A few tents down, the Romans and their new allies were feasting and enjoying a bevy of mind-altering drinks of both Britannic and Roman origins. Artorius left the revelry after a single cup of wine and decided to take a long walk in the brisk evening air. Earlier in the day he had felt the need to decompress, especially with the relief of a cessation in immediate hostilities, and also having a qualified legate and chief tribune to take over command of the legion. And while he was always up for a bit of low-brow debauchery, once evening came he simply did not feel up for it.
Scapula had taken his resignation well enough. He was an experienced officer and understood that nearly three decades in the ranks could take its toll on even the strongest of men. His only request was that Artorius stay on through the winter and only return to Rome when those who would take part in the emperor’s triumph departed. Apparently Plautius had recommended Scapula to the emperor, and in just the few meetings he’d had with him, Artorius was lamenting that the general had not been with them during the campaign. It still felt surreal to him that he had commanded an entire legion during the conquest of a province. Of course, the strict and unbending class rules of Roman society would never allow him to hold the actual rank of senatorial legate, so his assumption of command was always going to be a temporary one. But no matter. While Artorius mourned for the men he lost, foremost being his longtime friend Camillus, he was thankful that most of his men survived the campaign to great glory, and that in the end he could know in his very soul that he’d done right by them.
As he leaned against a support post of one of the tents, the master centurion drew his gladius and turned the weapon over in his hand, watching the torch light dance off the blade.
“You have served me well all these years,” he said quietly. “I hope that I will never have to call upon you again.”
“What is this place?” Cursor asked, marveling at the steaming waters that bubbled up into a large pond.
“The sacred springs of my people,” King Eisu explained. “The heated waters have healing properties and are an eternal gift from Sulis.”
“Who is Sulis?” Centurion Taurus asked.
“She is the goddess of the springs,” a nobleman explained. “She brings nourishment to us and also gives the power of cursing the enemies of her votaries.”
“Indeed,” Cursor replied, folding his arms across his chest, deep in thought. “You know, we worship the same goddess in our culture, as well.”
Taurus shot him a confused look, but Cursor quickly winked at him and the centurion cracked a half smile while giving an imperceptible nod.
“You worship the goddess Sulis?” Eisu asked, raising an eyebrow as the tribune turned to face him.
“Oh, yes,” Cursor replied. “Only we know her as Minerva.”
Later that evening, long after the sun had gone down in the west, the two Roman officers lounged in the pool of thermae mineral water, a cloud of steam rising up into the starlit night.
“By Minerva,” Taurus said, “this feels better than any bath in Rome! That’s it; we need to build a bathhouse on this spot!”
“Natural hot springs are a rarity in the known world,” Cursor replied before submerging his head beneath the rippling waters. He splashed up quickly, relishing the contrast of the heat compared to the cool night, and he quickly scrubbed his fingers over his bald head. “And yes, imagine what we could do if we built a bathhouse on this site. I daresay it would become one of the greatest wonders of this isle, if not the entire empire!” He then noticed his centurion was chuckling quietly to himself. “What is it?”
“Nice little ploy with the king,” Taurus replied, “telling him that their Sulis and our Minerva are both the same goddess.”
“Deity amalgamations are nothing new,” Cursor explained. “We’ve been doing it since Rome first started its expansion beyond the Seven Hills. Do you think it is mere coincidence that our pantheon and the Greek’s are identical, aside from the names? One often here’s Jupiter referred to as Zeus and Juno as Hera.”
“So we merge one of our goddesses with theirs.”
“It solves the issue of them being required to pay homage to the Roman gods, while at the same time showing that we respect their culture and religion,” Cursor added. He then leaned back and laughed aloud. “Taurus, my friend, you realize we have just created a new deity!”
“And since the locals appear to have no images of her,” Taurus reasoned, “it’ll be simple enough for us to commission a bronze statue of Minerva and declare her to be the same entity as their goddess of the springs.”
“All in due time, my friend,” the tribune replied. “We have a lot of work to do first. It’ll be years before this area is completely civilized and ready for expensive statues of amalgamated deities.”
“Ah well,” Taurus shrugged. The centurion then reached back to the ledge of the pool and grabbed his wine cup, which he held high. “To the goddess, Minerva-Sulis!”
“And to the soon-to-be proclaimed Roman township of Aquae Sulis,” Cursor added, raising his own goblet.
While Artorius understood why vexilations from his legion were needed throughout the new province, it was frustrating for him to see to the needs of all his cohorts that were dispersed throughout the region while Scapula assimilated to his role as legate. He received word that the Second Legion was moving north and had left a detachment that had begun establishing a temporary garrison near a small village not far from the great hill they’d assaulted. Upon Artorius’ return, he found a number of his cohorts had been detached on either temporary garrison or logistical details. He found it particularly maddening that his Ninth Cohort had been tasked with escorting supply trains coming up from the coast, and no one could tell him exactly where they were. Indeed, only half of the Twentieth Legion remained in its main camp near the banks of the great river. The area they posted their eagle was where the river was narrow enough to accommodate bridges, but also deep enough that large seafaring vessels could navigate its waters.
Scapula had taken the initiative in procuring a number of surveyors and engineers to begin building more permanent fortifications near the northern bank. Those legionaries that remained in the camp had put away their swords and now performed labor under the supervision of the engineers.
“A large city will one day spring up in the wake of our humble camp,” Praxus said as he joined Artorius in observing the work being done by his men to improve fortifications around the large camp.
Artorius snorted in reply. “Yes, well even Rome started from the humblest of origins,” the master centurion replied, echoing a conversation he’d had with Vespasian. “Who knows, perhaps these open fields will one day house a great city that will be the capitol of an even greater empire than our own.”
The two centurions shared a chuckle at the absurd notion.
“Well,” Praxus remarked, “if a great empire ever does find root here, it will be after it’s had a thousand years of Roman influence. But for now, I’ll be happy with some paved roads, sewage systems, and a place to have a good wash. Not that either of us will see what becomes of this place.” Artorius raised an eyebrow at the remark, which his friend was quick to explain. “I’m done, Artorius. I’ve served in the ranks even longer than you have, and I’m tired. I should have retired after my son joined the legions, but I just was not ready to let go. Now, I realize that if I don’t, sooner rather than later one of those barbarian bastards will get the best of me.”
“Well whatever becomes of us,” Artorius said, “at least we know we’ve laid the foundations for the start of a new province. It will be the work of others that will determine whether Britannia remains a land of squalid poverty and never-ending warfare; or if perhaps she is destined for greater things.”