Spirit Invictus Complete Series

by Mark Tiro

  “The man is married to my daughter. So yes—technically, we’re family. I would appreciate if you wouldn’t bring that sore subject up again. But no—I’m afraid I can’t ride out there to try to delay him. Arminius and me—we’re not on good terms, as they say. He’s put a price out on me, a sort of reward to whichever of his men can kill me first.”

  “That can’t make for happy family get-togethers.”

  “I want to kill him just as much you know,” Segestes went on, ignoring me. “So we both have this sort of detente while we’re here, attached to the Roman forces. I’m afraid though, that doesn’t extend much outside this camp. Were Arminius to see me coming, he’d know straight away something was wrong. The only question would be whether or not he’d take the time to try to kill me first, before marching his men off to wherever he bloody well plans to go.”

  Quintus came back.

  “Damn fool won’t listen,” he announced as he opened the inner flap to the tent. He summoned two of the slaves, motioning to his armor. They immediately took off his cloak, and started putting on his breastplate.

  “Has your wine worn off enough for you to ride out with me, Marcus? It’s a fool’s mission, I know, but we need to try whatever we can to delay Arminius from leaving ’til morning.”

  “I think so. I mean—of course.” One of my brother’s other slaves came over now and began to arrange a set of armor just like the one Quintus was wearing, over my tunic.

  “Listen—I talked to Varus,” Quintus said, “and I think he means to do something terrible tomorrow. Go over to the tribes, or something—I’m not sure what. But something terrible. Marcus—if we can’t convince Arminius with words to keep from setting off until tomorrow, I think we need to do whatever else without words it takes to prevent it. I just can’t see letting Arminius run off loose and untethered, at the head of four cohorts, even if they are auxiliaries, and all that Cherusci cavalry he’s brought with him.”

  I stared intently at my brother. I knew what he meant to do. We locked eyes, silently a moment. Then I opened my mouth, abruptly stone cold sober.

  “I agree. Brother. I am with you, whatever may come.”

  We embraced, then turned and headed out of camp.

  We rode out in haste that night.

  We rode out in silence.

  The further we got from the bright lights and noise of the camp—and the further I got from the effects of the wine—the more I realized just how unrealistic I’d been.

  Unless Arminius could be convinced to not break camp, to wait for Varus to join him with the legions in the morning, this would almost certainly be a one-way trip for both Quintus and me. If we used anything other than our words, we would most likely be killed on the spot either by Arminius himself or by one of his countrymen. Even if we succeeded at killing Arminius, we would most likely be killed when we returned to camp by Varus himself, or by some proscription of military discipline. That’s what happens when you attack an ally—and the new best friend—of the legionary commander. It would be simple work for Varus to make it look like it was Quintus and I, and not Arminius or himself, who were the ones guilty of treason.

  Fucking lawyers, I thought, remembering back to Varus in his younger days as an advocate. Always spinning everything whichever way makes them look best.

  It was not a long ride at all. We arrived quickly at the small staging area Arminius had set up, just over the ridge from the main Roman camp.

  “Arminius—greetings!” Quintus shouted as we approached. The two of us alone posed no threat to him, or to any of the cohorts and auxiliaries there with him. There was no sense in us risking getting run through by one of his sentries for failing to announce our presence.

  Arminius rode over to us on his steed. “Quintus, hello! What brings you out this good evening?” he bellowed, a broad smile on his face. He was wearing only a short tunic, with no breastplate over it. At that moment, he was completely unarmed. Then he glanced over in my direction, and in what seemed as much of an afterthought as anything, asked Quintus, “And who is this young man you brought with you?”

  By this point in my life, I was an old man actually—much closer to the end of my days than to their beginning. I’m more than a little embarrassed to admit it now, but for just an instant, he completely flattered me by his words. Here Quintus and I had been girding for a fight to the death with this man, and instead, he’d charmed me into blushing like a schoolboy.

  “This is my brother, Marcus. He’s just joined us in the North with the new attachment.”

  “Glad to meet you,” I stammered from atop my mount.

  And there he was.

  My horse now was no more than a gladius’ thrust away from the man we were determined to stop.

  And so naturally, the first thing we did was exchange pleasantries.

  We told Arminius that it was Varus who’d sent us. We asked him to wait until morning before he broke camp.

  Hell—we made small talk with him as long as we possibly could, for what seemed like hours on end. That night, we talked and we talked and we talked. We talked with the single-minded goal of trying to delay Arminius as long as was humanly possible. I felt like Cato, giving his pompous long-winded speeches in the Senate house, trying in vain to filibuster Caesar’s legislative program out of existence by the sheer verbosity of his words alone.

  It didn’t take long for a second, clearer image to emerge in my mind. This image was of Cato as well, but in it, he was no longer in the Senate house. For all his trying to stop Caesar, the final image of Cato was not of him in the Senate house giving his lofty speeches, but rather, it was of him, lying on a remote African plane, disemboweled and dead. That was Cato’s fate, for having tried to stop Caesar—and for failing.

