by James Mace
The young legionaries were not the only ones ecstatic about their victory that day. Severus was quite exuberant as he addressed his legates and other senior officers.
“Men,” he said, “today we have dealt the enemy a horrific blow. They thought they could finish us in the same manner they finished Varus. And yet, there were no sacrifices to their foul gods today, no legionaries were tortured or mutilated. The few we did lose died valiantly, fighting as Romans! Mark well the deeds of your men. I will want full details on those you wish to recognize individually for their acts of valor, once we return to the fortress. I only wish I had wine to offer you, but unfortunately, our stores were taken yesterday during our debacle across the bridges.”
The legate and senior officers of the Fifth and Twenty-First Legions looked down, embarrassed.
“In spite of our victory,” Severus continued, “I want everyone to be warned: though we dealt the enemy a nasty defeat, they are far from destroyed. Their losses, while heavy, were not catastrophic. The Cherusci are still a viable threat, and the war is far from over. I want everyone to maintain vigilance and security on the remaining march. Let us not allow our men to fall into lethargic carelessness, thereby spoiling our victory.”
Ingiomerus held a blood soaked rag to his side as he sat by the fire. Though his wound had bled profusely and he was in extreme pain, it would not be mortal if he could keep infection from setting in. He had crawled away during a lull in the fighting, while the majority of the Romans had been in pursuit of his fleeing army. By the gods, the Romans had crushed them! In spite of his obsessive hatred for all things Roman, he almost had to respect them for the way they fought that day. Not one of his warriors had managed to get over the wall without a javelin, arrow, or scorpion bolt striking him down. The subsequent battle had been completely one-sided. His warriors had lost their nerve when they saw their companions routed on the walls. Other warriors sat around his fire, many of them bearing wounds from the day, discussing the events of the battle. Arminius sat in the background, his arms folded across his knees, and watched in silence.
“The Romans were waiting for us. We never had a chance,” a warrior named Ietano said.
“No,” Ingiomerus countered, “we lost our nerve. Had we maintained the attack, we could still have easily overwhelmed the Romans. Simply put, our warriors lost their nerve at the first sign of difficulty. It will not happen again.”
“You saw the carnage they inflicted,” Ietano said. “These men are nothing like the ones we smashed in Teutoburger. When cornered, they lashed out like demons.”
“You are a coward, Ietano!” another warrior named Haraxus said. “You, who without any wounds from the day, were probably one of the first to run!”
“That’s a lie!” Ietano shouted, rising to his feet.
Haraxus scoffed. “Is it? Ingiomerus is right. Had we maintained our attack, we would have smashed the Romans into dust!”
Other warriors started to voice their consent.
“We will regroup and destroy the Romans before they can retire across the Rhine!”
“We will do no such thing,” Arminius finally spoke. “We will regroup, we will reform, and we will destroy the Romans, but not today. They are fresh from their victory; oh yes, theirs was a decisive victory today; and any attacks made by us will be met with renewed vigor. No, we will retire to winter quarters. We will reform our armies into one. We will only fight the Romans once we have the decisive advantage. And I will not be second guessed again.” He stared at his uncle coldly.
Chapter XIV: Winter Quarters
Fortress of the Twentieth Legion, Rhine Frontier
October, 15 A.D.
***
As the legionaries stored their gear in their barracks room, Artorius noticed a number of letters and parcels on everyone’s bunks.
“Ah, I see the post has finally caught up to us,” Decimus said wryly. “Time to catch up on the last six months of gossip and news from back home.”
“After you’ve cleaned and inspected all of your gear, soldier,” Statorius replied.
Once Artorius had cleaned and packed away the last of his equipment, he sat on his bunk and looked at the letters he had received. There were three of them; two were from his father, the other from Camilla. It was dated from three months before. He quickly tore this one open and started to read.
My dear, sweet Artorius,
I am sorry it has been so long since I last wrote to you. My life has been an absolute whirlwind of activity, that I have not had time. I hope you will not be upset, but will be happy for me when I tell you that I got married recently! His name is Marcellus; he is the son of a local magistrate, and we live very well. He is a nice man, though to be honest I find it difficult to love him. I married him more for the social advancement and the need to marry, rather than love.
I still think of you with much affection, Artorius. Though another man may be my husband, you will always be my lover. Please continue to write to me. I still worry about you and care for you deeply.
Yours affectionately,
Camilla
“Well, fuck it,” he swore quietly. Magnus leaned over and snatched the letter from him. Artorius did not protest, but sat with his head resting on his hand in contemplation.
“Damn, what a twat!” the Norseman added as he finished reading. “Nothing like a woman to spoil things!”
It was Thursday. Artorius stood face to face against Vitruvius. Gradually, he was starting to last longer in his sparring sessions against the chief weapons instructor. The result was always the same, though. Perhaps today would be different. Vitruvius had to have some weak point. No man was invulnerable, though you could try telling that to Vitruvius! During their last battle against the Cherusci, he had personally killed eight enemy warriors and, once again, came away without a scratch. Artorius wondered just how many people Vitruvius had killed in his lifetime.
