“Why do you think I was as successful as I was in the field?” Tiberius persisted. “One of the first things I learned in Armenia during my first campaigns under Marcus Agrippa, was that one’s success was directly linked to how well one listened to the voices of experience. I was but twenty-one years old at that time, and the first men Agrippa introduced to me were not the Tribunes or other nobles, but rather the Centurions of the First Cohort. They were the elite; the voices of experience and tactical savvy. I learned from them, and whenever one of them spoke, I listened. I owed my later successes in Transalpine Gaul, Raetia, Pannonia, and Germania to these men.
“During one of the brief periods when we weren’t quarreling, before my foray into Germania in fact, Augustus went so far as to compare me to the great Julius Caesar. He stated that while even the divine Julius had tasted defeat on occasion, I had not, nor would I ever. My proudest achievements in life came during those years, and even after winning numerous battles for Rome, I never ceased listening to my Centurions. It is they who run the Empire and its legions, not the Senatorial Legates who serve for mere three-year tours of duty. We of the aristocracy grant ourselves the triumphs that are really theirs, and for an ass like Gallus to appoint one of his catamites to such a position is an insult to every Centurion who won Rome’s battles for me!”
“True,” Sejanus agreed after allowing the Emperor to calm down from his venting. “Yet there is nothing in this decree that is illegal or violating any rules of senator-sponsored appointments. While it is your right to deny this request, since all such positions require your endorsement, it may be best to simply comply with this one for now and, thereby, get Gallus to lower his guard a bit.”
“I see,” Tiberius said, his face suddenly brightening. If he found any joy in life anymore it was in counter-plotting against his enemies and thwarting their plans in the long term. “We allow Gallus’ plaything to have his little district and the good Senator soon becomes complacent.”
“The question now becomes where we can place him where he can do us the least amount of harm and have little influence,” Sejanus added. Tiberius poured over a large map of the Empire and a list of governorships and magistracies that would be vacant soon.
“Here we are!” he stated triumphantly as he pointed to a tiny spot on the map just north of Germania.
“Frisia,” Sejanus observed. “A shell of a minor province if there ever was one. In fact, it’s not even a real province and the magistrate is simply there to collect a modest tribute.”
“Exactly,” Tiberius replied, banging his hand on the table. “It is a semi-autonomous province ruled by the Segon Kings. I’ve met the current King, Dibbald Segon, as well as his father. A decent lot, those two. My brother was the one who pacified the region and established our relationship with them. They are mostly cattle farmers and their tribute is nominal, mostly cow hides. We have a small fort at Flevum on the border of their territory that keeps an eye on things, although nothing ever really happens there.”
“Perfect,” Sejanus said with a sly grin. “The ideal place to place someone of little importance.”
“Yes,” Tiberius continued. “That vile prick Gallus gets pacified for a little while and his pawn is sent off to where he can do no harm to the Empire or to us.”
“Tesserarius Gaius Praxus,” Artorius boomed as he held up the Optio’s staff of office, which Praxus clutched as well. “You are hereby promoted to the rank of Optio. Should I fall in battle, who will lead my men?”
“I will, Centurion!” Praxus responded in a loud voice. Artorius then nodded and released his grip on the staff.
“Rah!” the entire Century shouted with a quick raise of their gladii as Praxus took up his new position behind the formation. Artorius then addressed his men.
“Sergeant Magnus!” The Decanus briskly marched forward, saluted, and faced his Centurion. “You are hereby promoted to the rank of Tesserarius.” Another shout came from the ranks as Magnus accepted his promotion orders.
The selection of Magnus’ successor had been a difficult one. In Artorius’ mind, Valens was the logical choice; however, the legionary had vehemently protested against this. It baffled the Centurion that one who had more time in the legions and had seen more combat than even himself would be content as a lowly ranker. Valens was not even a specialist with immune status. Still, whatever his reasons were, Artorius respected them. In the end, he found a soldier with adequate experience and a solid service record to replace Magnus as Decanus.
“You thought I was going to select you as my Optio, didn’t you?”
The question took Magnus aback, and he almost choked on his wine. Though Artorius had promised a drink with all of the men he had just promoted, he needed some time with his best friend first. Magnus swallowed his drink, calmly set his cup down, and folded his hands on the table.
“Absolutely not,” he replied with a shake of his head. “And if you had selected me I would have told you that you were out of your fucking mind.”
Artorius cocked his head to one side, a puzzled grin crossing his face. “I don’t see what would be so mindless about that,” he retorted. “After all, you are one of the most decorated, charismatic, and capable leaders within the century. The men would follow you anywhere.”
“Perhaps,” Magnus replied with a shrug. “I didn’t say that I’m not qualified for the position; far from it. I am just not the most qualified. Praxus would have been my choice too, were I in your position. He is your friend, yes. That being said, the lads all know he is the most experienced and level-headed of all of us.”
“That and being my friend does not get a man any favors.”
“Yeah, so I’ve noticed,” Magnus remarked with a roll of the eyes.
Artorius sat back, the look of shock on his face causing the Norseman to burst into laughter.
“Oh come on, I’m kidding.” He reached across the table and smacked his friend across the shoulder for emphasis.
“Well, yeah, if being my friend did get you one special privilege, you know you would have been my first choice for Optio,” the Centurion replied with a relieved sigh. Magnus’ sarcasm had almost made him believe for a second that the Norseman was unhappy that he had not been selected for the position and had to settle with being the Century’s Tesserarius.
“Still,” Artorius continued, “does it ever feel strange to you? I mean, that I passed you up on promotion even though we have both served the exact same amount of time.”
“I’ll get there soon enough,” Magnus replied with another shrug. “I’ll make my move after I’ve watched you fall on your face a few times, so I learn what not to do.”
The dry humor was enough to bring a chuckle and sigh of relief from Artorius as the two men finished their drinks.
Artorius stood at the head of the column of men from the Second Century, this time as their Centurion. He still wore his issued set of lorica segmentata armor. He had ordered a set of chain mail armor, known as the lorica hamata, to be custom made. He liked protection offered by the segmentata, but a Centurion was supposed to purchase his own armor, and all wore either scale or mail since it was more comfortable and allowed the wearer greater mobility. He had at first protested against this, knowing that the segmentata offered far greater protection, but it was an argument he ultimately lost. Since his armor would not be ready for at least a month, he stuck to wearing his issued segmentata. After his armor was delivered he would turn his old suit in, though as he told the armor master, “Good luck finding another legionary that it will fit.” The customary harness that he would wear, showing all of his awards and decorations, was also being made. Legionary Decimus, who worked in the leather shop, had promised he would have it ready by the end of the week. Artorius had managed to acquire an appropriate Centurion’s crest made of red dyed horsehair, which he had attached to his helmet.