Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles) (10 page)

Their time in the Imperial City had passed far too quickly.
It was their last evening in Rome, and while his men enjoyed a final night in the port city of Ostia, Artorius took a walk in the vineyards with his stepmother. He was growing concerned about his father’s health, given the drastic change in his appearance since the last time he was home. He expressed this to Juliana.

“Your father has aged quite a bit over the past few years,” she confessed. Though now in her sixties, Juliana had aged rather gracefully, far more so than her husband who was three years younger
than she. “He spends less time in the fields now, and recently had to hire an overseer to do all the tasks in the vineyards he used to enjoy.”

“How can he afford an overseer?” Artorius asked, concerned. “The upkeep of his slaves is costly enough. I cannot imagine that some wealthy patrician hasn’t tried to buy the vineyard out from under him.”

“Oh they have,” Juliana said. “One of the city tribunes named Cursor made him quite a reasonable offer just two weeks ago. I wish your father had taken him up on it.”

“So do I,” Artorius replied. “I know Tribune Cursor well. He is a good man, and one of the best cavalry officers I ever served with.”

“Your father likes living away from the chaos of the city,” Juliana observed. “I cannot say I blame him. I sold my cottage about two years ago. We used part of the money to hire the overseer and purchase a couple more slaves to work the fields. No, I think that regardless of how hard things may become, he will spend the rest of his days here.”

“What if I bought the house and the vineyards from him?” Artorius asked. “I would be accepting all financial obligations; you and father can continue to live here as my tenants.”

“I do not think he would wish to place such a burden on you…” Juliana started to say.

Artorius cut her short.
“Mother, I
have
money. I am a centurion pilus prior, which pays a substantial sum. My annual wage is thirty times that of a legionary in the ranks. And remember, Diana comes from the Proculeius family. Her fortune and financial worth exceed mine considerably. A greater burden to me would be knowing that one bad harvest and you and Father could lose everything, to say nothing of his declining health.”

“I will talk with him,” Juliana said, a sense of relief showing in her face and demeanor.

Chapter X: Casting Off

Port of Ostia, Italia

May
, 31 A.D.

***

Though grateful for the time he and Diana were
able to spend with his family, Artorius was now anxious to get his men on the ships and headed for Judea. As his father-in-law had shown little interest in seeing him or Metellus, Diana had offered to go alone to pay her respects. The visit was, unsurprisingly, brief. She had yet to tell her husband what transpired between them.

Disciplinary problems had been minimal while his soldiers were in Rome. This came as a relief, seeing as many of the men under his command
came from other units, and he was not familiar with their habits yet. Still, the lack of issues meant the screening process he and his fellow officers had done of the men’s service records had been effective.

He made his way down to the docks, where a pair of
Quinquereme ships were waiting for them. These were the heavier class of Roman warships, so named because of the five rows of oars that protruded from each side.

“Centurion Artorius?” a voice said behind him.

He turned to see an older sailor who was mostly bald. What hair he did have was mostly gray. He was also very tall; a good half head taller than Artorius.

“Yes?” the
centurion replied to the man, who immediately extended his hand.

“Commander Tiberius Stoppello,” the s
ailor said, clasping his hand.

“Of course you are,” Artorius replied with a grin.

“Come aboard, and I’ll show you where you and your men will be staying,” Stoppello explained as they walked up the plank and onto the ship, which was a bustle of activity. Magnus accompanied them and appeared to be looking around anxiously. Quartermasters were uploading supplies of rations and fresh water, sailors tended to the sails and masts, while oarsmen were constantly moving between decks.

“A miniature fortress on water,” Artorius observed. “How many men on your crew?”

“We have about four hundred sailors and oarsmen,” Stoppello explained, “With another one hundred and twenty marines once we’re refitted as a proper warship. For now, your legionaries will be acting as marines.”

“I have two
nearly centuries of men riding on each ship, so it will be a tight fit.”

“No ma
tter,” Magnus replied. “We’ve slept in cramped spaces before.”

