“You’ve had a distinguished career, Centurion Pilus Prior Artorius,” Vitellius said after a moment. “Your service to the empire has been exemplary. That is why I take no pleasure in what I must do.” Vitellius clearly had his interpretation of how events transpired, and as much as he hated to admit it, he knew he had acted rashly in having his men attack when they did.
“Though no criminal charges will be filed, I still have the good order of the province to consider,” the legate continued. “The ongoing presence of legionaries in Judea will only serve as a stark reminder of the slaughter that happened at Mount Gerizim, regardless of who is to blame. Therefore, I am disbanding the cohort.”
Artorius felt like he had been stabbed through the heart.
“Sir, whatever decisions were made that day, right or wrong, the responsibility is mine alone!” he protested. “My men should not suffer for following my orders, especially if, as you say, there was nothing criminal done!”
“Your men will not suffer,” Vitellius asserted. “They will be reassigned back to their former legions. Any promotions the men were given will still be honored. No one will lose any rank over this.”
Artorius breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. “Well…the Twentieth was always home for me anyway.”
Vitellius was stoic in demeanor, which made him suddenly nervous again.
“I said your men will be reassigned back to their former legions,” the legate replied coldly. “Your new assignment will take you west, but not to Cologne. There will be enough upheaval as it is with your centurions and options returning to the ranks, as it now means that a handful of officers who were anticipating promotion will have to wait as those vacancies will be taken. As they were not so much charged with any wrongdoing, their transfers are simply administrative. Yours, on the other hand, is a different case. As you said, the responsibility for Mount Gerizim is yours alone.”
“Am I then to be forced out of the legions, sir?” Artorius could feel his pulse racing as he feared the worst.
Vitellius grimaced slightly. “If you want to look at it this way. Even without being criminally charged, you could have been forced into retirement simply because the cohort has been disbanded, and there are no vacancies for one of your rank. And despite your record of service, there are those within the senate who have called for your immediate dismissal from the ranks. Fortunately for you, even though Pontius Pilate has fallen out of favor you still have friends. You know the name Platorius Macro?”
Artorius’ face lit up at the sound of a name he had not heard in years. “I do indeed, sir! He and I go back many years, to the beginning of my career.”
“Well, it seems he came through for you, at least as much as he was able,” Vitellius explained. “He serves as an administrative tribune with the plebian assembly and was also appointed as mayor of Ostia. Being a retired centurion primus pilus, his influence is substantial. Though he could not convince the senate to allow you to remain in the ranks, he did the best he could in finding you a way to still render service to Rome. You have other friends as well, albeit both equites; Gaius Calvinus and Aulus Cursor. Both spoke vehemently on your behalf.”
He then passed a scroll to the centurion. As Artorius read it, he realized why it had taken so long for any disposition to be made. Between the time the Samaritan delegation arrived in Rome, tedious deliberations and correspondence between the emperor and senate, Macro’s own intervention, the final decisions made, and official notification making its way clear across the empire, it was no surprise that the ordeal had drug out for several months. Though he should have been grateful for the intervention of his friends, Artorius’ heart sank as he read the assignment order.
“What the hell?” Magnus grunted as he read the document Artorius gave him.
Praxus snatched the scroll from him and began to read. “I didn’t know Ostia had a police commissioner,” he remarked after a minute.
“It doesn’t,” Artorius replied bitterly. “At least it didn’t before Macro convinced the Quaestor to fund the position.”
“How did this happen?” Praxus said. “We get to return home to the Twentieth and you get sent off to some made up magistracy that completely takes you away from the legions! Oh, well, at least it holds the same rank as a centurion primus ordo.”
“Read it again,” Artorius replied. “It pays the same. And while I’ve been given an honorary appointment as a centurion primus ordo, the position does not carry the actual rank. I’ve essentially been cast out of the legions. The only reason I have not been cashiered completely is because there was no court martial. Looks like my enemies get at least a touch of revenge on me after all.”
“Wait a minute,” Magnus remarked. “You’re not talking about the friends of Fulvius?”
Fulvius had had friends within the senate who had sworn to bring Artorius to ruin.
“That would be them,” Artorius concurred. “Seems he had more friends than just the fallen Senator Gallus. And while plebian tribunes may hold the power of veto, there was only so much they could do.”
“But that happened twelve years ago!” Praxus protested.
“They were rather patient,” Artorius remarked. “I never gave them an opportunity to strike at me. I still haven’t; at least not to a degree that they would have hoped I would. Still, they saw the opportunity when Pilate fell from favor. Those in the senate not after my head have no idea who I am, except maybe Apronius and Silius. I don’t know if those two are even voting members of the assembly, and even if they are, their input would have counted for little. Macro, Calvinus, and Cursor did what he could, and for that I am grateful.”
“And to think he swore he would never get involved in politics!” Praxus said with a mirthless laugh.
“Well, at least you do get to return home,” Magnus observed. “Still, though, twenty-two years served honorably in the ranks and this is how it ends!”
Diana’s feelings were mixed at best. She was glad to be leaving Judea and anxious to get back to Roman culture and society. By the same token, this was not how she envisioned things coming to an end for her husband. It upset her greatly that Artorius had given so much of himself for so long, and now he was being relegated to an administrative position in disgrace. Disgrace. The word struck Diana hard, for she knew that Artorius had had to make a split-second decision and had done what he felt was right. Her thoughts were interrupted as Metellus opened the door to the room where servants were packing Diana’s personal belongings.
“I’m not disturbing you, am I, Mother?” he asked as he cautiously stepped in.
Diana smiled and kissed him gently on the cheek. “You know you’re not required to address me that way.”
“Yes, you tell me that all the time,” the young decanus said with a smile of his own. “And I always remind you that I find it appropriate to do so.” He paused and noted the sad demeanor in his adoptive mother’s face.
“He did the right thing,” Metellus asserted. “I don’t give a damn what Vitellius or anyone else says. The fact that in six years, gods know how many skirmishes, and a final pitched battle, the cohort never suffered a single fatality. That has to count for something!”
“I know,” Diana replied, shaking her head and stepping towards the doorway that led to the small balcony. She gazed out towards the sea, where ships came and went from the Caesarea harbor. “I wasn’t there, but I cannot believe he would order his men to attack if he did not sense an immediate danger.”
“Had he not done so, the Samaritans might have seized the initiative,” Metellus concurred. “The loyalties of the auxiliaries have always been sketchy, and had the enemy been given a chance to attack on their terms, I do not know that they would have held. I think they attacked because we took advantage of the Samaritans’ shock at the loss of their ‘prophet’. What enrages me is that Artorius and Pilate shoulder the blame for the incident, yet no one has placed blame upon those Samaritan bastards who massed on their supposed holy mountain armed for battle!”