“Well, this doesn’t look bad,” Magnus remarked as he gazed at the interior.
“No, not bad at all,” Valens replied, setting down his carrying pack next to one of the bunks.
Artorius set his gear down next to a bunk at the back of the room, where there was a desk and chair for his use. “I think we will make do just fine,” he said with a smile as he lay down on his bunk. Lugdunum was a rather luxurious spa town, and Artorius knew he would enjoy this assignment immensely. Indeed, the men of the Eighth Legion seemed heartbroken to be leaving.
Indus and Silius both stood before the Emperor, members of the First and Twentieth Legions on hand, along with Indus’ entire regiment. Vast numbers of civilians had arrived as well, many of whom had never even seen their Emperor, aside from his image on coins and statues. Tiberius took a deep breath as he gazed at the sight. Being around such men invigorated him; such manliness had defined his life for so many years. In truth, there had been no need for him to even come. The rebellion had been crushed almost as soon as Rome had been made aware of it. Yet Tiberius had used the opportunity to visit the legions. The First and Twentieth had both been under his command at one time, and he felt a certain bond with these men. While he was in Rome he had to live with Senators and Nobles who amounted to little more than old women; but these, these were men.
“Commander Julius Indus, come forward,” the Emperor commanded, his voice carrying across the parade field outside Augustodunum.
Indus stepped onto the raised dais where the Emperor and Drusus stood. Drusus then handed Tiberius a simple crown made of oak leaves, which the Emperor placed upon Indus’ head.
“For your loyalty, courage, and impeccable savvy in battle,” Tiberius began, “you are awarded the Civic Crown. Your actions have saved the lives of countless Roman citizens.” He then turned to Drusus, who handed him an ornate scroll which Tiberius started to read from. “In recognition of your superior leadership, fidelity, and service to the Empire, the Treveri cavalry regiment shall, from this day forth, be forever known as Indus’ Horse. As this name brings with it no small amount of honor, Indus’ Horse will always be a regiment made up of only the finest cavalrymen.” He then handed the scroll to Indus, who took it and bowed low before the Emperor.
Silius then came forward with a magnificent standard. It bore a red cloth banner, emblazed with the image of a black horse with the words Indus Equus, Fidelis Victrix or Indus’ Horse, Fidelity and Victory.
“I am deeply honored, Caesar,” he said.
Tiberius shook his head. “No,” he replied, “the honor is mine to be able to bestow this upon you.” With that, he stepped back and saluted Indus. His face beaming, Indus returned the salute before turning to face the crowds. His men immediately broke into a frenzy of howls and cheers for their commander, chanting his name over and over. Even the legionaries gave a loud series of ovations for their friend and ally, as did the crowd of civilians. No title, award for valor, or accolade from the Senate could ever compare with the honor the Emperor had just bestowed upon him. In a sense, he had been given immortality; for in the years to come, even long after he had crossed over to the afterlife, there would always be Indus’ Horse.
Life had been hectic for Pontius Pilate now that he was back in Rome. His future father-in-law had wanted to see him before he even had a chance to get settled. Apparently he had been planning a special “welcome home” banquet for the Tribune for some time. Though his betrothed Claudia was in Gaul with her sister, this did not stop the elder Proculus from following through on a massive celebration to welcome Pilate home. This was immediately followed by another banquet held by the Praetorians as a means of acknowledging him into their ranks. The Emperor himself had attended, and it was the first time Pilate had ever met Tiberius in person.
Their meeting had been cordial enough, though Pilate found he was rather intimidated in the presence of the Emperor. Even when Tiberius took the time to congratulate Pilate on his posting and express his utmost confidence in him, he could not help but feel as if he was being tested; that Tiberius was scrutinizing him, trying to find fault in him. Perhaps that was just his way.
Pilate found the Praetorians to be a different lot. Most viewed themselves as being of a better class than those serving in the legions. This was true in some ways; the Praetorians were the Emperor’s personal bodyguards and as such were paid significantly better than their brother legionaries. The premise was that the Praetorians were the elite of the Roman Army, selected for their ability as fighting men. While Pilate did not doubt that the men in the Praetorians were talented, he wondered just how many were hardened veterans and not merely from influential families.
The mines came into view as the caravan made its way into the dusty outcropping of rock formations. Radek gave a wicked sneer over towards a young boy who was whimpering in the corner of their cage. The lad was sick with a fever and trembling badly. Radek cursed his luck that his injuries had prevented him from escaping during their slave drivers’ botched attempts to relieve their carnal lust on some of the young nobles. His wounds had healed, though he would never walk correctly again. Not that it mattered, with a little luck he would be dead within a month. He leaned over and grabbed the sickly youth by the thigh.
“Welcome to your new home,” he said mockingly.
The lad just looked up at him, eyes distant. “Don’t worry my poppet, you and I will have enough time to grow close before these places consume us…really close.”
The boy’s eyes grew wide in terror, though he was too weak to even protest. Radek let out a loud guffaw, only to succumb to a harsh coughing fit. The butt of a spear rapped him on the back of the head through the cage.
“Quiet in there!” an auxiliary shouted at him.
Radek then leaned back and stared at the bright sun that shone through the bars. “Take a good look at the sun, lads,” he said in a hoarse voice, “for it is the last time any of us will ever see her.”
Chapter XIX: Into the Shadows
Artorius opened the window of their barracks flat and stretched his arms overhead as the morning breeze caressed him. After a deep breath he rested his hands on the sill. He gazed upon the city, which was just starting to come awake. His flat looked over the city’s lower aqueduct, which led into the forum. He watched as an ornate litter made its way into the slowly filling markets. Over his shoulder he heard Magnus let out a rather loud and obnoxious yawn.
“So where to today?” the Norseman asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
The section was tasked with ‘city patrol’ that day; a term that was vague at best. Proculus’ only stipulation was that sections on patrol duty make their presence known throughout the city, thereby making the populace feel secure. Lugdunum had its own urban police, who were little more than hired men armed with clubs tasked with keeping the peace. The sight of legionaries within the cities gave the citizens confidence and a sense of ease.
“I think we’ll hit the forum this morning,” Artorius replied, his gaze still fixed on the litter. “Looks like we’ve got some patrician guests, We’d better make them feel at home.”
“Hmm,” Magnus replied, his thoughts elsewhere.
Artorius had moved his bunk and desk into the rear room of the flat where the section stored its weapons and kit. The rooms were significantly larger than those of a legionary barracks, With a little rearranging, Artorius was able to have his own room with a relative sense of privacy. His soldiers lived in the other room and were able to spread their bunks out so as not to have to stack them on top of each other.