“It came as a bit of a shock to me as well,” Valens said with a nonchalant shrug. “Wasn’t the easiest thing, coming back after we’d been gone for a number of years. Because they promised I’d keep my rank, I slid into a vacant optio position that did not make the unit’s centurion, or the fellow he was going to promote, happy.”
“And how did you handle that?” Artorius asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.
“Same way I always do,” Valens replied. “I got them both piss drunk and arranged for some suitable ‘entertainment’. One’s a lot less likely to hold a grudge after having their cock drained a few times.”
“You never cease to amaze me,” Artorius chuckled, shaking his head. He then asked, “Where are you assigned now?”
“Fifth Cohort, same as Metellus. I have the Second Century, he has the Fourth. Tyranus, the centurion who replaced you when we left here, is our pilus prior. A solid officer, that one; I would like to have worked with him in our younger days. As far as cohort commanders go, I’d say he’s better than Dominus, though not quite as good as Vitruvius or Proculus were.”
“And where does he rate compared to me?” Artorius asked, folding his arms.
“That I’ll never say,” Valens replied with a wink. “One answer would insult you, and the other would be a false, flattering ass kissing. And you, sir, will get neither from me. But no matter; it is good to see you again.” He then extended his hand, which Artorius readily accepted.
It was midmorning by the time he walked up the short flight of steps that led into the principia; the rather ostentatious and ornate building, decorated with columns, statues, and frescos along the walls that served as the legion’s headquarters. His hobnailed sandals clicked on the polished stone floor as he made his way through the main foyer to where the legate’s office was. He would have his own office here as well, for his duties would extend to the entire legion, not just the first cohort. Seated behind a desk outside the legate’s office was the another welcome sight, and it caused Artorius to burst into laughter.
“Camillus!” he said boisterously, causing the man to bolt upright. One time the signifier for Artorius’ century, he had been the legion’s aquilifer for at least a decade. In addition to being in charge of all the legion’s finances, he also carried its sacred eagle standard into battle.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Camillus chuckled as he stood from his desk and extended a hand to his old friend. “Come back to us after cavorting in the east, finally!”
“I thought you would have left the legions years ago,” Artorius conjectured.
He noted that Camillus, who was a few years older than he, had traces of grey just beginning to show in his close-cropped hair. And yet, his face still maintained much of its boyishness that made it impossible for anyone to guess his age.
The aquilifer simply shrugged. “I can call it a career anytime I want. I was considering it last year, but now I’m not missing out on the emperor’s big expedition across the sea. Sure, it’ll mean hanging on for at least a couple more years, as well as risking some druid chopping off my head and using it as a pot, but I’d never forgive myself if I did not take part in turning the page of history.”
“I suppose the whole of the empire knows about the proposed invasion, even though nothing’s been officially posted,” Artorius sighed.
“That, and anyone within a thousand miles of our borders,” Camillus laughed. “You can bet every tribal kingdom in the whole of Britannia knows of our intentions. We can only hope they remain too engrossed in their constant infighting amongst each other. Otherwise there will be a million of those bastards to greet us on the beaches. I just hope for a sunny invasion in the summer, because the waters of that sea are bloody cold!”
“Is the legate in?” Artorius asked, changing the subject.
“In a manner of speaking,” the aquilifer replied, rolling his eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, to be honest, he came in this morning but I haven’t seen him since. Apparently he’s taking his afternoon nap.”
“So it’s true then,” Artorius grumbled.
“Ah, Metellus filled you in a bit, did he? When I gave him his leave papers, along with your promotion orders, I asked him to give you fair warning. Of course, Metellus doesn’t know but half of it. Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Legate Glabrio. He very affable and all, but the thing is he just so…well, old. I have no idea what his age is, but one would think he was older than my grandfather who’s been dead for twenty years. He has no command presence at all, and he comes across as one who should be sitting on a bench, telling stories to his grandchildren, rather than trying to lead men into battle. The only thing keeping the lads from mocking him openly is fear of the lash from their centurions, who at least respect the office, if not the man.”
“How did he get the posting?” Artorius asked in frustration. “There are perhaps six hundred eligible members of the senatorial class who could hold command and only twenty-five legate postings in the entire empire. In theory, only those with the best military credentials get a vacancy when it comes available. How did one who is so unfit to lead men into battle acquire one?”
“Like everything else,” Camillus explained, “politics. I don’t know the details, but it seems he was on rather friendly terms with Gaius Caligula, who granted him the position last fall. The only person who can remove him is the emperor, and he won’t because Glabrio hasn’t technically done anything wrong. And therein lies the problem; he hasn’t done anything.”
“And a legate’s tour is three years,” Artorius noted. “So it looks like we’ll be taking him with us.”
“Provided he doesn’t have a heart attack on the voyage across the channel,” Camillus chuckled darkly.
“What about the chief tribune?” the master centurion asked.
“He’s alright,” Camillus shrugged. “But like all of them, he has little to no experience. His name is Sempronius, and I’m guessing he’s about twenty-five. He’s probably even more frustrated than the rest of us, because he’s supposed to be second-in-command and learning all he can from the legate. It’s difficult enough getting a chief tribune position, and one’s success or failure usually determines if they will ever get command of a legion. Well, if he goes his entire tenure without learning anything tactically or strategically useful, he’ll never get a command. That’s the odd thing, it seems most of our senior leaders are either young, or at least inexperienced in their positions…you included.”
“Well, at least I’ve led a cohort into battle,” Artorius stated, not taking his friend’s assessment as an insult. “What can be that much different at the legion-level, besides the number of men?”
“Plenty,” Camillus emphasized. “And if I were a gambler, I would guess that most of the responsibility for the running of the legion will fall upon you. Many of the legate’s duties Glabrio simply will not bother with, and Sempronius cannot do them all on his own. I’d get ready for a lot of long days and sleepless nights, even if we weren’t planning to hop over and say ‘hello’ to the blue-painted barbarians across the water.”
“At least one senior leader has lengthy experience in his posting,” Artorius laughed, causing Camillus to shrug once more.
“Sure, I’ve been aquilifer for more than ten years,” he confessed. “And the signifiers are all rather pissed, wondering when I’m going to retire or simply fall over dead, so one of them can take it. But what am I, really? I’m honestly just an overpaid bookkeeper who carries a shiny metal bird into battle while sweating under a cumbersome lion’s pelt. And do you know what a smelly bitch that damned thing becomes when it gets wet? But seriously, I actually have no command responsibility at all, and the only person I answer directly to is…well, you.”
“But you also understand the inner workings of the legion,” Artorius persisted. “I have a feeling that I will need that experience quite often. So perhaps we should both be ready for long days and sleepless nights.”