and a younger praetorian officer stepped in.
“Centurion Pilus Prior Artorius?” the man asked. Artorius replied with a nod, to which the praetorian extended his hand. “Centurion Lucius Cornelius.”
“I trust you’ve made arrangements for legionaries arriving from North Africa and the other western provinces?”
“Yes, sir.” Cornelius then produced a series of scrolls. “Here is the roster of every volunteer and which legion they arrived from. I have made marks next to all who’ve arrived. The only ones unaccounted for are from the First, Fifth, and Twentieth Legions. Am I correct to guess they all came with you?”
“They did,” Artorius answered. “What about transportation? By my estimate, we will need at least three Quinquereme class ships to transport all of our men, their equipment and baggage, plus all the household goods and slaves brought by the officers.”
“I’ve got you two,” Cornelius replied. “Apologies, sir, but there simply are not enough merchant ships with sufficient empty space. They tend to leave as full as when they arrived, only with other types of cargo. Any wasted empty space costs them money. Getting a detachment of military vessels has proven extremely difficult, though I did manage to get the two Quinqueremes. They were confiscated ships taken by imperial customs from a band that was caught smuggling cargo from the Far East and attempting to avoid paying tax on goods brought from beyond the empire. They are slated to be refitted as warships. However, I was able to acquire their use for this mission.”
“Fair enough,” Artorius acknowledged. “The household baggage and slaves of the officers can travel by land, though their arrival in Judea will take months rather than weeks.”
“I’m afraid it’s unavoidable, sir,” Cornelius apologized. He then handed Artorius another parchment. “Every officer, optio and above, will have personal quarters aboard ship and be able to take one personal servant, as will any spouses.”
“You’re quite the logistician,” Artorius noted with approval as he read through the scrolls, which detailed the storage of rations, drinking water, as well as any equipment they would need as soon as they landed in Judea.
“It was one of my duties with the praetorians, sir. In addition to being an optio, I was responsible for the handling of all supply transactions within my cohort. Any time we needed new blankets for the barracks, bunks constructed, exotic foods for the officers’ mess, or any other assortment of things a praetorian cohort needs, I was the one who was told to make it happen.”
“Good to know,” Artorius stated. “I’m certain we’ll have a further use for your skills once we arrive in Caesarea.”
Cornelius nodded in reply and then continued going through his notes about the travel by sea. “Legionaries will have to sleep on deck, of course. It will be cramped, and I hope not too many get seasick.” Artorius took a deep breath through his nose, which made Cornelius grin for a moment. “Not a fan of the sea are you, sir?”
“Let’s just say I may be spending more time leaning over the side of the ship than in my quarters,” Artorius replied dryly. “Two days from Massilia to Ostia was bad enough. I admit that I loathe the thought of two weeks at sea.”
“Of course, it depends on the weather,” Cornelius added. “Commander Stoppello tells me he once made it to Alexandria in nine days, though that was under ideal conditions. Plus he and a fellow captain had placed a rather sizeable wager to see who could get there first.”