“I can,” Indus replied. “If we are to keep the initiative, we will have to move fast. Can your men be ready to move tonight, as well?”
“I will have them ready to ride in an hour,” Calvinus said dryly. He then snapped his fingers, summoning his aide. “Fetch Centurion Aemilius. Tell him to gather up thirty of his best riders and be ready to move in an hour.”
“Yes, sir,” the young legionary saluted as he headed out the door.
Indus left with him, heading back to his mount. As Artorius moved to follow him, Calvinus noticed him for the first time.
“Sergeant Artorius,” he said, “I didn’t even notice you there.”
“Sir.” Artorius didn’t know what to say. He felt awkward in the master centurion’s presence.
Artorius’ brother, Metellus had served under Calvinus in the Seventeenth Legion years before. At Teutoburger Wald, Metellus died saving the lives of Calvinus and a pair of legionaries. Calvinus gave the impression he felt like he owed Metellus a debt that could never be repaid, yet he wished to atone for that debt through Metellus’ brother.
As the master centurion, Calvinus’ power within the legion was immense. While technically subordinate to the senatorial legate and chief tribune, the centurion primus pilus was by far the most influential man in any legion, with the power to make or break those under his command. Artorius vehemently resented the idea of using the primus pilus to gain favor or promotion. Such politics ran rampant in the Roman Army, and it always turned his stomach. He would stand on his own merits or not at all.
“You’ve gained quite the reputation as of late,” Calvinus observed.
Artorius allowed himself a small smile, knowing Calvinus was referring to the recent Legion Champion Tournament.
“All I did was bludgeon a few oafs who were out seeking personal glory,” he said lightly.
“One of those oafs was Centurion Draco,” he replied coldly.
Artorius grimaced, realizing his blunder. “My apologies, sir,” he replied. “I meant no disrespect.” Calvinus snorted. “Draco was, indeed, an oaf in thinking that he could best you in close combat. He is one of the most feared tacticians I have ever witnessed, and his skills in individual battle are impressive. However, he was outmatched by you before the fight even began.”
Artorius looked perplexed.
“Let me put it to you this way; the Legion Champion of the First Germanica was given an invite to challenge you,” Calvinus continued. “He refused. So did the Champion of the Second Augusta. Fact is, Artorius, you’ve gathered a bit of a reputation for being the most feared close combat fighter in the entire Rhine Army.”
“There is still one who is better,” Artorius countered, looking away.
Calvinus shook his head. “He disagrees with you,” the master centurion remarked, knowing Artorius was speaking of Vitruvius. “He told me at the tournament he could never have mauled those men the way you did. He said that you have grown far beyond what he taught you.” Artorius sensed Calvinus did not merely wish to exchange pleasantries regarding the tournament. He looked him hard in the eye before replying.
“Sir, does anyone besides Centurion Macro know of our connection through my brother?”
“No, why do you ask?” Calvinus was taken aback by Artorius’ sudden change in conversation.
“Because it is better that no one ever knows. I know you feel you owe my family a debt. But fact is, sir, I am not my brother, and you are not in debt to me. I will make my own way in the legion, not have someone make it for me.”
“It is true I feel a certain amount of debt for what Metellus did. I watched him die, knowing that it could just as easily have been me. I appreciate what you have said. However, I will do this still, I am going to keep an eye out for you.
“Artorius, your reputation has the potential to cause animosity. Many have noticed that your star is on the rise, or at least it will be in a couple of years. Without political support, or worse if you should garner political dissension, your potential may never come to fruition. Be that as it may, I will respect your wishes. None will ever know of the connection we have through your brother, nor will that ever grant you any favor or special treatment from me.
“I was going to ask if you would be interested in transferring over to become my aid de camp. I know the strength of your intellect rivals your sheer physical power, and I could use a man of your talents. But, I see that you belong on the line, leading legionaries into battle. Dismissed, sergeant.”
Artorius saluted and then left. He felt foolish for having so blatantly turned down the master centurion’s implied offer to act as his patron. Such sponsorship would almost guarantee his rise to optio and then to centurion, in short order. But he knew that his conscience would never have allowed it. He suspected Calvinus knew this as well. He sensed the master centurion was testing him. If so, then Artorius knew he had passed.
Piso was dead. Tiberius’ heart was heavy when he received the news. Rather than allow the trial to run its course, he had elected to take his own life. Tiberius read the letter Piso left, addressed to him.
Crushed by a conspiracy of my foes, and the odium excited by a lying charge, since my truth and innocence find no place here, I call the immortal gods to witness that towards you, Caesar, I have lived loyally, and with like dutiful respect towards your mother. And I implore you to think of my children, one of whom, Cneius is in way implicated in my career, whatever it may have been, seeing that all this time he has been at Rome, while the other, Marcus Piso, dissuaded me from returning to Syria. Would that I had yielded to my young son rather than he to his aged father! And therefore, I pray the more earnestly that the innocent may not pay the penalty of my wickedness. By forty-five years of obedience, by my association with you in the consulate, as one who formerly won the esteem of the Divine Augustus, your father, as one who is your friend and will never hereafter ask a favor, I implore you to save my unhappy son.2
“And yet not a word about his wife,” Sejanus noted.
Tiberius snorted. “She abandoned him, in spite of saying that she would follow him to whatever end,” the Emperor replied. “Now she goes to trial separately. Livia has asked me to see to it that she is spared.” Sejanus raised an eyebrow. “Sparing the murderess of her own grandson? That will induce the mob’s ravings even more so.” Tiberius shot an angry glare at his praetorian prefect. “If Livia has asked for Plancina’s life to be spared, then she has a reason for it. Perhaps the wife and the sons were innocent after all.” “Forgive me, Caesar, if I have my doubts.”
Sejanus candor was a relief to Tiberius, even when it offended him. If only the Senate were made up of men who had the courage to tell their minds to the Emperor!
“The people are convinced of her guilt, I know this. I have had my informants scribing notes on what the people are actually saying. The following speech was given in the forum just yesterday. Quite an eloquent speech, I must say. Shall I read it to you?”
Tiberius grimaced and nodded.
Sejanus then proceeded to read:
“So it was the duty of a grandmother to look a grandson’s murderess in the face, to converse with her and rescue her from the Senate. What the laws secure on behalf of every citizen had to Germanicus alone been denied. The voices of a Vitellius and Veranius had bewailed a Caesar, while the emperor and Augusta had defended Plancina. She might as well now turn her poisonings, and her devices which had proved so successful, against Agrippina and her children, and thus sate this exemplary grandmother and uncle with the blood of a most unhappy house.”3
He rolled up the scroll when he was done and looked at the Emperor expectantly.
A half smirk crossed the Emperor’s face. “If Plancina were to turn her poisonings on Agrippina,” Tiberius stated coldly, “she may very well do the Empire a service.”