by James Mace
Realizing the conversation was over, Artorius snapped to attention and saluted. Macro returned his salute and Artorius turned to leave.
“One last thing, soldier,” Macro said.
Artorius turned back to face the centurion.
“If you ever mention our conversation to anyone, I swear by all that I consider holy, I will slash your throat and tear out your heart.” His tone was soft and non-threatening.
Artorius did not doubt the seriousness of his words.
“Yes, sir,” he answered as he walked back to his tent. As he slept, he dreamed of the fire, torture, and death, described by Centurion Macro.
The next day Artorius awoke feeling anxious. He couldn’t wait for breakfast to be completed so he could go and see this person to whom Macro was referring. Sergeant Statorius came walking towards him, looking more than a little put out.
“Artorius, I don’t know what in the name of Hades you did, but the centurion said he wants to see you.”
“I’m on my way,” Artorius answered as he got up and quickly walked off.
“What was that all about?” Magnus asked.
“I don’t know. If he were in trouble, Macro would have told me to come back with him, but when I asked, he rather vehemently told me to send Artorius and then disappear.” Statorius was obviously troubled.
“Hmm, it can’t be too bad then,” Magnus mumbled as he went back to eating his breakfast.
Macro was standing outside his tent, his hands behind his back, as Artorius approached.
Artorius stepped up to the centurion and saluted. “Legionary Artorius reporting, sir.”
“Come with me,” Macro said, and with that he immediately walked in the direction of the Fifth Cohort.
Artorius had never dealt with anyone in the legion outside of the Third Cohort, so he was rather surprised when he saw Macro walk up to the pilus prior’s tent.
“Wait here,” he directed as he went inside.
About two minutes later he came out. With him was a centurion who looked to be around forty. He had traces of gray in his hair, and he had a long scar on his face that ran from his eyebrow to his cheekbone.
Macro spoke first. “Legionary Artorius, this is Centurion Pilus Prior Calvinus, Commander of the Fifth Cohort. It seems he knew your brother.”
Artorius went to salute and was shocked to see the centurion extend his hand. He fumbled with his salute and took Calvinus’ hand.
“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said.
“Take what time you need. Report back to me as soon as you are done,” Macro said. He turned and briskly walked away.
Artorius watched him go, and then realized he was still clutching the other centurion’s hand.
“It’s a pleasure for me to meet the brother of one who saved my life,” Calvinus said. He then motioned for Artorius to come inside his tent. Once inside, Calvinus pointed to a chair and asked him to sit down.
Artorius was shocked. He had never been invited into a senior officer’s quarters before. Calvinus handed him a goblet of wine before taking a seat himself.
“I suppose there are some questions you would like to have answered,” Calvinus said.
“As a matter of fact, sir, there are,” Artorius replied. “I want to know what happened to my brother, what really happened to him, I mean. I also want to know what kind of legionary he was. I was just a boy of eight or nine the last time I saw him alive.”
“Your brother,” Calvinus started, “was a fine soldier. You would do well to have learned from his example. I was his centurion in the Seventh Cohort for the two years he served with us. He was always learning; learning the way the century worked as part of a cohort, and how a cohort worked as part of a legion, how doctrine and tactics applied directly to the lowest level. He was always reading and writing. I was surprised when I found out that many of the letters he wrote were being sent to his younger brother.”
Artorius smiled at the memory.
“He did not confine himself to just military study, though. He would read anything he could get his hands on. And when he was not reading, he was strengthening his body. I remember a favorite saying of his…”
“With a sound mind and a strong body you can accomplish anything,” Artorius interrupted. “My apologies,” he said immediately, realizing his lapse in manners.
“I hope you took his words to heart,” Calvinus said before continuing. “There was only one thing he loved more than study and physical play, and that was Rowana. I don’t suppose he ever told you about her?”
“He did mention a few times about a woman he had fallen in love with,” Artorius answered. “It’s been a while since I read his letters, but I do seem to remember him mentioning her once by name.”
“Rowana was the type of girl any man would fall in love with on sight. Not simply because she was beautiful, but because she was a genuinely kind and generous person. She also exuded a lot of class. She was nothing like the tramps and whores that permeate the settlements around a military post. I had the sad duty of telling her what happened to him. She left soon after, and nobody’s seen her again. I wonder if she’s even still alive.
“I also wrote the letter to your parents concerning his death. Tribune Cassius made sure it was personally delivered. I wrote a lot of those letters.” He took a long pull off his wine and looked away for a moment.
“You mentioned that Metellus saved your life,” Artorius said, trying to keep the conversation going. “Would you please tell me how?”
Calvinus looked down for a few seconds, drank some more wine, and then continued. “It was nearly the end of the battle. We had fallen back to a final stronghold when the Germans broke through. There were so many of them, and by this point we were in a hopeless position. Our formation had completely broken down. Metellus had been missing since the initial ambush, as had many of the other men.
“It seemed like everything collapsed; only I and two others that I knew of were still alive. We were in a desperate fight when Metellus came running from out of nowhere. I was in the middle of a scrap against three barbarian warriors. He lunged in and took out two of them by himself.” He then told Artorius of the subsequent flight to Cassius Chaerea’s formation, and of Metellus’ mortal wounding.
