Soldier of Rome: The Last Campaign (The Artorian Chronicles) (27 page)

Artorius sighed and then as he walked towards the principia, he saw two Britons being roughly handled by a group of dismounted cavalrymen, who were taking them into the large tent. As he was headed that way anyway, the master centurion decided to investigate further.

“We found these two skulking about,” a trooper said as Artorius entered. “No doubt spies of Togodumnus!”

“I’m telling you, we are not spies of Togodumnus!” the Briton with blonde hair said. His ability to converse in the Romans’ tongue startled them. He shook free of the grip of the trooper. “We are Brigantes, not Catuvellauni!”

Artorius stared at the young man for some time before he finally realized who he was.

“Hold up!” he said quickly, walking over to Plautius and the other senior leaders. “I think I know this man.” He then walked over to
the Briton. “I do know you, don’t I?
Alaric
?”

“You do,” he replied, recognizing the master centurion. “We sailed to Judea and fought those pirates all those years ago. And we met again at the crucifixion of the Nazarene.”

“That’s what I thought,” Artorius said quietly. He looked up at the auxiliary troopers. “Unhand them.”

“Do you mind telling us what the hell this is about?” Plautius snapped in irritation.

“Respectfully, sir,” Artorius replied. “It’s a long story that I would prefer to tell another time. But suffice to say that I can vouch that these men are, in fact, Brigantes and not Catuvellauni.”

“We are members of Queen Cartimandua’s personal guard,” Alaric explained.

“So you’re not here to spy on us, then,” Plautius surmised.

“We’ve been observing you for some time,” Alaric replied candidly. “But our task was for our queen, not Togodumnus.”

“Plautius, these men can probably tell us the disposition of the Brigantes and if they are siding with the Catuvellauni,” Vespasian said.

“I assure you, we’re not,” Alaric emphasized. “But then neither have we sided yet with Rome. You must understand our queen’
s prudence in this matter.”

“She’s waiting to see who the victors are,” Plautius concurred with a snort.

“Believe me,” Alaric replied, “she has no love for Togodumnus. If she did, she would have sent our warriors to join him, and they are many. We are simply members of Cartimandua’s guard, as well as her eyes and ears. We have no mandate to speak on her behalf. However, I know her, personally, and can attest that her intention is to eventually forge an alliance with Rome.”

“Very well,” Plautius stated. “Once we are finished with Togodumnus and whatever allies he has rallied against us, you will return to Brigantes and summon your queen to me. In the meantime, you will accompany General Vespasian and note well what happens to those who would dare oppose the might of Rome.”

“Release his friend,” Vespasian ordered the auxiliary troopers. “He can return to his people tomorrow. This one will remain with us. Stable both of their horses, these two can bed down with the Syrian detachment.”

Forgetting his original business in the principia, Artorius promptly left and followed the men outside, where night had fallen and only the glow of torches cast their light about.

“I’ll take this one,” he told the troopers, who simply saluted and left with Alaric’s friend. He walked with the young man towards the edge of the camp. “Strange that we should find each other here of all places.”

“Our lives seem to have come full circle once again, Roman,” Alaric replied.
“Forgive me, but despite what would appear to be an intertwining of our destinies, I never once learned your name.”

“Artorius,” the master centurion replied. “You say our destinies have been intertwined. Explain.”

“You were there when my village was destroyed,” Alaric replied. “I know you were, I can sense it.” When Artorius did not speak he continued, “I was raised in these isles in the house of King Breogan. I grew up alongside Cartimandua, who I now serve. I think it was fated that we would end up on the same vessel bound for Judea.”

“Why would you say that?” Artorius asked. “We never actually met then, and before tonight the only time we have spoken was after the Nazarene’s crucifixion.”

“That may be,” Alaric replied, “but that makes our paths no less drawn together. You told me that you joined the army to avenge your brother, who was killed in an ambush that my people, the Marsi, took part in. In turn, when Rome unleashed its legions upon Germania, how many fell by your blade? And how many of those were even warriors, let alone those who might have taken part in Teutoburger Wald? Your hatred and bloodlust consumed you…”

“And how the hell would you know that?” Artorius snapped, the young man’s words clearly striking a nerve. “I’ve spoken with you once in my entire life, and yet you presume much!”

