“Then perhaps it is good that we get out in the open that which has remained unsaid all these years,” he sighed. “You said earlier that you’re not the same person you were when we first joined the ranks. I’ve had little else to do but contemplate lately, and I know that I little resemble what I was then.”
“That’s not a bad thing,” Magnus conjectured. “To be brutally honest, you were a hateful prick back then.”
“Well, I was young and naïve,” Artorius chuckled. He was then serious for a moment. “I joined so that I could avenge my brother’s killing in Teutoburger Wald. Vengeance was what I lived for and I cared about nothing else. My father warned me that my lust for revenge could destroy me, and he was right; it damn near did. I’ll tell you something that I’ve never said to anyone. During our first campaign against Arminius and the Germanic alliance, I went there to die. I saw no future for me, especially with my brother dead and the love of my life abandoning me. Every time we went into battle I kept thinking to myself, ‘This is it, time to die’. After we stormed the ramparts of Angrivarii, burned the place to the ground, and I was still left standing, I didn’t know what to do. It was as if God, the Fates, whatever you want to call it, was giving me another chance.”
“Well, you did start to become more likeable after that,” Magnus said with a laugh. It was the first time they both were able to relax and genuinely smile since Artorius’ arrival. “That is quite a confession. I can’t say I’m surprised, though to be honest I had no idea during those early years.”
Artorius thought to perhaps finally tell Magnus about his vision, when he saw his deceased brother after the Triumph of Germanicus. That had been the turning point when the blackness finally started to leave his soul, and yet he could not bring himself to tell even his closest friend. Artorius had been all but an atheist when his brother, Metellus, appeared before him. Though he still did not know exactly what he believed regarding deities and divine powers, he did know in his heart that there was something beyond his mortal life. The years he and Magnus had spent in Judea had added more questions than they answered and had given them both as much of the surreal as either of them ever wanted to see for the rest of their lives. And while he had once proclaimed a crucified Nazarene teacher as ‘the Son of God’, he was uncertain as to what that even meant. But then, perhaps he wasn’t meant to. He had reasoned that there was much that was unknown, and he would never understand fully.
“Hey, you still with me?” Magnus’ words startled him out of his reminiscing.
“Sorry about that,” Artorius replied, shaking his head. “Got lost in thought is all.”
“Yes, well you’ll have plenty of time for that now.”
“I can’t help but feel we’ve talked about so much, yet not really anything at all,” Artorius thought aloud. “Does that make any sense?”
“Not even a little bit,” his Nordic friend replied with a chuckle. “And perhaps it’s not meant to. Still, it has been good to see you again. I know I much needed the company of my best friend again.”
“I think we both did,” Artorius emphasized.
“Yes, well I think I should be able to return to the legion, at least on light duty, within another month at the most. My optio no doubt is losing his mind trying to run the century by himself! I wonder what will happen then.”
“The names will change, but the faces will remain the same,” Artorius philosophized. “And though I made it a point of not endorsing any potential candidate, I think you should stand for election as centurion primus pilus.”
“Oh, I will jump into the foray there, don’t you worry about that,” Magnus said eagerly. “Of course we’ll see how well I am able to return to the ranks. And I also know that nothing is guaranteed, especially since I’m guessing Tyranus will make another attempt at becoming master centurion of the legion.”
“Of that I have no doubt. He does have two Civic Crowns and a formidable service record…”
“And he did acquit himself rather well at Mai Dun without getting himself tore up,” Magnus interrupted. “But no matter. If I don’t get the position, he’d better! Tyranus is probably the only centurion who I would not object to being a subordinate to. And if someone else gains the posting…well, then perhaps you will see me back in Rome after all!”
Towards the end of April, before being allowed to depart for Rome, Plautius had ordered all soldiers encamped near the River Tamesis, in a settlement that now bore the name of Londinium, to hold a final formation honoring one of their own. In addition to the governor and Scapula, Vespasian, Sabinus, and Geta were also in attendance, as was Tribune Cursor, who had arrived from Aquae Sulis specifically for this occasion.
All present wore their armor highly polished, and the legates were in their finest regalia. Plautius stood on a raised platform, holding a gold crown adorned with jewels.
“Soldiers of the Twentieth Legion and honored guests,” he began. “Rome has three Coronae Triumphales / the Crowns of Triumph. These are reserved for the commanders of legions, almost always senatorial legates. Today we honor one, who though not being of patrician birth, distinguished himself as Commander of the Twentieth Legion during the Conquest of Britannia. Master Centurion Titus Artorius Justus…post!”
It was a humbling experience, and one that helped bring the end of the campaign, as well as marking the culmination of Artorius’ active career. He stepped onto the dais in full armor and removed his helmet. In Roman tradition, the gold and jeweled crown was never actually worn by the recipient. Instead, a simple laurel crown, like that worn by triumphant generals and even the emperor himself, was placed upon his head by Vespasian. Plautius presented the gold crown to Artorius with his left hand while clasping his right hand firmly. As the master centurion clutched the crown to his chest, Vespasian then read the order:
“By order of Emperor Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, and for exceptional leadership, valor, and selfless tenacity that resulted in the Twentieth Legion achieving victory in no less than three major battles during the Conquest of Britannia, the Corona Triumphalis is hereby awarded to Centurion Primus Pilus Titus Artorius Justus!”
The legion, as well as the assembled guests, broke into a loud ovation. Whether or not the Corona Triumphalis had ever been awarded to a soldier who had come up from the ranks, he could not say. Regardless, it felt rather surreal to Artorius that he had been given such an esteemed honor, one normally reserved only for commanding generals of triumphant legions. Indeed it was quite irregular, despite his having been in command of a legion throughout the majority of the campaign. He would later learn that it was Vespasian who pressed Plautius to approve the endorsement, knowing that Claudius would not go against the recommendation of his commander-in-chief.
As the host of soldiers continued to shout accolades towards him, Artorius drew his gladius and hung the gold crown off the blade, which he then held high in salute to his brothers-in-arms. He knew that for most of these men, this would be the last time he ever saw them. Soon he would depart for Rome, closing out this lengthy chapter of his life.
Chapter XXVII: Glory of Rome
Rome
May, 44 A.D.
“The ships bearing your triumphant legions should be arriving within the next week or so,” the emperor’s freedman, Narcissus, said as Claudius rose from his bath. Preparations had been taking place ever since his return the previous fall, and with word of Vespasian’s decisive conquest of the supposedly impenetrable barbarian hill fort of Mai Dun, the emperor had no qualms about proceeding with Rome’s first triumph in twenty-seven years.