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                                                 Legionary on the March

The Following sneak peak is the first chapter from my upcoming novel, "Soldier of Rome: The Sacrovir Revolt." Look for it in the spring of 2008.

Chapter I: Changes in the Ranks

Fortress of Legio XX Valeria, Cologne, Germania

February, A.D. 20

It was a brisk winter morning; the sun cast its light on the semi-frozen ground. Snow crunched underfoot as the two legionaries eyed each other. Artorius and Vitruvius had faced each other on the sparring field on the first Thursday of every month for several years now. Originally they had sparred once a week, but Vitruvius’ duties as the Century’s Optio, combined with the sheer beating Artorius’ body was suffering, had caused the men to cut back their bouts. Artorius was baffled that in five years he had not once defeated his adversary and mentor. He swore that Vitruvius was not even human. Both men wore a standard-issue legionary helmet, while wielding a practice gladius and wicker shield. The weight of these was twice that of service weapons, though both men hardly noticed.

            Artorius was a strong young man of twenty-two years and had been in the army for five. He was of average height, though his frame was massive, wrought with powerful muscle; his biceps threatening to tear through the sleeves of his tunic. His brutal physical strength and skill in battle were becoming legendary. He had learned his lessons so well from his mentor that he had made a name for himself not just within his Century and Cohort, but within the entire Legion. Many had challenged him to similar sparring sessions, only to be dispatched like amateurs. Even soldiers from the elite First Cohort held a large amount of respect for the young legionary. Only one man potentially stood between him and the title of Legion Champion. Optio Vitruvius had held that title for so long that it had fallen into disuse; there was no one in the entire Twentieth who could come close to defeating him.

            Vitruvius was of similar build to Artorius; though he was slightly taller, he looked to be as muscular. He possessed the quickness and agility of a cat, and was able to wield his gladius with terrifying speed and skill. Unlike most veterans, his body was devoid of any noticeable scars from battle. Secretly he hoped that Artorius would best him someday. That would show that his young protégé had learned his lessons, and that there was nothing left to teach him.

            More than three years before, during the triumphal games in Rome that followed the defeat of Arminius and the Germanic tribes, Vitruvius had killed a gladiator that many considered to be invincible. He had dispatched the man with such contemptuous ease that it was still the talk of the Legion to that day; to say nothing of the enormous wagers won by the friends and associates of Vitruvius. Indeed, Artorius had been brave enough to wager an entire stipend of seventy-five denarii-a third of his yearly wages-and had walked away with a considerable sum following Vitruvius’ victory. The gladiator’s owner, a weasel of a Gaul named Julius Sacrovir, had lost a large quantity of his fortune that day. He had left Rome screaming curses towards Vitruvius, as well as the entire Roman army.

            “By the gods, but it is cold!” Artorius muttered as he blew hard into his hands; he despised being cold. Even five years on the Rhine frontier had failed to thicken his blood. He wished they could have used the Cohort’s indoor drill hall; however it was being used that day to train recruits.

            “That’s alright, a little exertion and you won’t even notice,” Vitruvius replied as he waved his gladius about, warming up his joints and muscles. “You ready?”

            Artorius nodded as both men settled into their fighting stances. As if on cue, both soldiers lunged forward, punching with their shields, looking for openings with which to strike. They had faced one another so many times; that they each knew the other’s fighting style by heart. Theirs was truly a test of pure skill, seeing as how their physical power was so close that neither could claim it as an advantage.

            Artorius brought his shield down in an attempt to smash the Optio’s foot. Vitruvius pulled his foot back and stabbed at Artorius’ exposed face. Quickly the young legionary dodged his head to the side. As he did so, he brought his shield back up and caught Vitruvius in the face. Vitruvius stumbled, though Artorius knew better than to attack recklessly. Too often he had tried to follow up on such an advantage, only to have victory snatched from him by the crafty and skilled Optio. Instead he settled back into his fighting stance once more. Vitruvius lunged in, allowing their shields to collide. Immediately he swung his shield to the left in order to block the stab he knew was coming. Instead Artorius stepped to his own left and worked his arm past Vitruvius’ shield. With an elbow to the wrist, he knocked the shield away. As the Optio dropped his shield, he swung his left hand up and caught Artorius on his helmet cheek guard with a roundhouse punch. The young legionary fell to the ground, dazed, while Vitruvius wrenched his shield from his hand. Artorius instinctively rolled to his side and sprung to his feet, lunging at his opponent. Both men stopped in mid-attack, catching their breath. Vitruvius’ gladius point was resting against Artorius’ throat, while the legionary had his poised to thrust underneath the Optio’s ribcage. They knew that in a real battle, each man would have slain the other. Vitruvius stood breathing hard for a second while Artorius took a step back and threw his gladius straight down into the snow.