  The image made me shudder, and I pushed it out of my mind.

  This whole time I was right there, next to Arminius, no more than an arm’s length away. All I would’ve needed to do was to draw my gladius and run him through in one quick thrust.

  But I didn’t. I didn’t.

  And at some point, I can only imagine it must’ve became obvious that we were up to nothing more than simple delay. Arminius was beginning to grow weary. It was getting late by this point in any event. Still, Arminius—ever the politician—was bidding us a good night with almost equally as much charm as he’d had when we’d ridden in hours before. His capacity at this was astonishing to me. I could barely keep my eyes open myself—so lulling had our conversation with him been.

  Arminius had just about turned his great steed around, to head back towards where a group of his officers were congregated around a fire. Quintus now made a deliberate move and reached for his gladius. Arminius’ horse—it could only have been his horse now that I think about it—must’ve recognized the sound. The noble beast instantly bolted around before Arminius even had time to react—and also before Quintus even had time to fully unsheathe his weapon.

  But in its move to bolt, Arminius’ beast had been forced to turn towards somewhere. And where it had chosen to turn had been right towards me.

  I found myself in that instant face to face with Arminius. I found myself now with one good, clear chance to take him out.

  This time, I didn’t hesitate.

  This time, I didn’t think.

  I pulled out my gladius, and drew it up.

  But just as I did, a spear soared through the air, infinitely close, it seemed, to both me and my horse. This spooked her, and she wheeled around hard. She bolted with a sudden kick, carrying me right along with her. I pulled up hard, but it took a what seemed like an eternity to wheel her back around.

  When I did, I was just in time to watch in horror as Quintus’ lifeless head fell backwards. It would have come off altogether and tumbled to the ground except that it dangled there mercilessly, held to the rest of his body by a small flap of skin the barbarian’s sword had missed. My brother’s horse, now effectively rider-less, lurched forward, towards the German officers, scattering them as
it did.

  This gave my horse a few seconds head start. She must have instinctively known—thank the gods she was a mare and not a stallion. She bolted off back in the direction of the Roman camp.

  After putting a fair amount of space behind me, I looked back to assess matters.

  No one had pursued me.

  In the distance though, I could clearly still make out the figure of Arminius. Together with four cohorts of barbarian auxiliaries and the cavalry of his own Cherusci tribe, he had just broken camp and again slipped away, into the forest and into that interminable German night.

  7

  Seven

  I came to, lifting my head just in time to see a gull catch a warm thermal draft and rise up, graceful and free. The bird had no earthly business being there, soaring majestically over this godforsaken battlefield. But it was. And I knew its secret now.

  “Our line’s too strung out to hold here, sir.” The 18th’s Primus Pilus was huddled down behind the earthen ramparts, the same as I was. The position was giving us a little bit of shelter for now. But no one would ever confuse it with safe.

  “I’m not sure for how much longer we can hold,” he told me. “Marcus—you’re the ranking officer here now, if you’re up to it. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m going to have one hell of a headache in the morning,” I said.

  He laughed, which made my head throb even more.

  “Well sir, if any of us are still alive come the morning, I’m thinking your headache will be the least of your concerns.” He looked uncomfortable and then he looked at the ground.

  “Listen sir,” he started. “I think I can help poke a hole in the Cherusci lines big enough for you, Varus’ nephew and a handful of the other officers to punch through.”

  I looked around at the legionaries. Or what was left of them. All around us, men and boys were lying in the mud, suffering and dying. Nearly half of them had taken injuries in the two days before, ever since Varus had led us straight into the barbarian ambush here. He’d been surrounded with a small band of his senior officers, but separated off from the main force. We’d been pinned down in this section here, also surrounded, also cut off.

  I grabbed the Primus Pilus by the shoulders, as firmly as I could considering my condition.

  “We can’t let our entire officer corps be razed like Hannibal did. If you can make it through, you’ll help preserve some continuity of leadership. At the least, you’ll be able to tell of the 18th’s bravery, and of how your men held out in this place. How they stood by the eagles and Rome’s honor until the end.”

  “Is that an order sir? Can you even stand on your feet? Are you sure you’re up to assuming command?”

  “I think so, Caelius.” I looked him squarely in the eyes. “I won’t abandon your boys here to die. Not alone. You however—you need to take up with the officers. They’ll have a much better chance at pushing through the barbarian line if you’re with them. Someone there needs to have a brain.”

  He didn’t say anything, obviously pained at the thought that I was going to order him to leave his troops.

  “Push through and make a break for our garrison at Aliso,” I said. Then flashing him a wry grin, I added, “Then you can lead them back here to relieve us.”

  He’d fought in the legions far too long to bite at this. Even if they succeeded in breaking through and made it all the way back to the safety of Aliso, it would take far too long—and we’d all be far too dead—by the time they could ever mount a rescue.

  “To relieve you? Really?” He said dryly.

  “You can come recover the 18th’s standards.”