“I’ll cramp your space
with a fist in your arse!”
The shouted voice startled the three men., Before they could react, a large figure swooped down from the top deck, tackling Magnus to the ground. The Nordic centurion was caught by surprise and fell to his back. The large man, with an equally blonde mop of hair, spewing obscenities as they grappled on the deck, throwing wild blows. Yet, for the violence of the spectacle, it appeared both men were laughing maniacally through it all.

“What is the meaning of this?” Stoppello snapped.

Artorius placed a hand on his chest as he made to move towards the men. The centurion was laughing to himself.

“I think I know,” he replied. He shouted, “And a good day to you, Hansi!”

The large man staggered to his feet, his eyes wild with traces of hair hanging in his face. “Oy! You must be Artorius…” Before he could finish, Magnus smashed his fist into his face, sending him sprawling. His insane laughter never ceased. “By Odin’s raven, you still hit like a girl, little brother!”

Commander Stoppello let out a sigh and shook his head.
“I should have guessed,” he said. “For a moment, I thought my sailing master had gone insane.
Hansi!
”

“Sir!” the Nordic sailor barked, suddenly on his feet.

“You can express your sibling affections later. Right now I need you to ensure that all rations and water casks are secured, and then have the oarsmen make ready.”

“Right away!”

“I’ll be buggered,” Valens said as he stepped onto the deck from the gangplank. “That’s your brother?”

“And your brother-in-law,” Magnus added, his hands on his knees with his face sweaty and flushed. “Why don’t you go introduce yourself? I’m sure he’d just love to hear about your torrid adventures with our baby sister.”

“Thanks, but if his
affections
are anything like your grandfather’s, I think I’ll wait until he’s finished making you feel welcome.” He then turned to Artorius. “We’re ready when you are.”

The
centurion nodded. “Have the lads come aboard and start stowing their gear. Commander Stoppello, when will we be ready to depart?”

“Within the hour.”

“Alaric, are you ready?” The question startled the young man. He looked up from where he was stowing his few personal belongings into a canvas sack and saw the sailing master, Hansi, standing over him. He had been dozing next to an empty crate on the pier while dock workers loaded cargo onto the waiting ship, before rousing himself to pack up his few possessions.

“Just packing up my things,” he said quietly.

“Ever sailed on a military vessel?” Hansi asked.

“No
,” the young man replied, eyes cast downward as he tied the sack close.

“After you get your personal effects stowed, report to the master of arms to draw your gladius and buckler.”

The order felt strange to Alaric but he simply nodded and walked ahead of the sailing master up the ramp and onto the crowded deck of the ship. He ran his fingers through his blonde hair and swallowed hard as he saw dozens of Roman soldiers in full armor crowded onto the deck.

“Who are they?” he asked nervously.

“First Italic Cohort,” Hansi answered, “headed to Judea. Nothing to worry yourself over. My brother is one of their centurions.” He then hailed a Roman officer that Alaric could only guess was the sailing master’s brother. Once the man turned to face them, Alaric could see the striking resemblance. The two men were blonde haired and fair skinned like he was, but they were not of his people.

Alaric was originally of the Marsi tribe in Germania
. He and his mother had been two of the only survivors from his village when it was destroyed by the Romans nearly sixteen years before. Alaric’s father, whose face he sadly could not remember, had been chief of their people and, as far as he knew, had died in battle. After fleeing the onslaught of the legions, his mother gained them passage to Britannia, where Alaric grew up in the court of Brigante King Breogan and his daughter, Cartimandua. Though she was a few years older than he, Alaric was infatuated with the Brigante princess. She viewed him like a younger sibling, and he knew that any feelings he had for her were in vain. After all, as her father’s only child, she was heir to the kingdom, and he was but a refugee from a defeated race. When he was thirteen, Alaric decided to leave the safe confines of Breogan’s house and make his way out into the world.

The ship’s captain, Commander Tiberius Stoppello, was arguing with the dockhands, who were insisting they take on additional cargo that needed to get to Alexandria. Stoppello was explaining that with one hundred and sixty legionaries on board
, there simply was not room for any extraneous cargo. He also emphasized that the imperial Quaestor was paying him far more for transporting legionaries to Judea than he would receive if he took the cargo instead. Alaric watched the two men argue and did not see the legionary until he bumped into him.

“Here, watch where the hell you’re going!” the man barked.

