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The trumpets rang in the clear morning air followed by drums commanding heartbeats as they pounded. Rows of centuries formed on either side of the fort entrance and came to attention. Lances were shoved forward from each front line,each flickering deadly blades like diamonds hemming the straight lines of glistening soldiers.
Julius closed his eyes to stop the tears. He was back home, back in Britannia. He was about to enter his fort, face the men of the XXth and face his first command…command entrusted to him from Vespasian himself. He had the imperial seal and private promise that he could lead guide and direct this legion in the search of his son. The shell he had lived in these last nine years was melting away, filling with a new found life surge.
His horse moved forward. The auxiliary soldiers moved with him, their horses restrained to a slow walk as they entered the gates. His own horse felt the thrill that shot through him and pranced, eager to be ser as free as he wanted to be. But Vespasian said he’d support his search as long as the Senate was kept happy and oblivious to their agreement.
Julius looked at the soldiers as he passed, each identical to the next but each unique, each a different man, a man he needed to know. No matter how he looked into the eyes of each man he could, all he met was the blind stare. But behind some of those eyes were men who had tasted rebellion. It was his responsibility to see that each man fought for the Flavian cause as well as for Rome. He had each man’s life in his control to life or die and he knew he needed each man’s help to find Gneaus even though they would never know.
He raised a hand and the following parade halted at the entrance of the headquarter building. The lances withdrew to their owners, drums and trumpets silenced and a commanding silence filled the air.
A young officer stepped forward. Tall, tanned, and appearing as hard as the metal curass covering his chest. His fist crossed his chest and shot forward. “Legate Agricola, welcome to Viroconium. The soldiers and officers hearby announce and stand ready to honor Rome with our lives. May we honor you as well.”
“I accept your welcome and honor your dedication with my dedication to Rome.” The words sounded foreign to him even though they fell from his mouth. He dismounted, allowing a soldier to take command of his horse. The officers following did the same only they stepped forward to hold their own horses. The fort priest stepped forward, his white robe gleaming in the afternoon sun. His vile of holy oil dangled from his hand.
Julius kneeled and felt the warm drip of myrrah fall on his head and the touch of the priest’s hand. “May Jupiter Maximus honor you with wisdom and understanding to bring glory to Rome.”
“And Vespasian Caesar,” he added quietly.
The hand touching his head quivered. “And Vespasian Caesar.”
Julius stood and gazed around. Nothing had moved except for the birds swooping through the air. He strode to the mounting stanchion nearby and turned to the rows of motionless soldiers sparkling dangerously in the sunlight. “I am honored to be here. Together, we will honor Rome. Together, we will conquer any who oppose Rome’s wisdom and might. Hail Rome!”
The following cry would have shook the rafters of Mt Olympus itself. “Hail Rome!”
An overwhelming sense of relief, power, and responsibility melted together in that instant. He would bring glory to Caesar, to Rome and bring Gnaeus home. He stepped down. Primus Pilus, dismiss the men,” he said to the centurion of the first cohort. With a nod to the man to act as his lacticlavii, the officers fell in line behind him and followed as he walked into the headquarters.
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