  “We haven’t lost our eagles yet sir,” he said defiantly. But I think I saw tears well up in him, as the reality of our situation became clear.

  “It looks damn near inevitable, doesn’t it sir? I understand. If you order me to go, I won’t disobey. Please remember though—these are my boys. At least if this is the end, they deserve better than Varus.”

  “And they’ll have better. I will not abandon them. I give you my word on that centurion. I will not let your men die here alone.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Now move with the speed of Mercury, okay Caelius? Good luck. Now go.”

  He did, which left me alone, in command of his men.

  There weren’t many of them left to command. The men left now numbered less than a cohort—at least those still uninjured, or at least somewhat capable of offering any resistance. We clearly wouldn’t be able to repel many more barbarian charges, less yet hold out waiting for a rescue.

  I looked around and took a deep breath, trying to etch this sight somehow into memory.

  So this is the place I would die, I thought.

  This is the place we would all die.

  For now, though, it was quiet. I sat down and leaned against the rampart.

  Just a gladius thrust away, I thought. If I hadn’t hesitated, I wouldn’t have missed.

  This, I thought, looking around—this need not be.

  It had been Arminius’ time to die—but I failed. I failed to kill him.

  So instead of Arminius, it was all these men—all of them, and Caelius and Quintus and me too—who would now be the sacrifice with which Justitia would balance her scales.

  The time for killing, at least for me, had passed.

  Now the time for dying had arrived.

  I couldn’t help myself; I chuckled softly.

  I’d just expected—no, I’d assumed—that I’d feel guilt when this moment came. That’s just how these things go—when you don’t kill the barbarian traitor who’s just a gladius’ thrust away from you, and as a result, you’re personally responsible for the greatest military disaster since Cannae.

  But I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel guilt. I felt regret—sure—but no guilt.

  I closed my eyes, and saw Arminius’ and Varus’ betrayal play out, over and over. But aside from these regrets, I didn’t feel the grief I’d expected to overcome me. I was quite surprised to discover that I felt mostly just an unburdened lightness.

  When the barbarians mounted their inevitable next attack, I was positioned to hear it long before they so much as threw a clump of dirt our way. They were that loud and that undisciplined.

  And so I sat back and closed my eyes. I waited here, listening quietly, ready to rally what was left of our troops when the time came, in defense against what would most likely be the last barbarian charge.

  Mostly though, I just sat. I’d wanted this, and now I had it—vita umbratilis. My own personal life in the shade. And now I had the rest of my life here to enjoy it, in this place—for as long as the rest of my life might last. I determined now to see things as they really were, and not as I had deluded myself they were.

  Above all else, I was determined to see.

  I thought of Quintus and his son. I saw the mistakes I’d made, but now it seemed obvious that they were just that. Mistakes. Nothing more. I’d expected the crushing burden of guilt, but now I found there was now only a happy gentleness.

  And one more thing.

  I felt no rage at Varus. I made no vows to take revenge on Arminius. I would not vow to avenge Quintus either, nor his son.

  It was all done. Almost all done.

  A great, still love washed over me, and for the first time in my life, I knew—despite our situation—everything was okay.

  That’s when I heard the familiar, wild eep rise up from the barbarian lines. It was followed by full throated, guttural holler, before it broke down into completely undisciplined chaos. Enough noise filled the air that anyone who was within a province’s distance would’ve known of their impending attack.

  So much for stealth, I thought, and smiled to myself.

  I stood up to take charge of our defenses. I’d decided to work on shoring up our flank first. It’d been lagging there after taking a lot of casualties in the previous round. Now it seemed like it might be the first to fall if something wasn’t done to ho
ld it. I begin to head over there.

  I never made it.

  As I turned to go, I suddenly felt a sharp jolt.

  It came completely without warning.

  It jolted me awake.

  Almost awake actually—almost, but not quite yet.

  It was only in passing this time that I even bothered to notice the spear that had pierced straight through my skull. My body lay lifeless and crumpled against the muddy earth. Again.

  This time, I could care less.

  As quickly as it had happened, I’d already forgotten all about it.

  David

  I was floating down to the road again, my last lifetime quickly fading to a distant memory.

  The road before me broke both left and right. Left and right.

  I stood there. Left or right? I stood there. Then I saw something, just a glean of light.

  I was standing there, in the middle of the road. I squinted down at it to see what it was.

  I bent down to look closer.

  No, that can’t be. That’s ridiculous.

  I burst out laughing.

  That’s just stupid. Stupid and ridiculous.

  But I couldn’t help myself, and so I burst out laughing all over again.

  I reached down and picked up the thing that was there. In the middle of the road. The thing that had caught my eye.

  This cheap, tinny, dull-looking thing—the one that’d been just lying there, ridiculing me.

  This… this… fork.

  Right there, exactly the kind you’d find in the dollar store.

  And I’d come across it. In the road.

  Lovely.

  I picked it up and walked over to the small grassy knoll off to the side. I sat down, under the shade of a big old tree. Just me and the fork.