“What is the meaning of this?” Artorius snapped, all sense of protocol having vanished in the horror of what he saw.
“Not your concern, Optio,” Fulvius sneered. “This worthless pile of dog shit knocked over and shattered one of my wine goblets! And now he’s paying the price for his clumsiness.”
“A clay wine goblet that cost you nothing!” Vitruvius observed. “This is an outrage and an abuse of the power given to you!”
“Back off, Vitruvius!” Fulvius roared. “I do not tell you how to run your century, don’t you dare come in here and tell me how to run mine!” He quickly stepped back as Vitruvius moved towards him. “Don’t even think about it! You may be the greatest hand-to-hand fighter to have ever lived, but I have friends, Vitruvius; powerful friends who would break you and your career at a simple snap of the fingers!” As he turned towards the fallen legionary he raised his vine stick once more. He would thrash the poor man some more, just to spite the two men witnessing. As he brought the stick down once more in a hard smash, Artorius leapt forward and stopped the blow with his Optio’s staff.
“Enough!” he growled through clenched teeth. Fulvius started to laugh.
“You daring to challenge me, boy?” he said in mock surprise. With surprisingly quick reflexes he threw the remains of the wine jug at Artorius. It shattered against the Optio’s shoulder as the Centurion drew his gladius and swung it in a hard back slash. The weapon cleaved through the staff and Artorius quickly stepped back, instinctively drawing his own gladius.
Fulvius lunged forward, his sword raised high to smash down on him. In doing so, he violated one of the most basic rules of legionary close combat; that one never slashes with the gladius. Artorius rushed in and grabbed his sword arm by the wrist, kneeing him hard in the groin. The Centurion let out a loud groan as his breath was taken from him. His gladius fell from his hand, his eyes wide in terror as Artorius slammed him into the wall, his own weapon pointed at his throat.
“You will never harm another one of my men again!” the Optio said quietly into his ear. With a blinding, cold hatred he had not felt in years he slammed the gladius into the side of Fulvius’ neck. The jugular burst by the razor-sharp blade, spraying forth dark crimson; the wicked man’s windpipe cleaved in two as Artorius drove his weapon home. The Centurion tried to gasp, but his breath was cut off by the sword that ran through his neck. Blood gushed in torrents onto Artorius’ arms as he held the man upright against the wall, his fat, grotesque body twitching pathetically. As his victim’s eyes clouded over and rolled into the back of his head, Artorius jerked his weapon free and let the body fall. It slid down slowly, staining the wall with streaks of blood. Fulvius continued to spasm as blood and spittle spewed from his mouth, as well as the sides of his ruptured neck. Artorius dropped his gladius onto the nearest table and ran to check on the legionary, who was still unconscious on the floor. Vitruvius immediately regained his composure, in spite of what he had just witnessed, and knelt down to help him.
“He’s been beaten pretty badly,” he observed as Artorius ran his hands over the man, checking the extent of his injuries.
“He’s got some broken ribs and nasty cuts, but at least his skull is still intact,” the Optio replied. The legionary coughed quietly and tried to open his eyes.
“Optio…Artorius,” he whispered through the blood and slobber that caked his lips.
“It’s alright son,” Artorius replied. “He won’t be hurting you, or anyone else, anymore.” Just then two legionaries rushed into the office through the still open door, gladii drawn.
“What the fuck happened?” one of the men asked.
“Get a medic,” Artorius ordered. “This man is badly hurt and needs to be taken to the hospital as soon as possible.”
“Yes sir,” the legionary replied. It was only then that they noticed the corpse of their Centurion. It was sitting partially upright, blood still running down each side of the neck like a macabre waterfall, his tongue protruding from the side of his mouth. The two legionaries could not help but smile.
“Nicely done,” one of them whispered.
“Gods damn it!” Artorius snapped. “What part of ‘get a medic’ did you two not understand?” The legionaries immediately left the office after a brief tousle when they both tried to get out the door first. Artorius could not make out what was said between the two, but one started for the hospital, while the other ran back towards the barracks.
“The whole bloody legion will know about this before the hour is up,” Vitruvius observed with a scowl.
“That they will,” Artorius replied. He then gave the legionary a final assessment before rising to his feet. Walking over to the table he picked up his gladius and stared at the blood-soaked blade. He then looked over at the man he had just slain and allowed himself a defiant sneer of his own.
“Where are your powerful friends now?” he mocked. Taking a deep breath he became serious once more. He turned and faced Vitruvius, glancing one more time at his weapon and wiped it off with a rag on the table before offering it to the Centurion, pommel first. “You have to place me under arrest, you know.”
“Look Artorius…”
“Now is not the time to get sentimental,” the Optio stressed. “Vitruvius, you are my friend, but I have committed murder.”
“Murder of a vile man, who was about to needlessly kill one of our own men!” the Centurion spat, reluctantly taking the gladius from Artorius.
“That may be,” Artorius agreed, “but Fulvius was right when he said that he has powerful friends. They won’t stop until I have been strangled for his execution. I knew when I killed him that I was sacrificing myself by doing so. And yet…I could not allow him to harm another one of my men! If my own life is the price to be paid for their safety, then it is a price I am willing to pay.” Vitruvius remained silent as he walked over to where Fulvius had dropped his gladius. The Centurion picked up the weapon and placed it next to the dead man’s hand.
“The record will show that he was still armed and posing a direct threat when you defended yourself,” Vitruvius explained. Artorius gave a hapless grin and nodded.
The office became alive with activity as one of the legionaries returned with a team of medics from the hospital just as Praxus and Rufio returned. Magnus was also standing in the doorway with a large group of legionaries. The medics ignored the rest of the men and immediately began to work on the injured soldier.
“Shit,” Magus said quietly as he stared at the slain Centurion. “Well done!”
“Sergeant Magnus!” Vitruvius barked. “You will place Optio Artorius under arrest on the charge of murder. Take him to the guard house at once.” Magnus looked over at Artorius and was immediately berated by the Centurion. “At the double, damn you!”
Artorius gave an affirmative nod to Magnus, who swallowed hard and signaled for several legionaries to come with him. The two men’s gazes met, and the Norseman did not know whether to be elated at the death of the hated Centurion or terrified for his friend. Vitruvius followed them out into the night, his heart breaking at the sight of his friend and protégé being marched to the guard house by the very men whose lives he had possibly saved. It was a gross injustice, but he knew there was nothing they could do about it.
“Vitruvius.” The Centurion was startled out of his thoughts by Praxus, who stood right next to him, his face full of vexation. “What the hell happened?”
“That is for the courts to decide,” Vitruvius replied as he marched off into the blackness.
Chapter IV: Soul Forged
Diana approached the gate of the fortress at Cologne. She had never been to Germania, and though the province fascinated her, it was not what she wished to see. For Diana Procula was finally taking a journey for herself and not on the whims of others.