James Mace - Soldier of Rome - The Sacrovir Revolt

“Switch up your combinations,” Artorius ordered. “Use multiple shield attacks to set up your gladius strikes.” He was starting to have trouble speaking as it took all he had to keep his breathing regular. His hips were starting to ache from using them to magnify the impact of his blows. He had no idea how long they had been drilling, though he knew it was far longer than he would have gone had Magnus not been there. At length, he finally stepped away from the stakes. “Alright, that’s enough for now.” His heartbeat was ringing in his ears and his face was completely flushed. He set his weapons down and rested with his hands on his knees. “Thank the gods for that!” Magnus slurred as he dropped his weapons and fell to his back in an overtly dramatic manner. He took his helmet off and tossed it aside, his arms falling straight out at his sides. “I didn’t think you were ever going to end this!”

“I was too afraid of looking weak in front of you,” Artorius replied, removing his own helmet and having a seat on the grass. “Having you here has certainly pushed me beyond what I thought I was capable of.”

“Just don’t be asking me to spar right now,” Magnus remarked, his eyes closed and his arms still stretched out at his sides. “I don’t think I can even stand up just yet.”

The two friends stayed like that for a while, allowing their bodies to cool down and their heart rates to return to some semblance of normal. Artorius found his mind drifting as he stared off into the distance.

“Do you think he’s guilty?” he asked after some contemplation.

“Do I think who’s guilty?” Magnus asked in return, rolling onto his side. The color had returned to his face, though his hair was sticky and matted from the dried sweat.

Both men started to stretch out their sore limbs to prevent them from stiffening up.

“Piso,” Artorius replied. “I know he and Germanicus hated each other, but would he really resort to murder?”

“I don’t know,” Magnus said, rolling onto his back once more, placing his hands behind his head. “Someone murdered Germanicus; the evidence overwhelmingly showed signs of poisoning. I mean, who else had a motive?”

“That’s what troubles me,” Artorius remarked as sat down and brought his feet together to stretch out his groin. “I know we’ve been told to silence any implications of the Emperor; however, one cannot help but wonder. Did Tiberius somehow see Germanicus as a threat of some sort? I don’t see how. After all, Germanicus was his successor to begin with.”

“Hard to tell, given what we hear may not be all the facts,” Magnus conjectured. “I honestly doubt we will ever know for certain. What gets to us is often times hearsay and rumor, born often out of delusional fantasy.”

“That is for damn sure,” Artorius observed as he rolled onto his back and pulled his knees into his chest, stretching out his back. It hurt and yet felt good at the same time. He let out a sigh of relief as he let go and extended his legs out as far as he could. “I’ve got to tell you, Magnus, I worry about the lads sometimes. Germanicus was well-loved by everyone in the entire army. I only hope that justice, or at least the perception of justice, can be done. Otherwise, I don’t know how the troops will react. It is not good to allow the strong emotions his death stirs to simmer for too long without a resolution.”

“I wonder if that’s not at least part of their reason for wanting to send us on a sortie back across the Rhine,” Magnus pondered. “They keep us busy, for a time, while this mess gets sorted out in the courts back in Rome. Hopefully, by the time we get back, word of a resolution reaches the Rhine.”

“What sortie?” Artorius asked, as he stared at his friend dumbfounded.

“Oh, sorry,” Magnus replied with a grin. “Decimus told me.”

“I do wish he would let me know these things before he goes and tells everyone else,” Artorius mused.

The apartment in Augustodunum was tucked back at the end of an old, dank alley. This was the less than civilized section of the city, infested with the dregs of society that the populace pretended did not exist. Sacrovir found it ideal for conducting business he preferred to keep away from his estate.

He’d conducted many such “business” meetings over the last few months. First it was with Florus, then with a few of the more disaffected nobles that Florus brought with him. He started gathering a larger circle of conspirators. A whispered word here, an overheard conversation there, and loyalists to Gaul were found. The chiefs of many ancient tribes had flocked to his calling. Through them the battle cries of freedom from Roman oppression would be heard. Sacrovir counseled his followers on patience.

“All in due time,” he told them with a smile that had nothing to do with humor. “One cannot fight without good weapons.”

He listened to the rain outside, rolling his plan over in his mind. He was becoming more convinced at their chances of success with every meeting. He waited impatiently for his guests of the evening; guild leaders of the Gallic metal smiths whose loyalties were not necessarily to Gaul, but lay in coin. Sacrovir knew he would require a large contingent of heavy infantry in order to have a chance against the legions. Even the few individual cohorts that manned the small garrison stations would be a formidable threat against an untrained and ill-equipped force. Roman soldiers were well-armored and, more importantly, ingrained with an iron discipline which made them utterly fearless in battle.

Sacrovir knew he would require sound tactical leaders to assist him in battle preparations, and they might be more difficult to procure. The Romans fought in close order lines of battle, and it was standard procedure for the legions to unleash a storm of javelins before closing with their enemy. Their swords, the gladii, were simple yet fearsome weapons. He was thankful the cohorts he would face lacked artillery and possessed little, if any, cavalry. Legionary infantry was all he had to concern himself with, as daunting as that was. Many a foe had faced the legions with overwhelming numbers of the bravest warriors, only to break once javelin and gladius had been employed. There had to be a way of overwhelming their forces without succumbing to the Romans’ shock weapons and tactics.

Patience, he thought to himself. Our friends will help us to conquer the Romans one step at a time.

Sacrovir knew all of these things and worked with his fellow conspirators to try and find ways to negate the Romans’ advantages. It was Taranis, a nobleman of the Sequani, who came up with the concept of encasing some of their men completely in plate armor which would be impervious to the Roman javelins. They could be used as the vanguard, who would be break up the legionary formations, allowing the lighter-armed troops behind them to dispatch the Romans piecemeal. Formation was everything to legions; fighting together as one was what allowed them to time and again defeat superior numbers. Once their formations collapsed, they could be overwhelmed. Of course, breaking that formation would require a corps of men with enormous strength, not to mention the astronomical cost of outfitting them. In this, Sacrovir was not overly concerned. He had money, and money could buy anything. He intended to prove this in his meeting with the smiths.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. With one hand on his long-sword, he peered through the small hole in the door. Three well-dressed men were standing on the landing. All looked rather irritated, as well as nervous, at their surroundings. Sacrovir kept them waiting for several minutes before he opened the door.