“Century!” he shouted. “Dismissed!” As he removed his helmet and ran his fingers through his thick, black hair, he saw a young legionary approaching him. Though he did not know the soldier’s name, he knew he was from Dominus’ century, and surmised that he was acting as the cohort commander’s aide that week.
“Sir,” the legionary said with a sharp salute. “Centurion Dominus sends for you.”
Artorius did not bother returning to the barracks to remove his armor, instead making his way a few buildings over to where the Third Cohort’s First Century was billeted. Daily operations were often conducted by the optio and principal officers, as the centurion was also in command of the entire cohort. Artorius removed his helmet and stepped into the outer office, the signifier, who was doing administrative tasks at his desk, standing as he came in.
“Sir,” the man said with a nod. There was little he could say.
All knew about the Second Century’s skirmish with the raiders, and the smell of smoke from the funeral pyre clung to the centurion. Artorius returned the nod, gave a single knock on the door to Dominus’ office and let himself in.
Centurion Pilus Prior Dominus was an able enough cohort commander, even though he did not hold the same level of respect that his legendary predecessor, Marcus Vitruvius had. Vitruvius, who had long been Artorius’ mentor, was killed at the Battle of Braduhenna three years prior while attempting to break through the lines of the enemy force that had them surrounded. Before his death, he’d never been so much as scratched in battle.
“Artorius,” he said as his fellow centurion closed the door behind him. “I am sorry for your loss, but know that the information you gathered from the raid will prove invaluable.”
“I agree,” Artorius replied. “I’ve had the prisoners taken to the stockade to await interrogation. I expect the torture experts will verify what we already suspect.”
“Yes,” Dominus said while looking over a scroll he held. He then looked up once more at his centurion. “Well, I have no doubt that the legate will order a punitive expedition across the Rhine. Pity that you will not be with us.” Before Artorius could question him further, Dominus handed him the scroll that bore the imperial seal.
Chapter III: The Emperor’s Hand
The Imperial Estates of Villa Jovis, Isle of Capri
***
Storms of winter’s death throes always wrecked havoc on the Mediterranean. Tiberius watched as the Roman warship heaved in the deep rolling waves, a brave group of men dropping into a small rowboat to make their way to the Emperor’s private dock. Though there were public docks at the busy port, correspondence from Sejanus came via this small alcove that few knew existed.
For even in self-imposed exile on the Isle of Capri, from these treacherous waters Tiberius controlled the vastness that was the Roman Empire. One such boat had been smashed to pieces in the surf the week before, though as a stroke of good fortune a couple of the bodies had washed ashore, one of which still had the satchel bearing the imperial correspondence. The men of this particular venture had better luck. Their boat slammed hard into the dock but stayed afloat. Men were waiting on the pier, ready to tie off the ropes that would secure the boat in place. Satisfied that there would be no further mishaps, the emperor retired to his study to await the messengers.
Tiberius Julius Caesar was now seventy-two years of age and had ruled the Roman Empire for seventeen of those. For him it was a hateful existence. Never had he desired to take the reins of ultimate power once Augustus passed into eternity. In truth, he would have rather met his fate in battle years ago in places he conquered like Pannonia or Dalmatia. He despised politics and felt that the only true calling for a Roman noble was leading her armies into battle. He detested those pompous fools in the senate who took it upon themselves to decide the fate of citizens in far off regions such as Syria and Judea, when they themselves had never left the soft comforts of their own estates. It was regarding Judea that the man who he referred to as ‘the partner in my labors’ wished to address.
“Messages from the Consul Lucius Aelius Sejanus to his Imperial Highness, Tiberius Julius Caesar,” the messenger stated with a sharp salute which the emperor returned.
A clerk then took the satchel of scrolls and started to hand them to Tiberius, who silently read through each in turn.
The messenger was a young man in his early twenties who was visiting Capri for the first time. He appeared to be extremely nervous in the presence of the master of Rome. Despite his advanced age, the emperor still emulated power. Yet there was an ever-growing paradox regarding the man who had once been one of Rome’s greatest generals.
Doubtless the messenger had been listening to all the gossips for years, about how Tiberius was growing ever more tyrannical and living in despondency with a fetish for young boys. Such abominable stories were pure fabrication, as he would soon see. The residents of the isle consisted of praetorian guardsmen, philosophers, scholars, freedmen clerks, and slaves. A number of prostitutes also resided there, though these were predominantly for the entertainment of the praetorians. The emperor had his personal favorites that he liked to indulge in on occasion. However, most of his days were spent with men of learning who were in some cases older than he. Though he appreciated their company, there was no affection, no friendship there. Despite being surrounded by hundreds on a daily basis, Emperor Tiberius Caesar was the loneliest man in the empire.
“Pontius Pilate is once again asking for a legion,” the emperor observed out loud.
The freedman clerk snorted in reply. “He’s been asking for legionaries since he took over Judea.”
“Yes, but this time he seems to have finally convinced Sejanus to throw his support behind the notion.” Tiberius handed the scroll to the clerk. It read:
To the Emperor Tiberius Julius Caesar Augustus, greetings,
While I know this subject has been broached on numerous occasions regarding the repeated requests by our Judean Procurator, Pontius Pilate, regarding the supplementation of his garrison with legionaries, it is after much contemplation that I think we should partially cede to his request. I must be candid and state that despite your eminence’s affections for the Judean prince, Herod Agrippa, the land of the Jews is, and always will be, one of extreme volatility. While I mean no disrespect towards the Syrian Legate, Lamia; his assertion that he can put down any potential troubles with his eastern legions leaves open the possibility that the entire Judean province could be overrun by insurrectionists before his forces have time to mobilize. Doubtless the inexhaustible number of Jewish zealots are aware of this. Were they ever able to mass their numbers, they could overrun Jerusalem as well as our capital at Caesarea in the hopes of suing for peace soon after. They must never be given the opportunity to entertain such thoughts.