by James Mace
“Come on, Artorius. You don’t believe that any more than I do. By the time the barbarians rally enough forces to cause us any major problems, the campaign season will be damn near over, and we’ll be on our way home.”
They finished up their section and headed back to where their companions set up their tent and had supper cooking. Decimus and Carbo were cleaning their weapons. Praxus was repairing a broken strap on his body armor. Valens and Gavius were finishing up cooking supper, and Sergeant Statorius was engaged in conversation with Vitruvius, Ostorius, and some of the other decani from the century.
“Grab your mess tins, it’s just about ready,” Valens told them as they set down their entrenching equipment.
Artorius and Magnus were subdued as everyone engaged in their usual conversations regarding wine, women, home, gambling, their favorite gladiators or chariot racers, and more women. Decimus and Carbo were the only other members of their section to kill anyone that day. Gavius had only succeeded in killing a chicken and setting fire to a silo.
Statorius seemed to know what was bothering his newest legionaries. “Not like you thought it would be, was it? Killing your first human being, I mean.”
They were both silent.
“Artorius went absolutely berserk on that one fellow,” Decimus said.
“I saw that,” Statorius replied, “Did it make you feel any better?”
“No,” Artorius said finally. “I can’t really describe how I felt. Consciously, I know that all of these tribes are allied with the Cherusci, and they are all involved in the wars against Rome. There’s just that pang of what, I guess, is guilt. Is it always like this?”
“It’s natural human emotions. I would start to worry if you ever stop feeling it,” Statorius said. “It’s different on the battlefield, though.”
“Yes,” Decimus added. “Out there, there’s no doubt whatsoever as to who the enemy is and that they deserve to die. Besides, if you thought today gave you an adrenaline rush, wait till we face a horde, outnumbered five to one.” With that he stood up, patted each of them on the back, and walked off.
“So am I the only one in the section who hasn’t killed anyone?” Gavius asked.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get your chance soon enough,” Praxus replied. “Besides, like I’m sure Magnus and Artorius now understand, be careful what you wish for. It’s not all that you think it is.”
“I agree with Decimus, it is a bigger rush on a battlefield,” Carbo mused. “Then again, I suppose that is, at least in part, because you are fighting for your life out there, and you know it.”
“So what happens tomorrow?” Artorius asked, anxious for a change of subject.
“My guess is we’ll stay here for a while,” Praxus answered.
Carbo added, “Chances are Arminius knows about Germanicus and his strike against the Bructeri. I’m sure he also knows we are here, so I doubt he’ll try anything serious.”
“We’ll probably send patrols out from here, seeing if Arminius will take the bait or not,” Decimus said. “There aren’t a whole lot of settlements around here that we haven’t destroyed already. Remember, there are three other legions out here besides us and I’m sure they were busy today.”
The other legions had been busy. At the headquarters of the Twentieth Legion, Severus met with all of the legates, chief tribunes, and master centurions from the legions to assess the day’s events. Though they were not part of the main effort against the Bructeri, there was still plenty of work for them. All settlements within their immediate area of operations had been destroyed. A few survivors had been allowed to escape towards Cherusci territory.
“Well done,” Severus said after he read the last report and checked everything against his map. “We’ve drawn first blood on this campaign. Now we’ll see if Arminius takes the bait. All legions will hold in place. Fortify your camps and send out sorties. Sorties need to consist of no less than three cohorts. Messengers will send status reports here every three hours.”
“Sir, if our sorties do become seriously engaged, do you want us to press the fight?” one of the legates asked.
“Have riders sent with every sortie to act as messengers. If you do become heavily engaged, then yes, you will force the issue. If you have any doubts about your ability to crush the threat, swallow some of your pride and send word to the other legions. There is no room for vanity in this, gentlemen. We will mutually support each other, not seek our own glory. We do this for Rome. I trust you will use your best judgment on this. Is there anything else?”
When there were no other questions, the meeting broke and all the senior officers returned to their units. Strabo and Flavius stayed back.
“You performed very well today,” Severus told Strabo.
“I had more than a little help,” Strabo said, nodding towards the master centurion.
Flavius smiled. “I helped you come up with the plan, sir. You executed it,” he said to the young tribune.
“I don’t care how you did it, what matters is you destroyed one of the largest settlements in this sector, and you did it without sustaining any casualties,” Severus piped in. “You both are to be commended.”
Chapter VIII: Ambush and Philosophy
***
Decimus had been right. The next day, three cohorts that had not taken part in the previous day’s assault were sent out. As predicted, they went on a sortie to try and lure any wandering barbarian war bands into a fight. None took the bait. The rest of the legion passed the day standing watch, improving their defenses, or catching up on sleep. Artorius was, at first, grateful for the break, but soon became restless. He wanted to be able to avenge his brother properly and killing some farmers was not the way to go about it. He hoped that the barbarians would be lured into a real battle. It would not happen that day. He was standing watch when he saw the cohorts coming in from their sortie.
“Looks like no one wants to play today,” Praxus observed.
Artorius realized that he seemed to draw sentry duty with a different person just about every single time. Magnus was the only one whom he had done multiple shifts with.
