Soldier of Rome: Heir to Rebellion (The Artorian Chronicles) (36 page)

He then looked over at his lady companion, who was passed out next to him, lying on her stomach. She was a pretty young woman, one he had not met before. Of course with the city expanding the way it was, there was a huge influx of people that Artorius did not know. He laughed at the visible bite marks on her neck. Some habits died hard, he guessed. He gave her credit for having been a sport regarding his deviant savagery, though at one time he thought that he had broken her in half as he thoroughly violated every orifice on her body. While she had been mildly satisfying physically, he found himself feeling hollow afterwards. He was constantly looking for distractions to help him ease Diana from his mind, and he by no means wanted his only focus to be his duties. So he had found a fetching young lady that he thought would provide a suitable distraction. Sadly, he had found her wanting, even from a purely sexual standpoint.

To his best recollections, aside from a high-class courtesan that he had spent a night with in Rome many years before, Diana had been the only woman that was ever able to stand up to him physically and sexually. Most women were overwhelmed by his immense size, brutal physical power, and savage veracity
; and if he could allow himself a bit of vanity, it was not just his muscles which were huge, or so he’d been told. Yet, Diana had seemed to revel in it. She was aroused by the beast inside him, and she had constantly goaded him into delving deeper into the depths of his brutality; so much so that he had had to push himself to the limit of his physical and sexual fortitude. No other woman that he knew of was able to withstand his onslaught. He wondered if it had been brought on by severe sexual repression from years of forced celibacy following her short-lived marriage when she was little more than a girl. He allowed himself a slight chuckle. A lady Diana may have been, but when it came to sex she bore an aggressive and deviant streak that could almost match his.

He sighed audibly, rolled out of bed, and got dressed. He left the inn and decided to take a walk in a nearby meadow outside the city that he knew so well. There was a full moon out that night, and the ground was well illuminated. He found his favorite tree, the one by the stream that fed downhill to the mills.

“I thought I would find you here,” he heard Magnus say as he leaned back against the tree.

“Magnus, what are you doing out here?”

“Like you, taking a break from sowing some wild seed,” his friend replied with a shrug. Artorius laughed at that. Magnus then looked at him seriously. “In all honesty, I knew at some point I would find you out here. You always come down here when things are troubling you.”

“Been spying on me have you?” Magnus shook his head.

“No, but everyone knows it. When you cannot be found in your quarters, the gymnasium, the brothels, or any other place you spend time at, then everyone knows you are down here. So are you going to tell me what has been eating you up inside since the day you got back?” Artorius hung his head low in thought.

“
You know,” he began, “I am a bit ashamed to admit it.”

“It’s Lady Diana, isn’t it?” Magnus interjected. Artorius closed his eyes and nodded his head slightly.

“What is wrong with me Magnus?” he asked. “I have
never
allowed a woman to inflict me so. After Camilla I became hardened towards women; not uncaring mind you, just not allowing myself to have any real feelings for them.”

“Face it Artorius, you love this woman,” Magnus replied.

“I do,” Artorius acknowledged, “and I did not want to.”

“Why would you say that?” Magnus asked, puzzled. “Diana
is a wonderful woman. From what I saw, she treated you really well, she has class, social standing, is intelligent, and let’s face it; she is pretty easy on the eyes! We are all looking for something in life, Artorius; whether we admit it consciously or not. I think in Diana you found it.”

“I did indeed,” Artorius remarked. “The thing is we can never be together. She is obligated to run the Proculus estate, and I am stuck here on the Rhine. Besides, she is of the Patrician class, I am not. I don’t think I shall ever see her again, and I feel empty inside because of it...” His voice started to trail off as he stared into the churning water.

“You learned a hard lesson, old friend,” Magnus replied. “But don’t let it destroy all of your hopes about women. I see you still find them attractive at least in the physical sense.” Artorius waved his hand dismissively.

