Soldier of Rome: The Sacrovir Revolt (The Artorian Chronicles) (30 page)

Drusus gave a sad smile and looked down at the medallion.

“Thank you, Father,” he replied hollowly. When he did not leave immediately, Tiberius turned and faced him. Drusus’ face was filled with misery. There was something added to his burden of the loss of his mother. “Gallus pulled me to the side not two minutes after the funeral was over.”

“Did he now?”
Tiberius’ face darkened.

Gallus wishing to have words with Drusus would not come from any sense of mutual mourning.
Indeed, Tiberius ventured that the senator was glad to be rid of her finally.

Drusus swallowed hard, sweat forming on his brow.
“He told me that with Mother gone it was time for the truth to be told.”

“And what truth would that be?”
Tiberius asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“He said that I am not the son of the Emperor of Rome.
The cad said he had had a brief ‘fling’ with my mother many years ago—yes, he even put it so crassly--and that I was the issue of that affair.”

The Emperor’s face
hardened. Such a story was impossible to believe. Gallus scarcely even knew who Vipsania was when Drusus was conceived and would have paid little heed to the wife of a man who, at the time, was merely the less-favored stepson of the Emperor Augustus. Drusus also shared many of Tiberius’ physical traits, traits that a father would pass down to his son. Tiberius knew that Gallus was not looking to stake any legitimate claims into the parentage of Drusus Caesar; he knew that Gallus’ sole purpose was to cause him further harm and grief. He realized that with Vipsania’s passing the Emperor was weakened. He was also smarting from the humiliation Tiberius rendered him at his own house just a couple of weeks previously.

“
You know I don’t believe it. I swear that bastard will say and do anything to harm us,” Drusus continued, reinforcing what his father already knew.

Tiberius remained silent and in thought.
At that moment, Sejanus walked out onto the balcony. He stopped when he noticed Drusus and stood with his hands behind his back.

Drusus glared at him, eyes filled with hate.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Sejanus?” he asked with venom.

“I only came to extend my condolences to your grieving father
. . .”

“Like
bloody hell you did!” Drusus interrupted. “Come to play upon his sympathies so that you can further your own endeavors, more like. I have no time for you.” As he stormed through the doorway, Drusus made it a point to ram his shoulder hard into the praetorian prefect.

Tiberius gave an audible sigh.
It troubled him much to witness the sheer animosity that his son displayed towards Sejanus, a man who had come into his own of late. Tiberius had come to depend on both men equally, and he could not displace one at the expense of the other.

“Forgive my son for his ill manners,” he said
, once he was certain Drusus was well out of earshot. “He mourns for his mother.”

“As a son should,” Sejanus replied with a short smile.
“I apologize for interrupting you, Caesar. It is only that there were some rather disparaging things said towards your person at the funeral of Vipsania Agrippina.”

“So I’ve heard,” Tiberius replied curtly, turning back towards the city and the now dissipating smoke of the funeral pyre.

“I do not speak of Senator Gallus,” Sejanus remarked. “His disdain for you is of no secret to anyone. No, I speak of others, others who have besmirched the name of the Emperor of Rome under the mantle of mourning. Most are simply malicious; however, others could be construed as treasonous.”

Tiberius gave a loud sigh at the last remark.
“Sejanus, I have told you how I feel about treason trials.  Roman citizens are free to speak as they see fit, even at the expense of the Emperor’s character.” “I think you will want to look at these,” Sejanus persisted, holding up a small bundle of scrolls. “Many of the worst utterances came from friends of Agrippina.”

Tiberius turned abruptly
and snatched a scroll, his temper finally getting the best of him.

Sejanus smiled internally.
He had struck the final nerve, the one that would bring the Emperor to do that which he despised.

Once word reached Tiberius that Agrippina, or at least her associates, were using her sister’s death to strike at him, Sejanus would be able to use the Emperor to bring them down, one by one.
The only thing that would be left standing between Sejanus and the Emperor would be Tiberius’ own son. He would handle Drusus another day.

Chapter XV: The Wrath of Germanica and Valeria

***

“That is one hell of an odd plan,” Flaccus replied when Macro had finished briefing the section leaders and senior officers.

“We are Romans, we adapt,” Camillus replied.
“I kind of like it.”

“Calvinus said it was actually Centurion Draco’s idea,” Macro added.
“Have to give him credit for his creativity. Alright let’s go over this again.”

