by H. B. Ashman
“Arminius is expanding his horizon of warcraft,” Belli said beside Marius.
Marius narrowed his eyes. “It seems so.” But how?
“I have seen men fight like this before, in the Far East.”
Marius tilted his head. “Are any of our auxiliary men from the Far East?”
“A handful, my Legate, at the most,” Belli said. Then he turned, leading the horse away without another word.
Marius caught Quintus’s confused eyes from the training grounds. Marius shook his head at him. They’d been friends long enough that Quintus would know what he meant. Don’t encourage him, he thought. Quintus nodded.
“Arminius,” Quintus barked, “if you are done dancing like a woman, pick that shield back up. You risk the lives of your fellow soldiers without it.”
Maximus pushed himself back to his feet—rage all over his face. Arminius ran over to his shield and was able to pick it up just in time to block a shove from Maximus. Arminius flew backward onto his ass, raising a cloud of dirt as he hit the ground. A wave of laughter erupted from the men.
Quintus left the men to it, turning and walking over to Marius. “What do you want me to make of this?” he asked, a familiar frown on his boxy chin.
“Nothing for now. This is not the time for friction. Germania I will reach the rebellion tomorrow if they march through the night.”
Quintus gave a curt nod. “Have you not heard from Lucius?” he asked.
“Not a word.” Marius shook his head.
“You think he is going to ignore your offer to unite the legions?”
“I am certain of it.” Marius started walking down the path back to his tent. Quintus followed.
“But that would be foolish.”
“Ambitious,” Marius corrected, entering his tent. He stepped behind the table with the map and leaned over it. “We could join him in less than a week if we take the shortcut through the canyon behind the mountain. Meet the rebels at their own camp.”
“But our troops won’t be able to use most of our war formations in a canyon.”
“If we take the road around the canyon,” Marius pointed at the map, “we would be fighting uphill.”
“All we can do is pray to the gods that Lucius will wait for us,” Quintus said.
“And pray for his victory, as much as it pains me,” Marius added. “If King Pinnes and Bato the Breucian are behind this rebellion, they will be well prepared.”
“You think they could defeat him?” Quintus asked.
“I think the rebels are at a clear advantage already. Their position on top of the mountain is as good as a fortress—maybe better. Lucius has to attack from the canyon, or Germania I will get slaughtered like pigs.”
Quintus stared at the map for a moment and then slammed his fist onto it. Cups and papyrus rolls shook with the table. “Why did he not wait for us? We could reach him in three days if we march through the night.”
“I’m afraid we would be too late, even if we doubled the march and abandoned the supply train. Besides, the men need rest. It pains me as much as you, my friend, but there is nothing else we can do. Double the men’s rations and have the centurions prepare them for an uphill battle. And have the tribunes meet me here at nightfall. We march at first light.”
“Yes, my Legate,” Quintus said before leaving the tent.
Marius watched him through the open flaps of his tent. He disappeared behind a group of soldiers carrying firewood and laughing loudly. As a seasoned general, Marius knew that many of his men would never leave these mountains again. If Bato was indeed leading the rebellion, this would not be an easy battle. Marius would never show it to his men, but his heart was filled with rage and pain. This rebellion had turned into a threat that could wipe out not only Lucius’s legion but his own as well. And now that Lucius had refused to wait for him, Marius was running out of time. If Bato won, news would spread through all of Illyricum, and the tribes would unite against Rome once more. Tens of thousands would die in a war over the province of Illyricum. But Rome does not retreat, he thought. Rome conquers and rules or dies trying.
Primus entered the tent carrying a mug and a plate with bread and olive oil.
“What do we do it for, Primus?” Marius asked the familiar question as Primus placed the plate next to the map on the table. The old slave shook his head in disproval at the sight of the scattered rolls and cups on the floor as if he knew Quintus had lost his temper again.
