Soldier of Rome: The Sacrovir Revolt (The Artorian Chronicles) (34 page)

“They will do the right thing,” Tiberius replied, allowing a slight grin.
“Otherwise they will gain my displeasure, something they now look to avoid at all cost. They will deal strictly with the dispensation of awards. When a senator has to dole out honors for anyone other than himself, he is apt to hold the honoree to a higher standard than he would for his own actions. I would rather they erred on the side of frugality, rather than see the awards and decorations of Rome’s legions cheapened like the favors of a common street whore.”

Drusus smiled and nodded.
His father knew how to deal with the Senate; to put them in their place, yet allowing them to persist in their façade of authority by leaving the awarding of honors in their hands.

It was well after dusk by the time
Kiana and Lennox made it back to Augustodunum. Kiana sat in the back of the wagon, her hand never releasing Farquhar’s. His eyes closed and head turned to one side; one might almost believe that he was merely sleeping. It was only when the cart hit a bump and his head rolled to the other side that the terrible wound where his skull had been ruptured glared hideously at her. As they passed through the gates, she noticed Lennox’s wife waiting for them. He stopped the cart and nodded to her. Her subsequent sobs echoed throughout the entire city, mingled with the sounds of other mothers and wives who had been given the sorrowful news of their loved ones’ demise.  It angered Kiana that most of the rebel army had survived, yet the noble youths had been unable to run, the armor Sacrovir had encased them in had served as their coffins.

The city was flooded with Roman
soldiers searching for Sacrovir and the rest of the rebel leaders. Ransom and pardon for the majority of the survivors could be negotiated; however, Sacrovir himself would pay with his life.

Kiana hoped the Romans would make him suffer unspeakable torments, so enraged
was she at the suffering he had wrought. He had, at first, taken the noble youths as his hostages, and then brainwashed them into becoming his minions. As a result, an entire generation of Gallic nobility had been annihilated by the Roman onslaught.

The inn’s great hall was crammed with patrons, and Torin sought to be anonymous in its midst. He sat back in the far corner, seeking to hide himself from the world. His injured arm in a makeshift sling, he ate and drank in silence.

He had a
fair amount of coin, but no idea of how he would spend it or, for that matter, what to do with his newfound freedom. He thought perhaps he could go and search for his wife and children. But he knew such a search was futile at best. He didn’t know if they were even in the province anymore. He prayed to his gods that fate had been merciful to them.

There were a great many people in the hall, more than one would normally expect to see.
People were afraid to be out on the streets this evening, what with the town now occupied by Roman soldiers. Torin wondered how many in the inn were rebels like him, just looking to disappear. He took a sip of his mead as the door was forcibly opened. At least a dozen legionaries strode into the hall, flanking a centurion.

“Gaius Silius,
Commanding Legate of the Twentieth Legion, has ordered all patrons to leave this establishment immediately!” the officer boomed. “This building is now the headquarters of the Rhine Legions while we search for Julius Sacrovir and his accomplices.”

The Gauls shifted in their seats, uncertain as to what they should do.

“Move!”
the centurion barked.

Immediately patrons started filing out of the tavern.
  Torin found he was trembling in fear as he made his way towards the door. He was utterly terrified that one of the soldiers would recognize him. He started to cover his face, but realized that to do so would only arouse suspicion. He swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he walked between the files of Romans.

“What did you do to your arm?” a legionary asked him.

He stopped and quickly tried to suppress his fear.
Was the Roman merely inquisitive or was he suspicious of something?

“Um
. . . horse riding accident,” he stammered.

The legionary frowned slightly and raised his eyebrows.
“Hmm, you might want to be more careful next time.” Torin forced a nonchalant smile and hurried out into the street. He broke into a cold sweat when he saw the street lined with Roman soldiers. He swallowed hard and walked away as quickly as he could without causing alarm. He clutched at his injured arm, the pain making him feel sick.

“Why couldn’t they just leave me alone?” he asked himself in a low voice.
He knew he had to leave Augustodunum at once. Sooner or later a legionary would become suspicious, and Torin knew his fate if he were discovered. An entire section of legionaries guarded the main gate which was partially shut. Only small groups of people could get in or out at any one time, and the Romans were keeping a close eye on everyone who passed through. Sweat formed on Torin’s forehead once more, and he clutched his injured arm close to him. He averted his eyes down, not wishing to look at the soldiers. In a way, he hoped that if he did not look at them, perhaps they would not notice him. A hand against his injured shoulder stopped him. Torin bit the inside of his cheek, trying to suppress a cry of pain. He looked up to see the decanus in charge of the gate blocking his path.

“Where are you heading this late?” the Roman asked, his eyes fixed on Torin’s mournful gaze.

“Home,” the Gaul replied in almost a whisper. That, at least, was not a lie. He then stepped around the decanus and walked out the gate.

A puzzled legionary walked over to his leader.

“You want us to go after that one?” he asked.

The
decanus shook his head.

“No.
Even if he is a rebel, he’s too short and too old to be Sacrovir. Just let him go.”

Torin just made out the words of the Roman as he slipped out into the night.
He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief, a lone tear running down his cheek.