“Seems simple enough,” Statorius remarked.
“The first two centuries each form up in two ranks, with these men grounding their javelins. The remaining four ranks will be in standard battle formation, about twenty meters back.”

“Correct,” Macro replied.
“And we make certain that all of our men in the second rank pair off with someone in the front rank. I’d prefer it if they can do so by section, if at all possible. With a plan like this, they will feel more comfortable having their best friends protecting them.”

“I’ve already
ordered the lads in the second rank start sharpening their pick axes,” Statorius added.

“Good,” Macro nodded.
“So we all know what we need to do then.”

“Once the cavalry
sets to engage the wings, we charge the van,” Ostorius replied.

“
Soldiers in the front will provide protection with their shields, while those in the Second will use their pickaxes to chop down the heavily armored troops,” Artorius observed. “Second rank will have to ground their shields in order to use both hands on their pickaxes. It’s going to be tricky, because every blow that lands will likely cause the pickaxe to get stuck once that armor crumples.”

“That means each pairing needs to work together ever more diligently,” Rufio added.

“Just remember that we are not the main effort,” Macro continued. “The purpose of this is to prevent the enemy from disrupting our remaining formations.  Working together on this will be crucial, for we
have
to shock the enemy quickly. They have us sorely outnumbered, and once deployed online, we’re
it
. We have no reserves for this battle.

“
Once the remaining ranks push through us, we will have to fall back quickly and gather up our shields and javelins.  Though if this works right, hopefully the enemy will be in disarray, and we will not have to engage them again.”

Magnus sat leaning against a tree, running a sharpening stone over his pickaxe, when he noticed Artorius returning from his meeting. The sun had set and legionaries were gathered around their cooking fires talking in low voices. Magnus rose to his feet and greeted his decanus.

“So do you want to carry th
is, or shall I?” he asked, hefting the pickaxe.

“We
’re both carrying them,” Artorius replied. “You and I hit harder than the rest of the men. I want you pairing up with Gavius. I will pair up with Valens. Carbo, you’ll be the other axe trooper for the section. Decimus, you protect him.”

“Why do I have to protect Carbo’s fat ass?
There’s no way both of us can fit behind my shield!” Decimus said in mock protest, only to take a cuff behind the ear from Carbo.

This in turn got
a chuckle out of everyone, including Artorius.

“Alright, let’s gather up our equipment and go over this,” he directed as he, Magnus, and Carbo grabbed their pickaxes.
The rest of the section picked up their shields and gladii. “Okay, we are going to have to be in a slightly looser formation than we’re used to. Those of us with the axes will have to be able to come off either side to strike their targets. I figure if we leave two meters between each soldier in the front rank, we should be good. Let’s practice, then.”

As they lined up, Artorius, Magnus, and Carbo hefted their pickaxes in one hand and
each grabbed the collar of the legionary in front of him. They then started to walk, acting as if their foe were in front of them.

“Go!”
Artorius shouted. He pulled with his left hand to help propel him around Valens’ right flank.

Magnus and Carbo executed similar maneuvers, swinging their pickaxes to simulate an engagement.
  Decimus and the others stepped in quickly to cover their exposed companions.

“That works, let’s try it again,” Artorius directed.
The next attack would have worked just as well, had not Magnus slipped around Gavius’ right side, while Carbo attacked around Decimus’ left. The two legionaries collided, knocking each other down.  A smattering of applause and catcalls arose from the fires where other sections were watching.

“Okay, that one could have been done better,” Artorius remarked while suppressing his own laughter.

Even in such
dire circumstances, with their very lives dependent upon their ability to execute on the morrow, they still found it in themselves to allow a little levity. He offered a hand to help Magnus up. Valens offered his hand to Carbo, while uttering
“nice one, dumb ass”
under his breath. Carbo kicked him in the shin in response.

“How about we agree to only maneuver around the right side?”
Praxus asked, his section walking over with their equipment. “Mind if we join you?”

Macro and Camillus watched as Artorius’ and Praxus’ sections started rehearsing the plan for the morrow. As they did so, other sections joined them, all the legionaries talking with each other and making certain their actions were smooth and precise. The mood lightened, Artorius’ sound orchestration of the rehearsal relieving their anxiety. They were further surprised to see legionaries from Vitruvius’ century join them. Artorius had the men working in small groups, everyone paired up for the battle. Macro folded his arms and cracked a half smile.

“That man is a true leader,” he said in a low voice.

