“We have been tasked with providing support to your forces,” Calvinus said smoothly. “However, we will still act as an independent force. Our mission is to see to it that this rebellion does not spread further.”
Sacrovir listened, though his eyes never left Vitruvius. This meeting was a formality, nothing more. He knew the Romans were there to spy on him; hence, his reasoning for sacrificing the Andecavi and the Turani. Their defeat, in front of Roman eyes, would secure for Sacrovir the impression he needed to make. Just then, Taranis entered the room. He wore traditional Gallic garments, loose-fitting trousers and a tunic. He also wore an ornate cavalry sword on his hip.
“Ah, Taranis, my friend,” Sacrovir announced, standing up, “come, join us! This is Taranis, Chief of the Sequani. He will be leading our forces from the front, when the time comes.”
Taranis forced himself from sneering at the Romans and took a seat by Sacrovir and Florus. Taranis passionately hated the Romans, never allowing himself to forget the sufferings his people had endured under Caesar. The Romans continued to eat and drink, though all were uncomfortable with the situation. Only Vitruvius seemed to be enjoying himself.
“The Andecavi are by far the lesser threat,” Calvinus asserted. “I have sent word to Acilius Aviola, Commander of the Eighth Legion’s Eighth Cohort, stationed in Lugdunum. If the Sequani wish, they can link up with him there. The rest of us will mass against the Turani.”
“Yes, I had wondered when we were finally going to get some use out of those Roman troops,” Taranis said, his voice dripping with disdain. “That cohort has been leeching off the people of Lugdunum for the last three years. I will be glad to finally get some work out of them!”
“Easy there, old friend,” Sacrovir soothed. “Remember, the Romans are our friends and allies.”
“Not to mention conquerors,” Draco remarked in a low voice. If the Gauls heard him, they wisely kept their retorts to themselves.
Artorius watched as the auxiliaries conducted drill and maneuvers. Their weapons and armor varied greatly, though there was some semblance of order. Only a minority was actual auxiliaries, the rest looked to be a mix of gladiators and mercenaries. There was a man dressed in Greek armor, riding a magnificent charger back and forth in front of the formation, shouting orders.
The Roman cohorts were camped just outside the city walls, with their eastern rampart approximately a quarter mile from the auxiliary camp. Artorius and some of the others had gone over to watch their ‘allies’ and assess them.
“Looks like they’re using a reverse maniple formation,” Valens remarked. “Look at how they have got their heavy troops out front.” Indeed, the Gauls did seem to be in a basic three-line formation, only they kept their heavy troops in front.
“Quite the array of weapons they have,” Magnus observed. “They almost look like gladiators.”
“That’s because a large number of them are,” Artorius replied. “Apparently, Sacrovir has offered these men their freedom if they fight for him.”
“Fight for him, or fight for Rome?” Gavius asked, raising an eyebrow.
Artorius smirked knowingly. “Therein lies the great mystery,” he replied. “On the surface one would think that Sacrovir and Florus are, perhaps, attempting to better their social and political standings by suppressing this revolt. I’m not so certain.” “I don’t believe it for a second,” Magnus snorted. “The cost is too great for this to be a mere display of fidelity and usefulness. The Emperor may dismiss them completely, saying they were simply doing their duty as citizens. Sacrovir stands to lose a fortune here, whether his gladiators live or die.”
“Well, we’ll find out soon enough what their intentions are,” Artorius replied. “So those are the legionaries from the Rhine,” Radek snorted. “They don’t look so intimidating.”
Ellard gazed upon their faux-allies with trepidation. “Those men conquered the known world. I hope Sacrovir knows what he’s doing.” “Sacrovir is nothing but a fool, as is that idiot deputy of his, Florus,” Radek retorted. “That Spartan of his is completely mental as well. You, my friend, just need to worry about staying alive through all this.”
“I intend to,” Ellard replied. “I’ll give them a good enough showing against the Romans, then be done with this affair.”
Artorius was walking the perimeter of their camp that evening when he noticed a young legionary sitting off by himself, gazing at the setting sun. He was going to pay the man no mind when he recognized him as Legionary Felix Spurius of Praxus’ section. The lad had definitely improved his physique since recruit training. His paunch was nearly gone; his arms, chest, and legs filled out with a fair amount of muscle. As Artorius walked over to him, Spurius was immediately on his feet.
“Sergeant Artorius,” he acknowledged.
The decanus waved him to take his seat.
“Sit down,” he replied. “I just noticed you were off over here by yourself instead of over at the fires with your section mates.”
“I needed some time by myself,” Spurius replied. “May I speak frankly?”
Artorius nodded.
“Tomorrow will be my first action,” the legionary continued. “I am ashamed to admit this, but I’m afraid.” He closed his eyes, expecting a verbal thrashing from the man who had bludgeoned and chastised him throughout his training. He was perplexed by Artorius’ relaxed demeanor.
“What is it you are afraid of?” Artorius asked gently.
“I am afraid of being shown a coward, of not living up to what I promised myself I would do.”
“And what was it you promised yourself?”
“That I would expunge Spurius from my name. My name means ‘bastard.’ My father is ashamed of me.”
“And yet your family name, Felix, is a noble name; it means fidelity, and is a name you should be proud of.”
“My father is not proud of me,” Felix said bitterly. “Indeed, he is a nobleman. His two oldest sons, my brothers, are both patricians with promising careers. He only acknowledges my existence through the persistence of my mother. He signed my letter of introduction to allow me into the legions in order to be rid of me, nothing more.” He was now staring at the ground, his breathing coming hard through his nose as his pent up anger grew.
“What of your brothers?” Artorius asked.
Felix shrugged. “They were kind enough to me. There are vast differences in our ages, so I rarely saw them.” He took a deep breath and let out an audible sigh.
“Are you are afraid of being killed tomorrow?” Artorius asked, changing the subject.
The legionary lowered his eyes and nodded.
Artorius nodded in return. “So am I.”
Felix looked up at him surprised. At first he thought he had not heard the decanus correctly.
“I am going to let you in on a secret,” Artorius said. “All of us are afraid, though we do our best not to show it. We wonder if tomorrow our number will come up, will the gods choose to abandon us to butchery and murder. And you know what? It never changes; it never gets any better. No matter how many times I go into battle, it is the same every time. The same terror grips a man, knowing that tomorrow he may see his last sunrise, that his will be a battle for survival. Though once the first blow is struck, it all becomes instinctive. Your mind and your body become acutely aware of what they are supposed to do. Being afraid does not make you a coward. Not doing your duty does.”
“I suppose so,” Felix replied. “But why is someone like you afraid of going into battle? I watched you destroy the best men this legion has to offer during the tournament, and I hear you are one of the best close-combat fighters Rome has ever borne.”
Artorius gave a short, mirthless laugh at the young soldier’s remarks. “I will tell you something that someone, my mentor in fact, once told me regarding his own abilities. ‘I am not a god. The enemy still has a say in whether or not I live or die tomorrow; but more importantly, so do the men on my left and right.’ Protect the men next to you, as they will protect you. For when we fight together, we survive.”