Echoes of Germania (Tales of Ancient Worlds Book 1)

by H. B. Ashman

  Amalia raised an eyebrow. What the hell was he talking about?

  Cassius caught her confused stare. “Come,” he said, walking toward the marching legion. “Let us eat and sit by a fire. I will tell you about Lugdunum. It is a real city, not like this shithole.”

  Discouraged but very much looking forward to food and warmth, Amalia nodded, then dragged herself after him, swatting at the flies buzzing around her face. She covered her nose and mouth with her sweatshirt, keeping her eyes away from the crucified men and women, praying she’d never see another bridge for as long as she lived.

  Marius, Quintus, Germanicus, and Arminius were sitting on their horses as the occasional soldier in the empty fort of Vetera rushed by—perhaps they knew that the absence of Germania I was nothing short of outrageous.

  Marius felt hot anger rushing through his body. And he was not the only one. Quintus’s teeth were grinding so loudly, the dull sound of it almost gave Marius goose bumps.

  “Lucius has tricked us,” Arminius said, his voice tense. “He has sent us here to trap us as his daughter’s guard so he can march to Pannonia with Germania I.”

  Quintus spat. “May the gods never forgive him for this!”

  A centurion finally came running from one of the stone barracks. He was putting on parts of his armor as he rushed over. He was fat and short, with an ugly scar where his right ear should have been.

  “Ave Legate!” he shouted, crossing his sword arm in greeting.

  Marius frowned. “Where is Germania I?”

  The centurion looked confused for a moment, as if he was surprised that Marius would ask such a question in the first place. “Marching to Pannonia, my Legate. To crush the rebellion. You . . . you did not know?” Fear crossed the small man’s face.

  Marius looked up to the heavens, shaking his head in disbelief. It all made sense now. Lucius had sent his daughter knowing this fort would be empty and without protection of a legion—to trap him as her personal guard, so to speak. He knew it would be out of the question to leave her here in an empty fort at the border of a hostile province.

  Germanicus turned his horse in a circle, scanning the empty streets. “Is this why Lucius has sent Domitia?”

  Marius nodded. “Yes.”

  “So are we stuck here all winter? A proud legion of Rome forced to stay home, suckling at its mother’s tit?” Germanicus barked.

  “No,” Quintus said. “We will send for Lucius’s V Alaudae. It is stationed near the Suebi Tribe. Let them deal with Domitia Ahenobarbus.”

  “I can’t do that,” Marius said. “It is not my legion to command. Besides, Augustus will be outraged if he hears we are withdrawing legions from conquered lands for such nonsense.”

  The air filled with the distant buzzing of flies.

  “Let the men rest here for tonight,” Marius said, breaking the silence.

  “And tomorrow?” Quintus asked, his face flushed with anger.

  Marius frowned. “Tomorrow we shall march to Lugdunum.”

  “Lugdunum? To escort Domitia?” Arminius asked. “We have to march to Pannonia before Lucius gets there first.”

  Marius let out a loud breath. “There is no other way. Germania I is gone. V Alaudae and Germania III are at marching camps holding a hostile border. I cannot leave Domitia Ahenobarbus here without a legion, nor can I send her to Lugdunum by herself. She is the First Citizen’s great niece. If harm comes to her because of me, I will have to fall on my sword.”

  Arminius shifted in his saddle. “Great niece or not, she is not our problem. We will lose weeks marching to Lugdunum. Germania I will arrive in Pannonia long before we will. Augustus is a man of the military. He always puts Rome first. Maybe he will understand if we leave Domitia here to march to Pannonia. Besides, marching to Lugdunum without his permission might anger him even more.”

  Marius understood his reasoning. Arminius was incredibly sharp for his age. He knew politics almost as well as his sword. But his loose tongue was a curse as much as a blessing. Escorting Domitia to Lugdunum would slow them down immensely. And they would have to change course without Augustus’s permission—again. But he couldn’t just leave the great niece of Augustus here.

  “Should we wait and send a messenger to Augustus first?” Quintus wondered.

  “No. We can’t wait for a messenger to ride to Rome and back to ask for permission to march to Lugdunum. We would only lose more time, which we don’t have. Tomorrow we will march to Lugdunum. I have no other choice.”