“For the glory of Rome,” Primus said, his old voice steady and calm as always. Marius looked at his friend. He had freed him long ago, and yet Primus insisted on staying by his side. Marius was a young tribune, foolish and prideful when he found Primus among the dying after a battle in Aegyptus. Rome had answered Primus’s tribe’s defiance by burning his town to ashes. Marius had taken pity on the man, which turned out to be one of the wisest acts of Marius’s life.
“The glory of Rome or that of a devious man?” Marius sat down in his chair. He looked out the tent at his men.
“If you don’t eat and rest, my Legate, you will not live to find out,” Primus said.
Marius grinned, more in vain than joy. “I am tired of war, Primus. I have given Rome my sword for all my life. I want to fight no more.”
Primus blinked. “Why not go into politics then?”
“By Jupiter, no. I don’t pride myself on much, but my enemies see my sword before it finds them. I’m simply tired of holding one.”
A pained expression reflected on Primus’s face. “I am certain it is just another summer.” He had said those words countless times before, and although they used to comfort him, their meaning faded more with each battle.
“If I keep winning, Augustus will never set me free.”
“If you keep winning, you will ask it of him, loud and clear. He loves the Family Vincius. He will allow it in time.”
Augustus was indeed hard and fair, but more importantly he loved his father like the brother he never had. And yet, Rome came first—always.
Marius nodded, taking a bite of the bread in front of him. It was dry and tough to chew. Another sign that they were close to battle: the food always worsened the longer they marched. But Marius would not complain. And Primus was right. Fighting on an empty stomach was like trying to recite poetry after a night of drinking.
Just another summer, Marius thought as he watched the soldiers moving about the camp.
Chapter Thirteen
A rminius rode silently next to Gnaeus and Germanicus and a few rows ahead of Marius and the other officers. They had made great progress through the treacherous mountain chains and would reach the revolt early tomorrow, which was one of the reasons why the legion marched in silence. The men always grew quieter the day before battle.
Peeking over his shoulder, Arminius glanced once more at the cart Amalia was sleeping in. Her blond hair shimmered in the sun, her facial features soft and relaxed. It was a welcome change from the stony demeanor she usually had. The girl was a stubborn bull. He had to command that she rest in the cart two more times before she finally agreed. It was only natural that she didn’t want to. After all, she was scared for her life. In her eyes, her survival depended on having a function within this legion, and sleeping in a cart was not exactly earning her any respect from the marching soldiers. But she’d been out of sorts the other night, and he feared she would drop dead of exhaustion.
That incident at the fire had bothered Arminius; it occupied his mind even more than the upcoming battle. The way she had pulled away from his touch. Did she truly despise him so? Granted, he had enslaved her, but he had saved her life by doing so. He’d let her speak her mind, and he treated her kindly—she was a slave in name only.
Suddenly, Gnaeus rode his horse inches away from Arminius’s, their legs almost touching. “What is the matter, Arminius? You look troubled. Does the slave girl not want to warm your cold nights?” He laughed.
Arminius grimaced.
“You could always let me tame he
r for you. She might just need the hand of a strong man in her life.”
Germanicus leaned in his saddle toward Arminius. “Please, Arminius, let him tame her,” he begged. “I’d love to see her put him on his back.”
Arminius smiled at the thought of it. “Maybe another time,” Arminius said, slowing down his horse to approach Marius, who was riding beside Quintus, Belli, and Primus.
“You know where to find me,” Gnaeus shouted after him.
A moment later, Arminius heard Germanicus return to his side. “Surely the gods shall forgive any of our missteps for what we have endured at the side of Gnaeus Ahenobarbus,” Germanicus said.
Quintus must have overheard him, because he turned to face to Arminius and Germanicus, his horse trotting steadily alongside Marius’s. “Oh, the gods will still punish you two for the first week we spent in Salona.”
“What happened in Salona?” Belli asked.
“Quintus, no,” Germanicus said, but Quintus grinned.
