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

helmet, which he carried tucked under his arm, bore the transverse horsehair crest that denoted his rank.
    “Son!” Artor ius shouted, jumping to his feet.
    “This is a most welcome surprise,” Diana added as she rose more slowly from her couch.
    “And a centurion, no less!” Artorius said with emphasis after he embraced his son. Though biologically his nephew, and only eleven years younger than he, Artorius still loved and regarded Metellus as if he were his son by birth rather than adoption.
    “It happened two months ago,” Metellus explained as he handed his helmet to a servant who also too k his belt and gladius from him. Proximo helped him out of his armor as he explained, “I meant to write and tell you, but since I was being given leave, I figured I would see you in person long before the post ever arrived. Granted, I underestimated the speed of the imperial post and overestimated my own abilities to acquire transport clear to Ostia from Cologne, but still I am glad to have told you in person.”
    “Well , this does call for celebration,” Diana stated as a number of the household staff helped Metellus out of his armor and took his equipment for him. “You must join us for supper.”
    “Gladly,” the young centurion replied. “But first I have official business I need to take care of that involves you, Father. Can we speak privately in your study?”
    “Of course,” Artorius replied.
    Metellus then turned to Diana. “Apologies, Mother. I will gladly join you as soon as I finish with the formalities of my coming here.”
     
    “We’ll talk outside,” Artorius stated. “My office is too small and feels rather stuffy in the evenings.
    “Of course.” It seemed strange to Diana how the two men could immediately change from the joy of seeing each other after being apart for four years, to that of formality as they exited the room.
    “Well, do tell,” Artorius said as they walked onto the small patio that was enclosed by large shrubs. “What official business could the Rhine army possibly have with me?”
    “It’s been ten years since you left the T wentieth Legion,” Metellus observed, bringing with him a leather satchel which he set on a nearby bench. “That being said, your reputation has continued unabated.”
    “I’d hate to think what my reputation there is now,” Artorius snorted before taking a long pull of wine. “I was but one centurion out of many when I left . And after six years as a cohort commander, I was relieved in disgrace after Mount Gerizim.” There was a lingering trace of bitterness in his voice. Though he’d come to accept that he no longer commanded soldiers of Rome, despite on paper holding the rank of centurion primus ordo, it aggrieved him that he had not left the legions on his own terms. He never said it openly, but Diana knew that he felt he had left things unfinished with the Roman Army. Metellus was aware of this as well. “No one in the ranks faults you for what happened with those Samaritan bastards,” he explained. “In fact, most credit you for achieving such a decisive victory against a numerically superior enemy. Our brethren in the legions could care less about who we slaughtered that day. A victory is a victory to them. Our actions may have caused a political debacle, but from a tactical standpoint the legions view your actions as brilliant.”
     
    “That, at least, is good to hear,” Artorius replied. “Still, it doesn’t matter. My time as a soldier of Rome is long over.”
    “I wouldn’t say that,” Metellus replied, reaching into his bag and producing a pair of scrolls. “Some of the younger soldiers, who were but legionaries or decanii when you left, are now centurions and options. They remember you winning the Legion Champion Tournament several times, and none have forgotten how you held the flank during the Battle of Braduhenna. And don’t forget, two of your closest friends now serve with the First Cohort.”
    “Yes, I was glad