            “Damn it!” he cursed, removing his helmet. “Five years and this is the best I can do?” He was certain that he would finally best Vitruvius. The Optio started laughing.

            “Hey, a draw is better than another thrashing. Besides, I think I’ve finally found someone to succeed me as Chief Weapons Instructor for the Century.”

            “Who is it?” Artorius asked. Vitruvius raised an eyebrow.

            “Artorius, did I hit you so hard that you’ve gone completely dense?” he asked, looking down at his hand, which was bleeding. Artorius dropped his head and chuckled to himself.

            “I guess you did ring my bell a little bit,” he replied as he rubbed the sore spot on his cheek. Vitruvius clapped him on the shoulder.

            “Come on. I’ve got a meeting with the Centurion. Do you mind putting my practice weapons away?”

            “Not at all,” Artorius replied as he took both shields and swords over to the armory. As he walked he thought about his fight with Vitruvius. Something in his mind told him that it would probably be their last. He regretted not getting the much desired victory over the man who had taught him so much. He then considered the significance of becoming the Century’s Chief Weapons Instructor. It was a position usually occupied by a Decanus or above, or failing that at least someone already on immune status. Artorius met none of these conditions.

            Centurion Macro was slowly pacing back and forth behind his desk, both hands clasped behind his back. Vitruvius walked in to see that Flaccus the Tesserarius and Sergeant Statorius were in the office as well.

            “I found someone to succeed me as Chief Weapons Instructor,” he announced as he walked in.

            Macro grunted as he continued to pace back and forth. Vitruvius looked over at Flaccus, puzzled and decided it was best to wait. With that, he stood next to the other two men, with his hands clasped behind his back. At length Macro finally spoke.

            “The reason why I have called you in here is because this affects you all. To start with, Vitruvius I must first congratulate you. Centurion Justinian of the Third Century has elected to retire after twenty-eight years in the army. The entire chain-of-command was unanimous in its recommendations that you be selected to succeed him.” He paused to let the words sink in. Vitruvius stood rigid, though in his eyes Macro could see the sense of disbelief. He turned his gaze towards Flaccus and Statorius.

            “Flaccus, I have decided that you will replace Vitruvius as Optio. I know you only have a handful of years left before your own discharge and retirement, and I feel this is the best way for you to serve out your final years in the army.

            “Sergeant Statorius, you will be promoted to Tesserarius. I need you to recommend a successor to take over your section.” Statorius did not hesitate before announcing his recommendation.

            “Praxus is senior to the other legionaries in my section. He is also the most experienced and one they all look up to.”

            “Not Praxus,” Macro replied immediately. Statorius looked crestfallen. Praxus had committed a grievous error by falling asleep on sentry duty once, and had been caught by Centurion Macro. Macro had burned his orders which at that time would have promoted him to Sergeant. He also stripped him of his immune status, which he later reinstated. That had been six years before, and Statorius was hoping that Macro would finally let Praxus advance up the career ladder that he was certain he was meant to take. Macro saw the concern on the Decanus’ face.

            “Praxus will be moving to take over for Sergeant Sextus, who has also elected to retire from the Legions.” Vitruvius smiled when he thought about Praxus commanding the section that he had led before Sextus.

            “What about Artorius?” Vitruvius asked. All eyes fell on him. “I also recommend that he replace me as Chief Weapons Instructor. I feel that he is ready to take charge of his own section.” Macro looked over at Statorius.

            “Sergeant?” he asked. Statorius thought for a second and then nodded.

            “He’s young, but he is well educated, and has demonstrated sound leadership potential. Hell, he and Praxus practically run the section as it is.”