“It is only because it should have consumed me, as well,” Alaric replied. “You lost your brother. I lost almost my entire family. My father died in battle, so at least that was an honorable end. But what of my aunt and my cousin, who was just a newborn babe? I remember little from that time, as young as I was, but I do remember seeing her soon after she was born. She was scarcely a week old and completely blameless of any crime, and yet she was butchered by your legionaries.”

Artorius said nothing as they walked over to one of the ramparts near the river. Torches had been placed every twenty meters with sentries dispersed throughout. His face was sweating, despite the cool evening breeze that blew in off the water. Dark and foreboding memories had assailed him in recent days, and talking with this young man of a race he had tried to exterminate laid them all bare.

“It is a vicious cycle,” Alaric said, collecting his own thoughts. “Hate begets hate and, in the name of retribution, the savage killing never ends. And yet, no one even knows where it all began or who struck the first blow.”

“Why then did you fight alongside us, your mortal enemies, when we faced the pirates on the way to Judea?”

“I was on the ship because I needed the work,” Alaric explained. “I was hired on as a skilled laborer and was never a member of the Roman navy. And when the pirates attacked, what choice did I really have? They would have killed me as readily as any of you, and had I not fought against them, then I would have been executed for cowardice. I had also made friends with the sailing master.” He was caught off guard when Artorius chuckled at this. “You know him?”

“His brother is my best friend,” Artorius said. “Hansi now has command of his own ship.”

“I am happy for him,” the young man replied. “Still, I knew I could not stay aboard a Roman warship any longer, so I took my share of the prize money from the sale of the pirate vessel and journeyed throughout the east, searching.”

“For what?”

“Another way,” Alaric answered. He went on to explain about his first meeting with the teacher from Nazareth, and his message of love and compassion. “When he first told us that we should love not just our neighbor, but also our enemy, it felt as if he was speaking directly to me; almost as if he knew about my past. He said we should love and forgive…”

“And have you?” Artorius asked. “It must be difficult to forgive those who continue to conquer foreign lands, and who are as ruthless as ever in both battle and subjugation of other peoples.”

“Sometimes it is not possible to forgive,” Alaric surmised. “But if I can forgive even one person, then that is something.”

“You understand, I am still a soldier of Rome,” Artorius replied, comprehending his meaning. “I
, too, heard the Nazarene’s message, but that does not stop me from doing my duty. And whether I like it or not, that duty often involves killing.”

“I cannot judge one way or the other what you or the legions do in this campaign,” Alaric said.
“As my queen seeks friendship with Rome, then Alaric of the Brigantes must become a Roman ally. As for Alaric of the Marsi, while I can never forget or put entirely behind me our people’s violent history, I know that further hatred is not the answer. And so I forgive you, Centurion Artorius, soldier of Rome.”

Chapter XVII: Mighty Rivers Run

***

“Second Legion will cross here,” Vespasian
said the next day, nodding towards the shallow crossing hidden in a thick grove of trees. The woods and undergrowth were so dense, it was little wonder no one ever bothered to check and see if this particular point of the river was shallow enough for man and horse to cross. An auxiliary infantryman was grinning broadly as he waded out into the center, which came just up to his chest.

“The current is still deceptively strong,” a centurion noted as the auxiliary soldier was pulled under, frantically surfacing a minute later, about fifty feet further downstream.
“We should still use the pontoon boats to get across.”

The men of the Second and Fourteenth Legions had been felling trees and constructing small rafts to create a pontoon bridge over the past two days. Leadership had also been scouting the riverbank in order to find the most viable place for launching that allowed enough tree cover to keep their movement concealed, while also being passable enough
for legionaries to execute the operation at night.

“We’ll have a couple of our ablest swimmers drag ropes
across for the men to lash the pontoons to,” the legate directed. He turned to Artorius. “The Twentieth will head west, up the river. There the woods are dense enough that you can get the entire legion across without anyone noticing. Are you sure about your plan?”

“It’s the best we can do,” the master c
enturion replied with a shrug.

