LEGION

by William Altimari

  “But is there no other choice?”

  “If you have one, tell me what it is.”

  Diocles was silent.

  “If we fail, who’ll weep for the children? Shall we ask mercy from the Suebi? Or even from the Gauls? Almost four hundred years ago, the Gauls sacked Rome. Today you sit peacefully in Gaul itself and sip your beer. Why? Is it because they honor us?”

  Diocles didn’t answer.

  “Is it?” Rufio demanded.

  “No. It’s because they fear us.”

  “Now you’ve learned something. The denarius or the sestertius isn’t the coinage that matters. The Roman legion is the currency of the world. Never forget that.”

  “But what about now? We’re not fighting for our lives anymore.”

  “We’re always fighting for our lives. Our soldiers are outnumbered everywhere. We’re stretched as tight as the skin on a pig’s ass.”

  “Even if that’s true, what does—”

  “We don’t have the luxury of defeat. There are hungry hordes at every edge. If we show weakness in the face of insolence, we might as well cut out our own bowels.”

  “I’m not convinced. According to our own histories, we’ve gone to war over simple insults. Slaps in the face. Whole armies have clashed over questions of so-called honor. It’s madness.”

  Rufio took a long, slow breath to help calm his impatience with the obstinate Greek.

  “Consider this,” Rufio went on. “You own a beautiful villa outside Rome. Someone breaks into it and steals your silver and beats your children and rapes your wife. What do you do?”

  “Tell me.”

  “You hunt him down and beat him into the ground and slay him like the dog he is.”

  “All right. I agree.”

  “Now suppose someone else breaks into your villa to steal your silver. He ignores your family but on the way out he smashes the busts of your ancestors. What do you do?”

  Diocles was silent.

  “You do the same as you would to the rapist,” Rufio said.

  “Why?” Diocles asked, clearly appalled.

  “Your honor has been violated. And your honor is everything. If you don’t retaliate, no one in your family is safe. A man who won’t defend his honor won’t defend anything. The savages will smell your fear a mile off. They’ll descend on your loved ones and plunder or destroy all you cherish. That’s why we let no insult go unanswered. Why we’ll march across wastelands to avenge a wrong. Our survival depends on it. If we refuse to defend our honor, Rome will soon be as lifeless as the rubble of Carthage.”

  “This is a world beyond my comprehension.”

  “Many things are beyond your comprehension. And you’ve never even seen a city sacked.”

  “I’ve read the accounts. The slaughters.”

  “Is that how you see it? A city at war with us is a savage animal. It has to be brought to heel or killed. If they refuse to surrender on reasonable terms, then the ram hits the wall. And as soon as it does, the deal is cancelled.”

  “And then you’re free to do as you want? Is that how you justify it?”

  “Justify? Do you justify killing a dog at your throat? If I have to watch some of my men die storming a stronghold, I’ll slay every man inside and sell every family into slavery so it doesn’t happen again. I’ll spread terror throughout the countryside if it means frightening them into submission. If it means I’ll have to write fewer letters to mothers whose sons died in my care.”

  A long silence followed.

  Finally, Diocles said, “What Racovir told you—”

  “Was only half true. Barovistus was testing us, but he already knew in his rank heart what our answer would be. He attacked our allies. He knew we’d march. We’ll always march. Nothing will stop us but annihilation.”

  Diocles turned away and stared at nothing.

  “Look out there. ” Rufio pointed toward the busy street. “If the Suebi pour across the river, all those women will be widows. And some of them will die, too, and their children will be orphans. Have you ever held an orphan in your arms?”

  “No.”

  “I have.”

  With troubled eyes, Diocles rose from his seat. He was across the street when he stopped and came back.

  “I almost forgot. Valerius sent me to tell you that Trogus has returned.”

  “Good.” Rufio downed the rest of the beer. “Let’s go see what the German traitor has to say.”