  “This is not your fault,” Germanicus said.

  “Let us hope our Augustus will see it the same way,” Marius replied. “We will continue to Pannonia tomorrow, by way of Lugdunum. Let the men bathe and rest tonight.”

  Arminius sighed. “Lucius might defeat the rebels before we even get there. Then he will ask our Augustus to keep us in Germania while he takes our place in Illyricum.”

  Marius rode his horse beside Arminius’s. “Then we will stay and fight the tribes, if that is the will of our Augustus.”

  The problem was, Marius thought, Illyricum would fall into chaos under Lucius’s hand.

  Arminius frowned. “As you wish, my Legate.”

  Marius nodded. “Now let us prepare the fort for the men. We need to march tomorrow first thing. Gods willing, we will make up for the loss of time with speed and determination.” Marius scanned the empty fort once more, then his gaze settled on the bodies on the bridge. He turned to the head centurion of the camp, the one with the missing ear.

  “And get those down and burn the bodies. The sight of these poor souls sickens me!”

  The centurion bowed quickly. “Yes, my Legate. At once.”

  Marcus rushed toward the family wing of Augustus’s palace and Palatine Hill, his feet clicking over the priceless mosaic floors and past the sky-high marble pillars. The palace was a wonder of wealth and engineering, a statement of Augustus’s endless power and wealth. It was buzzing as always, slaves rushing around like busy ants. Marcus turned down the hall Augustus had filled with golden statues of people he admired and loved, especially the ones he had lost. The golden figures shimmered brightly, reflecting the yellow rays of the sun through tall windows and onto the walls and Marcus alike.

  Without stopping, Marcus’s eyes gazed at the oversize statue of Agrippa, who was portrayed in his full war attire. Agrippa had been Marcus’s dear friend, who had fought with him side by side for many years. He had loved Agrippa almost as deeply as Augustus had. If only he were here, Marcus thought. Then Livia’s poison would have no hold on Augustus. Agrippa always had Augustus’s ear.

  The dark armor and intimidating faces of the Praetorian Guard grew taller and closer as Marcus made his way to the palace gardens and pools. Marcus slowed to so see if the guards would block his way, but, as always, they did nothing.

  The gardens looked lovely. Splashes of reds and greens mixed perfectly with the fresh and fruity fragrances hanging in the air. The thousands of plants and flowers made it a masterpiece of botanical artwork. A heated pool sat in the center of the gardens. It was the size of a lake and was designed for bathing, although nobody ever used it. The pool was a statement of power more than anything.

  Marcus heard voices coming from the sculpture garden to the left of the pool. Taking a deep breath, Marcus calmed himself and slowed his pace.

  Julia’s voice echoed loud and clear through the garden: “It’s a sign of great disrespect. His legions are loyal to him, and now he thinks he is free to do with the men as he pleases.” Her words did not surprise Marcus. Julia was Lucius’s wife and, unfortunately, one of Augustus’s nieces. While Augustus preferred her younger sister, Antonia, Julia was still his family and was therefore treated as such. It helped that she looked almost identical to her mother, Augustus’s deceased sister Octavia, whom he had loved dearly.

  “It is rather unusual to move a legion without your permission.” Marcus recognized Livia’s voice. She sounded calm, as usual, and was siding with Julia, as always.
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  “Germanicus loves Marius as if he were his father, and my son is no fool.” Antonia’s young voice this time. As Augustus’s favorite niece and widow of the mighty Drusus, she was more significant than Julia would ever be, yet she never made it known.

  Marcus walked around the hedge and into the sculpture garden. The gathering of the imperial family was larger than he had hoped for. Livia, Julia, and Antonia were sitting in front of a big fountain. They were playing a board game on a golden board, with precious colored stones instead of rocks. The stones complemented Livia’s purple silken dress and her red jasper jewelry set. As always, Livia looked immaculate. Even at her age, she stole the shine from the other women in the room. With her thin, elegant face and red wig hiding her silver hair, she looked much younger than she was. Augustus loved her most in all the world—a power she enjoyed with every breath. It was whispered in the senate that, while Augustus worked fourteen hours a day, Livia worked twenty-four.