“
In the very least you can provide a blocking force,” Vespasian noted, “as well as preventing additional enemy reinforcements from reaching this place.”

The legate had originally considered altering the plan and keeping the Twentieth Legion where it was
. However, he dismissed this when he considered that having even two legions in such a confined space was going to prove cumbersome, let alone three. Artorius made note of this as well.

“At least this way the Twentieth Legion can act as a mobile force and still find a way to crawl up Togodumnus’ ass,” he remarked.

The Ninth Legion had departed before dawn and was uniting with Admiral Stoppello’s fleet along the coast at the enormous mouth of the river. They had roughly eighteen miles to cover. Even with the lack of viable roadways, they were still expected to reach the coast by late afternoon. The remaining auxiliary infantry cohorts were part of the right wing division as well, along with approximately half of Tribune Cursor’s cavalry corps. The Twentieth Legion would begin its move at dusk in order to mask its movement. Artorius and Geta then finalized the last few details of the battle plan with Vespasian, to whom Plautius had given overall control of the center and left wing.

As the sun set, Artorius took his place at the head of the legion. He had dispersed the equite tribunes throughout the column in order to coordinate the large mass of soldiers, should they become disoriented or scattered. With the only road consisting of a narrow fisherman’s path that was
, perhaps, wide enough for two to three men to walk abreast, Artorius had directed the legion to form two additional columns that would parallel the path and cut directly through the large forests.

The master centurion mounted his horse with the ever-present Nathanial walking next to him, taking the reins whenever Artorius needed to dismount. Camillus walked next to him, carrying the eagle aloft. There was
no fanfare of trumpets nor any shouted orders echoed down the columns. Artorius simply started along on his horse at a slow walk, legionaries eventually falling in step behind him. He kept a measured pace, as the columns to his left had a far more arduous trek through the woods in the dark.

Those at the head of each column carried torches, not just to provide light for the guides, but also so that they could orient off each other. Tribunes regularly passed messages along to Artorius, and several times they had to practically halt the entire legion
as they clawed their way through some of the more impassible thickets of brush and undergrowth. It felt like it took an hour just to go the first mile. Fortunately for them, as the river wound its way south, the ground opened up. The legion was able to spread out and speed up its pace.

“The rest of the trek on this side of the river should go smoothly enough,” Artorius said to Camillus. “Troopers from Indus’ Horse said where the trees become thick again is where there is a narrow enough place for us to cross.”

“I only hope it is more passable on the other side,” the aquilifer noted. “We do little good if we’re confined to these damned forests the entire trek.”

Artorius said no more, knowing his friend shared the same concerns he did.
Many confined areas prevented the legions from forming battle lines, and having no real idea as to the lay of the land was maddening. He surmised that if Togodumnus was electing to fight the Romans in this region, then the ground must be fairly open in order for him to accommodate his own massive army. Of course, that was all conjecture. For the moment, all he could do was follow the river until he found a place to cross, while hoping it would not take so long as to do the Vespasian’s assault force any good.

It was after dark, and
Caratacus sat outside his small tent up on a rise of ground overlooking the valley below, which was dotted with thousands of campfires. The coming fog was already obscuring the wood line along the river, and he feared that his brother was mistaken to think the Romans would not attempt to cross over at night. The woods on the far side shielded most of their camp from view, even from Caratacus’ high vantage point. The best they could tell was that Romans still occupied the camp and had not moved. Still, between the thick forests and the river as obstacles, detailed reconnaissance was virtually impossible for either side. Two enormous armies faced each other, separated by only a short expanse of water, and yet blind to each other’s actual strength and disposition.

H
e took some comfort from the vast number of fires that burned in the valley, around each huddled a group of warriors who would be ready to give their enemy the decisive battle both sides so desperately wanted. And yet, even the numbers of fighting men made him uneasy.

“Can’t sleep, brother?” Togodumnus asked as he knelt down to join him
, wrapped in a blanket of animal skins. “I confess that slumber is deprived of me this night, too.”

“I worry about the stability of our alliance,” Caratacus replied, deciding to forego his concerns about the Romans making a night crossing.

Togodumnus had already scoffed at the notion, and further stated that even if the Romans did manage to pull off such an impossibility, that just meant they had less time to wait before smashing them into oblivion.