“The rest of the men follow him,” Camillus agreed, “and I don’t just mean those in his section. Hell, he’s got both centuries on their feet and rehearsing the plan for tomorrow. Moreover you can see the lads relaxing, their confidence rising. He makes them believe in themselves.”

“That he does.
I wish the rest of the decanii had his initiative.” Most seemed content to simply brief their men on the plan and leave it at that. Artorius knew better; he knew that it would take coordination and rehearsal to execute a battle plan the men had never done before. “I’m just glad to see the rest of the lads followed his lead.”

Artorius dropped his pickaxe and lay down with his back against his pack. The exertion felt good; his anxiety about the morrow was nowhere to be found. This would be the second time in a few days that they were going into battle greatly outnumbered, yet he was not worried. He closed his eyes and stretched his arms out, yawning deeply.

“You seem pretty content, like you don’t have a care in the world,” he heard Magnus say as his friend sa
t down and unlaced his caligae.

Artorius grinned slightly, his eyes shut and his hands folded on his lap.

“We’ve done all we can,” he replied. “Whether or not it goes well for us tomorrow, there is no sense losing any sleep over it.”

“You men are the iron youth of Gaul!”
Sacrovir proclaimed. He stood on a makeshift pulpit, Heracles and Taranis standing behind him. Most of the men he addressed were not men at all; they were very young, more like overgrown boys; the sons of Gallic nobles from all over the province.

The majority had been attending school in Augustodunum and had subsequently become hostages of Sacrovir in order to assure their fathers’ allegiance.
He had held spectacular rallies, decrying their status as second class citizens of Rome, and expounding upon the virtues of “old Gaul.”

The impressionable young men were swept up on a tide of patriotism and hunger for military glory.
These lads were the ones who would form the van of the army; first to engage the Romans, encased in plate armor so as to make them impervious to the javelin and gladius.

“I look into your faces,” Sacrovir continued, “and I see not young boys.
Rather I see men of Gaul, valiant youth who will rid our land of the Roman scourge once and for all!” This elicited a series of cheers and battle cries from the assembled host. Sacrovir was indeed proud of his men. While his initial motives for rebellion had seemed selfish and petty in nature, he too had become caught up in the spirit of liberation. His cause was no longer just one of vengeance and personal independence. No, it was bringing liberty and a sense of nationalism to all of Gaul. Once the Roman Army that faced him was destroyed, surely the rest of the province would follow.

He dismounted the dais as a messenger came running up to him.
It was Broehain, carrying a brass breastplate in his hands.

“I bring word of General Florus,” the man spoke, his
normally stoic face was shaken. “He is dead, his forces routed by a single Roman cohort along with Indus’ cavalry.”

“Impossible!”
Taranis spat. “Even if he were unable to enlist the Treveri, his forces still numbered over five thousand men. Surely you are mistaken.”

Broehain presented the breastplate to them.
Sacrovir closed his eyes at the sight. Florus’ ornate armor was unmistakable.

“He was a good man,” Broehain said quietly.

Sacrovir could only nod in reply.

“What is worse is not only did we lose his force, but we still have no cavalry!” Taranis observed. He then turned to Broehain. “Did you see any cavalry amongst the Roman ranks?”

“We did,” the man replied.
“In addition to their standard compliment, we saw the standards of a cavalry regiment. Not only that, but we fought against them in the mountains. Indus has, in fact, sided with the Romans, as have his men.”

“I gave that man my friendship and my trust,” Sacrovir
growled, “and this is how he repays me? We will crush the Romans on the morrow, and I will feast on Indus’ heart before this is over!”

As da
y broke, Silius sat on his horse, gazing at the massive army the enemy had arrayed before him. As predicted, their heavily armored troops were in two ranks, forming the van of their force. The rest were formed up in a mass on the gentle slope that rose just a few meters above the plain. Thankfully, they had no cavalry to speak of. Only a few of their senior leaders could be seen riding on horses. A man that Silius assumed could only be Sacrovir was riding a splendid charger back and forth in front of the formation. His gestures were wild, and his men were answering audibly with battle cries not heard in a generation.

Silius spat in contempt at the sight and turned to face his men.
“What a pity it is the very forces who, not four years ago, vanquished the Cherusci and the hordes of Germania, now have to face such a pathetic rabble that the enemy has marshaled against us!  Why only recently the Turani and rebellious Treveri were smashed by a single cohort of this very army.  Teach these rebels what it means to violate the peace of Rome.  Show them no mercy in battle, but spare them when they flee.
4
Into battle Germanica and Valeria!”
“Cohort!”
Proculus shouted.