Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles)

by James Mace

  “With me!” he shouted and urged his warriors towards their fleeing enemy.

  As they closed, he swung his sword hard across the back of one unsuspecting foe. He heard the vertebrae and spine split underneath the force of his blow. The barbarian screamed and fell to the ground.

  The Batavi were in the midst of another massacre of their enemy when suddenly a throwing spear flew through the air, driving deep into the chest of a warrior riding next to Chariovalda. He looked in the direction it had come and saw a number of Cherusci regrouping ahead of them. He looked quickly to his left and right, and saw even more of them swarming towards him. Another throwing spear felled one of his warriors as the Cherusci gave a great cry and charged. A volley of darts and arrows showered the ranks of the Batavi, who raised their shields to protect themselves. Cries of shock and pain could be heard as horsemen were hurled from their mounts.

  Centurion Aemilius slashed his sword across the back of a fleeing barbarian. His men had caught a small band of Cherusci completely off-guard and had slaughtered them without loss. He then heard the commotion coming from where he knew Chariovalda was in contact. He turned his gaze to his front and saw a large number of Cherusci warriors rushing towards the sounds of battle. He grimaced, knowing that Chariovalda was in trouble.

  “Cornicen, sound recall!” he shouted, turning his horse about.

  Stertinius, alerted by the trumpet’s sound, immediately brought his own contingent about, rushing to the aid of the Batavi.

  “To me, my brave warriors!” Chariovalda shouted, raising his sword.

  His warriors, realizing their plight, quickly rode to their leader, forming a circle with their shields facing out. The Cherusci now had them completely surrounded, and were attacking in overwhelming numbers. As they clashed with the Batavi, many were initially cut down by the better equipped horsemen who had the advantage of being mounted. Gradually, however, the Batavi circle started to break. Warriors succumbed to fatigue and were struck down. Others, overwhelmed by the superior numbers of Cherusci, were pulled from their mounts and hacked to pieces. Realizing their desperate situation, Chariovalda rode straight at what he thought to be the weakest point in the circle of Cherusci warriors.

  “Follow me to freedom!” he shouted as he brought his sword down on the skull of one Cherusci warrior with a horrific crunch. Suddenly a spear skipped underneath his shield and pierced his side. He gasped in pain as his breath was suddenly taken from him. The spear was wrenched from his side, causing the wound to bleed profusely. His shield drooped allowing a volley of darts to pierce him in several places, sending him reeling. As he fell from his horse, he saw his warriors riding around him, hacking and stabbing away at the hated Cherusci. His vision started to fade as he saw the Roman cavalry coming to their aid at a dead charge.

  The shock of their impact caused the Cherusci to reel temporarily. Chariovalda felt the strong hands of his warriors as they lifted him onto the back of a horse. As they rode away from the battle his vision faded and he breathed his last.

  Aemilius watched in horror as Chariovalda and a number of his warriors fell under a storm of darts and arrows. He recoiled at the sight. Stertinius could be seen approaching from their left, his contingent looking to envelope the Cherusci. Aemilius decided then to drive the barbarians into them.

  “Wedge formation, keep it tight!” he shouted to his men. “Charge!”

  The Cherusci immediately panicked and started to flee in the wake of his onslaught. Still, his cavalry managed to slay and trample a number of them under the hooves of their chargers. They came to a halt soon after having pushed past the Batavi, who were gathering up their dead and wounded.

  Aemilius dismounted his horse and walked over to where Chariovalda lay slumped across the back of one of his warrior’s mounts. The dead chief’s eyes were open, yet lifeless. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. The centurion, overcome with sadness, removed his helmet, reached up to gently close his friend’s eyes, and stood for a moment with his hand on Chariovalda’s head.

  “With your permission,” he said to the warrior on the horse, “I would like to carry him back myself.”

  The exhausted warrior could only nod his consent, too tired for words. The Batavi reverently lifted their chief into the waiting arms of Aemilius as he sat atop his horse. Tears silently ran down his face as he began the long ride to meet up with the rest of the legion at Idistaviso, cradling his friend, and ignoring the blood which smeared his armor.