“They are anxious
, and the longer Rome delays, the more of them that may decide to abandon the campaign and go home. And there are those who refuse to follow the orders of any but their own war chiefs, many of whom are damn near hostile towards us.”

“I admit I have little faith in many of our so-called friends,” Togodumnus replied. “The Silures are the only ones I know we can rely upon, and yet they are few in number. The Durotriges mean well, but man
y of them are still miles from here. King Donan assures me they are coming with all possible speed, and more of them do arrive every day. As for the rest…well, they did come to this place with the intent of fighting the Romans, and for now that is enough. Once our chariots smash into their compressed ranks, the legions will be scattered and our warriors can finish them off. Those who have refused to ally with us, the Brigantes and Iceni to name a few, will be diminished in power and influence in our lands. Even our most reluctant allies will renew their calls for friendship, seeing the power of our warriors unleashed.”

“Venutius of the Brigantes wishes to join us,” Caratacus noted. “It’s his bitch of a wife who is queen and simply waiting to see who wins before choosing sides. I have considered taking a band of warriors and helping Venutius wrest control of Brigantes from Cartimandua
, once and for all.”

“A bold move,” Togodumnus concurred. “And one that certainly has merit. However, that, my brother
, is for another day. Once the invaders are defeated, we will be in a much greater position to dictate the ruling of these lands.” He gave Caratacus a friendly smack on the shoulder as he stood and returned to his tent. Caratacus simply sat and watched the valley below. Off to his left he could see the camps of various tribes who had committed warriors to the cause; and though he could not see the sea in the distance, he knew their alliance’s force stretched all the way to the mouth of the river. In that he took some solace, hoping that by the morrow their sheer force of numbers would break the Romans, should they finally decide to attack. Togodumnus had accepted risk in keeping his armies massed together under the assumption the legions would come to them. However, he did base this on the knowledge that if the Romans simply wished to wait them out, then they never would have left the security of the lands they had already conquered. They would have dug in and waited, rather than coming to them. No, the invaders were looking for a battle, and now they simply had to wait for them to make the first move.

Caratacus
also thought back to Archantael’s sacrificing of the young Roman officer. Whether he believed in the power of the druids or not, his warriors did, and the chief druid had promised them victory
‘at the land between the two rivers’
. There was nothing else for it, and as his eyes finally started to grow heavy, the Catuvellauni war chief and one-time usurper of Atrebates allowed sleep to come.

“This looks like the place,” Artorius said as he held a torch over the water.
“The water is too deep to wade across, but at least the current is calmer here, and it is a shorter distance to the far bank.”

“With all due respect, old friend, I’d like to know what in Odin’s name you think you’re doing?” Magnus asked as Artorius stripped out of his armor and tunic.

Lying near the Norseman were several great coils of rope that his men had spent the better part of the previous afternoon tying together.

“I
f I may flatter myself, I am one of the ablest swimmers in the entire legion,” Artorius replied. “And I cannot ask one of my men to do something I am not willing to do myself. Just be sure you stay with it and make sure the ropes don’t get hung up on anything on this side of the bank. I daresay, even with the calmer current I’ll be a ways downstream by the time I get across.”

Refusing to hear any more words of protest from h
is centurion, Artorius tied two lengths of cord around his waist. These were smaller and would be easier to carry across than dragging the heavy ropes. They, in turn, were tied to the thick coils they would use as a makeshift bridge. His feet sunk halfway up his calves into the thick, boggy mud; each step a chore as the muck sucked to his legs. The ground abruptly fell off as he stepped into the actual river, falling face-first with a hard splash. He lurched to the surface, thankful that, in the pitch black of night, none of his men had witnessed his clumsiness.

“You alright?” Magnus asked, hearing his friend’s fall.

“Nothing wounded by my pride,” Artorius replied with a grim chuckle as he continued to wade forward. After a few meters, the water came up over his chest, and he leapt forward, swimming with long, deliberate strokes, while trying not to concern himself too much over the current that was deceptively fast. He felt the ropes pulling on his waist as several of his men kept them taught, lest they get swept away and hung up on trees and river undergrowth.