  31 BY COMMON DEFECT OF NATURE, THE UNUSUAL AND THE UNKNOWN MAKE US EITHER OVERCONFIDENT OR OVERLY FEARFUL.

  Julius Caesar

  ______

  “Two thousand fighting men?” Sabinus was saying as Rufio went through the doorway into his office.

  “Yes,” Trogus answered from his chair across from the Legate.

  All the tribunes were present, flanking Sabinus on either side as he sat at his desk.

  Rufio stayed toward the back of the room and motioned for Diocles to do the same.

  A slave entered with a drink for Trogus.

  “What about cavalry?” Sabinus asked.

  “About one hundred. Perhaps one hundred and fifty.”

  “I’d have expected many more than that.”

  “You Romans are lucky this time,” he said with a dry chuckle. “Last month a disease killed many of their horses. Their good horsemen will have to fight on foot.”

  “Commander,” Rufio said.

  “Step up here, centurion,” Sabinus ordered. “No formalities now.”

  “What about equipment?” Rufio said and approached the German.

  Trogus looked to the side at the centurion. “Mostly spears. About three hundred good swords. Not too many shields—maybe two hundred.”

  “How many of these Suebi have fought before?” Crus asked.

  “That I don’t know. But you cannot be complacent. Suebi warriors cannot be judged in ordinary terms.”

  “Well, we outnumber them two to one,” Crus said. “That gives up plenty of room to maneuver.”

  “Overconfidence is a toxic potion,” Trogus said.

  “How long do we have until they march again?” Sabinus asked.

  “Odd use of the word—march,” Trogus said with his grating laugh. “The Suebi don’t know how to march. They do know how to kill. They—”

  “Answer the question,” Crus said.

  “Such things they don’t confide to a humble trader. I’d guess about one week. Perhaps ten days.”

  “What about their spirit?” Titinius asked.

  “Barovistus has them boiling. They’re ready to drink the lifeblood of Gaul.

  Crus had his own small office near that of Sabinus. It was cluttered now with countless documents, and he was bending over a desk covered with papyrus sheets and waxed tablets. From the window beyond, a pleasant afternoon breeze rippled the papers as he gathered some of them. The air’s caress was a deceptive one, giving no hint of the coming storm.

  “Yes?” he said as Rufio’s sandals snapped against the floor.

  “A word with you, tribune.”

  “Sit here.” Crus cleared off a chair and took a place behind his desk. “I’m being buried in documents.”

  “Sometimes peace is more complex than war.”

  Crus waited for him to continue.

  “Seems like a thousand years since the Greek slave,” Rufio said.

  “Very trivial now, I suppose.”

  “I’m here to help you.”

  “Me?”

  “Sabinus is going to want to scald you. I’m here to help you prepare for it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Trogus was lying.”

  It was like a blow across his face.

  “About what?”

  “The German traitor is no traitor.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I asked him about equipment. Remember? He said they had only three hundred swords and two hundred shields. They slaughtered three of our centuries and cut down almost five h
undred Gauls. We don’t need Metellus to do the mathematics for us.”

  “By the gods,” Crus said and slumped back in his chair. “Why did none of us notice that?”

  “All of you were too eager to believe what he said. When it comes to Suebi, I’m eager only to discover their lies.”

  “And the two thousand warriors?”

  “You can be certain there are thousands more than that. And don’t forget about the cavalry. Trogus said they had a hundred and fifty horses. What about the butchered Gauls? Five hundred cavalrymen. Where do you think their horses are now?”

  “He lied about everything.”

  “Spies are always a risk. Now you’ve learned that.”

  “I’ve been a fool. What did Sabinus say to this?”

  “I never carry tales about my tribunes.”

  Crus stared at him in surprise.

  “Better for you, tribune, to hand him the rod yourself. Take the flogging like a Roman.”

  “Thank you. Will we still take the field?”

  “Of course we will. We’re Romans.”

  “How on earth will we overcome them? We have so little cavalry. No archers. . . .”

