“As we agreed,” he explained, “half upfront and the other half upon delivery. Follow me and I will show you where it goes.”
He led the cart to just beyond the main gate, where a pair of legionaries stood, ever on guard duty. There was a small stream that ran alongside the fortress, and it was on a small hill near this, that Artorius had already selected. A rectangular hole had been dug to the measurements he had specified. As the cart came to a stop, he walked around behind it and lifted the tarp. Underneath were several slabs of ornate marble. They were slotted so that they would fit together into an altar that was almost the height of a grown man. Such a work of art had been extremely expensive, though Artorius did not care. He would have given his last denarius to see his fallen mentor properly honored. The altar would have a semi-enclosed box on top, where a bust of Centurion Vitruvius would be displayed. It was coming from a separate sculptor and had not yet arrived.
Artorius was explaining to the stone carver and his slaves how the monument was to be arranged. Just below where the bust would be placed a small niche had been carved into the front slab. This is where he would place Vitruvius’ ashes. The bronze tablet that would enclose the front of the space holding his ashes was already in his quarters. On the tablet was inscribed:
Marcus Vitruvius
Centurion Pilus Prior
Killed in Action, Age 41
XX Legion, III Cohort
Soldier of Rome
“He would have liked that,” a woman’s voice said behind him.
Artorius turned to see a statuesque woman a few years his senior. He immediately recognized her as his fallen friend’s sister, Vitruvia. The man who accompanied her, he also recognized.
“Optio Valgus!” he said.
“Centurion Artorius,” Valgus replied.
The man who had savaged him through recruit training and helped mold him into a legionary was much changed since last they had seen each other twelve years before. His hair was mostly gray, despite his less than advanced years. He walked with a slight stoop and had to use a walking stick, as well as being supported by his wife. His legs had lost much of their muscularity, and he had developed a noticeable belly. Still, his face was unmistakable; it was the face of a man Artorius had looked up to and hoped to make proud as he had struggled through recruit training, and then later while on campaign during the Germanic Wars. Artorius walked over and clasped Valgus’ forearm.
“It’s good to see you, sir,” he said with much emphasis.
Valgus gave a sad smile and shook his head. “It is not appropriate for a Centurion to address a former Optio as sir,” he corrected. Artorius simply shook his head.
“I may be a Centurion,” he observed, “but it was you who taught me what I know. You and…”
Both men turned towards the slabs of marble that would be the monument for Vitruvius.
“He was the greatest soldier Rome ever had,” Valgus remarked. “He saved my life, you know.”
“I remember,” Artorius replied. “It was during that gods’ awful assault we came under at the Ahenobarbi Bridges.”
“I took a spear through the hip,” the former Optio remembered, “and before the barbarians could finish me, here came Vitruvius and Statorius. That magnificent bastard even snapped the neck of one of those fuckers with his bare hands!”
“I think he was more afraid of what I would do to him if anything happened to you than he was of the barbarians,” Vitruvia thought aloud.
“He said as much,” Valgus concurred. His face then became somber. “He saved my life, and yet I could not be there to save his.”
“Sir, you cannot blame yourself for what happened to Vitruvius,” Artorius responded. “Two centuries tried to save him and failed.”
“That does not matter,” Valgus retorted. “I owed him my life. Now the debt can never be repaid. It is a scar on my soul that I must bear, both in this life and the next. I only hope he can forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive, love,” Vitruvia replied gently, caressing her husband’s face. Her own eyes were damp with emotion as she addressed Artorius. “Celia and the children are coming to live with us. Raising the sons of my brother is a greater task than any woman can take on alone. Fate has taken their father from them, but they will not be without fatherly influence.”
Valgus gave a sad nod. “I hope that by raising my nephews into fine young men I will help atone for my failure to my brother-in-law and friend.”
It baffled Artorius that Valgus could somehow blame himself for Vitruvius’ death. The two men had been very close during their years as legionaries and had come up through the ranks together. They had been more brothers than friends long before Valgus fell for Vitruvius’ sister.
“At least the inscription is appropriate,” Valgus observed as all three of them gazed at the memorial plaque. “He would have liked that.”
The plaque was deeply etched, with the lettering blackened for emphasis. It read:
Soldier rest, thy warfare is over
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking
Dream of battled fields no more
Days of danger, nights of waking
Rest Soldier, Rest
Chapter XXIX: A Legend Reborn
“Fall in!”
It was an hour before dawn, late in September, and Artorius had formed up his men, ready to lead them on a ten mile road march. Slowly, the men of the Century were returning to the level of physical fitness they had once possessed. The afternoons were still warm this time of year, and Artorius decided that it would be best to start building the men’s endurance up again on marches during the cooler hours of the day.
“The Century is formed up and ready to march, Centurion,” Praxus reported with a crisp salute.
Artorius returned the courtesy, and the Optio took his place behind the formation. Their numbers may have been few, and most were still somewhat weakened by their wounds, but Artorius was determined to build his unit back to what it was. No one wore armor or helmets; not yet. He did not even wear his Centurion’s helm, so from a distance he looked like just another legionary. This suited him just fine. His men knew who he was, and he was never one for pompous displays.
Artorius knew it would take time to build his men back to their former level of fighting strength. Each man wore his gladius on his hip and carried his pack with some rations for the day. It was a start. If all he had was forty-six men, then by the gods he would make them the best forty-six legionaries in the whole of the Empire!
“Century!” he shouted. “Right…face!” He then took his place at the head of the small column, Rufio at his side with the Signum.
He was proud when he viewed his Century’s standard, for the brass hand that adorned the top was now bordered by a wreath, similar to that of the Civic Crown. It was symbolic of the unit’s collective valor and had been awarded to them by Legate Apronius, in the name of the Emperor, for their sacrifice in holding the flank against overwhelming numbers. The rest of the Rhine Army regarded him and his men with the highest level of respect and awe. The soldiers who had fought on the line understood what the Third Cohort’s Second Century had suffered for them.
The warm wind blew gently on the Centurion’s face as they marched along the road that led through Cologne. The city forum was not yet alive with the crowds that would wake soon enough. At the outskirts of the city they marched past his house. Artorius could not resist breaking into a grin when he saw Diana leaning against the gate that led into their villa. She smiled and winked at him, glad to see her husband leading his men once more.