“What?”
“You forget who some of his friends were!” the centurion snapped.
“Not you, surely,” Justus replied, causing Artorius to elbow him again.
“Ass,” he grumbled. “I’m talking about Pilate. Our friend, and not to mention governor of this province, was a close confidant of Sejanus. Understand that with his fall, Pilate is now vulnerable and by association so are we. Revel in the demise of your enemy, but do not forget that with him gone, we will now be under direct scrutiny of the emperor.”
“I’ll take Tiberius on the imperial throne over Sejanus,” Justus grunted.
“Agreed,” Artorius conceded. He then said quietly, almost to himself, “I fear that this last betrayal will have far reaching affects, darkening whatever remains of Tiberius’ reign.”
Artorius had returned to Jerusalem to conduct a cursory inspection of the garrison a few weeks later. He hoped it would not take more than a week or so, as he and his men who accompanied him wished to be back in Caesarea in time for the Saturnalia celebrations. In addition to Valens and a handful of legionaries, he had also brought Sergeant Cicero, his chief armorer. He was conducting a thorough inspection of the arms rooms while Artorius and Valens watched a batch of new volunteers being led to the drill field.
The sight of auxiliary recruits attempting to march was a pathetic tragedy in Artorius’ mind. There were approximately a hundred of them, most wore little more than rags, and some were devoid of even rudimentary sandals on their feet. The decurion leading them gave the order to halt before quickly walking over the centurion and optio, rendering the customary salute.
“An inspiring sight,” Valens said with thick sarcasm. “I’ll bet the people of the city feel safer already.”
“With respect, sir,” the decurion spoke, “you asked for volunteers, and these are who came forward.”
“Take them over to the quartermaster,” Artorius ordered. “Have them draw a single tunic and pair of sandals, then take them to the river and have them washed, shaved, and given some semblance of a haircut before billeting them.”
“Yes, sir,” the decurion said with another quick salute. He then shouted a few orders to the mob, who lethargically followed him over to the supply rooms.
As Artorius and Valens watched them depart, Sergeant Cicero joined them, his face full of vexation.
“I’ve completed my inspection of the arms room,” the armorer said.
“And?” Artorius asked.
“It’s pretty sad,” Cicero replied. “Many of the gladii are rusted and pitted; hamata armor is mostly rusted, with broken links, and otherwise unserviceable. There are also numerous weapons that are simply missing.”
“What of the previous armorer?” Valens asked, folding his arms across his chest.
“I told him to piss off unless he wanted what’s left of his teeth broken,” Cicero remarked. “Sorry sirs, but my father was a smith, and he taught me to respect one’s weaponry; steel was the one thing a man could trust.”
“You’re not taking over their armory,” Artorius emphasized. “The man responsible for this mess will be flogged and reduced back to the ranks. However, we must find someone amongst the auxiliaries who is knowledgeable with weaponry and metal smithing. I cannot believe that all of these men are worthless scum.”
“They aren’t,” Valens agreed. “Mind you, even the legions have their share of cowards and shirkers, but I do feel that a large enough number of those who did not desert are at least willing to become soldiers. I spoke with Abenader, and he feels that all current auxiliaries should go through recruit training along with the new men. I have to say, I agree. We may as well start them all over. Let them write a new chapter, as it were.”
“That is if any of them can read,” Cicero scoffed. “I’ll start vetting volunteers who wish to work in the armory. At minimum, there should be three or four armorers per cohort, though it would be ideal if each century had its own.”
“Do what you can,” Artorius replied. “Anything else?”
“Yes, sir. I need steel, and lots of it. I think most of the weapons and armor can be repaired, and any that are unsalvageable we’ll melt down for scrap. I also know that we’ll eventually need to forge replacement weapons and equipment for ourselves. I do not trust weapon merchants in this region. Their work is shoddy at best. And since we are not officially assigned to any legion, we are not authorized to draw replacement arms from the imperial depots.”
“A bureaucratic technicality,” Valens grunted.
“I’ll speak with the procurement office,” the centurion replied. “I cannot promise anything, but if we have to, we’ll send out scrounging parties to acquire what you need.”
While Artorius and his men continued to try and rebuild the Jerusalem garrison, even more disturbing news came to Pilate from Rome; strangely enough, none of it from the emperor. Even though Tiberius corresponded with the procurator directly, his dispatches were all official business regarding the running of the Judean province. The news Pilate received came from either the consul Regulus or the new Deputy Praetorian Prefect, Cassius Chaerea. It seemed that the plot of Sejanus went deeper than anyone suspected. And when Artorius returned to Caesarea, just a week prior to Saturnalia, he discovered more than he ever wanted to know, and it all came from an unlikely source.
Hail, Artorius, old friend and brother-in-arms!
I write you with much vexation in the aftermath of the fall of Sejanus. Know that I have no regrets in the role I played exposing the traitor for what he was; a soulless tyrant who would sought to make himself master of Rome. I was there when he was strangled, his body cast down the Gemonian Stairs and torn to pieces by the mob. He betrayed the empire and his punishment was just.
It is what happened after that weighs on my heart. Tiberius tasked me and an old friend of yours, Gaius Calvinus, with discovering the truth behind other rumors he’d heard whispered. What we found was that Sejanus had already murdered in his quest for power. The emperor’s son, Drusus Julius Caesar, did not die from too much drink as had long been assumed. No, he was murdered, not only by Sejanus, but also by his own wife, Livilla! Tiberius’ wrath has been renewed, and I now fear for Sejanus’ two younger children, who are no longer safe. I have used my Tribunician veto to stop the executions of those falsely accused of being privy to the plot; however, should the emperor himself unleash his wrath, I will be powerless to stop him.
In the end, I view this letter as my confession. I dare not let Pontius Pilate know of my involvement in Sejanus’ fall, as doubtless that will cost me his friendship. You, however, Calvinus and I know we can trust. You still have friends in Rome, as does Pontius Pilate. The emperor is wary of his Judean Procurator, but he still views him as an honorable servant of the empire. But do not allow any reason to arise that would make him think otherwise. As I said, as long as I hold office of plebian tribune I can veto the senate, but I can do nothing should Tiberius unleash his rage. And I fear he is set to do so against the blameless children of Sejanus. Should they die, I will have myself to blame.
I did my duty, and it has cost me deeply. Take care, old friend.
Always,
Aulus Nautius Cursor
Artorius had not spoken to Cursor in several years. In fact, he regretted deeply not making time to see him or his former Master Centurion, Calvinus, when he was in Rome.
What Artorius did not know was that between the time Cursor had penned his letter to when it reached his friend in Judea, Tiberius had exacted the ultimate penalty against Sejanus’ remaining son and daughter. The son, though only thirteen, was dressed in his formal toga to signify he was a grown man, before he was strangled. The daughter, a year younger, was first raped by the praetorians, as there was no legal precedent for executing a virgin. In a horrifying display, the girl had been defiled while the rope was around her neck. Cursor had witnessed the sickening display, powerless to save them. He’d left a broken man, seeing the price of doing his duty. In the end, he was left wondering if Rome was even worth fighting for.