  Augustus and Antonia’s youngest son, Claudius, were sitting away from the fountain, next to a sculpture of Neptune, whose golden trident pointed into the sky. They were playing Roman chess, Augustus’s favorite game. And surrounding the whole family was a long line of slaves and loyal freedmen, standing as lifeless as the white marble statues, waiting for their next command.

  “M-Marcus!” Claudius’s boyish voice shouted as he stormed toward Marcus and grabbed his hand to pull him to the chess table.

  “Have you practiced some of the attacks I taught you?” Marcus asked with a gentle smile. He was a sickly child with a stutter, which had earned him the nickname Clau-Clau-Claudius behind closed doors, and out of Livia’s own mouth once or twice. To his own, especially his grandmother Livia, he was a disgrace to one of Rome’s most ancient families. Nobody ever imagined he was bound for greatness—unlike his older brother, Germanicus, who was destined for fame. Livia and Augustus didn’t have children of their own, so the succession of the empire would pass to Augustus’s grandchildren from a previous marriage—some said, however, that Livia’s grandchildren were just as likely to inherit. But poor Claudius would certainly not be considered.

  Augustus looked up from the chessboard with a welcoming smile on his face.

  “Marcus. Oh, please tell me you are here early to finish our game of chess.” Augustus’s silver hair shimmered in the sun. He was wearing several tunics again despite the warm weather, a sign that he did not feel well today. On his good days, Augustus looked tall and strong. Today, he looked small and tired.

  Julia, Livia, and Antonia also looked up. Livia and Julia threw Marcus weary glances while Antonia, whose soft face always reminded Marcus of a warm summer evening, smiled.

  Marcus returned Augustus’s smile. “I would love nothing more, my Augustus, but I am here with a message from my son. I am afraid it is rather urgent.”

  Julia and Livia exchanged looks.

  “I had hoped Marius would send a message,” Augustus said, his face growing serious as he gestured Marcus took the seat where Claudius had been sitting moments ago.

  “Claudius, go and rest for a little while. You look tired,” Antonia said, more to the servants than to him. His little face grimaced in protest as one of the female slaves grabbed his hand to walk him out of the garden. Marcus felt a pang of pity for the boy. To be included like this in a family afternoon was rare for Claudius, son of the mighty Drusus or not.

  Marcus took a seat across from Augustus, who placed the chess pieces at the exact same position Marcus and Augustus had left them yesterday evening, demonstrating his incredible memory with ease.

  “We don’t have to finish it now, but at least play your next move, will you?” Augustus asked.

  Lowering his head closer to the board, Marcus nodded. He knew exactly what move to play, but he always pretended to think it through for Augustus’s sake.

  His eyes glued to the board, brow drawn tightly, Marcus picked up one of the black rocks, a centurion.

  “I know what you’ve come to say,” Augustus said, eyeing the centurion in Marcus’s hand. “I have received the news from Lucius.”

  Marcus analyzed the board, scratched his chin once, then moved the figure forward onto one of the squares closer to Augustus’s king.

  “I was very troubled myself when I heard from Marius,” Marcus said.

  “So it is true then?” Julia, in typical fashion, inserted herself into the conversation. “He is marching to Lugdunum?” Julia’s high-pitched voice cornered Marcus as if it were a victory.

  Marcus nodded. “I am afraid so.”

  Julia grinned as Augustus leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.

  “Marcus, why is your son paining me like this? Have I not given him Illyricum?”

  “You have, my Augustus.”

  “And have I not forgiven his march to crush the Pannonian rebellion without awaiting my reply?”

  “And that was only a few nights ago,” Julia added. Augustus threw her a sharp look. Julia bit her lip and dropped her gaze back to the board in front of her.

  “You have been gracious, my Augustus,” Marcus said.

  Augustus’s face went blank. He was not the type to shout or scream, but Marcus was well aware that this coldness could mean anything from annoyance to the death of his son. He had become more emotional ever since Livia had convinced him to exile his only daughter for committing adultery against Livia’s son Tiberius. Livia had arranged their marriage but had refused to take responsibility for its demise.