“In a last desperate act to save his friends, he flung his gladius which killed a rather fleet- footed barbarian who was closing fast on us. I was not aware of his presence until I heard the cry and turned to see the man fall with Metellus’ blade embedded in his spine. He was only two meters from my back when your brother threw away his only chance to defend himself, to save my life. I saw your brother lying on his stomach just as a barbarian stabbed him in the back of the skull with his spear. The three of us who survived ran to Cassius’ formation and cut our way out.” He took another draught of wine.
“When we get to Teutoburger Wald, do you think you could show me where he was killed?” Artorius asked.
Calvinus paused. “I will, if we can even find the place. With six years of growth and gods know what the barbarians did to the bodies, it may be impossible to identify him. However, if possible, I will show you where he made his final stand. Don’t worry about finding me, I will come and find you.” With that he stood.
Artorius snapped to attention and saluted. “Thank you for your time, sir.”
Calvinus took a deep breath and a long pull off his wine after Artorius left. “And so, Metellus, your brother has come to avenge you. I hope he does you proud,” he said as he raised his goblet in salute, and then stared, unseeing, into the distance.
Macro was not with the century as they marched into Teutoburger Wald. Optio Valgus had been left in charge with Camillus as his second. Macro, Calvinus, and any other soldiers known to have survived the Teutoburger massacre were sent with the cavalry to act as guides. Severus, himself, took charge of the reconnaissance effort. It was only then that it became publicly known just who in the legion was a Teutoburger survivor. It seemed like all of them had taken gr
eat pains to keep their pasts a secret.
Teutoburger Wald was a forest infested with nearly impenetrable swamp and marshlands. It seemed like every few hundred meters they had to stop and build bridges and causeways through the marshes for the baggage trains to get through.
“How in the fuck could Varus have believed this to be a more expedient route?” Valens asked as he slipped off a rock and sank up to his knees in the water and mud. “This is by far the worst terrain we have encountered to date.”
“No argument there,” Praxus said as he helped pull his friend out. He looked around at their surroundings. “He must have had a lot of trust in that bastard Arminius.”
The Second Century was tasked to provide security as other units built the bridge over a particular section of the marsh. As they came to each quagmire, centuries took turns providing security and building bridges. Artorius looked around and saw that, with the nightmarish terrain they were standing in, keeping close order and formation was impossible. Praxus was five meters to his left, and Magnus was more than three meters to his right. The rest of the century had just as hard of a time maintaining a proper interval. Some legionaries were stacked practically on top of each other on small patches of dry ground while others were spread far apart.
“You know, we could probably walk to where we’re going in a day if we didn’t have to build all these damn bridges for the baggage train,” Carbo said.
“If you want to sleep in this crap without a tent or a cot, be my guest.” Artorius retorted.
“Hmm, I wonder if any of the locals can recommend a good bathhouse,” Valens said as he looked at his grimy feet and legs.
“Oh, sure, it’s right next to that little grove where they cut your head off and offer your balls to the forest gods. I hear Brumhilda’s Whore House is just up the block from there,” Artorius mused as everyone laughed.
“Think Brumhilda has a sister we can set Carbo up with?” Decimus asked, inciting further laughter from the section and a profane insult from Carbo. Laughter was good, even if it was of the nervous kind. Everyone had been on edge since the moment they entered the Wald. It was as if the very forest would swallow them up, just as it had the Legions of Varus.
The next day they managed to find some drier ground to march on. This helped them to maintain formation which eased some of their anxieties about security. After a couple of hours of marching they came to a halt. A rider soon approached them. It was Centurion Calvinus. He stopped at their position.
“Can we help you, centurion?” Valgus asked.
Calvinus dismounted and walked towards Artorius. “I need him to come with me.”
“Can I ask what this is about?” Valgus asked.
“There is something up ahead that requires the attention of Legionary Artorius,” Calvinus answered. “It may help him in finding what he seeks here.” His eyes were never off of Artorius.
“Very good Sir,” Valgus said and nodded his consent to Artorius. Calvinus left his horse with Valgus and the century as he and Artorius walked away.
“I can’t be certain, but I think that this may be the place we are looking for,” Calvinus said as soon as they were out of sight of the century. “Varus’ final camp is not too far from here, and I know we fought our final action before meeting up with Cassius in this area. Here we are.”
They came to a clearing which was littered with skeletons. Since the Germans would have picked up their own dead, it was apparent that these must be Roman. All had been stripped of any weapons, armor, or possessions. Decay and wild animals had stripped all of the flesh away from the bones. The bones themselves were in an advanced state of decay; some were not even recognizable and looked gnawed upon. There was not much else to see. Calvinus was obviously shaken. If this was the right spot, then many of these bodies had once been his legionaries. Artorius looked to see if any of them might be his brother. Positive identification was, of course, impossible at this point, but still he hoped.