  Rufio stood up. “Perhaps we can rely on Caesar’s Luck. It always worked for him.”

  For the first time since Rufio had met him, he saw Crus smile.

  “Rufio, you cannot convince me you’ve ever relied on luck for anything.”

  “Rely? No. Fortuna is too fickle. But there are other goddesses who care about us. We must pray to them tonight.”

  32 A GERMAN . . . THINKS IT SPIRITLESS AND SLACK TO GAIN BY SWEAT WHAT HE CAN BUY WITH BLOOD.

  Tacitus

  ______

  “What troubles you? Varacinda asked and sat on the grass beside the lake.

  Flavia lay stretched out on her back and was staring at the sky. Instead of her usual short tunic and trousers, she wore a short-sleeved long green tunic belted in the middle and extending to the middle of her thighs. As always, she wore a black leather bracer on her left forearm.

  “One moon ago, I ate well and slept well. I was happy with that. But now. . .”

  “But aren’t you happy now?” Varacinda asked with a smile.

  “Oh yes.” She rolled her head to the side and gazed at her. “But I hunger so. It’s driving me mad.”

  “But what a luscious madness it is.”

  Flavia smiled and extended an arm.

  Varacinda lay down and rested her head on Flavia’s breast above her heart.

  Flavia curled her arm around her and pulled her close. “I couldn’t live without you.”

  “You never have to,” Varacinda said and slid an arm around her.

  “Oh, Vara, what shall I do?”

  “Take each day as it’s given to you.”

  “I worry about him so.”

  “You’re being silly. No man in Gaul needs your worry less.”

  “But I fear he’ll leave again and this time not return.”

  Varacinda ran a hand gently up and down Flavia’s bare left upper arm, then pushed herself up and looked down at her.

  “Where’s your other torque?”

  Flavia smiled.

  “Then that will protect him. Have no fear.”

  “There’s a terrible battle coming,” Flavia said and squeezed her friend even more tightly.

  “I know.”

  “That awful Suebi spy isn’t to be trusted. He’s evil.”

  “The Romans have no choice about him. If a Roman spy crosses the river now, the Suebi will kill him. They’ll kill any Roman they see.”

  Flavia jumped up and smiled that reckless smile that so many found unsettling. “But they won’t kill us. We’ll go into Germania.”

  Varacinda looked at her in alarm. “Can we?”

  “We can do anything. We’re Sequani.”

  “Adiatorix would be furious.”

  “We’ll be back before sundown.” Flavia leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Come. We’ll help the Romans who risk their lives for us. We’ll show them what we’re made of in this land.”

  The Rhenus was an awesome thing. Spring rains continued to feed its hunger, and the great blue monster rolled on. The banks on both sides dipped at steep angles and formed a sharp green wedge. Tall trees grew almost to the water’s edge.

  The Roman bridge treated the river’s grandeur with scorn. It shot across over a thousand feet, its timber legs anchored deeply in the helpless earth. Crossbars of cut tree trunks braced it against the river’s anger.

  Flavia gazed down from her gray horse at the majestic sight, while Varacinda refreshed herself with some water from her flask.

  Three soldiers milled around outside a small hut at this end of the bridge.

  The women urged their horses down the slope to the bridge. The soldiers looked at them as if they were mad. Didn’t they know the Suebi were on the move? Unwilling to let them pass, the soldiers threatened everything short of physical restraint, but Flavia’s bow and quiver of arrows told them it would not be easy. The soldiers watched them go.

  Unaccustomed to bridges, the horses had to be coaxed onto the span. The roadway was over thirty feet wide, the decking a heavy timber lattice covered with thick wattle-work.

  The clean smell of the water invigorated them as they rode across, toward the deep forests of the Suebian heartland.

  At the other side, they entered a stand of trees, but that soon opened onto a vast green meadow. To the south, a dark thread moved northeast. It had to be a line of men. When the women approached, it seemed to grow larger and crawled like a huge snake toward a distant rise and slid beyond the horizon.

