Soldier of Rome: Heir to Rebellion (The Artorian Chronicles) by James Mace Page A

awkward relationship with his son, but nevertheless he knew that Drusus’ love and loyalty to be unquestionable. Sejanus knew that if he even so much as hinted otherwise he would quickly be on the receiving end of Tiberius’ wrath. So as much as it pained him, Sejanus sought a different explanation for Drusus’ lack of information regarding Agrippina.
    “Perhaps the Imperial Prince has taken his father’s directive regarding utterances too literally and has ignored her poisonous speech,” he conjectured. “Or more likely she just keeps her tongue in check when in his presence.” Tiberius frowned in contemplation and shrugged.
    “Well if that little bitch or her friends do overextend their forked tongues, I would like to know about it.”
    “You will,” Sejanus replied, beaming inside, “you have my word, Caesar.”
     

     
    One afternoon following their workouts, Artorius decided to see what else the gymnasium had to offer. He strolled into one of the back rooms, where what sounded like men grunting and striking each other could be heard. He looked inside and saw what he thought was a boxing match. Two men were squaring off, throwing jabs at each other. Artorius was surprised to see one man throw a side kick to his opponent’s body. At that instant the other grabbed the leg with his outside arm and lunged in to take out the kicker’s other leg. The men were now on the ground in what had morphed into a wrestling match. Artorius was then shocked to witness the man on top smashing his elbow into the other man’s face and head. He then spun around and grabbed his opponent’s ankle. The combatant on the bottom immediately started yelling in pain and slapping the mat with his hand as fast as he could. He was quickly let go of, and his adversary then helped him to his feet.
    “Well done,” a voice said from just off the mats. Artorius looked over to see a lean and well-muscled Greek wearing nothing but a loin cloth, his hands clasped behind his back. A number of other men stood on either side of him, most sweating profusely, with more than a few scrapes and bruises amongst them. Artorius was surprised to see Camillus, sporting a rather nasty-looking black eye.
    “That is enough for the day,” the Greek continued. “Remember what we went over regarding submissions and strikes from the top position.” He then clasped the hand of each of his students as they left. Artorius overheard them calling him Master Delios. The name Delios sounded familiar to him, but he was not sure from where. Then it dawned on him. He remembered where he knew the name from, and he also realized what it was he had witnessed.
    “Artorius, good to see you,” Camillus remarked as he walked out of the room.
    “Camillus,” Artorius acknowledged. “Nice mark you got there. I would hate to see what the other guy looked like!”
    “Yeah, his hand did take quite a beating,” Camillus laughed.
    “And strangely enough, Camillus won that match,” another man remarked, smacking the Signifier on the shoulder.
    “I grew tired of getting hit, so I choked him out,” he replied with a casual shrug. Once the men had left, Artorius walked over to the instructor, who was wiping his face off with a towel.
    “That was quite the display,” Artorius said. The Greek smiled at him.
    “Romans love blood; they love spectacle,” he replied. “What they don’t love so much is the purity of man versus man combat; no tricks, no weapons. It is simply the skill of one man against another. You, on the other hand, look like one who has little use for spectacle.” Artorius folded his arms across his chest and nodded.
    “Blood-letting for the simple purpose of blood-letting is pointless,” he remarked. “The mob loves blood. Whether it is from a gladiatorial fight, or a public execution; they always exhibit the same animalistic lust. I have no need for such things. I seek purity and strength through both the mind and body. It has been my passion in life to