            “It’s settled then,” Macro said, slamming his hands down on his desk. “Camillus!” The Century’s Signifier strolled in.

            “No need to shout,” he said in his usual good-natured manner, “I was listening at the door the entire time.” Macro ignored him.

            “Get me Praxus and Artorius,” he directed. Camillus nodded, and exited. Vitruvius walked out as Camillus dispatched an orderly to summon the two legionaries. He felt bad in a way. Camillus had been on the promotion fast-track early on in his career, though everything seemed to have stagnated once he made Signifier. Technically he was third in command of the Century, and should have been the next Optio. Vitruvius had passed over both him and Flaccus, having been promoted directly from Decanus to Optio. And now Flaccus would pass up the Signifier as well.

            “So, Centurion Vitruvius, is it?” Camillus asked with a sincere smile.

            “Not yet,” Vitruvius replied. “Though I have to say I feel kind of bad for you. This is the second time you’ve been passed over for Optio.” Camillus waived his hand dismissively.

            “Vitruvius you’ve got to remember, I’m a lot younger than you and Flaccus. The only reason I made Signifier as fast as I did was because at the time the Century was in a crunch, and it seemed like none of you jackals knew basic mathematics. I got my rank because they needed somebody to do the payroll, that’s all. Besides, I have a pretty comfortable billet here! An Optio’s pay is only marginally higher than mine, and the duties and responsibilities are nightmarishly more complex. If I can tell you a secret, I’m the one who told Macro to put Flaccus in your spot. I’m holding out for a Cohort standard bearer position, or perhaps even Aquilifer someday.” The position he referred to was that of the man who carried the Legion’s eagle standard into battle. He was also the senior secretary and treasurer of the Legion, whose rank and pay was equal to that of a Centurion Primus Ordo.

            “Still, you shouldn’t sell short your own leadership abilities,” Vitruvius countered. “The younger guys look up to you. They respect you because your demeanor is so relaxed, and yet you still have a sense of valor and command presence that I don’t think you realize.” Camillus shrugged at that.

            “I only let it come out when I’m in a bad spot. You know they gave me the Silver Torque for Valor at Idistaviso for protecting the standard.” Vitruvius gave a slight chuckle at the memory.

            “I remember. You stabbed a barbarian with the Signum and then planted it in his chest!”

            “Yeah, and I couldn’t get the damn thing unstuck! I had to fight off a swarm of those bastards to keep them from getting their hands on it. I was scared to death because I knew if I let them carry off the standard, Macro would have had my balls!”

            The rest of the section watched as Statorius and Praxus packed all of their personal belongings and gear, and as Artorius moved to Statorius’ bunk. The Decanus had a slightly larger living space than the legionaries and Artorius intended to take full advantage of this. Praxus would move to a similar bunk in Sergeant Sextus’ section one block of rooms over, the former Decanus having already moved to a billet in the First Cohort while waiting for his retirement papers to come through. Sergeant Statorius would get his own quarters at the end of the barracks, next to those of the Signifier and the Optio.

            As Statorius walked out with the last of his belongings he stuck his hand out, which Artorius readily accepted.

            “Take care of these men,” the Sergeant said. “They served me well, and I know they’ll do the same for you.” Artorius nodded and clasped his former section leader’s hand even harder.

            “I won’t let you down,” he replied as Statorius made his way down the long hallway to his new quarters. After he had gone, Artorius turned and appraised what was left of the section, his section now.

            There was Decimus, the most experienced legionary in the section. Three times he had been awarded the Rampart Crown for having been the first soldier over the wall of an enemy stronghold; a feat which had never been replicated within the Legion.

            Valens was the resident letch, who had quite the notorious reputation for his exploits with women of ill repute, though his standards were practically nonexistent. This perplexed many, because he was rarely drunk and could not blame his debaucheries on being inebriated. Still he was a rock solid soldier, and extremely competent in battle.

            Carbo, the lover of wine and spirits, did not look like the typical legionary. Slightly overweight with a florid complexion that made him look perpetually out of breath, his appearance was very much deceiving. He was reliable in a crisis, and had been decorated for valor on numerous occasions. Besides wine, his other weakness was a local tavern wench that he swore repeatedly had a twin sister.

