Soldier of Rome: The Last Campaign (The Artorian Chronicles) (35 page)

“Quite,” the emperor said with a nod. “I have also brought you some new siege engines that you may or may not be able to use, depending on h…how much fight the barbarians have left in them.”

“Bugger me, would you look at the size of that thing!” Master Centurion Lyto said as Artorius walked over to where his peer was staring at what appeared to be an oversized scorpion. It had the same double-arms with a tension rope in the center and was drawn back by a pair of hand cranks. The long trough that the firing rope slid along was tilted back so that the weapon was set to fire at high elevation. What was baffling about the entire contraption was its sheer size; more than double the height of a man, and instead of bolts it shot large catapult stones, much larger than those flung by the onagers.

“Siege ballista, sir!” a centurion said as he stepped down from an inspection he’d been making of his weapon. “The emperor brought ten of these to supplement your artillery arsenal. It can fling stones far heavier than an onager and nearly twice the distance.”

“It is a fearsome machine,” Artorius conjectured. “What I want to know is how much does the damn thing weigh? I mean, can we conceivably carry these contraptions with us on campaign?”

“Well, she’s not as heavy as she looks,” the centurion answered. “However, I confess the weight and logistics are still an issue; not just with the ballistae themselves, but with the number of ox carts necessary to carry sufficient ammunition. Still, if you ever need to break an enemy fortress, this is the weapon to do it with.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Lyto
concurred. “My chief of artillery will want to have a look at these.”

“Of course,” the centurion said with a nod. “Please know
, too, that we brought our own crews and logistics staff of cart drivers, ammunition handlers, and stone masons.”

“
Well, that does mean a few more mouths to feed, but we’ll make due,” Lyto said, extending his hand to the centurion. “Welcome to the Army of Britannia.”

The centurion accepted his hand before Lyto and Artorius left him to continue in his work.

“Fuck me!” Artorius said with a laugh. “Alright, logistics and transportation issues aside, I would still love to see one of those in action. Hard to believe the emperor brought us ten of those monsters!”

Three days later, a
s Claudius rode in his chariot at the center of the massed column that marched towards the rebel stronghold at Camulodunum, he appreciated the stamina and intestinal fortitude of the Roman legionary. While it was uncomfortable for him having to stand for long periods, the emperor could not help but marvel at the soldiers who marched with not just their armor and weapons, but packs full of rations, entrenching tools, and various personal effects. Combine this with the fact that they could march between fifteen and twenty-five miles per day, depending on the terrain, and build a fortified camp every night was a colossal feat in its own right. Claudius made mention of this to Plautius on the third night of their march.

“They are the reason you control an empire that stretches from here down to North Africa and east to Mesopotamia,” the legate remarked.

They sat on couches inside the Praetorium tent while the incessant rains that had been falling since midafternoon resounded loudly outside.

“You know I used to envy my b…brother,” Claudius thought aloud. “He was the great soldier who lived with his men, sharing the same hardships, and leading them by his own example. I’ll be straight with you, Plautius, I f…feel like a fraud by comparison.”

“You and Germanicus each led in your own way,” Plautius replied. “I’ll grant that you’re not the soldier he was, but then
neither was Augustus. And besides, the men do not expect you to be like them. In fact, they’d prefer it if you did not resemble them at all! As long as you ensure that Rome continues to feed and pay them, make certain they have the equipment they need, good generals to lead them, and above all that you honor their sacrifice for the empire, you will always have their loyalty and respect.”

“Hmm, you know in one of those aspects I have failed one of your legions,” the emperor remarked.

Plautius knew exactly which legion Claudius referred to, though he kept his silence.

“Glabrio is a personal friend and was a favorite of my nephew, who gave him his command of the Twentieth Legion. But he is an old man who never had a command in his life, and I curse myself for not correcting this deficiency long before you launched the invasion. Friendship is no r…reason to give an unfit senator command of a legion.”

“If I may add, Caesar,” Plautius said, “there are three hundred serving members of the senate, with two to three times that number who are part of the patrician class. With only twenty-five legates in the entire empire, it is imperative that we select only those who are most fit for command.”

“You’ve done well with the other legions,” Claudius said. “The two Flavian brothers have proven their mettle, as has Honorius Geta, though he was already highly experienced with an enviable record. It angered me to no end when I heard that Glabrio did not even cross the channel with his legion, and it broke my heart when we received word about the ghastly death of his chief tribune, Sempronius. And ever since then, command of the legion has fallen on the shoulders of its master centurion.”