“I try to find a distraction wherever I can. I have a rather voracious appetite when it comes to the sensual pleasures of women
if you haven’t noticed; although my tastes are certainly more refined than our friend Valens…well maybe not anymore.” He and Magnus shared a laugh before he continued. “You know, most women break under my strength and ferocity. Diana...she held her own.”

“A
t least you got some pleasant memories out of the whole thing!” Magnus remarked with a laugh. He then reached down and helped his friend to his feet. “Come on. Let’s go find some more distractions together and we will break that spell you are under!” Artorius laughed and walked back towards the inn, his arm around Magnus’ shoulder. They saw Praxus and Ostorius heading towards the inn, both men slightly inebriated and singing a song about a prostitute from Sicilia, while trying to hold each other up.

Artorius then remembered that he still had his room that he had paid for. He wondered if that little hussy would still be there or would she have run off into the night? It mattered not; she could be replaced easily enough. His friends, on the other hand...well, they were more than just his friends, they were his brothers, and they was no replacing any of them. They were his rock that he built upon, for they never let him down. And when he was down, they were the ones to pick him back up again.

Not since the death of his brother and mother had Artorius ever felt such pain of loss. He wondered if Diana was indeed the only woman he would ever love; that whatever future relationships he may have with women, all would leave him hollow and lost. He shrugged his shoulder and figured that love was but a fantasy told by poets. After all, one did not marry for love in Roman society; it grew after the marriage, if it came at all.

Chapter XXI: Sad Farewells

Isurium Brigantum, Capital of the Brigantes, Isle of Britain

September, A.D. 23

The Brigantes had been
very kind to Milla since her arrival eight years previously. It was King Breogan – so named after an ancient king of legend – that had first found the young woman and her young son lost in the wilderness, terrified and half mad with hunger. He had recognized her as being of the people of the continent, but he did not ask any questions at the time. Instead, he took Milla and her son, Alaric, into his house. His daughter, Cartimandua, had taken to them almost immediately, particularly the young Alaric, who was but a couple years younger than she.

Breogan had no sons and had buried two wives; the second had died giving birth to his beloved daughter. As the years passed he had thought to make Milla his wif
e and adopt her son as his own, but Milla would not have it. Though she cared for Breogan deeply and had grown to think of Cartimandua as her own daughter, there was something in her past that she could not let go of. Breogan rarely asked her about it, seeing as how it upset her greatly. It was when a caravan of Roman merchants arrived that he guessed what in Milla’s past vexed her so. Normally the Brigantes did their trading with the Roman merchants at the eastern coastal towns; however, these particular merchants had elected to come to Isurium Brigantum itself. When Milla heard where the men were from she ran away, sobbing in terror. Breogan and Alaric would later find her deep within a grove of trees, curled up on the ground with her head resting in Cartimandua’s lap. The young woman gently caressed her hair and tried to console her.

“It is Rome that darkens your past, isn’t it?” Breogan asked at length. Milla started to sob again while Cartimandua held her close and whispered into her ear that everything would be alright.

“The Romans murdered our people,” Alaric said. All eyes turned to him, Milla shaking her head, but the boy was tired of keeping their past a secret. “We are of the Marsi; a tribe that was butchered by the legions eight years ago. My mother is Milla, wife of the war chief, Barholden. We are all that is left of our people.” Milla placed her hand over her eyes, a host of painful memories overwhelming her. Breogan turned to face the lad. Alaric was fast becoming a man and was but a few inches shorter than he.

“But you are not the last of your people,” the king replied. “Mallovendus, who I assume is your uncle, has ruled the remnants of the Marsi ever since the end of the wars between Arminius and Rome.”

“He is my husband’s brother,” Milla said, desperately trying to regain her composure. She sat upright, Cartimandua keeping her hands on her shoulders. Milla then recounted her and Alaric fleeing their village when it was destroyed by the legions. She recalled in brutal detail the savage beating her father took at the hands of a legionary before he was slain; how her sister was stabbed in the back trying to flee, and her newborn niece drowning in the river. The Romans had been particularly cruel to the women, smashing many to death with rocks and clubs rather than granting them the quick death rendered by the gladius.