            Then there was Gavius, who had come through recruit training with Artorius five years before. Orphaned at a young age, his family name alone had allowed him to join the legions. At first thought by many to be meek and unassuming, he had proven his mettle time and again during the campaigns against Arminius. He was also one of the most skilled javelin throwers that Artorius had ever seen.

            And finally there was Magnus, the Norseman. He had also gone through recruit training with Artorius and was his best friend. He was of similar height and build as Artorius, though the mop of blonde hair on his head betrayed his less than purely Latin origins. Along with Decimus, he was one of the better educated legionaries, and Artorius hoped to see him rise through the ranks as well some day. Magnus was a natural leader, one who did not need rank to command respect. There were two vacancies within the section, though Artorius knew it was rare for sections to ever be at full strength. While having additional legionaries to share the workload would be welcome, the section agreed that they did like having the extra space. Indeed, one of the vacant bunks had been converted into a type of shrine where relics and trophies won on campaign by the legionaries were displayed.

            “So does this mean you’ll be buying the wine later?” Magnus asked.

            “Not tonight,” Artorius replied as he lay down on his bunk. “Besides, they won’t do the ceremony until tomorrow, so it’s not even official yet.”

            “Yeah, best not screw things up the night before,” Decimus added. “Don’t want to end up like Praxus and have to wait another six years for promotion to roll around!” Artorius snorted at that. Indeed, Praxus should have been promoted years before, yet it took a long time for the scourge of his mistake to erase itself.

            That night as Artorius sat writing at his small desk there was a knock at the door.

“Come!” he shouted and Praxus stuck his head in. Artorius was by himself, the rest of the section enjoying a night off. He looked up from the letter he was writing to his father under the soft glow of an oil lamp. He smiled when he saw his friend and peer, and waived him in.

            “So how are the boys assimilating?” Praxus asked as he grabbed a stool and sat across from Artorius.

            “They seem to be adapting alright. Of course we haven’t been officially promoted yet, so maybe it just hasn’t sunk in. Carbo and Valens seem to be perfectly happy where they are, and besides I don’t think either of them can read or write, so any hopes of promotion are out for them. I was a bit concerned that there might be some resentment from Decimus, though.”

            “I wouldn’t worry too much about him,” Praxus answered. “Decimus is educated and a good soldier, but he has little aspirations when it comes to having to lead other legionaries. I think his ambition is to keep getting himself decorated on campaign so that he can get moved over to the First Cohort and enjoy Veteran status as soon as possible. Usually that doesn’t happen until one has been in sixteen years; however I have seen legionaries transferred to the First based on merit. What about Gavius and Magnus? I remember when you all came through recruit training together.” Artorius shrugged.

            “I think they’re happy for me, Magnus especially. He has a lot of potential, and I hope that I don’t overshadow him. Given the right kind of mentoring, I think he should get his own section some day, sooner rather than later I hope. Funny thing is you know both of them are older than me? Only a few months in Magnus’ case, mind you, but it does seem a bit odd that I am not only the section leader, I’m also the youngest.”

            “It is experience and what one does with it that makes a leader, not his age,” Praxus reached across the desk and gave Artorius a friendly slap on the shoulder.

            “So how do you like your new section?” Artorius asked. Praxus shrugged.

            “They seem like a decent lot,” he answered. “I’ve known most of them for some time. Four of the lads were there back when Vitruvius was the Decanus. Two are brand new recruits, in the middle of training. I think you’ll be getting a chance to work with them soon enough.”

            Artorius nodded. He had almost forgotten about the additional responsibilities laid on him. He was going to be appointed the Chief Weapons Instructor as well. It was an additional duty, and one that meant extra incentive pay, which he liked. He just had to learn quickly how to go about organizing the training schedules for sections and assessing individual soldiers, particularly recruits. Plus he knew there were numerous duties that as a Decanus he would have to oversee as well. It all seemed overwhelming. Praxus saw his concern.

            “Don’t worry too much about it. They don’t start individual weapons training for a couple of weeks. That will give you time to go over the lesson plan that Vitruvius left.”

            “I just have to make sure my own section is in order before then,” Artorius replied.