“We had just reached Salona when both of them disappeared. We searched everywhere, thinking rebels had taken them. All night our poor legate was crafting a letter to Augustus trying to explain how he had lost his precious Germanicus.”
“Did the rebels take them?” Belli asked. Quintus exchanged knowing looks with Marius and Primus.
“No. We found them passed out drunk in a pigsty. Marius was furious. He had them both clean the bathhouse for weeks.”
Belli shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“I had never had wine before,” Germanicus said.
“And I was still a centurion back then, simply following my drunk tribune’s orders,” Arminius said. Germanicus glared at him as the group laughed.
They were interrupted by one of the scouts, who was galloping his horse against the sea of marching men. He rode toward Marius like an arrow to its target. Marius pulled his horse to a halt, and the others followed suit.
“My Legate! My Legate!” the scout shouted as he brought his mare to a stop, kicking up a plume of dust. “The bridge!” he huffed. “It’s gone!”
Marius dismounted, his feet dropping hard on the ground, and walked to the edge of the canyon that cut the mountain road in half. The wind howled in his ears as he stared down the dark crevasse. Beside him were the leftover piles of the rock bridge that had stood since the time of Julius Caesar. It was a medium-sized bridge, nothing colossal, but it was enough to get his army from one side to the next.
“I don’t understand.” Quintus dismounted, his open mouth slackening his boxy chin. “The bridge is gone. To the last rock. How did the rebels do that?”
Marius shook his head, his eyes narrowed and dark. “A small group of rebels doesn’t destroy bridges this size. Bato the Breucian does.”
Germanicus, Gnaeus, and Arminius dismounted and joined their legate at the edge of the cliff that now separated the legion from their path to the rebellion.
“Why would Germania I not have warned us?” Arminius wondered, shaking his head in disbelief.
“They did not take this road, I assume,” Gnaeus said.
“This is the fastest route,” Quintus barked. “Caesar himself built this bridge with his engineers from Egypt. Solid rock, not wood. Lucius should have warned us.”
“Now, thanks to him, we will lose days going around the mountain,” Arminius said.
Germanicus leaned over the steep cliff, peering down before quickly stepping back again. “Is Lucius Ahenobarbus so afraid of Marius Vincius and his seventh that he’d work against a legion of Rome?” He kicked a rock into the canyon.
“How dare you speak of my father like that!” Gnaeus growled at Germanicus. Germanicus’s mouth shot open to answer him, but he was silenced by the approach of a rider.
“My Legate,” the soldier huffed, out of breath as if he had carried the horse here and not the other way around. “We received word from Germania I.”
All eyes jerked to the messenger, but Marius turned away, staring at the mountain chain in the far distance. He had already read the message on the man’s face.
“Germania I . . . is defeated.”
His words were answered with gasps followed by a paralyzing silence.
“This shame is your father’s fault!” Germanicus clenched his fists and stepped toward Gnaeus.
“How dare you!” Gnaeus stepped forward, chest puffed like an angry bird.
“Enough.” Marius tried to intervene, but his heart was barely in it.
“Your father’s incompetence has cost Rome dearly!” Germanicus’s voice echoed down the canyon.
Gnaeus’s lips pulled back, baring his teeth. “You’ll regret—”
“I said that’s enough!” Marius yelled, his voice trembling across the canyon. Germanicus took a step back. “This is the moment where we must come together for Rome, be strong in our hearts and minds not to defeat a rebellion but prevent a war from spreading through all of Illyricum.”
Gnaeus and Germanicus exchanged ashamed looks. Arminius, on the other hand, had ignored the whole drama and was still staring at the cliff.
“If we double our marches, we can reach the rebellion in two days. We might have no other choice at this point,” Quintus suggested.
“Fight uphill?” Arminius asked, turning to face Marius.
“Yes,” Marius said, “fight uphill. We are left with no choice. We have to crush this rebellion before the word of its victory over Germania I can spread.”