  “Warriors?” Varacinda asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It looked like hundreds.”

  “Many hundreds.” Flavia scanned the horizon south to north. She nudged the sides of her mare with her heels and they picked up speed.

  They crossed the sun-baked plain to the ridge, and Flavia pointed to some trees. “We’ll be safer away from the skyline.”

  Into the shelter of the forest they passed, but somehow the German woods offered no comfort. It was cool here, and yet now the hot meadow seemed preferable. The rush of the air through the trees made it difficult to hear. The rustling confused their ears, and even the sound of their own horses’ footfalls died amidst the noise of the branches. Unlike Gallic breezes, these eerie winds failed to soothe, but sounded like nothing so much as the Suebian gods of the forest moaning for the dead.

  They moved on. Flavia’s green tunic and Varacinda’s black jerkin and trousers helped conceal them in the forest’s depths. The air grew colder, and little sun reached the woodland floor.

  “How do we know what direction we’re following?” Varacinda asked. The anxiety in her voice could not be concealed.

  Even Flavia was unsure. She looked up to the towering treetops and then turned in her saddle and could just make out the afternoon sun behind them.

  “We’re still heading east,” she said, her innate sense of direction prevailing once more. “We’ll ride on a bit longer.”

  Though a decade older than her dearest friend, Varacinda obeyed her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  The endless wind and the swaying of the trees were becoming more and more unnerving, yet on they rode. After another quarter-hour, the woods brightened and they seemed to be coming to an end. Ever impatient, Flavia galloped ahead and burst into the sunlight.

  “Oh no,” she whispered to herself.

  On the rising plain below, the Suebi were gathering. An ocean of them. Like waves, they rolled inward into a great central sea of men.

  “Oh Flavia,” Varacinda said as she rode up. “Look at them.”

  “There are thousands,” Flavia said in a hushed voice.

  Because of the distance, the men seemed to move slowly, but Flavia knew that was an illusion. They hurried toward Barovistus, full of the lust for blood and glory.

  “How many?” Varacinda asked.<
br />
  “There must be ten thousand. How can . . . ? Even my

  Rufio . . .”

  Varacinda looked at her sharply.

  Flavia quickly turned to her friend, startled by her own words. For a moment, the cataclysm threatening below was forgotten.

  “Is he then?” Varacinda asked. “Is he yours?”

  “Oh yes,” Flavia admitted with a sensual longing. “He has always been. It was fated from the very beginning.”

  Varacinda smiled and reached across and touched her hand.

  “Who are you?” a coarse voice said in bad Celtic.

  Flavia snapped to her left. Two Suebian horsemen had emerged from the trees about a hundred feet to the north. One was a blonde youth barely old enough to grow a beard, but he wore a long Gallic sword at his hip. The other was an older warrior with a massive head as bald as a pustule. He held a long spear.

  “What do you want?” the young one asked.

  “They’re spies!” the other yelled. “Get them!”

  “Vara!” Flavia shouted and reined her horse about, and the two of them bolted through the trees.

  They raced like madwomen, ducking beneath lethal branches as their horses veered around tree trunks and leaped over rotted logs.

  The Germans crashed through the woods behind them.

  On the women sped, the gods on their side as they sliced through the dark forest.

  They flew out onto the plain and across the soft grass. Flavia could hear the hoofbeats fading in the distance. The Suebian mounts were no match for Gallic steeds.

  “Flavia!” came a frantic cry.

  Flavia looked back over her shoulder as her horse raced on. She stared in horror. Varacinda had fallen behind about a quarter of a mile. Her horse had gone lame. The poor beast struggled to keep up, but it was hopeless. The Suebi were about a mile back and coming fast.

  Varacinda stared at her with the eyes of the dead. And then she waved farewell.

  And now there occurred on that sunny plain what not even Mars himself had ever seen before.