“Indeed,” Artorius acknowledged. “I didn’t want some jackal in the rear taking it for his own collection, or that of the legion for that matter. It is too fine a weapon to remain so discarded, collecting dust.”
“So you took it for your own collection?” Magnus interjected. He raised his hands in resignation as Artorius stared at him. “Hey, I’m not judging you. Just making a small jest is all. I mean, you killed the lad; the spoils of war are yours. I just wish I had found something nice and shiny to take back with me. You got that sword, and Decimus got Florus’ helmet.” He gave a short laugh. “Now that was a prize!”
“Would your father have ransomed you?” Artorius asked abruptly, bringing them back to the original subject.
“Sure,” Magnus replied with a casual shrug. “Of course, he would have beaten me to death as soon as he got me home! I think I would rather deal with the sulfur mines in Mauretania than face my father like that!”
Artorius had to laugh at his friend’s dark humor. He then thought about what Flaccus said about the mines. Such a place would break any man, no matter how strong he was in mind and body. One could only go on for so long, once all hope was lost.
The forum of Augustodunum was a swarm of activity. Proculus knew the auctions would bring every Roman citizen with a talent to his name within a hundred miles. He recognized a few centurions and tribunes who were looking to increase their wealth and lands on the cheap. Silius himself was overseeing the auctioning of Gallic estates, having already procured a prime piece of real estate for himself. The Legate stood behind a podium, a gavel in his hand. There were other auctions going on as well. Proculus noticed Vitruvius standing with his arms folded, deep in thought.
“Vitruvius, old boy!” he stated with a friendly smack on the shoulder.
His lesser centurion nodded in reply.
“Here to take part in the raping of the Gallic nobility?” Proculus asked. He could not help but contain his excitement. His wife Vorena would love nothing more than to have a country estate to escape from the confines of the cities. “So what are you in the market for?”
“Slaves,” Vitruvius replied. “I figured I can buy some decent stock really cheap and turn them over for a profit when we get home. I may even pick out one or two to keep for myself. It seems the fashion for a centurion to have his own personal attendants.”
“So will you be looking for something practical, or maybe a little more seductive?” Proculus asked with a wry grin.
Vitruvius smirked at the question.
“A manservant will be practical, of course. And if I were to find something that could bring some relief to my loins-not very likely, judging from this lot-she’d still better be a damn good cook!”
Proculus laughed and shook his head.
“Yes, and I see that some of the men from the ranks have pooled their resources together to try and acquire themselves a slave or two. Well, if they want someone to clean out the section bays and cook their meals for them, so be it.”
“Quite,” Vitruvius said. “So what about you, you’re not in the market for more slaves are you?”
“I’m good on slaves,” Proculus replied with a shake of his head. “I’m after land. I still have quite a bit of my winnings left from your little gladiatorial exhibition.”
Vitruvius snorted. He found it odd that everyone but him had made a fortune of his killing Sacrovir’s prize gladiator. At the time he thought it would be tempting the fates too much if he were to have bet on himself.
Proculus left his friend to his business and walked over to where Silius was getting ready to start to the land auction. He was determined to get Vorena that country estate. He thought perhaps he would pick up a pair of horses as an extra. He also knew they would need someone to run the estate while Vorena was in Rome. He then remembered Diana.
Diana Procula was a distant relative of his; his father and her grandfather being second cousins. Whereas her grandfather was a very influential Roman magistrate, Proculus’ father had been a simple stone mason; and he himself was a mere soldier who had risen from the ranks. Still, he and Diana had shared a close bond over the years. He was nearly old enough to be her father, and as such had become a type of paternal figure to both her and her sister.
Diana’s sister, Claudia, was in a long-term engagement with the Tribune Pontius Pilate; a good match for both families. Not that Proculus had faired too poorly in the marriage game. After all, his wife was the granddaughter of the famous Centurion Lucius Vorenus, who had distinguished himself during Julius Caesar’s Gallic campaigns. As a boy, Proculus had lived to hear stories about the man that Caesar himself had made famous in his Commentaries. Even after more than seventy years since the end of the Gallic conquest, the exploits of Lucius Vorenus and Titus Pullo still set the standard for valor expected of a Roman soldier, particularly those of the Centurionate. Centurion Pullo had had the misfortune of siding with Pompey Magnus during the civil war; and though he was later pardoned, he slipped into obscurity. On the other hand, his friend and rival Vorenus had retired as Centurion Primus Pilus of Legio XI. Vorenus’ son, Lucius the Younger, had been able to channel his father’s fame into boosting his own career which helped him to later become Tribune of the Plebs.
“The auction will now begin!” Silius’ bellow and the bang of the gavel brought Proculus back to the present. He took a deep breath and listened to the details of the first estate being auctioned. He was determined to find a country home befitting the granddaughter of Vorenus!
Artorius was surprised that he had been singled out to be decorated. He had rallied enough troops to repel a horde of Turani rebels; however, he did not feel as if he had done anything extraordinary. Lives may have been saved, but they were not by his actions alone.
“Sergeant Artorius,” Macro’s shouting interrupted his thoughts, “Legionaries Magnus, Praxus, Decimus, Valens, and Carbo. . post!” The century was in parade formation in the otherwise empty square at the Augustodunum University. The section stepped out of formation and marched up to their centurion. Next to Macro, Optio Flaccus stood bearing several ornate embossed discs bearing the profile image of a man wearing a Greek helmet. They were about palm size, the same as a campaign medal.
“The elimination of an enemy of Rome brings distinct honor to the men responsible,” Macro said. “Julius Florus was a traitor to the Gauls, and to the Senate and people of Rome. His death saved countless lives and stifled further rebellion. Therefore, by order of Gaius Silius, Legate and Governor General of Germania Inferior, you men are awarded the Florian Crest. The Florian Crest is a special award given to those responsible for Julius Florus’ demise. Let all bear witness to your initiative, determination, and valor.” Macro then nodded to Optio Flaccus who handed him the medals. Macro handed one to Artorius with his left hand, clasping his right with the other.
“You and your men are a tribute to the Valeria Legion,” he said to Artorius in a low voice. As soon as the last medal was awarded, Macro stepped back and rendered a salute to the legionaries, who returned the courtesy to their centurion.
The Second Century erupted in a serious of voracious cheers and accolades. Besides Artorius and his section, Julius Indus and his two cavalrymen were also awarded the Florian Crest. It was, indeed, a distinct honor that only nine men would ever receive.
Kiana agreed to ride with Alasdair on his journey home. His father had had to stay in Augustodunum in order to see to the formalities of paying the ransom. As they rode in silence down the road, they saw a slave caravan moving down the perpendicular road heading south.