“Bato’s troops might have taken a heavy hit. Germania I was well known for its warrior-like nature,” Quintus said, looking to Marius for approval.
“That is what we will all pray for to Mars tonight. That or for a bridge to magically descend from the skies,” Marius said, his calm, strategic voice returning but with a hint of despair.
The group stood in silence again when a soft voice, barely more than a whisper, was carried to them by the winds: “I can build you a bridge.”
Amalia’s words were spoken so timidly that she wasn’t convinced the others had heard her. But Marius turned in her direction, and, slowly, so did the others. She scanned their faces, their expressions ranging from suspicious to annoyed. Even Marius looked at her as if he wasn’t certain whether he should laugh, throw her into the depths of the canyon, or ask her if she was serious. Amalia held Marius’s gaze for a moment longer before she looked away, unable to stand his interrogating eyes.
“Nonsense!” Arminius rushed over to her. He grabbed her arm and started dragging her away. “I beg you, please excuse her, my Legate. The journey was tiresome for her.” He managed to pull her a few feet away from the group, but Amalia twisted her arm out of his grip. She knew that Arminius was only trying to help her, but this might be her chance to become a somebody in the eyes of this legion, working her way toward a path to freedom.
“I can build you a bridge,” she said again, this time more confidently.
Quintus broke out into laughter. “Arminius, get her out of my sight before my amusement turns to anger.”
Arminius nodded and tried to pull her by her arm once more, but she just broke free again.
“Have you lost your mind?” he whispered.
Amalia swirled around to face him. “Maybe I have, but I can still build you a bridge,” she whispered back.
Arminius narrowed his eyes. “This is not a game, Amalia.”
“I know that. That’s why I’m telling you I can build a bridge. Isn’t that what you need?”
Arminius bit his lower lip, looked over to Marius and the officers, then back at her, scratching his head.
“Amalia, if you are jesting—”
“I’m not.”
“Your tribe teaches women in the study of construction?” Arminius asked.
Amalia felt doubt creep through her. She was in the top of her engineering class and had designed and constructed more complicated projects, and yet she felt cold sweat form on her forehead. There was a lot at stake here—probably her life. But all they needed w
as a simple suspension bridge that didn’t even have to withstand twenty-first-century inspections, just something strong enough to hold the weight of horses and loaded carts.
Amalia took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said.
Arminius took a step back and ran his hand through his hair. Then he looked over to Marius, who met his gaze with a look of open curiosity. Arminius shrugged his shoulders.
Marius looked at the canyon once more before he mounted his horse and rode toward them. Amalia and Arminius exchanged worried looks.
“My Legate,” Amalia said as he rode closer, “please forgive me, I—”
But just when it looked like Marius would ride straight past them, he brought his beautiful black stallion to a halt next to Amalia. He dropped his gaze onto her.
“So, you say you can build a bridge?”
Amalia gathered herself and straightened her spine. “Yes,” she answered, surprised at how confident she sounded. “My Legate,” she added. Marius looked over his shoulder at Quintus, whose face was frozen in a frown.
“You cannot seriously consider it, my Legate,” Gnaeus protested. “She is a slave woman. Arminius’s barbaric whore!”
“Oh, be quiet!” Quintus fumed. “Your voice pains me more than the thought of dying tomorrow!”
Gnaeus clenched his jaw but stayed quiet.
Marius let out a long breath. “Very well,” he said. “Quintus, give orders to march the infantry back down the path and around the mountain.”
“And the cavalry?” Germanicus asked.
“Stays here, for now.”
“Yes, my Legate.”
“You two,” he nodded at Arminius and Amalia, “follow me.” His chestnut-brown eyes released Amalia from his hold as he rode back down the path. Amalia felt her body thaw from his stare, slowly coming back to life. She rushed after the legate. Arminius pulled on his horse’s reins, walking next to her.