  It was late, and construction on the bridges had stopped for the night. They would finish up in the morning, allowing the legion to cross in force. Onagers had continued to fire sporadically into the tree lines on the opposite bank. Not only was this to disperse any would be attackers, but the fires left behind would give off enough light for scorpion crews to fire on anyone trying to dismantle the almost complete bridge.

  Artorius sat next to a small campfire, unable to keep his eyes off of the far shore. Flanking units had set up the standard palisade and ditch leading down to the river. The river served as a natural obstacle, so there was no need to further reinforce it. His half sleep was disrupted by the sounds of a scorpion firing.

  “Got you, you bastard!” he heard the gunner shout. “Did any of you see that? Ha ha!”

  “Shut your mouth and reload!” the section leader shouted.

  He couldn’t help but smile as he saw in the dim light a barbarian lying, twitching in the sand with a bolt protruding from between his eyes. It was a damn good shot!

  “I wonder what must be going through Arminius’ mind right about now,” Artorius mused as he leaned back and watched the spectacle. For not having his tent or a cot to sleep on, he found he was surprisingly comfortable. The dense woods and uneven terrain had prohibited their setup.

  “Probably soiling his loin cloth,” Valens thought aloud.

  “Either that or he’s making some unholy sacrifice to their foul deities that they might be delivered from our vengeance,” Magnus said.

  “What kind of sacrifices do they make?” Gavius asked.

  “They place an ox on a burning altar, cut its throat, and then shag it before it stops twitching,” Decimus answered.

  “Dear gods, do they really?” Gavius asked.

  Everyone started laughing.

  “I don’t know. I just made that up!” Decimus replied.

  “That does sound about right, though,” Valens said through a mouthful of wheat cakes and bacon.

  “This coming from a guy who will go to bed with anything that moves and is still breathing,” Praxus muttered.

  “It doesn’t have to be moving, I do that myself,” Valens said as he picked up a rock and threw it at him.

  It skipped away harmlessly as Praxus laughed to himself.

  “I think he’s planning on making as much of a stand against us as is possible,” Artorius said. “Whether he can beat us or not, I think he plans on making this pending battle as costly for us as he can.”

  “Which is where discipline and training will pay off,” Statorius said. He sat back from the fire, listening to his soldiers’ conversations as he often did. “If we stick together, do what we know how to do, and watch out for each other, we’ll be alright.” He took a bite of his supper and a long drink from his water bladder.

  Chapter XIX: Calm Before the Storm

  ***

  The next day, the legion crossed unmolested after finishing the last short stretch of bridge to the shore. Artorius and many of the others nearly gagging as they passed the Germanic corpses that were starting to rot and bloat, swarms of flies clouding the air. Vitruvius rode past them seemingly impervious to the repugnant sight and stench.

  “Just think men, there will be many more of them soon to stink up this cursed land!” he shouted.

  Artorius laughed and then gagged again as a fresh breeze blew the smell right into his face.

  “Personally, I think they smell almost as bad when they are alive,” he choked.

&
nbsp; A hard day’s march brought them to the edge of the land known as Idistaviso. There the Romans quickly erected their forts. As night fell, Germanicus rushed to the gate where the cavalry was returning from their long, harrowing ordeal. The Batavi looked to have taken the worst of it. There were a lot fewer of them than there were before, and those that remained were haggard and weak from fatigue and injury.

  Germanicus’ face fell when he saw the sight of Centurion Aemilius. In his arms, he bore the ravaged and bloodied corpse of Chariovalda. With him was a younger Batavi named Halmar, who Germanicus knew to be the slain chief’s brother. With great reverence, Aemilius placed Chariovalda’s body at the feet of Germanicus. The centurion fought hard to mask his sorrow.