Once Silius had established his headquarters, the great hall was crammed with officers from his legionary forces. Several tables had been pushed together in order to make for a decent area to lay out maps and reports.

“This city is too large for us to conduct a thorough search,” asserted Caeso, Master Centurion of the First
Germanica. In the absence of a legate, Caeso was acting as the legion commander. “Still, we’ve got every known exit manned by legionaries. It is the unknown exits I worry about.”

“I concur,” added Master Centurion Calvinus.
“If we try and search this entire city house-to-house, Sacrovir is just going to slip out from under our noses.”

“If he hasn’t alrea
dy,” Silius remarked. “I would be very surprised if he was still in the city. My perception is that the locals blame him rather than us for their suffering and loss. If he is still in Augustodunum, it will only be a matter of time before they turn him over to us…alive or dead.”

“In the meantime, we need to decide how we are going to find him if he has fled,” Caeso replied.

Centurion Aemilius then spoke up.
“We’ve got men seeking out information from the populace, trying to see if anyone knows of Sacrovir’s whereabouts.  Surely someone had to have seen him flee.” “Still going to be difficult to know who’s telling the truth and who isn’t,” Calvinus remarked. “This was not a popular uprising, so we must use care when it comes to torturing suspects for information.”

“I’ve got a detachment that I can have start torturing slaves,” Caeso added.
“Most slaves will sell out their most loving masters after a few lashes; though I must admit it would be pretty haphazard at best.”

Silius shook his head.
“Save your torture detachments for when we actually need them. If Sacrovir has slipped through our grasp, there is little to gain by torturing random slaves.  However, you can start questioning the prisoners and see if any know where he might have fled.” “Already being done, sir,” Caeso said with a self-appreciating grin.

As if on
cue, a pair of legionaries entered the hall, a bound prisoner in tow.

“This is a rebel who says he knows where we can find Sacrovir,” one of the
soldiers said.

“Bring him here,” Silius wa
ved the men over.

The Gaul was dirty and reeked of sweat
, his hair was unkempt and matted with blood. Bruises could be seen on his body through his ripped tunic, and his left eye was closed shut with a deep gash running from his cheek to his eyebrow.

“What did you do to him?”
Calvinus asked, scowling at the wretch of a man. “Caeso, your men need to work on their torture techniques; this is sloppy work at best!”

“We didn’t do this,
sir,” one of the soldiers stated. “We found him like this. I think he got trampled by one of Indus’ horsemen. No sooner than we discover he’s alive, he’s swearing to us that he knows where to find Sacrovir. We told him he’d better; otherwise we’ll crucify his sorry ass.”

“And in that you are correct,” Silius asserted.
He then addressed the Gaul directly. “Play us for fools and you will be nailed to the walls of this very building.”

“I assure you, I know where to find Sacrovir,” the rebel replied through slurred speech, a line of slobber falling off his swollen lip.

“What is your name?” Silius asked.

“My name is Broehain,” the man replied.
“I am of the Turani.  I have fought your armies thrice now in the last few weeks.”

“Indeed,” Silius replied coolly.
“So tell me, why is it that you are now looking to hand Sacrovir over to us?”

“My people have suffered inexplicably because of that man,” Broehain replied.
“Nearly half our fighting men were slaughtered in what was to be no more than a ruse. Sacrovir then compelled us to fight for him again. So we did. Only to be outflanked again by a single cohort of your men. Romans truly are the masters of warfare.”

“You can spare us the flattery,” Calvinus
admonished.

“It is no flattery, I assure you,” Broehain asserted.
“I have witnessed too much suffering and death to be concerned with such petty things.” There was a bitter note to his voice. Broehain knew that of all those from his village who had joined Sacrovir’s cause, less than a third would ever return home.

“I do not care about my own welfare,”
he continued. “I know that as a leader of this rebellion, my life is forfeit. I only ask that you spare the lives of my men, and that you make that bastard Sacrovir pay for what he has done to our peoples.”

“You are of the Turani?”
Calvinus asked.

Broehain nodded in reply.

“Then you were not a part of Sacrovir’s inner circle.”

“That is correct. He used us as sheep to be slaughtered; a ruse to fool you into thinking him loyal to Rome.”

“The leaders of this rebellion have indeed forfeited their lives,” Silius replied.
“You, however, were not part of that circle. You may yet have a small chance at redemption. Lead us to Sacrovir, and your life will be spared.

Your lands
, however, will still be confiscated. You will be left with a small farmhouse and a plot of land.”

Broehain closed his eyes as they welled up with tears of disbelief.
He was only going to request that the Romans kill him quickly, and yet he was being offered his life. A life devoid of his lands, prestige, and wealth, however, a life where he would be able to see his sons grow up to become men, where he would be able to hold his wife in his arms again. He was a broken man, but he would still be able to live for his family.

“Sacrovir has an estate, well hidden in the hills,” he said in a low voice.
“That is where they have fled. I will take you to them.”

“
Of course you will,” Silius replied. He then directed the soldiers, “Clean him up and see to his wounds.”

“Yes
, sir.”