            “Hey, just be glad you have all veterans and no recruits to worry about,” Praxus smiled. “Your boys are pretty much self-sufficient and can take care of themselves. They’ll help pick up the slack if they see you getting overwhelmed. Remember we used to do the same for Statorius.” Artorius furrowed his brow in contemplation at that.

            “Yeah, he did seem to come to you and me a lot. I never really gave it much thought.”

            “He came to me because I had the most experience, and he came to you because he was grooming you to replace him. I know he had brought your name up to Vitruvius and Macro on more than one occasion. Vitruvius especially commended your talents and leadership potential. Truth be told Artorius, I think that all three of them see you going places within the Legion. Once you get assimilated into your new duties you should start learning the duties of the senior officers in the Century. Camillus and Flaccus would be glad to help you, and you already know Statorius is looking out for you.”

            “I won’t lie to you, Praxus,” Artorius said after a moment’s contemplation, “I’ve oftentimes watched Macro, Dominus, Proculus, and even Master Centurion Flavius. And I’ve thought to myself, ‘I’ll be there someday.’ Pretty presumptuous, I know.” Praxus shook his head at that.

            “Not really,” he replied. “I remember how young Macro was when he was promoted to Centurion. I think he was only twenty-nine or thirty. If I were to place a wager on it, I would bet that you seen the Centurionate at an even younger age than he did. Normally one has to be at least thirty to even be considered for the promotion; however we all know there are exceptions to every rule. Augustus set quite the precedent when he was given the Consul’s chair at nineteen; sixteen years shy of the minimum age requirement.” Artorius started laughing, and then sobered when he saw Praxus’ face showed that he was serious.

            “Are you kidding me?” he asked, perplexed. “I don’t think the rules the senatorial class chooses to apply to itself are relevant to mere plebs like us. You’ve got to remember, Macro got accelerated to Centurion after that corruption scandal that came to light after Tiberius was recalled to Rome. If I remember right, more than twenty Centurions in the Legion were discharged in disgrace.”

            “Twenty-seven actually,” Praxus replied. “And no you wouldn’t remember, because you weren’t even in the army yet!”

            “All the same,” Artorius continued, “the point I’m making is that I would have to go from a junior section leader to Centurion within six years, and I don’t see a mass number of vacancies coming open like that. It would also mean having to probably bypass the Principal ranks of Tesserarius and Signifier.”

            “Vitruvius did it,” Praxus replied with a shrug. “He was selected for Optio when he was still a Decanus, and he only held the Optionate for three years.”

            “Yes, but he had plenty of years as a section leader before that,” Artorius replied. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your vote of confidence. It took me five years to become a section leader, which I admit is no small feat. However, unless there’s another big shake-up of some sort, I imagine I’ll be at least the same age Macro was, if not older, before I rise to Centurion.”

            “You make your own destiny, Artorius,” Praxus clapped him again on his shoulder. “Take care of your men, prove yourself to be the leader that Macro, Vitruvius, and Statorius know you are, and your path will show itself to you.”

**********************************************

            Julius Sacrovir sat at a small table in a dark corner of the nearly empty tavern, brooding over the injustice he had to endure. His family had long ago inherited the franchise of Roman citizenship during Julius Caesar’s dictatorship, despite their Gallic ancestry. His was a noble family of great wealth and status in the province who had adopted the name Julius, as did many of other noble Gallic families, much to his distaste. It was sickening to him that they should take the name of a man who had brought so much suffering and hardship to Gaul. Hundreds of thousands had been murdered during Caesar’s nine year campaign. His wars of conquest had never carried the endorsement of the Senate, and had been entirely of his own making.

It had been almost seventy-two years since Alesia fell, ending the Gallic wars. Caesar’s nemesis, Vercingetorix had surrendered in hopes of saving his people. Instead, those that weren’t butchered were sold into slavery. As a way of showing his admiration for his worthy adversary, Caesar had Vercingetorix imprisoned for six years, all the while treating him as a royal guest. At the end of that time, he was paraded in Caesar’s long-awaited Triumph and then ritualistically strangled for the amusement of the mob.

