Soldier of Rome: The Last Campaign (The Artorian Chronicles) by James Mace Page B

only had a handful of friends, and all of Metellus’ companions were with the legions in Germania.
    “A pity my father isn’t here to see this,” Artorius said quietly as he took Diana’s hand. “Given the kindness he and Juliana showed Camilla at the end of her short life, how fitting that her d aughter now joins our house.”
    “Those who we love never really leave us,” Diana replied, squeezing her husband’s hand in emphasis.
    Marcia was practically beaming in her radiant white gown and floral crown. Metellus had elected to wear his uniform, minus the helmet. His armor was highly polished, as were the phalerae discs that adorned his chest. The priest bound their hands together and recited a few prayers for long life, happiness, and fertility. As he finished, Metellus and Marcia spoke their very brief vows as they became husband and wife. As they slowly walked through the small number of guests, Marcia released her husband’s hand and embraced Artorius.
    “Finally, I can call you ‘father’,” she said with a tear rolling down her face.
    To which h e replied, “And I, at last, have a daughter.”
     

     
    Claudius had looked forward to his meeting with the exiled allied king. It was only seven months since he became Caesar, yet with no other plots or seditious talk of trying to restore the republic. He could now focus his attention on crucial matters both within and outside of the empire. Though the son of Germanicus had been an abysmal failure as emperor, the soldiers were willing to extend their fealty to their revered former commander’s brother. The general populous may not have liked the emperor curtailing the excessive festivals and expensive celebrations, yet he had promised to still honor Rome’s sacred holidays with proper festivities. And besides, with wasteful spending curtailed, the imperial coffers had begun to grow once more. Now was the time to, at last, give audience to the exiled Britannic king.
    Claudius sat on a throne on a small dais that rose a few inches from the floor. A number of senators and equites were also present; many out of curiosity, to see for themselves this exiled foreign king who came to them for aid. The emperor was flanked by several men on the dais. Ever-present was his freedman clerk and advisor, Narcissus, and next to him was a prominent senator named Aulus Plautius.
    Plautius was a battle-hardened soldier who had put down a slave revolt in southeast Italia seventeen years prior, subsequently served as suffect consul five years later, and now served as governor-general of Germania Inferior. Now in his late forties, and despite much of his hair on the sides and back graying, he was still in solid health and had lost none of his tenacity or prowess. He was also one of the few senior members of the senate who was battle tested, a proven strategist, and had the ability to take the long view of a campaign.
    In addition to experience, Claudius knew he needed men who were young enough to be of an innovative mind and willing to think beyond the borders of conventional wisdom. Standing on the other side of him were two brothers who possessed both of these traits, Flavius Sabinus and Flavius Vespasian. Though only in their early thirties, they had already established their military credentials through previous campaigns on Rome’s frontiers. Sabinus was a year older, well respected by the legions, and had a slight edge in experience, and yet he readily admitted that it was his younger brother who was the true military genius between them. Many generals possessed tactical savvy and were best suited for leading their men into battle, while others were more apt at looking at the overall strategic view of the campaign. Vespasian was that rare commodity who possessed both traits in equal measure. Plautius held both brothers in high regard, and it was he who recommended them to the emperor.
    Though no one was specifically talking about a military operation in Britannia, the