“Lost! All is lost!” Belenus wailed.
Sacrovir fought to maintain his composure, even as the rest of his entourage seemed to be falling apart.
“What happened to this mighty army you supposedly trained to fight like Spartans?” one commander fumed at Heracles.
Sacrovir stepped between the men as Heracles looked to be going for his sword.
“Enough,” he said in a calm voice. “We have suffered a setback, nothing more. Our army fled, yes. But the majority survived to fight another day.”
“You forget something,” Belenus retorted. “The Noble Youth, the sons of our noblemen. They fought to the last, because they had nowhere to run to. With so many of their sons slain, their fathers will hardly forgive us for leading them to annihilation.”
Sacrovir spat on the ground. “I do not need the bloody nobles,” he cursed. “They are little more than lapdogs to Rome! I used their sons to keep them in line, that’s all. What I need is for my army to pull itself together and regroup! We still have the Romans badly outnumbered. They think we are beaten, but I tell you we can still overwhelm them if we can reform our minions!”
Indus rode alongside Broehain. The former rebel leader took them deep into the hills. They were only sparsely populated with trees, mostly shrubs and tall grass. There were also no trails to speak of. Centurions Calvinus and Aemilius accompanied them, along with elements of the legion’s cavalry. As they came around the right-hand side of a hill, they saw the land open up to a flat plain, surrounded by the hills. There was a grove of trees to the left, and a large manor house on the right, surrounded by a short wall. Behind the manor was what looked to be at least a score of blacksmith shops.
“Well, there’s something you don’t see every day,” Aemilius observed.
“Looks like he’s had every available blacksmith in the entire region working for him.” Calvinus said, pointing to the structures behind the manor.
Broehain nodded in agreement. “That is where Sacrovir manufactured all of his arms and armor,” he replied. “It is also where those of us closest to him would meet.” “Let’s go say hello then, shall we?” Aemilius remarked.
“The Romans are coming!” a servant shouted, as he burst into the hall where Sacrovir and his men were meeting.
“What?” he asked alarmed. “That's impossible!” As Sacrovir ran out of the hall, Heracles slinked slowly towards the back. The door had been left half open, and he silently disappeared.
Sacrovir stood on top of the wall surrounding his estate as a contingent of Roman horsemen started to encircle the complex. He bit his lip as he recognized both Indus and Broehain riding with a pair of centurions. He lowered his eyes to the ground in contemplation before raising them to the sky. He took a deep breath as he made up his mind.
His rebellion was over, thwarted by betrayal and the lack of true support from the masses. Very well, if it was truly over, then it would end on his terms, not the Romans'!
“Summon all the household staff,” he ordered the servant as he returned to the great hall.
“What is happening?” Belenus asked as Sacrovir returned.
“It is over,” he replied. Sacrovir then faced all of his companions. “The Romans have found us. I am sorry to have led you to this end, gentlemen. But let the Romans know we died fighting for what we believe in; for the rights they have denied us from birth, for our heritage that they stripped from us; for the freedom from oppression and fiscal servitude.” He then turned to his servants who gathered behind him.
“All of you are now free,” he said. “Let the Romans bear witness to your freedom, and do not allow yourselves to be denied. My last order is for you to set fire to this mansion, that it may not be used by the Romans for profit!”
Calvinus was puzzled to see a plume of smoke rising from inside the estate. He was further perplexed when he saw a large group of men and women in servants’ clothing walking out the main gate and walking towards them. He then rode forward with Indus and Aemilius, stopping in front of the group of slaves.
“What has happened?” he asked.
An older man at the front of the group addressed him. “It is over, honorable centurion,” he replied. “Sacrovir lies dead, slain by his own hand. His closest companions died with him, and per his last request, the mansion now burns over their heads. Our freedom was granted, and we ask that you honor this.” “You are in no position to ask us anything!” Aemilius snapped. “Your master was a traitor to his people, and as such I piss on any final requests of his!”
“You will not be returned to slavery,” Calvinus replied, a cold look in his eyes.
The former slaves looked troubled and frightened by his demeanor. After Aemilius’ rebuke, they feared the centurions.
Calvinus saw their anxiety and explained. “Each of you will be interrogated to validate your story of Sacrovir’s demise. You will provide any and all details of his rebellion and any accomplices who might still be alive. Prove yourselves useful, and I will honor your freedom. Play us false, and I will not sell you back into slavery; rather I will break every last one of you myself and have what’s left fed to wild dogs!”
Chapter XV II: Reparation and Retribution
The prisoners were arranged by class and social status. Each was then brought before a group of Roman officers. With the sheer number of prisoners needing to be tallied and ransomed, Silius had granted all officers of the rank of centurion and above authority to pass sentence on his behalf. He and the tribunes would deal with the leaders of the rebellion. Most of these men would either be executed or at best enslaved. Silius knew he could not delegate the authority to pass capital sentencing.
Centurions sat behind rickety desks with their options, as well as any other officers that they saw fit to include in the interrogation. Macro had designated Flaccus and Camillus to sit on the sentencing board, with Camillus acting as his scribe.
He had wanted to include Statorius as well; however, the tesserarius had been tasked with supervising the stockade, as well as the marshaling of prisoners to their designated interrogators. In a surprise move, Macro tasked Artorius with filling in for Statorius.
Praxus was on hand as well, helping to root through the piles of paperwork that needed to be sorted. As each man came forward, he was required to state his full name and birthplace. Praxus and Artorius would then sift through the census rolls, which, in addition to tracking the population of the province, also logged each family’s wealth and social status.
The Roman bureaucracy was thorough in its tracking of subjects within the Empire. From this information Macro would determine the ransom of each prisoner. Most of the ‘common’ prisoners were accompanied by their spouses, siblings, or other relatives. The nobles, being as most had not yet reached the age of maturity, were accompanied by their fathers or patriarchs. If a man could not provide a viable family name that appeared on the census roles, he was presumed to be an escaped slave or criminal and was condemned to slavery.
At close to midday, Artorius saw a prisoner escorted to them that he immediately recognized. It was Alasdair, the young man whose friend Artorius had slain. His father, Kavan, was with him, his hand never leaving his son’s shoulder. Though he pitied the boy, it did not deter Artorius from his sense of justice. Alasdair was the first noble prisoner they had had to deal with, and he knew the price of his ransom would be severe.
“Name and place of birth,” Macro demanded.
“Alasdair, son of Kavan,” the lad replied quietly. “I am from the city of Avaricum.”