            Sacrovir’s grandfather had fought at Alesia, and had vehemently protested Vercingetorix’s surrender. The Averni and Aedui, to which Sacrovir’s family belonged, were spared by Caesar in order to secure alliances with those two tribes. With so many of the noble families decimated, they and other pardoned nobles were able to exponentially increase their land, wealth, and power. Greed drove them, and greed made them sell out completely to Caesar and to Rome.

            In secret, Sacrovir celebrated the Ides of March, the date when Caesar was murdered. He loathed the Julio-Claudians that had spawned out of Caesar’s heirs. His successor, Octavian, had married into the powerful Claudian family, and created a dynastic monarchy as Emperor Caesar Augustus. The current occupant of the Imperial Throne was about as un-Caesar as a man could be. While Julius Caesar had died because he had wanted to become Emperor, and Augustus had realized that dream through politics and civil war, Tiberius was the most reluctant ruler Sacrovir had ever heard of. In tactics and war he had been one of the most feared commanders Rome had ever unleashed. His service record was impeccable; never tasting defeat in battle and every campaign won. Even the great Julius Caesar had been beaten on occasion; his army repelled by the Gauls at Gergovia.

Tiberius’ weakness lay in his reluctance to assume ultimate power, and the Senate had goaded him into accepting the mantle of Augustus. Although all had wished for a return to the Republic, they were terrified of Tiberius, afraid that he was not genuine in his reluctance. Sacrovir smiled at the thought. Tiberius was the reluctant Emperor who oversaw a Senate that was weak and impotent. Sacrovir knew he need not worry about Tiberius’ skill in battle, for he would be unable to take to the field in the event of a rebellion. His best field commanders were now of no concern. Caecina Severus had started to succumb to the effects of age and decades of campaign. And Germanicus...Germanicus was of no concern anymore. The timing was perfect.

            Anger and disgrace sowed the seeds of rebellion in Sacrovir, for in spite of his nobility he was prohibited from membership in the Roman Senate, as were all non-Latins, regardless of birth or social status. The ignominy was hard to swallow. He was granted all the other privileges of the Roman nobility, and had to pay the same taxes as well. The Emperor was said to be sympathetic to the cause of nobles from around the Empire trying to stand for senatorial membership, however the so-called pure Roman nobility had created such outcry that Tiberius had let the issue drop. They were meek like mice anytime he asked them to make a decision regarding rule and administration of the Empire, and yet they became like a pack of rabid dogs when their social order was threatened. This grievous insult was one of Sacrovir’s prime reasons for wishing to lead an uprising of the Gallic nobles. His personal reasons though, were much darker. His soul seethed with a lust for revenge against the Roman legionaries who had humiliated and cost him so much.

            Across from Sacrovir sat Julius Florus. Florus was another Gallic nobleman, whose family had attained Roman citizenship years before and had also adopted the name of the hated dictator. He too felt aggrieved that he was prohibited from standing for senatorial membership. Since this rejection, he had become disaffected by Roman rule in Gaul. He was also heavily in debt from the demands of his lifestyle, as well as some bad investments, and was now facing poverty. When Sacrovir had first come to him with the possibility of raising a rebellion, he was immediately aroused by the possibility. In his youth he had dreamed of martial glory, and in his most private thoughts he knew that this ambition involved defeating the seemingly invincible legions of Rome. His Roman citizenship was meaningless to him and he would rather have lived as a lord of Gaul than a pseudo-noble of Rome. If he could put a sword through the moneylenders at the same time, then so much the better!

            “I hoped you would have chosen a place a little less public,” Florus seemed uncomfortable, looking around at the few patrons in the tavern. Most were local farmers and shop owners, though there was the occasional well-dressed merchant from Rome. Sacrovir waived a hand dismissively.

            “When we have rallied more to our cause, I will concern myself with secrecy. But for right now I assure you we are in friendly territory. You see that man behind the bar?” He pointed to where a surely-looking fellow stood wiping down the bar top with a greasy rag. He was older, bald, with just a trace of gray stubble on his face, and a belly that protruded and rubbed against the wood.

            “What of him?” Florus asked, looking over his shoulder.

            “This place is all he has. He makes a decent living off the drunkenness of locals and merchants. He is also nearly impoverished, owing to the enormous debts acquired at the hands of the Roman moneylenders. If he does not do something drastic soon, he will be reduced to begging on the streets.”