“Ready to do this?” Vitruvius asked.
“Let’s do it!” Artorius answered as he hefted his practice shield and gladius.
Both men came at each other quickly, punching with their shields, looking for openings to strike what, with service weapons, would be a fatal blow. Vitruvius stabbed towards Artorius’ flank, the young legionary quickly swinging his shield arm in a backhand swing. Vitruvius immediately lunged forward, punching with his shield. Artorius swung his shield back around, hooking the Sergeant’s shield on the inside. As Vitruvius pulled back on his shield, Artorius lunged forward, punching the decanus with his shield. Vitruvius stumbled back. Artorius was elated. He had found a weak point. He lunged forward, stabbing with his gladius. As he did so, Vitruvius rocked forward onto the balls of his feet and brought his own sword down in a hard slash onto Artorius’ forearm. Artorius yelped in surprise and pain, dropping his gladius. Vitruvius then ducked down and brought his sword back in a quick stab to the sternum. Artorius dropped to his knees, the wind knocked out of him. So much for having found Vitruvius’ weakness!
“You’re improving, slowly but surely,” Vitruvius said.
Artorius could only gasp, clutching his chest.
Vitruvius smiled and helped him to his feet. “I daresay you’d be a match against any soldier within the entire Third Cohort!”
“Anyone…except you,” Artorius said between gasps. There was a bit of frustration in his voice. He had been sparring with Vitruvius for months now. Granted he had learned many things from the chief weapons instructor, however, he thought by now he would have beaten the sergeant at least once.
Vitruvius patted him on the shoulder and started to walk towards the door. “See you next week,” he said as he left.
Once he had fully gotten his breath back, Artorius stowed his training shield and gladius and walked out of the drill hall. It was a cold but sunny day. There was just a trace of snow on the ground. Damn, but he hated the cold! He failed to see how anyone could stand to live in such a frigid, damp environment. He was sweaty from his exertions, and this combined wi
th the cold air made him tremble badly. He needed to dry off and warm up or he would surely catch a chill. After a short stint in the bathhouse, he headed back to the Second Century’s barracks.
As he walked into the main office, he saw Statorius and the rest of their section looking at a large piece of parchment on a table. He recognized the soldiers from Sergeant Vitruvius’ section, though the decanus himself was not present. Flaccus was pointing things out to them on the parchment and answering questions.
“Artorius, back from your weekly beating I see,” Statorius remarked. “Come here and take a look at this.”
Artorius walked up to the table. On the parchment there looked to be plans and building diagrams.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“This is something you will become very efficient at building over the next couple of months,” Flaccus said with a smile. “These are plans for coastal barges: basically, a large raft with short sides to keep waves from soaking you too badly. Each can carry approximately twenty men. The army has orders to build a thousand of these by the time we start our next campaign.”
“Meaning our next campaign will involve an amphibious assault,” Artorius observed.
“Correct,” Flaccus replied.
“And since approximately twenty men can fit onto one of these, every two sections in each century gets to build one,” Statorius said.
“Top that off with the privilege you get of riding all the way into the heart of Germania with me,” Vitruvius said as he walked in the door.
“Nice of you to join us,” Flaccus said dryly. “Now, as you can see, these things are not that difficult to construct. There will be a tremendous amount of supplies needed to construct a thousand of them. We have ample timber available; it will be just a matter of collecting enough to start construction. In addition, in order to protect our building site, a wall will be constructed on either side of the fortress leading to the river. Yes, this will mean extra work details along with extra sentry duty. Right now, the Eighth and Ninth Cohorts have been tasked with building the walls while we start work on our barges. You can bet that once we get finished with our boats, we’ll be the ones guarding the outer walls while they finish theirs.”
The afternoon was spent foraging lumber from the nearby forests. There would be a shortage of trees in the area for years to come. At least the first crews would get to the nearest trees and not have to haul them as far. In spite of the cold, Artorius felt good, the exertion from swinging the axe and felling trees keeping him warm. Once each tree was cut down, they stripped it of its branches and bark, tied towing ropes to it, and dragged it back to the construction site by the river. Soldiers from other cohorts were providing security and building the rampart extensions. Positions were laid out along the river with mooring locations marked for every cohort’s barges. Since it would be impossible to have every single barge moored along the river, each cohort built theirs leading back towards the fortress. When time came to launch, each crew would have to drag their barge to the river. Artorius and his section found the site allocated for their barge.
That night Artorius sat at a small table in the main hall. He had an oil lamp and some parchment. On it, he wrote:
My Dearest Father,
It has been a while since I was last able to write to you. I am doing fine. The only thing that troubles me is that you did not tell me Camilla had married. To be honest, I’m not surprised. Though I will always have fond memories of her, she was and still is little more than a girl. She saw the need rather than the desire to marry, and in her mind I was not worth waiting for. I have decided not to write back to her. Congratulate her for me, if you would, then allow me to become nothing more than a memory to her.