“Many tribes paid a terrible price during the wars,” Breogan said when Milla had finished.

“I never heard what had happened after we fled,” Milla replied. “I only wished to get my son as far away from that scene of death as I could. That is why I came here. The ocean stands between your people and Rome; and yet they still come.”

“Traders
, not legionaries,” Cartimandua said reassuringly. Milla shook her head.

“A Roman is a Roman,” she asserted, “and my fear is that they will find too much to their liking here; for if they do the legions will follow.” Breogan dropped to a knee and took one of Milla’s hands in his own.

“I must beg for your forgiveness, my dear,” he pleaded. Cartimandua closed her eyes, for she knew what her father would say. “It is
I
who brought the Romans into my lands. We have had a trade agreement with them for years, as have many of the kingdoms of this isle. Many of the statues and décor you see in my city come from Rome; we trade goods and luxuries with them for tin, which this island has much of.” Milla lowered her eyes, though she did not pull her hand away. In truth she did not know what Roman art or architecture looked like. She had never even seen a Roman until they came to murder her people.

“I know nothing of the Romans except the horrors they brought to my people,” Milla replied. “They murder entire nations and dare to call it peace!”

“I wish to know more of the Romans,” Alaric said. “If they do come to this land, then I should like to be ready for them.” Breogan looked back at him and nodded as Milla lowered her head. Alaric knelt before his mother and took her other hand.

“Your mother’s heart breaks at you leaving,” Cartimandua observed as she and Alaric walked through the woods that evening.

“Have you ever seen Rome?” Alaric asked, stepping over a fallen log.

“Once, a long time ago. When my grandfather was still king of the Brigantes he was a guest of the Emperor Tiberius, soon after his assumption of power. Germanicus was making ready to invade Germania and the Emperor wanted the reassurance of any allies or trading partners on the island that the tribes of Britain would stay out of the war.”

“So your grandfather allied himself to Rome while my people were murdered,” Alaric said quietly.

“It was not for us to pass judgment in the conflict between Rome and the tribes of Germania,” Cartimandua replied sternly. “Rome was already a strong trading partner and our people had flourished because of it.”

“You intend to remain allied to Rome when you succeed your father, don’t you?” Alaric stated rather than asked. Cartimandua folded her arms across her chest and breathed in deeply through her nose before giving a curt response.

“Yes. Remember little brother; it is a brutal world that you are stepping back into. I am not unsympathetic to what happened to you and your mother. However, if I am to spare my people the same fate, the last thing I should do is antagonize the Empire that has been a valuable partner to my father and me.

“Your mother was right about one thing; Rome
will
come. Perhaps it will happen in our lifetime, perhaps not. The Emperor Tiberius has no ambition to expand the Empire further, but what’s to say his successors will feel the same way? The whole of this island is volatile, with tribes constantly at war with each other. The Iceni are particularly troublesome. I daresay a Roman invasion would be a blessing!” Alaric was appalled by what he heard, but still he listened.

“Your Highness,” the shipmaster said, surprised as he was to see King Breogan at his dock. “What pleasure brings you here?”

“A favor to ask, old friend,” the king replied, his hand on Alaric’s shoulder.

“Ah, and who do we have here?” the shipmaster asked, appraising the lad. Alaric was well-built for his age and gave the appearance being older than he was.

“This is the son of a close friend,” Breogan explained. “He seeks passage to Rome.”

“I’m willing to work, sir,” Alaric spoke up. “I will earn my way, I promise you.” The shipmaster looked him over once more and shrugged.

“I’m sure I can find work for you as an oarsman,” he consented. “It’s hard and tedious; but it pays a fair wage. We sail tomorrow at first tide. We have a number of ports to call upon before we head to Rome, though. We have a tin delivery to make
to Burdigala in Gaul, where we will pick up wine to deliver to Brigantium in Hispania. After that it’s a long ways to Ostia with a shipment of gold.”