“Artorius,” the commander-in-chief observed. “He’s a solid leader with a long record of service. In fact, he served under your brother during the Germanic Wars. However, I can tell that having to be responsible for the entire legion, compounded by his already arduous duties as master centurion, has been wearing him thin. If by succession-of-command a centurion primus pilus does have to take command of the legion, it is only supposed to be for a short interim. That he has led the Twentieth through most of this campaign is a testament to his leadership.”

“Quite,” Claudius concurred. He looked up briefly at the shadows cast by the oil lamps as he noted that the rains had ceased for the moment. He then continued, “I’m sending a dispatch to Rome, demanding that a replacement legate and chief tribune be sent over at once. Have you any recommendations?”

“I do, Caesar.”

Artorius was grateful that the rains had stopped as he slowly made his way over to where the legion’s pickets were posted.
While this would normally be handled by their own centurions, he felt it only right that his men see that he was concerned about their wellbeing. A pair of torches, placed a few meters in front of the main entrance, cast a soft glow upon the otherwise dark night. The cloud cover was still thick, despite the rains having ceased for the moment. There were four legionaries on duty at the entrance, all turning to face him as he sloshed through the sodden grass.

“Master Centurion,” one of the men said with a respectful nod.

Artorius had put out a directive that soldiers on guard shift were not to salute officers, lest they draw unwanted attention from enemy eyes outside the camp. On this cold evening, Artorius only wore his belted tunic and gladius with his thick cloak wrapped around him. Still, his men knew his face well enough to recognize him in the dim light.

“Here, keep your eyes front, you sodden bastards!” a decanus barked as he walked quickly over from the other direction. Upon seeing his master centurion his tone softened. “Beg your pardon, sir.”

“It’s alright, sergeant,” Artorius replied. He noticed that one of the men had his left arm in a sling, while another had his helmet off, showing a damp bandage that was wrapped around his head.

Indeed all of the men showed signs of minor battle injuries, including the decanus, whose face and forearm bore fresh gashes that were just starting to heal.

“Just went to rouse the squad leader for our replacements,” the decanus said. “Of course, like the rest of us he said he couldn’t sleep this night.”

An elephant trumpeting caused one of the men to roll his eyes in exacerbation.

“Even if we weren’t going into battle tomorrow, we wouldn’t be catching any sleep as it is with those damned things making a racket all night!”

“If we can hear them, so
too can the Catuvellauni,” the decanus reasoned. He then turned to Artorius. “Think there’s any chance we’ll use those tomorrow, sir?”

“Probably,” Artorius replied. “The emperor will like to see them in action. And besides, the barbarians of this isle have never seen an elephant or any of the heavy siege engines we’ve brought. Should they be so foolish as to fight us tomorrow, they’ll be in for a nasty shock.”

“And how are you holding up, sir?” the decanus asked. His question caused Artorius to raise an eyebrow.

“Say again?”

“It’s just…well, the thing is, with no legate or chief tribune, the lads know you’ve been run ragged since this campaign got underway and they’re a bit concerned. That’s all.”

“Are they now
?” the master centurion replied. He breathed deeply through his nose and spoke slowly but with much force in his voice. “You tell the men,
sergeant
, that my wellbeing is not their fucking concern. A legionary’s focus is the men next to him on the battle line. Beyond that, he needs to see to the disposition of his leaders one level higher; that would be you. And as long as they know the mission, as well as the commander’s intent, that is all they need to concern themselves with regarding their senior leaders. Do you know the commander’s intent?” The question was directed at the legionary with the bandaged head.

“Y
es, sir,” the man said. “It’s to force the Catuvellauni into capitulation; by coercion if possible and force if necessary.”

“Well spoken,” Artorius replied. His voice was still hard, but the soldier swallowed hard and tried to force a half smile.
Artorius continued, “If your cohort commander has an issue with my health and wellbeing, he will address it with me. You men need to focus on each other, as well as your decanus. And sergeant, your concern is foremost these men, then your optio, and possibly your centurion. Are we understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the men all said together.

“Know that while we hope the Catuvellauni are already broken, they may still have some fight left in them. Look after your brothers on the line and don’t concern yourself with me. It’s enough that I have to lose sleep every night worrying about every last one you.” Artorius was half grinning at this point, which made the men feel at ease. He had not meant to come across as overly harsh in his rebuke. However, he wanted his men focused on their task at hand, not whether their master centurion was getting enough sleep at night.