Alaric was startled and took a step back. Packs, shields, and javelins were stacked all about, and the soldier was struggling to keep his footing as he attempted to take off his armor.

Not wishing to see any more of the armored men,
Alaric quickly made his way below deck and found his place behind an oar. A sad irony that after his people were massacred by the Romans, he was now serving aboard one of their warships. He had spent the past several years working aboard merchant ships, mostly smaller triremes, as he grew from boy to man. It was after a spell in Rome he took this position aboard the large Quinquereme. He had met the man named Hansi, who was on leave while their new ship was going through its initial refitting. Given his fair skin and blonde hair, he looked to be of similar ancestry as Alaric.

He soon learned that his new friend was
, in fact, from a realm even further north, outside the borders of the empire. Hansi’s grandfather had served as a Roman auxiliary and earned the family’s citizenship. His brother, Magnus, who Alaric had seen on the deck of the ship, served in the legions. The Norseman had offered him a position as an oarsman, once he heard about Alaric’s previous experience. He assured him this posting would not be a contracted position, so he would not be compelled to continue to serve as a member of the Roman Navy. Of course, Hansi did make certain he knew that should he wish to formally enlist, he would have a career instead of a temporary job. As work prospects for the young Alaric were scarce in Rome, the promise of a steady wage was too much to pass up. The Norseman had been a good friend, like an older brother, during their remaining time in Rome; never asking questions about his past.

“Ready to cast off!” Hansi shouted.

It was Alaric’s first sea voyage in over a year. He was seated on the inside bench, much to his dismay. The inside of the ship was hot, dark, and stank of sweaty bodies. At least whenever he had a portal seat he could feel the cool sea breeze and catch a glimpse of the sun. The rocking of the ship also made him seasick during the initial part of a voyage when he could not see where the ship was heading. There was a pair of leather straps fastened beneath the bench where Alaric and his oar mate would secure their gladii and small round shields.

Hansi shouted some orders to the men up top and then signaled to the drummer who sat at the front of the galley by the steps. He started to beat a slow cadence, which the men on the oars used
to keep themselves synchronized as they backed away from the dock.

“Hansi!” Alaric said as the sailing master walked past them, ensuring all oarsmen were in sync with the drum cadence.

“What is it?”

“Where was your brother posted before coming here?
Was he there long?” the young man asked in between grunts of pulling on his oar.

“Come on lad, keep your chest up and back tight,” Hansi said, correcting him on his oar technique before answering his question. “He was in Cologne, with the Army of the Rhine
for the past sixteen years.”

“Sixteen years,” Alaric replied as he leaned back into his oar once more. “Was he in the wars in Germania?”

“I’m certain he was,” Hansi confirmed with a nod.

“And I assume a lot of his men on the upper deck were as well.”

“Probably,” the sailing master shrugged. He then looked at the young oarsman inquisitively. “Why all the questions about my brother?”

“No reason.” Alaric quickly shook his head.
His face was red with building emotion, though Hansi surmised it was due to fatigue.

“Control your breathing,” he directed. “I know being an oarsman is tedious work, but that’s what you draw the
emperor’s coin for.” He then shouted to the rest of the crewmen, “That goes for all of you! I know we’ve been at port for some time, but get a few leagues under our belts, and you’ll be right in no time.”

“Says he who doesn’t have to man an oar,” the man next to Alaric grumbled, thinking the Norseman could not hear.

Much to his dismay, Hansi’s hearing was very sharp, and he stopped in his tracks, turned casually, and walked over to their bench. His expression unchanged, he reached past Alaric and cuffed the man hard behind the ear.

“One more insubordinate remark like that and you’ll be manning this oar by yourself, with a bloody back!” Without another word he turned and headed past the drummer and up the stairs.

“Dumbass,” an oarsman behind them said. “Hansi manned an oar for eight years before he began working his way up the ranks of the crew. He took the time to learn from the sailors and officers, and you would do well to learn from him.”

The insubordinate oarsman only grumbled in reply. Alaric said nothing, as he did not even hear the men. His breath was trembling and a single tear rolled down the side of his face.
What bitter irony that a number of legionaries aboard this ship had taken part in the annihilation of his people, including his closest friend’s brother!