  Marcus let out a soft sigh. “My Augustus, please let me explain.”

  Augustus nodded. “Explain.”

  Marcus straightened his back. “Marius has drawn your anger, and rightly so. He has changed course again, that is true. But he has done so for a reason he thought important to his First Citizen.”

  Marcus heard Julia snort. He ignored her.

  “Is that so?” Augustus asked curiously, his crease softening.

  Marius nodded. “Our dear friend Lucius must have been too busy with his conquest of Germania to mention that Marius is marching to Lugdunum to guarantee the safe travels of Domitia.”

  “Domitia? My great-niece?” Augustus raised his brow. He sat up, turning to Julia, Domitia’s mother.

  “The savage lands?” Antonia asked Julia. “But I thought Domitia was visiting her cousin Aquila in Lugdunum?”

  Julia’s hand trembled a little as she put down the figure in her hand. Marcus looked at her, feigning confusion. Then he cleared his throat. “Julia, please be so kind and help us through this misunderstanding. My son has failed to inform me as to why Domitia was in Germania in the first place.”

  Augustus shook his head. “Domitia in a marching camp like a legionary’s whore. Is the name Ahenobarbus to become the laughingstock of Rome?”

  Julia’s mouth moved, but nothing came out.

  Augustus clenched his fist. Livia rose and strode over to him, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  “My Augustus, your health,” she said softly. “I am certain there is an explanation for this. And they are still our family, your dear sister’s child and grandchildren. Oh, poor Octavia. How it would pain her to see her own blood suffer.” Augustus’s fists slowly opened.

  Marcus stood. This was the perfect moment to excuse himself and give the family privacy to sort things out. He had accomplished what he came here for.

  “My apologies for my sudden departure, but I have an urgent matter to attend to. If it pleases my Augustus, I shall return later to continue our match.”

  Augustus rose and reached over to put a hand on Marcus’s shoulder.

  “Of course, my friend. Thank you for coming so quickly. Please tell your son that he has nothing to fear. I love your boy. He reminds me so much of the son I always hoped for.” For the first time today, Livia’s icy stare found Marcus.

  “That is kind of you,” Marcus said. “But he has neither the political talent nor ambition that a son of our great First Citizen would have.” He turned to leave
but then halted. “Oh, before I forget. Marius wanted to ask permission to continue his march back to Salona after Domitia has arrived safely in Lugdunum, over the Pannonian Mountains, just in case the rebels are as stubborn as the ones you and I fought back when Illyricum was a sunny Germania.”

  Augustus looked pleased. “Excellent idea. Illyricum has been hostile for too long.”

  Marcus could have left it at that, but Lucius had come after his son, after all, and needed to be taught a lesson.

  “Oh, and congratulations to Gnaeus for earning the First Family’s purple cloak. All of Gaul and Germania are talking about nothing else but a possible new heir.”

  Augustus looked confused. Livia’s face jerked toward Julia, who turned ash white.

  “My Augustus.” Marcus gave a small bow and threw Julia one more glance—you come near my son, I will come for yours—before taking his leave.

  Decimus was already waiting for Marcus at the end of the gardens. His face was anxious. He stormed toward Marcus, but before he could say anything, Marcus pulled him aside behind one of the mighty white pillars.

  “Marius is saved,” Marcus said in a low voice.

  Decimus sighed. “Pluto, I thank you.”

  Marcus smiled. “Go find Julius. Tell him the information about my son is inaccurate and that our First Citizen has knowledge of his march to Lugdunum. Pay him double what Julia paid him to include the rumors of Gnaeus’s purple cloak in tomorrow’s public notices. If he still objects, tell him I would hate for his wife to find out about the slave he got pregnant.”

  “Yes, Marcus.”

  Decimus turned to leave, but Marcus grabbed him by his arm.

  “Decimus.”

  “Yes?”

  Marcus looked into his eyes. “Thank you, my friend. I would give you your freedom once more if I hadn’t already.”

  Decimus shook his head. “You have given me and my family more than enough.” Decimus held his gaze a moment longer and then disappeared down the corridor to do what needed to be done.