The letter he had just received looked to change everything. He looked down at the scroll clutched in his hand before turning his gaze towards the setting sun. For Centurion Artorius, he would be heading east, just not across the Rhine into Germania.
“Thought I’d find you here,” Magnus mused as he walked up behind him.
Artorius turned to face his Nordic friend and fellow centurion. The two men had come up through the ranks and been close friends ever since their days of recruit training. Artorius’ promotions had been extraordinarily rapid, and he’d received command of the century while his friend was still a decanus.
“Pity we almost never see each other anymore,” Artorius replied.
Magnus had been awarded the Civic Crown for extreme valor at Braduhenna and had subsequently been promoted to the centurionate. This had required him leaving the Third Cohort and transferring to the Fourth, which was still being rebuilt after its members had panicked and committed mass suicide in a strange turn of events that none of them would ever fully understand.
“I heard the master centurion say the other day that you’ve taken a century’s worth of raw recruits and made them into one of the best units within the entire legion.”
“Then Macro exaggerates,” Magnus replied with a chuckle. He then tossed his friend a clay wine jug. “Here, I thought you could use some refreshment. I stopped by your house and the Lady Diana told me you had gone off for some thinking. I know that anytime you go off into deep thoughts, it usually means you need a drink.”
Artorius took a long pull off the wine jug and then handed it back to Magnus, who started to drink as well.
“I’m leaving Germania,” Artorius replied, causing Magnus to spew wine everywhere.
“Come again?” the Norseman asked, his eyes wide.
Artorius handed him the scroll that had arrived along with the orders from Rome. It bore the seal of Pontius Pilate, Procurator of Judea.
Magnus began to read, vocally stating the last line; it is time to redeem your promise. “What is Pilate talking about?” he asked after he finished reading.
“A long time ago, I made a promise to him,” Artorius explained. “I swore that I would serve under him anytime he needed me. He needs me now, Magnus.”
“But I thought Judea was only authorized an auxilia garrison.”
“Not anymore,” Artorius replied, shaking his head and handing him the scroll from Rome. “Though the emperor will not authorize Pilate an entire legion, he is allowing him to raise a single cohort of volunteers from throughout the empire.”
“Well, if he’s looking at you to lead this mob…” Magnus began as Artorius’ face broke into a broad grin.
“That means I may finally see Centurion Pilus Prior, regardless of my enemies’ best intentions.” Though not one for political intrigue, Artorius had a number of adversaries in Rome, even a few in the senate. Such had made any promotions beyond centurion seem unlikely at best. That he was now selected for cohort commander would be intolerable to those who had done their best to hinder his career.
“Then we should be drinking in celebration!” the Norseman said with a boisterous laugh. He gave his friend a smack on the shoulder before taking a long pull off the jug.
“I’ll miss you, old friend,” Artorius replied.
“Miss me nothing,” Magnus retorted. “Wherever you go I shall follow!”
“If only it were that simple,” Artorius observed. “Were we both still legionaries, it would not be an issue. Even if Macro does exaggerate, and I for one do not think he does, then we will be hard-pressed to convince him to let go of one of his best centurions, especially with an expedition across the Rhine pending.”
Magnus let out a loud belch and handed the jug back to his friend. “Piss on that,” he retorted. “This posting comes from Pilate via Sejanus, and therefore the emperor himself. I’m certain you can get whomever you wish. Besides, they’re not going to send all of both legions to slap around the Marsi. I’m sure I can be spared. After all, none of us are indispensable.”
“That may be,” Artorius concurred. “However, I will not go around Macro’s back; I have too much personal loyalty to him.” Platorius Macro had taken command of the Second Century before Artorius and Magnus and first enlisted. His tenure had been an exceptionally long ten years with Artorius serving as his optio for the final two.
“Apologies,” Magnus replied. “I did not mean any disrespect towards our master centurion. And I would never insinuate going behind him, I simply thought perhaps he would be willing to allow me to accompany you, given who the orders are coming from.”
“Well, the answer is ‘no’ if we don’t ask.”
A rather burly praetorian greeted Gaius Caligula as he left the bathhouse near Villa Jovis. He’d had a most invigorating rubdown from a North African slave and was debating how to further amuse himself this day. He knew this particular guardsman who now approached him or at least knew enough about him to recognize his unbridled ambition. Such could prove useful to the young man who had great ambitions of his own.
“Naevius Suetorius Macro, is it?” Caligula asked as he casually tossed the fold of his toga over his shoulder.
“Acting deputy prefect of the praetorian guard,” the big man asserted.
“Ah, still only acting deputy prefect,” Caligula chided as he walked down the stone steps and onto the path that led towards the town.
“As long as Pontius Pilate still holds the actual billet, yes,” Naevius conceded.
“What a shame that is,” Caligula persisted, “you do all the work, and he gets to keep the title for himself.”
“Quite,” Naevius grunted. “Still, I did not come to talk to you about my posting or lack thereof.”
“Ah, but I think you did,” Caligula stated as he quickly turned and faced the man. “You did not come to exchange pleasantries nor did you come to bathe, though you could most certainly use it!”
Naevius snorted at the insult, but gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. As Sejanus’ deputy, he found himself constantly on the move between Capri and Rome. The praetorian prefect rarely came to Capri anymore, perhaps afraid that if he left the city his enemies might use the opportunity to move against him. What he did not know was that Naevius was no mere lackey who was content in his current posting.
“I think you and I could find each other useful,” the praetorian replied.
“Hmm,” Caligula thought for a moment, “Not sure what use I could possibly have for an acting deputy prefect.” He waved a hand dismissively and started to walk away when the praetorian grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.
“Damn it, man!” Naevius growled. “Your position here is not as secure as you think. Don’t be a fool. You need all the friends you can get!”
“Unhand me, sir!” Caligula snapped indignantly, pulling his arm away, eyes growing wide. “I should have you arrested and flogged for this insult!”
“You mean like how I arrested and flogged your brothers?” Naevius replied, his demeanor suddenly cool.
Gaius looked off to the side briefly and cocked his head slightly. “You say we could find each other useful,” he noted. Though a young man of highly questionable morals and tastes, one could never accuse Gaius Caligula of being naïve. “How?”
“We both want what is rightfully ours,” Naevius answered. “We should talk more in private.”
“Yes,” Caligula said, lost in thought. His tone immediately changed, almost as if it was he who had approached Naevius in the first place. “If you are half as ambitious as I am clever, then we may find each other useful after all.” He then started to walk away once more. “By the way, I saw your wife accompanying you from the main docks. Lovely creature.”