Artorius and Praxus systematically started through the census roles for Avaricum. Praxus whistled quietly when he saw the amount of lands and wealth Alasdair’s family possessed.
“Can you believe this?” Praxus asked in a low voice. “The price for this one will be extreme.”
“Quite,” Artorius replied as he handed the documents to Macro, who then quietly read through them. He scribbled some notes, which he then showed to Flaccus and Camillus.
The optio and signifier nodded in agreement with their centurion’s assessment. Macro bore into both father and son with his piercing gaze.
“Your son has been found guilty of supporting rebellion against the Emperor, Senate, and people of Rome,” he said to Kavan. “In his mercy; the Emperor Tiberius Caesar has decreed that all prisoners of war be eligible for ransom, based on their family’s status and ability to pay.” It was the same spiel he had been giving all day, and yet there was no sense of monotony in his voice. “Your family holds Roman citizenship and is of the noble class of Gaul. Your status gives you a responsibility to the people. By allowing your son to be taken in by Sacrovir’s serpent tongue, you have failed in this responsibility. You have failed your people, and have disgraced your family and social class. By authority of Gaius Silius, Commanding Legate, your son’s ransom is set at one hundred talents. He is further prohibited from ever leaving the state around Avaricum without permission of the Roman censor, who he must appear before annually.”
Kavan closed his eyes and lowered his head as he heard the sentence. One hundred talents was a considerable sum, one that would cost him the vast majority of his lands, and require him to decimate his household staff, as well as his other servants.
“Such a ransom will cripple my family. .” he began. Macro slammed his hand down on the desk.
“This is not a negotiation!” he barked. “Your son has committed treason and, as such, should be executed like a common criminal! Be glad we have allowed him to live! Either pay the ransom or your son can join the slaves and thieves that are bound for the sulfur mines in Mauretania. Those are your only options.”
“Alright then,” Kavan replied, nodding slightly. “I will pay the ransom.”
As they were escorted away by a pair of legionaries, a horrifying scream came from two tables down, where Centurion Dominus sat. He held a particular loathing for the rebels and Artorius knew the ransom he demanded would be even more brutal. Silius had given little specifics as to how the sentencing should be conducted. All he had said was that he would rather they err on the side of severity rather than leniency, though he had stated that the ransoms demanded had to be within the ability of the prisoners and their families to pay. Artorius correctly deduced that the screams came from a young nobleman whose family had refused to pay his ransom.
“No! No! No!” the lad screamed in terror. “Father. . please, do not abandon me!”
The lad’s father exited the hall as the boy struggled against the legionaries who held him. As he was thrown to the floor, one of the soldiers drew his gladius and smashed him in the mouth with the pommel. The other legionary grabbed the boy roughly by the hair and proceeded to punch him repeatedly in the face.
“Hey!” Proculus shouted as he strode across the hall to where the boy now lay limp. “Don’t break him! He needs to be able to make the journey to Mauretania.”
Other young prisoners started to tremble in terror, realizing their fate if their fathers refused their ransoms. One urinated in his tunic, which brought a sharp cuff across the ear from one of his legionary handlers. Another passed out completely.
“Hey, Macro, tell me we don’t have to escort those bastards to Mauretania,” Camillus remarked.
Macro allowed himself a half grin and shook his head. “No, there are auxiliary troops coming up from Massilia. They will escort the slave traders to the sulfur mines in Africa.” “Pretty harsh sentence,” Artorius observed.
“Tell me about it,” Flaccus added. “I had to do an escort mission like that one time. If you lads ever plan on traveling to North Africa, don’t bother. It is inhospitable, and the climate insufferable. I got to take a tour of one of the mines when we got there. The foreman seemed to get some macabre sense of satisfaction from his job. It is brutal down there. You live, work, eat, and sleep underground. Most slaves don’t realize when they arrive that they have taken their last glimpse of the sun. Day and night become as one, and you lose all sense of time. I would imagine that many don’t survive even a year.”
“Tiberius wants to be able to balance mercy with justice and retribution,” Macro added. “He gives these people a chance at reparation, and if refused, we impose the harshest sentence we can on them.”
“This is much worse than being sent off to be a gladiator,” Camillus noted. “At least there you get to see the sun. Not to mention death probably comes quickly.”
“That and you are able to live with the hope of winning your freedom,” Artorius remarked. “These men are dead the moment they walk out of here.”
For two more days they continued in their hateful task of ransoming prisoners. Artorius could not even count how many they had processed. Two prisoners had been denied their ransoms and suffered the same fate as the lad they had watched being taken away screaming on the first day.
One man, they discovered, was a criminal, wanted for a variety of offenses that ranged from horse thievery to arson. This one had tried to attack Macro with his bare hands, bound as they were. Artorius and Flaccus had been quick enough to intercept the man, Artorius throwing him over the desk, knocking papers everywhere. The man then tried to bite into Artorius’ forearm as Flaccus repeatedly smashed him across the head with the pommel of his gladius. He then turned his weapon and went to stab the man when Artorius stayed his hand.
“Don’t grant this bastard a quick release by death,” he remarked.
Flaccus nodded and sheathed his weapon. After that incident, Macro made certain all prisoners were bound at the feet, as well as the hands.
That evening Artorius walked down to where Magnus and some of the others were dismantling the stockade. They were just going to tear it down, but then some of the legionaries had decided to use the timber to start a series of bonfires. Soldiers could be seen lounging in the glow of the flames, glad to be done with prisoners and rebellion. Artorius found Magnus roasting some type of meat on a long stick that he had stuck into the fire.
“What are you cooking?” he asked as Magnus smiled at him.
“Goat; I got it real cheap from a local herdsman on his way to the market. You want some?” He pointed to a mess tin that was piled high with cooked meat.
Artorius realized he had not eaten most of the day, and he was very hungry. He also shared many of the same tastes as Magnus.
“Thanks, it smells good.” He sat down on a fallen tree made into a bench and proceeded to eat some cooked goat, something he had never had before.
It was actually quite good. His Nordic friend had a knack for cooking fresh meat.
“Bloody hateful task,” he remarked as Magnus pulled his stick from the fire.
“I don’t know about that,” Magnus remarked. “I rather enjoy this type of cooking.”
“I meant the task I had to do, sitting on the sentencing boards!” Artorius replied, exasperated.
“Oh, that,” Magnus said with a dismissive wave. “I’m just glad this bloody rebellion is at an end. I heard Sacrovir killed himself and burned his estate over his head. Quite dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Quite,” Artorius replied. “I found it rather disturbing the number of nobles who refused to ransom their sons. Their lands and treasure meant more to them than their own flesh and blood.”
“Such men are driven blind by greed,” Magnus remarked as he turned his makeshift spit over and stepped away from the fire. “In their minds, sons can be replaced. By the way, I saw the sword you got off that dead kid. A fine weapon, that!”