“I promise to serve you well,” Alaric replied confidently.

The next morning as he sat working his oar he gazed out the small portside window and thought about his coming journey. Indeed there was little to do but think when an oarsman on a ship. Gaul, Hispania, possibly Corsica; all places he had never seen. From the sketching Cartimandua had shown him these lands were vast. And yet they were but a fraction of the Empire that was Rome. He knew not why he had to see the Imperial city; he felt as if there was an underlying force that was drawing him east.

The light had gone out of Tiberius’ life. His son was dead.
As if the gods were mocking him, they had taken from him the last person he truly loved. First it had been his father, then his brother, after that his beloved Vipsania, and now his only son. At thirty-six years of age, Julius Caesar Drusus had been relatively young, yet he had been ill for some time, the result of too much drinking no doubt. His closest friend, Herod Agrippa, was tormented by guilt, having felt responsible for his demise. Tiberius had consoled the Jew, telling him that his son had made his own choices in life, and that he had to bear the responsibilities for them. While Herod appreciated the Emperor’s vindication, he still felt the guilt that always afflicted those who lost a friend and brother. Always would he wonder if he could have somehow saved Drusus?

“I could have done more,” Tiberius thought aloud, echoing the same feelings that struck down Herod.

“A father should never have to bury his son,” Sejanus replied. He stood off to the side, keeping a respectful distance from the Emperor. Tiberius gave him a slightly perplexed look.

“I know that you and Drusus had your differences,” he remarked. To state that Sejanus had differences with Drusus was a serious downplay of events that had transpired between the two. Indeed, Drusus had gotten physically confrontational with Sejanus on more than one occasion, prompting the Praetorians to give him the nickname of
Castor
, or
brute
. Sejanus gave a slight frown at the Emperor’s remarks.

“Yes it is true that Drusus and I never did see eye-to-eye,” he replied with his usual candor. “Be that as it may, I did not wish for his death; if for no other reason than the hurt I know it must bring you.”

“Both of you were the only men that I could completely trust,” Tiberius observed. “I needed you equally, though it was maddening to watch you fight. Now old friend, you will have to shoulder his burden as well. There is no man that can replace my son, only a close friend and confidant that I hope is up to the task of carrying on in both his own duties, as well as those left by Drusus.”

“My duty is to my Emperor,” Sejanus replied. “Know that my life and my talents are completely at your disposal.”

Livia entered the room as soon as Sejanus left. Tiberius gave a sigh and turned his back towards the balcony. Livia gave a half smirk at the gesture. She knew her son grew tired of her, and wished for her to hurry up and move on to the afterlife. There were many days when she wished she could. She felt that her continued existence so long after she should have passed on was a mocking from the gods. Be that as it may, as long as she continued to draw breath she would continue to advise her son, even as he fought with her every step of the way.

“The Senate will wish to know when you intend to appoint a new successor,” she stated as Tiberius pretended to ignore her.

“To be named a successor to the Imperial Mantle see
ms to be a death sentence in this family,” he remarked with a touch of sarcasm. “Drusus has barely made his final journey and already you speak of politics and intrigue.”

“I do it because unlike you I am still drawn to a sense of responsibility!” Livia snapped. “And don’t pretend like I don’t mourn for him, because I do. My heart is completely rendered; I am tired of watching my children and grandchildren perish whilst I am forced to cling to life!” She stopped in her tirade as an unexpected surge of emotion washed over her. Tiberius turned to face her.

“There is but one man whom I can turn to anymore,” he began. Livia quickly composed herself, her eyes growing dark.

“Don’t even think about it!” she exclaimed. “The Senate will never allow a man outside the nobility to stand as your successor!”

“The Senate is nothing but a mob of frightened sheep and old women,” Tiberius remarked off-hand.

“That may be, but let us not forget that they find their courage when their precious social order is threatened. Remember what they forced you to do in Gaul.” Tiberius grew angry at the underlying accusation.

“The
Gauls
forced my hand! They sowed the seeds of rebellion…”