Calvinus continued to point out signs that made the area seem familiar to him. He saw one skull that had its face smashed in, possibly belonging to Legionary Clodius. They came across numerous skeletons of varying size and shape, probably some of the families and camp followers who had shared the fate of their men. It was coming together like a puzzle. Finally, they saw a body off by itself causing both men to stop dead in their tracks. It was lying prone, skull facing towards where Calvinus thought Cassius’ formation had been. Most of the bones were scattered or missing, the work of wild dogs, mice, and other scavengers. However, there was a hole in the back of the skull where a spear might have been thrust. Calvinus then pointed to the right femur, which was, surprisingly, still intact. Running sideways at an angle was a noticeable cut in the bone, one not caused by animals or decay. It was the blow of an axe; one that would have severed the femoral artery, wounding the man mortally.
Tears came to Artorius’ eyes. There was no longer any doubt. He had found his brother. He set his javelin and shield against a tree and cradled the skull in his hands. His mind was awash in memories, happy memories of when his brother had still been alive. He remembered saying goodbye to Metellus the day he left for the army. Metellus had bent down and kissed him on top of the head right before he left. Artorius had not appreciated the gesture, which may have been all the more reason why Metellus did it.
“I want to come with you, to live the life of the legions,” he’d told Metellus. His brother had laughed at the remark.
“Perhaps some day you will. Remember little brother, with a strong mind and a sound body you can accomplish anything.” Those had been his last words to him.
Artorius smiled through his tears and kissed the top of the skull.
“Come, I’ll help you bury him,” Calvinus said.
They gathered up Metellus’ bones and walked to a large open field. There were still remnants of a palisade and half-filled ditch. It was where Varus made his final stand. The sights here were much more gruesome. Skulls were nailed to trees, ash and soot still left a residue on foul altars where the tribunes and centurions had been sacrificed. Signs of mutilation were obvious even with what little remained of the bodies.
A single, vast grave had been excavated. Artorius was surprised to see Germanicus himself present. Without much ceremony, but with great affection he laid to rest the first of the bodies that would occupy this mass grave. Legionaries started to bring the bones of the fallen forward, laying them side by side, and eventually on top of each other. Time constraints did not allow for a more individual and personal form of burial, and the dampness prevented the traditional burning of the bodies. Artorius saw Centurion Macro and some other soldiers whom he did not recognize off to one side. Macro saw him and nodded in acknowledgment of the burden that Artorius carried. Artorius and Calvinus took their place in line behind soldiers bearing similar loads. As they reached the grave, they took great care to lay Metellus down gently next to his fallen brothers. Artorius ran his hand across the top of the skull one last time.
“I will avenge you, brother.”
Later that night, Artorius and Magnus were cooking dinner for their tentmates. Artorius’ hand trembled as he placed some wheat cakes in the cooking pan. Magnus sat and watched in silence. Decimus and Valens walked in from sentry duty. All had seen the remnants of Varus’ camp and the macabre spectacle that still existed even after six years.
“I cannot believe what we have seen today,” Valens said.
“Me neither,” Decimus replied. “I have no idea how many we buried. Though for most of them there wasn’t much left.”
“The skulls that were nailed to the trees were the worst,” Valens said, closing his eyes at the thought.
“Artorius buried his brother today,” Magnus said as everyone stared at him.
Everyone except Artorius. He just stared at the fire. “How did you know?”
“I overheard Centurion Calvinus tell Macro. It explained why you were gone as long as you were. Besides, how often does a senior
centurion from another cohort come and speak pleasantries with an unknown legionary? I mean, think about how many breaches of protocol happened today between you and that centurion.”
Artorius sat stone-faced. He couldn’t have hoped to keep this from his friends. Magnus put a hand on his shoulder.
“Artorius, we’re sorry,” Decimus said, grabbing his other shoulder.
“I lost an uncle here,” Valens said. “I never knew him, but I saw how devastated my father was when we received word of his death. I know not whether he was one of those we buried today.”
Artorius took a deep breath. “Well, now that we’ve finished here, what do you think Germanicus and Severus have in mind for us now?”
“I don’t know,” Decimus said taking the cue to change the subject. “We’ve got about another month of good campaign weather before we have to start thinking about our move back across the Rhine.”
“You mean we won’t establish winter quarters here?” Magnus asked. “I thought it was standard practice that the army would base itself in freshly conquered territory to prevent its being retaken.”
“We would, if we were interested in re-conquest,” Statorius said as he walked into the fire light. “We’re not here to take the Germans’ land from them. As you all have seen there is nothing here we want. The ground is a nightmare to farm; the tribes are even less civilized than those of Gaul were during the conquest of Caesar. To be honest, I highly doubt we will ever again expand our borders beyond the Rhine. We are here on a mission of vengeance, gentlemen, nothing more.”
Germanicus stood outside his tent, listening to his distraught chief augur. Though most Romans placed little real value in religion, Germanicus was one of the few who still held faith in the old beliefs.
“Sir, I don’t think you comprehend how grave your transgression was today,” the augur pleaded. “You are of the Order of Priests, an order which has a sacred obligation to avoid contact with the dead. In spite of this you took it upon yourself to lay your hands on the remains of those men. Do you have any idea of the possible repercussions of this?”