“Not to worry, sir,” the optio replied. “These men can win battles in their sleep. All we do is fight! No gate guard or shit-shoveling details for us. Trust me, master centurion, even if we never see you before the day of battle, we’ll be ready.”
“Carry on then, optio,” Artorius said with a nod.
His second-in-command saluted and went back to his men, shouting orders for them to make ready to start again. Artorius let out a sigh of relief and smiled for the first time since his arrival. Even just a brief glimpse of seeing his men perform their most basic close combat drills filled him with confidence. Whatever lapses there may have been in their legate, the men in the ranks had confidence in each other. They were still the same hard, disciplined killing machines they always were. It filled Artorius with pride to be leading such men once more.
Chapter Endnotes:
1 — Scotland
2 — Ireland
Chapter VIII: Valeria’s Return
***
The hot bath water was a godsend to Artorius at the end of the day. One of the privileges of the being the legion’s centurion primus pilus was he did not have to share facilities with the men in the ranks. Though he was not above public bathing, on this evening he was glad to have his own private, albeit far smaller, personal bath. It still had a small warming room, heated bath, cold plunge, and a pair of tables for massages and getting one’s skin scraped clean. He leaned back against the edge of the heated bath, a wet cloth over his eyes. As he started to drift off, he heard a loud banging coming from the front door, followed by some protests by his servant, Nathaniel.
Artorius chuckled as he heard a familiar voice say, “Piss on that, he’ll make time for me!”
The sound of sandaled feet on the stone floor echoed quickly as the rather abrupt guest stepped through the open doorway off to the side of the small heated pool.
“Oh, this is nice,” the voice snorted. “First time I’ve seen you in four years, and you’re sprawled out naked with your cock hanging out!”
“Good to see you too, Magnus,” Artorius replied calmly. He took the cloth off his eyes and threw it at his friend. He was shocked to see the Norseman stripping out of his tunic. “What in Hades are you doing?”
“Hey, even us First Cohort centurions don’t get our own private bath,” Magnus retorted. “There’s plenty of room, so I won’t be all rubbing up against you. Now move over!” With a loud splash, Magnus sat down on the far side of the bath, just across from his friend. “There, that’s better. And how was your first day back in the legions?”
“Odd,” Artorius replied, unsure what else to say as the Norseman snorted in reply. Despite being away from each other for several years, his and Magnus’ demeanor made it seem as if he’d never left.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Magnus said. “I don’t envy you, old friend. With such a weak excuse of a legion commander, much of the burden will pass on to you.”
“So everyone keeps telling me,” Artorius grumbled, rolling his eyes. “And I haven’t met the chief tribune yet. I hope he has, at least, some potential, even without experience.”
“He wants to learn, so that says something,” Magnus noted. “And, of course, our staff tribunes are typical six-month-and-done types who are doing their compulsory service in the legions. Leave the bureaucratic shit to them. Also, don’t think that you’re in this alone. I’m sure Camillus filled you in on some of his behind-the-curtain methods for keeping the legion functioning. And you’ve got me and Praxus. The other two First Cohort centurions are decent fellows, too. Honestly, I have never had an easier posting in my entire career!”
“Yes, I’ve seen how the First Cohort pretty much runs itself,” Artorius observed.
“That they do,” Magnus continued. “And as the ‘elite’ troops of the legion, we spend probably twice the amount of time training as the other cohorts, with still plenty of downtime for the men.”
“And speaking of training,” Artorius said, “I will need to get your input on what essential tasks we need to focus on this year. Since we’re not dealing with the logistical nightmare of relocating just yet, we have time to make certain we are ready for next spring.”
“I took the liberty of calling a meeting of all cohort commanders tomorrow,” Magnus remarked. “It’ll be in the late afternoon, following the First Century’s long run. Your optio can fill you in on the details.”
“Oh, fuck!” Artorius shouted as he suddenly splashed his way out of the tub. “I’m supposed to meet with him this evening!”
“Mind if I stay here, then?” Magnus asked as Artorius sprinted naked out the door and down the hall. When his friend didn’t answer, the Norseman shrugged. “Right you are.” He then placed a cloth over his eyes and leaned back, letting the heated waters sear into his pores while wondering if Lady Diana would let him borrow her maidservant to give him a massage.
Caratacus was growing uneasy. His annexation of the Atrebates was but a minor inter-tribal affair. And as small as the kingdom was, its downfall was scarcely acknowledged by the other kings and chieftains within Britannia. Some of the Atrebates nobility had proven quarrelsome, and he regretted not capturing or killing their king. He had a couple of nobles put to death recently for trying to stir up the populace against him. And while this quieted the people for the time being, as long as their king remained alive in exile, those who loathed being ruled by the Catuvellauni still held out hope.
When word reached Caratacus that Verica and his great-nephew, Cogidubnus, had fled Britannia altogether and were seeking help from the Romans, he requested a private meeting with his brother and overlord, Togodumnus. He had also summoned one of the most respected druids within the isle, an elderly sage named Archantael. They met in his great hall, which Caratacus had had rebuilt, after destroying the previous one.
“So Verica has gone cowering to the Romans,” Togodumnus scowled, resting his chin in his hand. His other hand rested on the pommel of his large two-handed great sword, which stood upright near his chair.
Caratacus and Archantael sat on either side of the table, with Caratacus giving Togodumnus his seat at the head. He had dismissed his servants once they served them food and drink, lest there be unfriendly ears that could hear their talk. A pair of warriors guarded the entrance to the hall, with orders that no one was to enter.
“And the armies of Caesar will march on our lands once more,” Caratacus grumbled. “I thought we rid ourselves of their scourge a hundred years ago!”
“Their strength has grown over the past century,” Togodumnus said. “Few of our people have ever left this isle and crossed over into their lands, which are vast beyond comprehension. However, we must remind them that the Romans are still just men, not gods.”
“And it is to our gods that we must turn,” Archantael spoke up. “They are the only force that can unite the kingdoms.”
“Which is where we will need your services, old friend,” Togodumnus noted. “You are well-respected amongst the druids, and you can move about freely amongst the various kingdoms without fear of assault.”
Caratacus then said, “With your leave, brother, I will need our best scouts to go to the mainland and learn of their intentions. For now, all we have to go on are rumors spread by merchant sailors, as well as the self-imposed exile of a deposed feeble king. The fact that he even lives gives the more rebellious peoples of this land hope.”
“I will go myself,” Togodumnus asserted. “My lands are secure, and I have much experience with the Gauls and Belgics. I want to witness the Romans’ intents with my own eyes.”
“I still must enforce order on our new lands,” Caratacus said. “The silver and tin of the Atrebates will do much to fund our war efforts. And with the help of the gods, through our friend Archantael, I will ascertain who amongst the kings of this isle who will side with us or the invaders.”