James Mace - Soldier of Rome - The Centurion

“Because I still serve Rome,” Livia stated with an air of power in her voice. “Don’t think that because I am extremely old, and a woman, that I can’t still influence what happens in the Empire. I confess there is another reason. You know I spent the majority of my life married to Augustus. I divorced your grandfather and married him back when he was still known as Gaius Octavian and long before he came to power. He spent more than forty years as Emperor of the Roman Empire, and was deified by the Senate.

“As a god, Augustus is free from any retribution the divines may have exercised against him in the next life. His enemies are powerless against him in both life and death. I do not hold such an advantage against the Fates.”

“So you wish to become a goddess,” Claudius surmised, exhaling loudly. “Well, you certainly don’t lack for ambition, Grandmother.” He looked like he immediately regretted his words, though the Empress dowager did not take offense, for her grandson was correct.

“My son does not believe in the deification of monarchs, though he allowed the Senate to make Augustus a god for political stability,” Livia replied. “He would not allow himself to be cast as the one who attempted to deny the beloved Augustus his divinity. Tiberius will make no such concessions for his dear old mother. So I must look to another.”

“You think I can influence Gaius Caligula to make you a goddess?” Claudius asked. “I admit that he always acts as if he is fond of me as his uncle…” Livia’s laughter cut him short and he sat up quickly, startled.

“Oh, you are a fool after all!” Livia mused, tossing the other, much larger, scroll at her grandson. “No, if Gaius Caligula does indeed succeed my son as emperor, I suspect that he will not sit on the throne for long. But I will still need you if I am ever to reach the divine and see my beloved Augustus again.”

“Of course,” Claudius replied. “Not sure what a fool like me can accomplish, but if it is in my power, Augustus will take you by the hand and lead you into paradise.” As he spoke he started to unroll the scroll before realizing it was an entire book. “What is this?”

“Prophecies of the Divine Sybil, kept out of the official texts by order of Augustus. Mark well the dates, for the Sybil has never been wrong on such important matters. In fifteen, perhaps sixteen years’ time, your destiny will be revealed to you.”

That evening Claudius sat in his study, reading the book Livia had given him. His wife had already moved out of the house. Claudius was divorcing her on grounds of infidelity, seeing as how she was now pregnant with a child that could not possibly be his. There was also the issue of her being suspected in the murder conspiracy involving her sister-in-law’s death. Still, the issues with her were the least of his worries. As he read, the effects of the wine from earlier suddenly evaporated. His eyes grew wide as he read the prophecies set forth by Sybil, Rome’s holiest of oracles.

“No,” he gasped. “It cannot be!”

Fortress of the Twentieth Legion, Valeria, Cologne, Germania

“The frost is off the ground,” Calvinus observed as he eyed the cool spring morning. The Legion’s Master Centurion leaned on the dew-stained rampart of the front gate as he watched the city of Cologne coming to life in the light of the rising sun. Markets were opening, with merchants noisily setting up their wares as a section of legionaries marched towards the gate having finished their nighttime patrol of the city.

“And with no spring campaign planned, we need to keep the men duly occupied,” replied Lucius Apronius, the Commanding Legate.

Training for the annual Legion Champion tournament would keep some of the lads busy as they sought to dethrone the young soldier who held that honor. For Optio Titus Artorius Justus, the pressure of defending his title did not weigh on him like it would others. For starters, he was not required to take part in the tournament itself. Rather, the competition would take place without him, with a tournament winner being named. That legionary would then face Artorius, the defending champion, a week later in a single bout.

The previous spring had been the first time Artorius had defended his title since the Third Cohort returned from its garrison duty at Lugdunum. The match had been anticlimactic, with the Optio dispatching his opponent in less than a minute.

“You know everyone was a lot more excited to watch the Pankration competition,” added Calvinus, the Legion’s Master Centurion. “It was something different, watching men fight in the arena without weapons.”

Apronius responded with a scowl. “That’s all very well, except for the fact that nearly a third of the men who took part in that tournament ended up badly injured and unable to perform their basic duties for almost a month!”

“There are no campaigns planned,” Calvinus reasoned as they descended the ramparts and entered the Legate’s quarters. “This corner of the Empire is relatively at peace for once, so if the lads want to beat themselves into oblivion in the name of sport, let them.” He then shuffled through some papers that he had brought into the commanding Legate’s office and handed two of them to Apronius.

“Retirement certificates requiring your signature,” he explained. “Two of my First Cohort Centurions have decided to call it a career.”

Apronius whistled quietly when he read the citations. The men were among the Centurions Primus Ordo, the elite commanders of the centuries within the First Cohort. There were only four per legion, and they were senior to the Cohort Commanders, answerable only to the Master Centurion. One man had been in the legions for thirty-two years, the other for twenty-nine. Each had had a distinguished career, as only the best within the ranks ever made it to Centurion, and of these only a minute few ever made it to Primus Ordo.

“We will make sure we have a proper send-off for these men,” the Legate directed as he signed the orders. “I take it you have replacements selected?”

“Your predecessor, Legate Gaius Silius, had already authorized two men to be placed on the roles as selectees for these positions. Both men are of the Third Cohort. One is their commander, Centurion Pilus Prior Valerius Proculus. The other commands the Third Cohort’s Second Century, Centurion Platorius Macro.”

The sky was cloudless and the sun bright. For Tabbo, war chief of the Frisian army, this was the perfect day. The path leading through Braduhenna Wood to the River Rhine was clear this day, though groves of trees lay thick on either side, creating a canopy of shade. Frisia was a tiny kingdom along the coast of the North Sea. Though their territories lay east of the Rhine, they were still a sub-province of the Roman Empire and subject to what amounted to a modest tribute. It was ruled by King Dibbald Segon, son of Diocarus Segon. Diocarus had been an old man when he came to the throne; his father, Adel IV, had been a young boy when he became King and ruled an astronomically long eighty-one years. Diocarus’ reign was much shorter, lasting only four years. His son, Dibbald, had ruled for ten years so far. He was also a great warrior, and father to Prince Klaes, who was roughly the same age as Tabbo. Both men had led two cohorts of allied auxiliaries for Rome during the Germanic Wars and had fought at Idistaviso nine years prior.

Tabbo was in his early thirties and displayed a strong, Nordic physique. He kept his hair around shoulder length, and his face was clean shaven, showing his powerful, square jaw line. He wore a simple tunic vest this day, along with woolen breaches. Like all Frisian warriors he was an expert in close combat and preferred using a short, double-bladed hand axe as his primary weapon, which was attached to a baldric and hung off his left side. In battle he would wear a bronze helmet and carry an oblong shield, though today was not a day for battle. In fact, the last time Tabbo had swung his axe in anger was at Idistaviso.