“Doesn’t look like they’re going to take it at all,” Artorius said, leaning on his javelin.
“Oh, I don’t know, sooner or later they’ll get tired of us being here, and they’ll try and send us a message of sorts.”
Artorius looked over at the older legionary. He never really speculated on how old the other men were in his section. Most were young, though their experiences made them seem older.
“Can I ask you something, Praxus?” Artorius asked.
“Sure, what’s on your mind?”
“Why are you here? In the army, I mean. What drives you as a soldier?” Artorius was genuinely interested in knowing more about the man whom all the other recruits had started looking to as a mentor.
“It’s hard to say really. I mean, what drives any of us?” Praxus answered. “My father was a soldier. Retired after twenty-five years, got himself a nice plot of land to call his own and a place in the Noble Order of Knights.”
“So he retired as a centurion then?” Artorius asked, realizing that the only way a commoner could attain the status of an equestrian was to retire from the army at a minimum as a centurion.
“Yes, he retired after having commanded his own century for seven years. Seemed like a good life to me. Of course, I was just a boy when he retired, plus I never did see him much when he was still in. My older brother was able to get appointed as a tribune. I, on the other hand, had to settle for enlisting as a common legionary.”
“My father was wounded and forced out of the army after only four years,” Artorius replied.
“I heard that. I also heard about your brother.”
Artorius’ face hardened at the last remark.
Praxus immediately picked up on it. “I’m sorry. I know it’s a difficult thing to have to live with, especially coming back here.”
“Coming here was the only way I could th
ink of dealing with it,” Artorius replied.
Praxus nodded at the thought. “Makes sense to me,” he said after a minute. “As for me, I see it this way; I put my life on the line for Rome. Rome in turn grants me a nice pension when I’m done with it. In the meantime, I try and make the most of the adventure along the way. Personally, I find the best things in life are good wine, good friends, and good women.” “So you don’t go looking for women in the same places as Valens then?” Artorius remarked as both men laughed.
“No. And you shouldn’t either,” Praxus replied.
“Don’t worry, I prefer women who have all of their teeth and who bathe regularly.”
“You know, Valens swears that there is some merit to finding a woman with missing teeth. Quite frankly, I think the lad is just embarrassed after every one of his escapades, and he looks to find any positives that he can. I honestly think he suffers from some sort of addiction.”
Artorius shuddered at the thought. He then laughed to himself. He had always heard, back home, about the glory that is Rome and the prestige of her legions. Legates and senators always spoke of it, yet nobody seemed to ask the soldiers themselves what they thought about such things. Then again, he doubted posterity would want to read that the heart of Rome lay in men who just wanted to drink wine, gamble, play sports, and chase women.
A few days later Artorius was sitting outside his section’s tent, writing a letter to his father, when the Cornicens started sounding the call to arms. He put his paper and stylus away and immediately donned his armor. Soldiers were coming from all directions, falling in on their gear.
“What’s going on?” he asked Praxus as the latter laced up the ties on his armor.
“Sounds like the sorties out in sector just came into contact,” Praxus answered.
Within a matter of minutes the cohorts not on camp guard were formed up and ready to move. Artorius saw Severus and the legion’s cavalry riding out the gate ahead of the infantry.
“Battle formation! Six ranks!” The order came as soon as all troops were outside the gate.
Within each cohort, each century formed up on line, with one century falling behind the other. Soldiers marched in tight formation, with no more than a meter between them, javelins at the carry. All five cohorts were on line with each other, with about ten meters in between each. Cohort Commanders rode up and down the lines, shouting words of encouragement and making certain that all units stayed in formation.
“At the double-time, march!”
As one, all cohorts quickened their pace to a slow jog. The Second Century was in the second rank of the Third Cohort, and Artorius struggled to see past the legionaries in front of him. However, soon he was able to see the forms of friendly soldiers in the wood lines. There the ground rose steeply, ending at a small ridge. This was occupied by soldiers providing security for the sortie. There was a lot of activity going on at the base of the high ground.
Soon, the relief force slowed to a walk and halted as Master Centurion Flavius of the First Cohort rode out to meet the other Cohort Commanders. As the soldiers stood and caught their breath, Artorius saw that the commotion was coming from what appeared to be a casualty collection point. There were about a dozen soldiers being attended to, with several more being borne in on litters. Three were lying still, with their cloaks draped completely over them. Artorius dropped his head, knowing the men were dead. He looked to the left and saw, in a completely separate area, six barbarians on their knees with their hands bound behind them. Several legionaries were standing guard over them.
Ahead of the formation the cohort commanders of the relief column met with the master centurion.
“What happened?” Calvinus of the Fifth Cohort asked.
“Ambush, classic ambush,” Flavius replied. “The sortie was paralleling this ridge when a small band of Germans, Marsi warriors we think, jumped up and attacked with missile weapons; spears, rocks, arrows, whatever they could get their hands on. As soon as they had loosed a couple volleys, they were gone. Our men weren’t caught completely off guard, though. Most managed to get into a hasty testudo formation. Then, on their own initiative, the centurions in the closest ranks gave orders to throw their javelins and counter attack. Unfortunately, the barbarians fled before they could scale the slope.”