  Severus walked up as Germanicus kneeled down and placed his hand on the dead chieftain’s shoulder. The legate gave orders to have the surgeons sent for immediately and for fresh wine and food to be brought for the survivors.

  “He died saving his men,” Aemilius said quietly.

  Germanicus barely heard him. He couldn’t help but marvel in that, in spite of his fearful wounds and being soaked in blood, Chariovalda’s face looked somehow serene and tranquil.

  “Here has passed a brave man into eternity,” he said as he rose to his feet. His gaze then fell upon Halmar, who stood trembling in what Germanicus knew to be a combination of hunger, fatigue, and sorrow. He stepped forward and placed a hand on the Batavi’s shoulder.

  “You must lead your people now,” he stated.

  Halmar nodded in reluctant ascent.

  “Know that your valor will not be forgotten. You allowed our legions to cross the Weser in safety. The actions of your men saved the lives of hundreds, if not thousands, of Roman soldiers. Your people have done their part in this war. Therefore, I release you to return to your homes in honor.”

  Halmar shook his head at this last remark. “My brother would have wished for us to finish what we started. We may be fewer in number, but my men have lost none of their resolve. We will stand by you, Germanicus Caesar, and we will fight till the bitter end of this war.”

  “You are a worthy ally,” Stertinius said as he approached the pair. “With the general’s permission, I would like to send my contingent to fight beside our friend, Halmar, in the upcoming battle.”

  Germanicus nodded his consent and then dismissed the pair who then carried Chariovalda’s body away.

  “Severus,” he called to the older legate who had been standing in the background, watching everything unfold.

  “Sir?”

  “I need to get a feel for the men’s morale with the climactic battle of this war at hand.” He turned and faced Severus, his arms folded across his chest. “I could call for a meeting of the tribunes and senior centurions. However, I feel that in spite of their best intentions they may be apt to tell me what they think I want to hear.” He paused for a minute in deep thought before making his decision. “Take me to one of the signifiers not in the Twentieth Legion. He may be able to help me.”

  “Yes, sir,” Severus replied with a grin, suspecting what Germanicus had in mind.

  Artorius and his section were sitting by their fire when a signifier, whom they weren’t familiar with, walked up to them. Though all of them had dropped their body armor and equipment, this man was still fully dressed in armor and animal skins. As he drew near they noticed he was wearing a bear skin over his helmet and shoulders. This is the man who carried the standard of his unit. The honor and prestige of this position was significant.

  “May I sit and join you this evening?” he asked.

  “Of course, friend. Come, sit down,” Statorius said as he waved the man over. “So what brings you so far from your headquarters’ duties?”

  “I only wished to get away from there for a while. It has been a long time since I was in a century on the line. While mine is a respectable position, I still miss being out front sometimes,” the signifier answered.

  Statorius signaled to Gavius, whose turn it was to cook supper. Gavius grabbed a tin plate and filled it with wheat cakes and roasted meat. He handed it to the unknown signifier who readily accepted.

  “Thank you, brothers,” he said as he ate.

  There followed the usual fireside talk of battles won and lost and good leaders and bad as they ate.

  The signifier eventually said, “I admit I am curious as to how soldiers in the ranks perceive this mission and our commander.”

  “Our commander is a good man,” Praxus said. “A bit superstitious, maybe, but there is none other I would rather follow into battle.”

  “True,” Statorius replied. “I have served with many commanding generals, and I have to say Germanicus is among the best I have ever seen.”

  “What is it that makes him so special to you?” the signifier asked.

  “He is tactically sound, and he leads from the front,” Artorius piped in. “I saw him after an engagement. A couple of infantry cohorts were more than able to handle the situation, yet there he was, taking the lead himself. I saw his sword covered in blood at the end of the battle. He is as brave as any I have ever seen.”

  “There’s only one other I would rather serve under, and that is the Emperor himself,” Magnus said.

  “Magnus, you weren’t even in the army when Tiberius was still in the field!” Decimus retorted.