            “A perfect candidate,” Florus observed. Sacrovir nodded.

            “Yes, and there are many more like him, thousands more! Your own people, the Treveri have been equally manhandled and oppressed. The Pax Romana of Augustus has only led to the indebtedness of our nobles, and the enslavement of our people. Gaul is slowly but surely losing her identity. Gauls now dress like Romans, they talk like Romans, they build their cities like Romans, and they even bear Roman names. Just look at our names! Both our families adopted the name ‘Julius’ in honor of the man who committed the wholesale murder of our people, and for what? So that we could see our culture and heritage vanish before our eyes?” He took a long quaff of ale before continuing.

“I need you to rally as many sympathetic nobles as you can from amongst your people. There are many who feel the same strain of taxation and debt that we do, combined with the insult of being denied the right to stand for what is supposed to be attainable for all noble citizens! If we wait too long, the entire nobility of Gaul will be bankrupt and enslaved, our influence with the people lost. Now is the time to strike, while we can still rally popular support. Start spreading the seeds of dissention, rally the most trustworthy of your peers, and meet me in Augustodunum in thirty days.”

            Florus nodded then stopped. “But what of the army? Surely you do not think the Emperor will just allow us to throw off the yoke of Roman oppression and secede from the Empire do you? The Rhine army is but a few weeks march from here.” At this Sacrovir smiled; an evil glint in his eye.

            “I do not believe the Roman army will be much of a problem,” he asserted. Florus raised his eyebrows, his face showing skepticism.

            “Do tell.”

            “All in good time my friend. Very soon all shall be revealed. But I will reveal this: grave and scandalous news should be reaching the army on the Rhine shortly which will benefit our cause.”

            Florus grunted. “I can’t wait to hear this ‘grave and scandalous news.’”

            “I just need to verify a few facts before I speak of it,” Sacrovir affirmed. “Now let us drink to the days when Gaul was free!”

**********************************************

            The Second Century stood in parade formation in front of their billets. Vitruvius was conspicuous by his absence, being sworn into the office of Centurion by Valerius Proculus, the Cohort Commander, as well as Gaius Silius, the Legate of the Twentieth Legion. Caecina Severus, who had commanded the Twentieth during the campaigns against Arminius, had finally been allowed to retire. Silius had been brought in to replace the Commander of the Fifth Legion just prior to the last campaign of the war against Arminius. His leadership qualities had so impressed the Emperor that when his tenure was over Tiberius did not hesitate in granting his request for another command.

            From top to bottom, the soldiers being promoted were brought before the Century. First was Flaccus, as he accepted the staff that signified his promotion to Optio. Next, Sergeant Statorius was handed the scroll with his appointment to the position of Tesserarius. Artorius held his breath as he waited for the next set of orders to be read. The Century was in a column formation, and he stood at the extreme right of his section. Praxus stood directly in front of him, at the right of his own section. Artorius’ heart raced as Praxus was called forward to receive his promotion orders, his palms sweating as the newly promoted Decanus returned to his place in formation.

            “Legionary Artorius, post!” Centurion Macro barked. He stepped off and marched to the front of the formation, facing the Centurion. Flaccus handed Macro two scrolls, each bearing a set of orders.

“Legionary Artorius, as a testament of your sound leadership, demonstrated valor, and fidelity to the Twentieth Legion, you are promoted to the rank of Decanus, Sergeant of Legionaries. Sergeant Artorius, you are hereby appointed as Chief Weapons Instructor for the Second Century. The individual fighting abilities of the men of the Second Century now rest in your capable hands.” With his left hand, he handed him both sets of orders, clasping his right hand with his own. “Congratulations, Sergeant,” he said in a low voice. The Century erupted into an ovation as Artorius took his place with his section, poorly concealing a grin.

            Artorius sat at his small desk that evening, reviewing the lessons that Vitruvius had drawn up years before. He found it ironic when the former Chief Weapons Instructor himself came walking into the section’s room. He still wore the standard lorica segmentata body armor, though now it bore a harness of leather straps over the top, bearing his medals and decorations. It was tradition for Centurions to display all of their awards for valor, even during day-to-day garrison operations. Vitruvius would also soon trade in his segmentata and buy a suit of either lorica hamata mail, or else squamata scale armor. In addition to displaying their decorations, Centurions were expected to purchase their own distinctive armor as well.

