Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles) Read Online Free Page A

raid during the daytime was highly unlikely, he allowed his men not on picket duty to remove their armor. He strolled along the dirt path between thatched houses, the ground still damp as the sun did not penetrate through the tall trees until near midday. He ’d left his armor with his century, his centurion’s belt and his sword hanging from his left hip being the only indicators of his rank. The smell of livestock was strong, and he caught the aroma of the grain silo as he walked past. The Gallic farmers went about their business, most paying him no attention. Though he hoped the presence of Roman soldiers so close would instill feelings of safety, there was an air of overwhelming fear amongst the populace.
    “Soldier!” a man said in heavily accented Latin behind Artorius.
    The centurion turned to face him.
    He was a farmer, though with his more brightly colored tunic and breaches, along with his well-groomed hair and shaven face, he appeared to be a man of greater importance.
    “What is it?” Artorius asked.
    “I trust your men will be able to protect us,” the man, who Artorius surmised to be the village leader, stated. “During the last raid I recognized some of the men or at least was able to see what tribe they belong to. They are Marsi, same as my people.”
    “The Marsi were all but annihilated during the last Germanic War,” the centurion affirmed. “With their lands so close to the border, they would not dare risk a renewed call of Roman vengeance.”
    “It has been fifteen years since then,” the village leader observed. “Mallovendus, our chief who attained peace with Rome in exchange for the return of a lost imperial eagle, has since passed on to the halls of our ancestors. His sons have fallen from favor, and those who now lead the Marsi curse those of us who live across the Rhine within the boundaries of who they view, still, as our most hated enemy.”
    “The senate granted you lands on the border to prevent conflict with the native Gauls,” Artorius said. “It was also with the intent that having the same tribal peoples directly on both sides of the empire’s border would create a sense of peace and harmony.”
    “Your senate’s intent may have been noble,” the man replied, “yet, sadly, it has had the opposite effect. We who seek Roman community and protection have been branded as traitors. They do not just want our food stores, they wish for our deaths.”
    “It is they who will pay the price in blood,” Artorius promised. As he left the man and returned to his century, he furrowed his brow in contemplation. Though it affirmed his suspicions that the raiders would certainly return, it troubled him to think more substantial troubles may be brewing.
    “The Germanic tribes will always be trouble,” Praxus conjectured when Artorius told him of his concerns. “Why do you think we live in one of the only double-legion fortresses in the whole of the empire?”
    “True,” Artorius concurred. “One does not post ten-thousand men, especially legionaries, in a single place without reason. Still, it does wear on me from time-to-time. As our soldier said a while ago, these bastards never learn.”
     
    The remainder of the day passed without incident, and it was well into night when the Marsi raiders returned. The legionary runner sent from the pickets somehow managed to make his way back to the century without causing a commotion. It was only when he reached the embankment that he lost his footing and pitched headlong over the side in a crash of armor and weapons. A few stifled chuckles were heard from amongst the legionaries lying against the slope. Their demeanor immediately changed when they understood why he’d come.
    “Sir,” the runner said as quietly as he could, once he found Centurion Artorius. “The raiders are coming.”
    “Any idea on their strength?” Praxus asked as squad leaders started to rouse their sleeping men.
    “No,” the soldier replied. “It is so bloody