  “Still, his reputation precedes him,” the signifier replied calmly. “Tell me, do you think Germanicus learned capably from his uncle?”

  “I served with Tiberius,” Praxus said. “I can tell you that both men are about equal when it comes to tactical savvy and personal courage. The only difference I could ever tell is, aside from having the advantage of experience, Tiberius seemed almost reckless when it came to his personal safety. Yet both men would willingly trade their safety for that of their men. I am truly honored to have served under them.”

  “As am I,” Statorius added as he stared into the fire. They caught a hint of a smile in the signifier’s face, concealed as it was in the shadows of his garb.

  “Thank you for your time and hospitality, my brothers,” he said as he rose. He handed Gavius his plate. “We shall meet again.” With that he left.

  The signifier made a number of rounds to other campfires that night. Well past midnight he walked back to his tent. He saw Severus standing outside, drinking a goblet of wine.

  “How did it go, Germanicus?” Severus asked. “Did you find the answers you were looking for?”

  “I found them and then some,” Germanicus said as he removed the animal skins and helmet. He handed them to the soldier who was standing next to Severus, also drinking a goblet of wine.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “You’re welcome, sir,” the signifier answered, smiling.

  Early the next morning, Artorius and Magnus were on sentry duty. As the sun broke the horizon they saw a lone rider coming towards them. He was a German, and he carried a banner of truce.

  “What in Hades does this guy want?” Magnus asked.

  “Rider approaching! Enemy from the looks of him!” Artorius shouted. Soon other soldiers were on the wall. Centurion Macro joined them along with their Cohort Commander, Centurion Proculus. The rider approached and stopped about thirty meters short of the rampart.

  “Fellow warriors!” he shouted in perfect Latin. “I bring an offer from Arminius, Supreme War Chief of the Cherusci. He asks that you lay down your arms and walk away from your forts. For each soldier who accepts, we offer him twenty five denarii per day until the end of the war. We know the average soldier only makes two hundred and twenty-five denarii per year, so this will be a handsome gift. We will also give you a plot of land to call your own and a beautiful German wife!”

  “Think it’s a ruse?” Magnus asked.

  “Does it matter?” Artorius retorted. “Their wives and land are ours for the taking. Why else would they make this offer if they weren’t so close to breaking?”

  “Then why don’t you let him know that?” Mac
ro asked, nodding towards the messenger.

  “Sir, Proculus is the senior officer present. Shouldn’t he be the one to parlay?”

  “No, I think it would be just fine if a legionary from the ranks gave our response,” Macro answered.

  Artorius cocked a half smile and turned towards the German messenger. “Tell Arminius we will take his lands and his women with or without his permission! Let daylight come, let battle be given! The soldiers will possess themselves of the lands of the Germans and will carry off their wives. We hail the omen; we mean the women and riches of the enemy to be our spoil. 1 How dare Arminius think that we would betray our own? We will ravage your lands and your wives at our leisure! All of you will burn in Hell for his betrayal, and the wailing of your women will be the last thing you hear!” With that he spat at the German, causing the rest of the soldiers on the wall to erupt in a torrent of insults and profanity.

  The German hardened his face, threw down the banner of truce, and rode away.

  “If that’s not a good sign of things to come, then I don’t know what is,” Magnus remarked.

  “Does this mean I can actually get a piece of one of those blond beauties once this is over?” Valens asked.

  This caused Macro to sigh heavily while everyone else stifled their laughter.

  “Yes, Valens,” he replied, “you can have as many Germanic whores as you want, once the fighting is over.”

  “High ground to our front, tree lines beyond that,” Severus observed, gazing at a terrain sketch one of the scouts had made. “No doubt they will use the terrain to build up momentum against us; then wait until we get close to the slopes, and try and roll over us with their superior numbers.”

  Germanicus sat with his legs crossed and his chin in his hand, contemplating. He had an enormous army which he needed to be able to deploy rapidly. Combine that with the fact that he was horribly outnumbered with the enemy on the high ground, he had a lot to think about.