We are established in winter quarters, preparing for the spring campaign. We keep hearing this will be the last campaign of this war, that by whatever means necessary it will end with this. Currently we are building a large fleet of boats and barges that will take us deep into enemy territory. I look forward to ending this conflict. The barbarians paid a heavy price during our last campaign; hopefully, this next one will finish things.
I am proud of the men I am serving with. Magnus, the legionary I told you that I came up through recruit training with, has been as good a friend as any could expect. He is strong and a good fighter. Sergeant Statorius is a competent section leader, and I am glad to be working with him. Centurion Macro is still a bit of a mystery. I do know he is a survivor of the Teutoburger disaster. Given my position, I rarely have direct contact with him. One individual that I have had a lot of contact with is Sergeant Vitruvius, Chief Weapons Instructor. I have been sparring with him weekly, and he has taught me a lot, including how to take a good thrashing! He says I have potential, and Sergeant Statorius has even said that I have already demonstrated more skill in close combat than many in the legion.
During our last campaign, we journeyed into Teutoburger Wald. I curse that bastard Varus for leading his men into that gods’ forsaken place! It was an absolute nightmare just trying to get to the place of their final battle. I met Centurion Pilus Prior Calvinus. You may recognize his name. He was Metellus’ centurion. He told me the story of how Metellus died, that he died fighting like a Roman! You would have been proud of him, Father. He saved the lives of several of his companions before he was killed. Calvinus took me to the spot where they made their last stand. Though there was little left of the bodies, just a few bones and skulls, I found what I am certain are the remains of Metellus. The identifying wounds, the location of the bones, all matched Calvinus’ story. The greatest honor I have had is that I was able to lay my brother to rest.
I hope you are doing well, and please give Juliana my best.
With deepest affection, your son,
Titus Artorius Justus
Legionary, XX Legion Valeria
He finished writing, rolled the parchment up, and placed it into the bin where Camillus took care of all dispatches and mail, and stepped outside. It was a cold and cloudless night. He walked just out from underneath the overhang and looked up at the stars. He wondered if perhaps his father were doing the same at that moment. He wondered how he was doing. Had he finally taken the next step with Juliana? He smiled at the thought. Juliana had done more to help his father than he realized. Had they not had each other, perhaps both would have followed their families to the afterlife.
Artorius gave a deep sigh. With the army in winter quarters, there was not as much to occupy their time with, outside of the usual training and now the building of the coastal barges. His interests lay not in gambling, unlike so many of his brethren, and he often found his mind wandering. He truly missed home, his father, Juliana, all his friends who had not joined the legions, and the young girls whom he used to woo with his feats of strength and intellect. He then started to miss Camilla as well, but quickly dismissed the notion. What he did miss, though, was the climate! Winter in Germania was miserable to say the least. He knew that a decisive victory over Arminius and an end to the war would almost certainly mean a triumph in Rome. That would give him the opportunity to see his father again. He also longed to see the old city once more. Though his home in Ostia was very close to Rome, they rarely ventured there. He was just a boy the last time his father had taken him to the capital, the heart of the Empire. A cold wind brought him back to the harsh reality of where he was. He was not in Rome, he had elected to leave home and join the army, and his focus needed to be on surviving the next season’s campaign. Triumphs would wait until another day.
“The barges are coming along on schedule,” Chief Tribune Strabo reported.
“Very good,” Severus observed. “And how about the training regimes for the upcoming campaign?”
“With our casualties having been so light, we’ve had only a handful of recruits and replacements to train up,” answered Master Centurion Flavius.
The three men sat alone in Severus’ quarters. All lounged comfortably, sampling dates and nuts, and sipping on wine brough
t from Rome. Rank did have its privileges.
Severus sat up briefly and stretched out his lower back and neck. He was slowly starting to feel the effects that age and years of campaigning were having. Though he looked young in appearance, his body told him otherwise on a daily basis. Yet he could not allow himself to sit back and watch the battles unfold before him without his direct involvement. His habit of leading from the front was something he had picked up from campaigning with Tiberius. The Emperor often said that he learned to do this from Severus, but the old general wasn’t so sure. He took a deep breath at the thought of how many years ago that was. He hoped this would be his last campaign. Germanicus had become a fine commanding general, and there was little more Severus could teach him. He had, therefore, written to the Emperor, asking that he, at last, be allowed to retire once Arminius was destroyed. He looked over at his two subordinate commanders.
Strabo was developing into a fine officer. His tactical decisions were usually sound, his care for the men genuine, and he was not afraid to get his hands a little bit dirty or bloody as was often the case. Like most chief tribunes, he was a young man of the Senatorial class, destined to become a legion commander himself someday. Of course, there would be years of politicking and other less exciting, albeit necessary, positions to fill along the way. Once his required time as chief tribune was complete, it would be years before he would wear the uniform again. Strabo was not looking forward to it and, therefore, relished his time with the legion.
