“Oh, and one last thing,” Marcellus said. “Vitellius may not wish to see you, but he has demanded that the commander of the First Italic Cohort report to him at once.”
Artorius had never even met the Legate of Syria, and now he stood before him, awaiting his judgment on his disciplinary case. With Pilate deposed, Vitellius was the only man of sufficient rank to pass judgment on the conduct of Artorius and his legionaries. He had left Caesarea with all possible speed once Pilate had informed him of the legate’s directive. Artorius had traveled alone, knowing that Antioch, where Vitellius governed from, was a week’s ride by horse. As such, he had said his farewells to Pilate and Claudia. Their presence was no longer welcome, and they were hastening their own departure.
The centurion was both angered and nervous. He had not been arrested, so he presumed he was not being criminally charged. By the same token, he was indignant at having to answer before a disciplinary hearing because he made a quick decision that ultimately saved the Governor of Judea’s life. As he had arrived in Antioch in the evening, he took the opportunity to try and catch a night’s rest, while thoroughly bathing and polishing up his armor for his meeting with the legate in the morning.
“Centurion Artorius reporting, sir,” he said with a sharp salute as he stepped into the hall, his helmet tucked under his arm.
There was a long table on a short dais, yet the only person occupying it was Legate Vitellius. There were no tribunes, senior centurions, not even a clerk. While the reason may have been simply a matter of Artorius not falling under their chain-of-command, he would have felt at least partially reassured if the tribunal contained at least one of his fellow centurions. As it was, the legate alone would decide his fate.
“Stand at ease, centurion,” Vitellius replied.
It frustrated Artorius because he could not judge the governor’s demeanor one way or the other. On the one hand, he had dismissed Pilate by simply sending a message with his replacement, yet he had granted Artorius a hearing in person. He knew very little about Vitellius, other than he was a former consul. The legate had only held his posting for two years and had never as much as visited Judea. Therefore Artorius could not begin to surmise where he might stand with him. All he knew was that his fate now rested in the legate’s hands.
“I’ve read the official reports,” Vitellius began, “to include your own detailed description of the action that took place on 16 November. Much to the chagrin of the Samaritan delegation, I can find nothing criminal to prosecute you with. As Pilate was the emperor’s personal appointee, I felt it right that he judge the procurator himself. As a legionary centurion pilus prior, your fate has been left to me.” He paused to let the words sink in. His demeanor still betrayed nothing.
Artorius could not fathom what Vitellius would do. Reduction in rank or dismissal from the army would require a criminal court martial, and the legate already said he had done nothing criminally liable.
“Yes, sir,” was all he elected to say.
He would let Vitellius lay it out before forming any sort of rebuttal.
“You must understand,” Vitellius continued, “that while the equite procurator governs independently, both Syria and Judea are ultimately my responsibility. Pilate was governor, and during Lamia’s tenure he was granted a large amount of autonomy. However, with Syria now under my governorship, it fell upon me as the emperor’s representative to act upon any crises that proved unmanageable for Pilate. Same can be said of his replacement, Marcellus. He, too, will have to answer to me, should he fail to maintain order within Judea. As for the current situation, over a thousand Samaritans lay dead, slaughtered by your men.”
Artorius’ face twitched as he fought to suppress his anger at the perceived rebuke. He remained silent, waiting to hear what Vitellius’ disposition towards him would be.
“I understand that the mob was armed,” the legate said, realizing Artorius would not respond just yet. “I argued this with the Samaritan delegation, and they did not bother to deny this. They flagrantly broke the law, and Pilate was right to bring his soldiers to disperse them. And since pretty much all of the Samaritans who were close enough to their leader were killed when the fighting broke out, they are unable to say for certain who struck the first blow. I have no reason to disbelieve that Taheb attacked Pontius Pilate. The procurator was right to kill the man in self defense, and I can concur with yours and Centurion Abenader’s judgment when you killed the men that were close enough to threaten Pilate. As his soldiers, your duty was to protect him.” Vitellius paused for a moment. Up to this point, everything he said would seem to vindicate the centurion. However, were this the case, he never would have summoned Artorius to Syria.
“The issue now at hand is what happened once Taheb was dead,” Vitellius began again. For the first time his demeanor showed that all did not bode well for the centurion. “The three of you immediately started to withdraw. By your own admission the Samaritans were paralyzed with shock at the loss of their leader. You immediately escalated what had been a single man’s attack on the procurator to an all-out battle. You ordered your cohort to unleash their javelins and attack.”
“We were outnumbered,” Artorius replied, finding he could remain silent no longer. “In any tactical situation, one must never allow the enemy a chance to seize the initiative. I had but a moment to make a decision…”
“And make it you did,” Vitellius interrupted. “And now you must take responsibility for it.” The words struck Artorius hard, but he knew the legate was correct. “I must say, it is a credit to the discipline and valor of your legionaries that they did not suffer a single fatality that day. However, nearly a hundred auxiliary infantry and cavalrymen were killed, with nearly three times as many wounded. I cannot fault you for the lack of discipline amongst the cavalrymen who continued to slaughter the Samaritans as they fled the field. They were not your men and therefore not your responsibility.” Vitellius then looked over some documents on his desk before continuing.
“Know that I am also taking into account your service record, which I see is rather impressive. You’ve served the empire for twenty-two years now. You fought at Ahenobarbi, Idistaviso, and Angrivari during the Germanic Wars. I see that during the Rebellion of Sacrovir and Florus you were at Augusta Raurica Pass, where you were one of only nine to be awarded the Florian Crest, and you went on to fight at the Battle of Augustodunum. There is a special note in your record, too, stating that during the Frisian Rebellion you held the flank at the Battle of Braduhenna. Your century was singled out for valor by the emperor himself.”
Artorius’ face twitched at the memory and he realized, thanks to the ever-efficient Roman bureaucracy, even those in the Far East knew about Braduhenna.
Vitellius continued to read. “You have been awarded the Silver Torque for Valor four times; an impressive statement in and of itself. And you’ve been mentioned in dispatches for distinguished conduct on no less than eight occasions. The only other blight on your record besides what happened at Mount Gerizim is when you were court-martialed twelve years ago in the death of the centurion who you would later replace. As you were acquitted this holds no bearing on my decision.” The legate stopped reading and looked up at Artorius once more, who stood stone-faced.
“What is your judgment then, sir?” Artorius asked. It was strange for the centurion, as he had never heard anyone else spell out the cumulative results of his career in the legions; almost like an epitaph. Like all soldiers of Rome, his service record was a matter of public record that any officer in the army could review if he wished.