Pilate struck a sober tone and stood up, his wine glass raised, while Praxus and Valens helped prop him up. “To the Emperor, the Senate, and the people of Rome,” he slurred as the legionaries raised their glasses. “And most importantly to you, my brothers in the Twentieth Legion. Valeria!”
“Valeria!” the host of men answered. All quaffed their wine as a procurer and a group of fetching and elaborately dressed young women entered.
“Ah, here we are then!” Magnus said gleefully as he stepped gingerly down the steps and over to the procurer, a pouch of coins in his hand.
“Sir, make us proud!” a legionary shouted to Pilate, who put his arm around Artorius. The young decanus propped him up.
“If you forget how it’s supposed to work, just watch me and do what I do,” he whispered into Pilate’s ear.
The next morning Artorius came to the main gate to see his old friend off. There was quite the caravan of baggage carts, slaves, livestock, and various hangers-on. He had forgotten just how large the retinue of a tribune was. There was a body slave, an auger, two footmen, a cook, steward, and a young woman that Artorius was not certain as to whether or not she served a function or was merely for decoration. Pilate rode up cautiously on his horse. He looked to be severely hung over, something that made Artorius laugh to himself.
“How’s your head this morning?” he asked.
Pilate simply shrugged.
“Head hurts but my cock is sufficiently drained, so all is good. Tell me, do you always bite the young ladies on the neck?”
It was Artorius’ turn to shrug. “Sometimes,” he replied casually. “Hmm, leaving your mark I suppose.” Pilate said lightly, and then became somber. He stared at Artorius before addressing him again. “I’ll not forget you. I hope that if I ever need strong leaders at my side, you will not hesitate to heed my call.”
“I will always heed your call,” Artorius replied. “Just do not hesitate to ask.”
Pilate smiled and nodded in reply. “I got a letter today from another old school friend of ours. You remember Justus Longinus?” “Yes, I remember him,” Artorius nodded.
“He’s now an optio with the Sixth Legion, Ferrata, stationed near Caesarea on the Syrian-Judean border. At any rate, he’s been doing some type of liaison duty with the Praetorians and the city’s urban cohorts, and he’ll be in Rome for about another year. At least now I know I won’t be totally devoid of friends!”
Artorius smiled and then snapped to attention and saluted his childhood friend; a friend who had served with him in battle, through triumph and tragedy. Pilate returned the salute and signaled for the caravan to move out. As he rode out, he called out to Artorius over his shoulder. “I’ll be sure to check on your father. . as often as he’ll tolerate my company!”
Calvinus and the centurions leading the expedition had been voicing their concerns regarding Sacrovir to each other. Vitruvius found the situation to be rather amusing, given his history with the gladiator trainer. The men were on edge. This would be the first real action any of them had seen since the Arminius campaigns. Granted, it was all centurions leading the expedition; no legates with worries about political benefits or repercussions, nor would there be any of the inexperienced, and thereby incessantly irritating, tribunes getting in the way.
“Looking forward to meeting your old friend once again, Vitruvius?” Centurion Dominus asked sarcastically.
Vitruvius only snorted at the mock question.
“To tell the truth, I’m wondering whether or not Vitruvius should be taking part in parlay with Sacrovir,” commented Cordus, Commander of the Ninth Cohort.
Draco shook his head.
“Vitruvius’ history with Sacrovir is all the more reason for him to be seen,” he replied. “Sacrovir’s reaction may allow us to gauge his true intentions.”
“I agree.” Calvinus nodded. “When we link up with Sacrovir and the rest of the auxiliary forces, I want all centurions with me. I have no desire for any type of prolonged meetings with these people. However, we may have to play the gracious host if we are to glean any useful information from them.”
“What say you, Vitruvius?” Cordus asked. Up to this point, the muscle-bound centurion had been lounging quietly, sipping on wine, and eating beef cutlets that he found to his liking.
He took a long pull of his wine before answering. “To tell the truth, I’m rather looking forward to this,” he replied. He said no more as he waved a servant over to refill his wine and bring him some more beef.
Sacrovir elected to wear Greek military garb for his meeting with the Romans. In a show of support, Florus was dressed the same. He watched as the Romans were ushered in. All were centurions, judging by their uniforms and helmets, which each carried underneath his arm. One of the men stood out from the others, though of similar height as his fellows. In addition to being completely bald, he carried a copious amount of extra muscle on his chiseled frame. Sacrovir thought hard about where he had seen the man before, and then it dawned on him. He immediately started to sweat, his blood pressure rising. It was him, the man who had humiliated him of front of the entire population of Rome! Sacrovir’s jaw clenched, seething with hatred for a moment. Then he reached a revelation.
How convenient that I should use this rebellion as a means of exacting my revenge against Optio Vitruvius!
The lead centurion interrupted his thoughts. “Commander Sacrovir, I am Calvinus, Centurion Primus Pilus for the Twentieth Legion,” he said, extending his hand.
Sacrovir rose and graciously took it, though his palms were already sweating.
“Centurions Proculus, Agricola, and Cordus are my other cohort commanders.”
Sacrovir nodded at the other men and took his seat, his eyes never leaving Vitruvius. “We meet again, Centurion Vitruvius?” he asked coolly, but with a respectful air. “That is correct,” the Centurion replied. “It’s been a while, Sacrovir.”
“Indeed it has.” Being in the same room as this man who had cost him so much was insufferable. Still he persevered to remain cordial. Servants brought in trays bearing wine, ale, and various delicacies. “I do apologize that our last meeting was less than cordial. I admit I have lost many nights’ sleep agonizing over it.”
“I am sure you have,” Vitruvius replied politely, taking an apple and biting into it.
Both men’s gazes remained fixed on each other in a silent test of wills.
Florus became uncomfortable and decided to break the silence. “Centurion Calvinus, it is indeed an honor that you have graced us with your presence, not to mention your reinforcements. However, I feel I must reassure you that your legionaries will not be needed. Our forces will be more than able to handle these upstarts.” “Of that I have no doubt,” Calvinus replied. “That is why I only brought four cohorts instead of the entire legion.”
“Quite a responsibility for one of common birth,” Florus remarked. “Does this mean then, that you intend to fall under our command?”
Calvinus smirked at the remark as Cordus choked on his wine. Even though Sacrovir and Florus were Gallic, they were still Roman citizens, and nobles at that. Therefore, they were in a higher social standing than any of the legionaries present. Though Calvinus remained composed, Draco seethed at the remark.
“Leadership of men in battle is a heavy responsibility, regardless of birth!” he snapped.
Sacrovir smiled. Florus was becoming useful after all, getting a rise out of the Romans with his less than concealed insult. By not sending a single tribune or legate with their contingent, the Romans had negated all sense of political superiority and responsibility. He could have taken that as an insult himself, that the only men of rank the Romans had sent were centurions. Instead, he decided he would use it to his advantage.