Free Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles) by James Mace

emotion, Livia had been inconsolable when word of Drusus’ wounding and subsequent death reached her. She had lain at night in Augustus’ arms, sobbing uncontrollably. No matter what differences she may have had with her sons, Livia still felt the same devastating loss that all parents felt who had the unfortunate task of burying a child. Tiberius immediately regretted his choice of words.
    “You know I never believe what is said about you,” he said.
    Livia did not reply until she reached the door. She opened it to find Severus waiting just outside.
    “When he was dying, Augustus called you the last hope for Rome,” she said, turning back to her son. “He may have never told you, but he always loved you, as do I.” She immediately left the room.
    Tiberius lowered his head. His mother never ceased to amaze him. In fifty-five years, not once had she ever expressed any form of affection towards her eldest son. He looked up and waved Severus in.
    Aulus Caecina Severus was a couple years older than the Emperor, though he hid his age remarkably well. He was a tall, handsome man, and like all traditional Romans he was clean-shaven, keeping his hair short and groomed. He wore the muscled cuirass typically worn by a legionary legate. It was old, worn, and bore marks from the blows of countless adversaries.
    How does he do it? Tiberius thought to himself. He’s older than I am, has seen more campaigns, and yet he looks almost young enough to be my son.
    Severus stood rigid, eyes straight ahead, and saluted Tiberius. The Emperor was a bit shocked by this, especially since he considered Severus to be a close personal friend. Out of respect he rose to his feet and returned the legate’s salute.
    “You sent for me , Caesar?” Severus asked, still standing rigid.
    “Oh , come off it, man,” Tiberius laughed, waving Severus to a chair. He was a bit unnerved to see that Severus remained rigid, almost standoffish. Tiberius sat down and leaned back in his chair, his fingers intertwined. “Yes, I sent for you,” he said at last. “Rome has need of your services…”
    Severus breathed out hard through his nose and finally looked the Emperor in the face. “Rome has had need of my services for more than forty years,” he replied bitterly.
    “And she calls on you again, one last time,” Tiberius continued, keeping his patience.
    Severus shook his head and looked down. “Caesar, you know there will never be a ‘one last time.’ There will always be conflict, always a crisis. It will never end; not for you, and apparently now not for me.”
    The Emperor’s face hardened at the remark.
    “You’re right; it will never end for me. That is the price I pay for being where I am. It is also the price you must be willing to pay. You are a senator and magistrate of Rome. You have known this your whole life. I remember when you taught me what duty, honor, and courage meant. My reputation as a soldier stems from what you taught me. It was from you that I learned how to be a decisive strategist and still lead from the front; that my life was not worth more than the men I led. All those times I placed myself at the head of a charge, being the first to crash into masses of men and spears, were because of the utter selfless example that you set. Why the change?”
    Severus l ooked downcast. He was feeling shamed by his conduct. “I know my duty, Caesar. It’s just that I’ve been doing this for so long . I’ve spent more years on campaign than most of the other Senatorial legates combined. My grown children scarcely know me. And yet, I admit that in battle I never felt more alive; but now I’m tired. Tell me, Tiberius, do you know of anyone else in the whole of the Empire with more actual combat experience than I?”
    Tiberius shook his head. He knew there were none, not even him. “It is precisely for that reason I have recalled you,” he answered. “You mentored and served myself and my brother admirably. I freely admit that