James Mace - Soldier of Rome - Journey to Judea

“Suit yourself,” Cassius shrugged. “I’m hardly a young man either. I think I’ll stay around long enough to see just how well or ill Gaius Caligula reigns.”

As they reached the top of the rise overlooking the port city, Magnus and Praxus turned their mounts around. Below they could just make out Artorius and Diana walking their horses, holding hands.

“It still doesn’t feel right,” Praxus remarked, “Us going back to the legions and not him.”

“I know,” Magnus replied, somberly. “And yet, I cannot help but think we will see him again; that the fates will bring us together one last time. Believe me, Praxus, we have not seen the last of Titus Artorius Justus.”

Roman Assault Force

Off the Coast of Britannia

43 A.D.

The invasion fleet was enormous. From the prow of his vessel and to his left and right, Artorius could see nothing but other ships in either direction. The sea was rough, though the waters were only about chest deep where they were to launch the assault. It would be a rough landing, but as the initial wave would be carrying only their weapons and armor it would be passable enough. The sky was dark, and the wind gusted in his face. Along the short beachhead and up on the cliff he could see numerous fires burning.

“The First Cohort will spearhead the attack,” his commanding legate had ordered him during the preparations.

When the scout ships had conducted their reconnaissance of the landing site it was empty, and they did not know whether or not there would be any resistance. The ground at the top of the cliff was reported to be relatively flat and devoid of dense growths of trees. As the First Cohort had the most men, they would move up the beach and secure a large enough area on top of the cliff for the rest of the Twentieth Legion, Valeria. The Second Augusta, Ninth Hispania, and Fourteenth Gemina Legions were all making similar landings at various points along the coastline.

“Depth, two fathoms!” a nearby sailor shouted over his shoulder as he pulled in the knotted measuring rope that told them how deep the water was.

“Standby to reverse oars!” Admiral Stoppello shouted to the sailing master who was overseeing the rowers. Camillus, the aquilifer, stood next to his master centurion on the prow of the ship, the legion’s eagle standard clutched to his chest.

Once they hit the shallows the legionaries would have to slog about a hundred meters through the surf before they hit the beach. It was then that Artorius first heard the ominous chants coming from the beach. Hundreds of figures in hooded cloaks stood around the fires, their faces hidden, and hands held in front of their chests in prayer. Dozens more lined the beach, their chants carrying over the wind and seeming to permeate the very air the legionaries on the ship breathed. They grew even louder as the vessel lurched to a halt in the shallow waters.

“Fucking druids,” Camillus cursed as Artorius turned to face his men.

“First and Second Centuries, up!” he shouted. “Form up to advance!”

The soldiers reluctantly got to their feet, clutching their shields and javelins close to them as the sinister chants grew ever louder.

“What the hell’s gotten into them?” Artorius growled as he turned his gaze front once more.

“You have to admit it is a rather riveting performance,” Camillus stated with his usual good nature. “The lads are superstitious. Even the most battle-hardened veteran still fears the gods of darkness and those who can harness their unholy power.”

“And you don’t?” Artorius asked.

Camillus simply shrugged. “I’ve had a good life. What’s the worst they can do to me?”

Behind them they could hear mutterings from the men laced with words of druids, magic, and curses. Artorius knew they had to move immediately, lest irrational fear upset the entire operation. If his own men were being so adversely affected by the druids’ spectacle, he knew it had to be playing havoc on the men aboard the other assault ships.

“They’d better follow us when we go over,” he grunted.

Camillus simply grinned. “They’ll follow this ,” he emphasized, holding up the legion’s eagle. The aquilifer then turned and addressed the legionaries.

“Soldiers of the Twentieth Legion!” he shouted, holding the eagle high. “You cower like old women before a handful of barbarians in ratted cloaks! Their gods do not hold power over the eagle! Will you let this sacred standard fall into their hands?”

“No!” a legionary shouted, eliciting similar affirmations from the other soldiers.

Camillus gave a sinister grin. “The eagle advances!” he shouted. “Will you follow it to glory or allow it to fall into their vile clutches and damn yourselves for eternity?”

He then turned about, and holding the eagle aloft, threw it over the front of the ship into the surf. He looked back briefly and saw the looks of horror on the faces of the legionaries before jumping over the side. The standard tumbled end over end before slamming into the sand in the shallow surf.

“The eagle stands, and it faces the enemy!” Artorius shouted.

He watched as the aquilifer surged through the crashing waves, retrieved the standard, and started to advance towards the beach alone. He grinned briefly and then turned towards his men with a look of fierce determination.

“To the eagle!” he shouted as he jumped over the side of the ship and to his fate.