Cursor then took his wife by the arm and proceeded to guide her over to the thermae springs. In a sense, the flowing waters signaled a rebirth for them. And rather than being consigned to oblivion, Aulus Nautius Cursor had at last found that which he had sought for years; peace.
The cool sea breeze refreshed Artorius as he leaned against the prow of the ship. Surprisingly enough, he had not gotten seasick at all during the three-week voyage from Britannia to Rome. The fleet that bore those fortunate soldiers who would take part in the emperor’s triumph had stopped over briefly at Carthago Nova in southern Hispania to resupply. Other than Centurion Valens ending up in a sordid affair with the magistrate’s daughter during their brief stay, the task force got back underway without incident. Early on the third day out from this last port call they had passed between Sardinia and Corsica. All were rapt with anticipation, for this marked the last stretch before they arrived in Rome. Soldiers had spent most of the day on the upper deck, watching the horizon for the first signs of the mainland as the ships lurched through the rolling waves. With the sun glowing red behind them in the west, legionaries anxiously gathered on the rail, hoping that they would reach Ostia before nightfall.
“The lads are anxious,” Vespasian observed as he joined Artorius, who stood with his back against the rail on the upper deck.
“And you’re not?” Artorius chuckled, his arms folded across his chest.
“I think we all are,” the legate confessed. “My son is now four, and I have not seen him in over two years. Since we were not nobility by birth, I only hope that I’ve given him a worthy name by my actions in Britannia.”
“Nobility that is earned is far greater than nobility that one is simply born with,” Artorius noted. “I suspect that the conquest is only the beginning for you.”
“And yet for you it is the end,” Vespasian added.
The master centurion could only nod in reply.
For Artorius it was the ending of an age. Twenty-nine years had passed since he first enlisted into the legions. He was now forty-six years old; and like he told Magnus, he did not look or often feel the effects of his age, yet he knew he was a far cry from the vengeful seventeen-year old who joined the ranks of the Roman Army all those years ago. And while he felt a certain amount of trepidation about his future, there was also an immense sense of relief that he’d drawn a weapon in anger for the last time. There was life beyond the legions, and he was ever grateful to have his beloved Diana with which to share in the next chapter of his life.
The ship increased its speed; the sailors trying to get into port before darkness fell. The other ships in the flotilla also increased their speed, and it became a sort of race between the crews to see who could arrive in port first. The Ostia docks slowly came into view as the sky grew red, deceptively further away than they appeared. In that moment, Artorius’ thoughts were consumed by his wife, who he longed to see more than anything in this world. Knowing Diana, she had sent one of her servants to watch the seas every day since they received word that the triumphant legions were sailing for Rome. As he envisioned time and again taking her into his arms, Artorius reminded himself that the end was really just another beginning. The poets and storytellers would have it that the conquering heroes sailed gloriously into the sunset, yet never asking what happened when the sun rose again.
Chapter Endnote:
1 — Lillebonne, France