“My guess is this will be the way they fight throughout the rest of this campaign,” Valerius Proculus of the Third Cohort added. “They’ll hide in the trees, up on the high ground. They’ll strike, try and inflict a few casualties, and then off they go.”
“I also think they’ll try and lure us into an even larger trap this way,” Calvinus remarked. “They hit us enough times, the men will become so frustrated that they’ll pursue too far and then end up walking into the real ambush.”
The other Commanders nodded in concurrence.
“What about our casualties?” one Commander asked.
“Right now, we have three dead, fifteen wounded, two of those serious enough to require evacuation from the front,” Flavius answered.
“I see we scored a few hits ourselves,” Proculus said, nodding towards the wounded barbarian prisoners.
“The range and the angle made killing shots difficult,” Flavius said. “We only counted a couple of corpses up on the ridge, and I think we were lucky to hit the ones we did. We were only able to do that because they stuck around for more than one volley, giving us time to loose our own javelins. I doubt they will make that mistake again.”
“So, about the prisoners, what do you think we should do with them?” Calvinus asked.
As the entire column of eight cohorts marched back to the camp, Artorius looked back at the six hastily erected crucifixes set out in the open field. Their occupants moaned in pain and despair. There had been no nails available, so the prisoners had been tied to their crosses, their stomachs opened to let their entrails ooze out the gaping wound. This would ensure that any rescue attempt would be futile, but it also allowed the coming of death to be somewhat prolonged. Artorius almost felt a tinge of remorse, but then he remembered the wounded legionaries they picked up. Two of these, even if they survived their wounds, would probably never be physically able to serve in the legions again, the same fate his Father had suffered. Three others would never go home, just like his brother. His remorse immediately ended.
Two more days of sorties produced no further results. That evening Macro called a meeting of the entire century. As the century formed up, Macro told them all to take a seat on the grass. Only the centurion, Optio Valgus, Tesserarius Flaccus, and Signifier Camillus remained standing. Sergeant Vitruvius lounged on the grass and looked like he was half asleep.
“Good evening, men,” Macro said. His demeanor was hard, but not unpleasant.
“Good evening, sir,” the century replied together.
“I want to talk with you for a bit about what we are doing here on this campaign and what will be coming up soon. You all know the obvious reasons as to why we are here. We are here to avenge our brothers who perished in Teutoburger Wald. It is my feeling that you need to know a little more about whom we are fighting.
“The Cherusci are by far the largest and most warlike of all the tribes in Germania. Smaller tribes look to them for protection. They are also the ones who committed the most heinous crimes against the Roman state. For not only did the Cherusci declare war on Rome, they did so through treachery and deceit. They supplied Varus with the bulk of his auxiliaries and his scouts. In the Wald, not only did the legions have to face the attacking barbarians, they also had to face their former allies, who suddenly turned on them. Their leader, Arminius was a close confidant of Varus. He also had, at one time, commanded a cavalry ala under Legate Severus. Master Centurion Flavius knew him as well. Ask them sometime if you ever want to know the full depth of his treachery.” He paused to let his words sink in before continuing.
“Surprisingly, many in Arminius’ own family have continued to maintain their allegiance to Rome. His brother, Flavus,
is still serving as an auxiliary, his loyalty and bravery continuously proven. His wife’s father, a nobleman named Segestes, has maintained his allegiance to Rome; to the point where Arminius has laid siege to his lands. Germanicus is now en route with his column to relieve Segestes and bring him and his family back to Roman territory. Segestes was also the German who warned Varus about the intended ambush in Teutoburger Wald in the first place. We all know just how much his warning was heeded,” he said with a certain amount of disgust in his voice.
“While this operation is in progress, we have been tasked with finishing the job of destroying the Marsi, whom we ravaged a couple of weeks ago. Our reconnaissance has located the remainder of their settlements. The Marsi were among those who took part in Teutoburger Wald and, therefore, have sentenced themselves to annihilation. We also believe they are the ones responsible for the hit and run attacks on our columns as of late.
“The settlements we will be attacking are much larger than those we destroyed recently. Make no mistake, they will have been warned, by now, of our presence, and they will put up more of a fight this time. We doubt there will be anything resembling a pitched battle, however it will be more than just farmers with pitch forks.
“Men, when we engage the Marsi we must be calculated, cold, precise, and thorough,” his voice was like ice. “We are not a rampaging mob like the barbarians we fight; they are sloppy and haphazard. We, on the other hand, will move with control and deliberate speed. Everyone we face will die; man, woman, or child. The taking of prisoners has been prohibited on this campaign. Slaves are taken on campaigns of conquest, not retribution. Every hut we will burn, and all their livestock and crops we will either take or we will burn. Revenge is most satisfying when it is exacted with cold, calculated precision. Never forget that.” With that he turned and walked away, the other senior legionaries in tow.
The rest of the century sat in silence as they let all that was said sink in.