“Not only that, but he’s also intent on keeping whatever it is hidden from view. I noticed that he never takes anything off those particular carts, yet he makes certain they are placed right next to his tent every night. And every morning he checks everything to make sure they haven’t been disturbed. Come to think of it, I believe he acquired those carts when we were in Gaul.”
“I think maybe our centurion’s gone a bit mental,” Magnus said, shaking his head as he wandered off.
Artorius grunted at the remark and went back inside his tent.
As the Army of the Rhine grew closer to Rome, there was a noticeable increase in traffic. Farmers and merchants from the outlying areas drove great wagonloads of goods with which to feed and provide comfort for the city’s inhabitants. Late one afternoon, the men of the Second Century crested a hill and gazed at a breathtaking sight. Though still approximately five miles away, Rome stood out in stark contrast to the surrounding hills. The men could just make out the Temple of Jupiter on Capitoline Hill, the Basilica Julia, the Roman Forum, the Theater of Marcellus next to the River Tiber and, of course, the Circus Maximus. The sun at their backs cast an almost divine glow upon the city below which stretched for miles.
“Now then, there’s something you don’t see every day,” Gavius said in a low voice.
“Ever been to the Eternal City?” Magnus asked.
Gavius could only shake his head.
“Neither have I,” Magnus replied, awestruck.
“There She is, men.” Camillus pointed, “The one bastion of freedom, order, and civilization in the world.”
“Alright, let’s keep moving,” Macro ordered. “We’ve still got work to do before dark.”
“Are we digging the ditch and palisade tonight?” Vitruvius asked.
Macro shook his head. “No, Severus feels that needlessly tearing up the area so close to Rome would be bad business. Everything else will be set up the same, though.”
As the section set about erecting their tent and unpacking their pallets, Artorius noticed that Macro and Camillus had both disappeared, along with the centurion’s carts of precious cargo. It wasn’t until later, as the sun cast its red glow on the horizon, they got their answer to the mystery of Macro’s carts.
“Second Century on your feet!” Vitruvius barked.
The men wasted no time in heeding the call of Optio Vitruvius. Some had even started strapping on their armor and rounding up their weapons.
“What the hell are you doing?” the optio shouted. He was dressed only in his tunic and sword belt.
The overzealous soldiers sheepishly put their gear back before following Vitruvius out of the camp. About half a mile from the legion’s camp, on a ridge with a perfect view of the city, stood the centurion and signifier along with the carts. Camillus had brought the Century’s Standard, which he had planted next to the wagons. Macro stood with his arms folded across his chest, while Camillus leaned against one of the carts, a wry smile on his face.
“Gather around,” Macro said. His voice was extremely calm, though it still projected loud enough to be clearly heard by all.
As the century clustered around their commander, Macro pointed towards the city behind him.
“Down there is a place many of you have never seen before, yet all have fought for. I want you to look hard upon Rome; gather Her splendor into your very soul, for She is the light in what otherwise would be a dark and twisted world. See and remember, never forgetting what it was we fought for.” He paused briefly, allowing his men to take in what he had said and what they could see. He had picked the time and place perfectly, knowing full well the effect it would have on his soldiers, weary and battered as they were after the absolute brutality of their campaigns across the Rhine.
“Over the next several weeks,” Centurion Macro continued, “we will be hearing speeches and accolades given to us by men of the highest offices: generals, senators, perhaps even the Emperor himself. This triumph will be a glorious affair, one of the most significant events in our time. This moment, however, belongs only to the Second Century. Camillus, if you would.”
He motioned to the signifier, who pulled the tarp off one of the wagons. Underneath the cart was packed tight with vats of wine.
“The best wine, from the best grapes grown in the world,” Macro said to his shocked, yet delighted soldiers, “and it is for the best fighting men the world will ever know. Section leaders, fill the goblets of your men.”
Statorius and the other decani grabbed goblets from one of the other wagons and started to fill and pass them out to their men. Camillus walked over to Macro with two full goblets, handing one to the centurion. Vitruvius and Flaccus joined them, their own cups filled to the brim. Once complete, the Second Century waited for their centurion to finish his speech. As Macro raised his cup, he seemed to glow in the fading light. The image of his centurion, silhouetted against the backdrop of the greatest of cities was something Artorius knew he would remember until his dying day.
“To Victoria and Bellona, goddesses of victory and war; to Commander Germanicus Caesar; to the Emperor Tiberius, guardian of the light that is Rome; to our friends, who did not come home; to the Eternal City and the ideals that our friends died to protect; and most importantly, to you, my brothers, who give our legion the right to be called The Valiant!”
Every soldier raised his cup in salute and drank. Artorius was shocked by the sweetness and potency of his drink. This was no watered-down tavern wine. This was straight from the vineyards, and indeed was the finest he had ever tasted.
Macro must have paid a fortune for this as we passed through Gaul he thought, as the strength of the wine seared his throat and stomach. It was a wonderful feeling. The daylight gave out as the sun was eclipsed behind the mountains. The men of the Second Century stood gazing at the city, alive with the muted noises of nighttime traffic. They stayed on the ridge for some time, drinking their centurion’s wine, talking only in hushed voices, the infinite stars overhead their only light. For Artorius, no triumph, parade, speech, or celebration could ever compete with this simple moment.
A triumph was a complicated thing to organize, not to mention expensive. There would be banquets, a grand parade, games, and other entertainment, most of which was free to the public. The citizens themselves were exceedingly grateful to the brave legionaries who had completely annihilated Arminius and removed his threat from Rome. Gifts of food, wine, and even the occasional prostitute were heaped upon the soldiers.
The gladiatorial contests were a huge event, and all of the soldiers were encouraged to attend. A section of the arena was even reserved for legionaries wishing to observe the spectacle. Camillus walked over to where Statorius and the section were lounging by their tent. The signifier was always intrigued by what he described as “exotic entertainment.” He was carrying a parchment with the events listed on it.
“Check this out,” he said, presenting the scroll to Statorius. “For the next two weeks ‘the best gladiators in the whole of the Empire in one place.’ What do you think?”
The decanus said nothing as he read the list of upcoming events.
“I think it’ll be a good place to pick up loose women,” Valens remarked.
“So just how good are these gladiators supposed to be?” Magnus asked.
“Supposedly they are the best fighters in the whole of the Empire,” Gavius answered.
“Really?” Artorius mused. “This I have got to see.”
“You mean you’ve never been to a gladiatorial match?” Valens asked.
“Never,” Artorius replied.
“I haven’t either,” Magnus said.
“I went once as a boy. My dad thought it would help make me strong,” Valens seemed a bit puzzled at the logic behind that. “Anyway, I thought they were quite the spectacle then.”