At around midnight, Proculus gave the order to halt. They were still deep in the woods, and there was no room for them to set up a proper marching camp. Most of the legionaries elected to either sleep on the road, or just off to the side on the grass. Sentries paced up and down the lines, making certain no one intruded upon them. Indus’ cavalry had stayed with the Third Cohort to provide extra security, though Indus himself had ridden back with a handful of men to report back to Calvinus.
Artorius had just sat down on a patch of trampled grass when he noticed Centurion Macro standing over him. Immediately he came to his feet. “Sir,” he said, standing rigid.
“At ease, sergeant. Let’s take a walk.” Without waiting for a reply, Macro started walking down the road.
Artorius was quickly at his side. When they were out of earshot of the sentries, Macro stopped and turned to face the young decanus.
“You did well today,” he said. Artorius saw the consternation on his face; almost as if Macro were uncomfortable talking with him.
“We all did well today, sir,” he said.
The centurion shook his head. “Not all of us,” he said. “Instead of reforming the century after we secured the wagons, I became fixated on them. Thoughts of plunder became my focus; so relieved I was that we had succeeded in driving the rebels out of their encampment. Had it not been for your actions and ability to make decisions in the heat of the moment, those rebels could have caught our entire century off guard and inflicted many needless casualties. You saved many lives today; to say nothing of you and your men putting an end to that vile bastard Florus.” “Well, actually he put an end to himself,” Artorius corrected, a wry smile on his face. He became sober when he saw Macro’s expression unchanged. “Sir, I reacted the way any soldier of Rome would have. The enemy was coming at us, I grabbed whoever was available and held them long enough for you to bring up the rest of the century.”
“It should never have come to that,” Macro remarked. “The battle was not yet decided, and I knew better than to allow the men to fall into complacency.”
“No,” Artorius replied, shaking his head. “All of us knew better. But we recovered and routed the enemy.”
“That you did,” Macro replied, allowing a half smile. “I’ve already spoken with Proculus and he agrees that your section deserves to be recognized for what you did today. He concurred with my assessment that had you not reacted so quickly to the threat, many of our men would have fallen before we had a chance to reform. You have done well.”
Broehain skulked through the shadows of the trees. The moon shone brightly, as if the gods themselves were trying to help the Romans find him. The light glinted off the breastplate he carried. Florus may have been a pompous fool, yet Broehain still felt a certain kinship to the slain nobleman. His instincts told him that he would be the only one returning to Sacrovir; the rest having fled into the hills, where they would stay until they felt it was safe to return home.
Slowly he made his way up the hill. The slope was steep and the breastplate a burden, but still he persevered. He knew he had to stay off the roads; no doubt they were swarming with Roman soldiers. In reality, he had no idea where the legionaries had come from or how many there had been. He had been in the midst of the battle with Indus’ cavalry when their army started fleeing around him. He was fortunate enough to have made it away from the fray as the Romans routed the Turani once again. Broehain was shamed by what had transpired. Twice now his people had been surprised and decimated by the Romans. Even if none of his men continued to fight, he knew he had to. He would avenge his people; alone if need be.
Artorius unlaced the straps on his armor and felt a surge of relief as the weight came off him. As he lay down with his head against his pack, he could not help but think what he would do with his portion of the captured gold. At the same time he was worried that he may not get a chance to spend it. After all, once they returned they would have Sacrovir’s main force to deal with. And when that time came, there would be no surprises. They would have to face Sacrovir in the open, badly outnumbered.
The die rolled ‘Venus,’ he thought to himself as he drifted off to sleep. I only hope we can cast it again.
Chapter X IV: The Noble Youth of Gaul
The great hall of the Augustodunum University was crowded with nobles, as well as Sacrovir’s top men. When word reached the various nobles that their sons had been taken by Sacrovir, they swarmed angrily on Augustodunum. Sacrovir lounged on a raised dais, his bodyguards in a line to his front. He was resting his head in his hand as he listened to the mob of noblemen, his peers, as they cursed his name.
“This is an outrage!” a nobleman named Lennox shouted. “You dare to come here and take our sons as hostages!”
“Your sons are not hostages, but rather my guests,” Sacrovir said in a slow and steady voice. “Many of them have flocked to my banner of freedom.”
“Your freedom is a death sentence to our sons!” another noble named Kavan stated.
“Legionary forces are heading this way, even as we speak,” Lennox continued. “Do you really think you have a chance against the Rhine Army?”
“Two legions are all the Romans are sending against us,” Sacrovir answered. “I already know who they are and who they have brought with them. With your sons fighting for me, I have the Romans outnumbered nearly four to one. We will roll right over them and take this province as our own!”
“Vercingetorix had the Romans outnumbered as well,” Kavan remarked, “you should remember what they did to him!”
“Vercingetorix became overzealous and blundered at the last,” Sacrovir retorted sharply. “My men, and your sons in particular, are much better equipped to fight the Romans than he was. You speak of the past, of Gaul’s defeats by Rome; I speak of the future and of victory! Your sons are the Noble Youth of Gaul, an iron force that will break the oppression of Rome!”
There were a few cheers at this from the young “guests.”
“My son is but a boy,” Lennox pleaded. “You have filled his head with tales of a glory that does not exist. .”
“Wrong!” Sacrovir boomed as he slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair and stood up. “I have filled your son’s head with that which you have denied him! You, the noblemen of Gaul, have forgotten your heritage and the virtues of the Gallic people.” He began pacing across the dais. “Instead you look to Rome to give you the scraps off their tables, for that is all they give us. We are of the same social standing as those within the senatorial class, and yet they deny us the most basic rights. I have cast off my Roman citizenship, as have your sons. If the fathers will not reclaim what is theirs by right, then I look for strength in their sons!” With that, he turned and stormed out the back of the hall. Guards prevented any from pursuing him further.
As Lennox and scores of nobles walked out into the daylight, he clutched at his pounding head. His heart filled with anxiety. He was surprised to see his son waiting for him. Farquhar was leaning against a pillar, his arms folded across his chest. Lennox found his breath coming rapidly as he grabbed his son by the shoulders. Farquhar did not return the embrace.