Artorius marveled at the number of awards Vitruvius had received over the years. There were numerous campaign medals and silver torques for valor displayed. Rumor spoke of him being decorated for valor eleven times over the course of his career, though this could never be verified. He did know that Vitruvius had been awarded the Civic Crown, Rome’s highest award for valor. He and Statorius saved the life of their former Optio during the battle at the Ahenobarbi Bridges several years before. Statorius had also been awarded the Civic Crown, though both men would only be required to wear it during formal functions. The newly appointed Centurion also wore the transverse crest, signifying his rank, atop his helmet, and he carried the traditional vine stick.

            “That helmet looks good on you,” Artorius said, rising to his feet in respect. Vitruvius motioned for him to take a seat as he removed his helmet and grabbed a stool.

            “I see you found my old notes for conducting weapons drill,” he remarked, pointing to the parchments on Artorius’ desk. “They were mainly just notes I made to myself when I was learning the job. I had been thrown into the position, and pretty much had to teach myself the job. Eventually it all became second nature.”

            “I only hope I can do the same,” Artorius replied.

            “You will,” Vitruvius answered, “because if you don’t, you and I will start up our little sparring sessions again!”

            “Yes Sir,” Artorius replied with a nod. Vitruvius looked down and shook his head.

            “That is a term of address that is going to take some getting used to! How about we let it go when it’s just you and I, okay?”

            “Sure thing Sir,” Artorius replied with a smirk.

            “We’ve known each other long enough to drop the formalities when the men aren’t around. You’re about the last person I need calling me ‘sir,’ as if I need to be reminded that I am now a Centurion!” He and Artorius both laughed at that as Vitruvius continued.

            “You know they’re talking about reviving the Legion Champion tournament. Flavius has tasked one of the Cohorts to renovate the old arena outside the fortress; it hasn’t been used in years. There’s also been a lot more individual sparring in the drill hall.”

            “When will the tournament take place, if it does happen?” Artorius asked.

            “Springtime, probably,” Vitruvius answered. “With no campaigns pending, I think it will be a welcome distraction for the men.” Artorius sat back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head.

            “It will be welcome” he agreed. “But why bother? No one can best you!” The Centurion shook his head.

            “No, I’m done. It’s time I stepped aside. You had better be entering, though. You are a marked man. A number of the lads, especially those in the Third Cohort, think you are the one to beat.” Artorius folded his hands on his desk and contemplated this.

            “Really, Vitruvius?” he asked. The Centurion was shocked at the sincerity in his young protégé’s voice.

            “Are you kidding me? There’s a reason why you’re a Chief Weapons Instructor. Second,” he snorted. “And probably most important, you fought me to a draw. That’s never been done before. If you compete in this tournament-and I know you will-and lose, I will have to enter. If someone can best you, then he is the man that I’ve been looking for all these years; the one who is better than I am.”

            “That is quite an obsession you have,” Artorius replied. “It is almost as if you want to find someone that is better than you.”

            “I’m not a god, Artorius,” Vitruvius replied soberly. “No matter how good a man is, he is still just a man. And no man is invulnerable. I am beatable; you’ve proven that. It is time the name ‘Artorius’ was venerated as the master of close combat.” The Centurion then rose to his feet, Artorius did the same.

“Anyway, just wanted to see how you’re assimilating. I know you have some new recruits that you will be working with soon. With your permission, I would like to observe their training with you. Oh, I know Macro will be there, but I want to see my former pupil as the master.” With that, they clasped hands hard.

“It is a daunting responsibility that I leave you with,” Vitruvius continued, “however I know that our boys are in capable hands.” With that he left the room. No sooner had Centurion Vitruvius walked out, when Magnus rushed in, winded as if having ran a great distance.

            “Artorius, Macro is calling for all section leaders immediately! There’s been a terrible tragedy.”

            “What is it?” Artorius asked as he rushed for the door. Magnus’ face was grim. He took a deep breath and fought to keep his voice from shaking.

            “Germanicus is dead.”