by James Mace
A small number of warriors had started to gather behind their village elders. One in particular, stared at Artorius. He was slightly irritated with the barbarian’s blatant stare.
“Find out what you can here,” Proculus told Macro. “I’ll take the rest of the cohort on ahead.”
“Yes, sir,” Macro replied.
Ietano approached the centurion as the rest of the Third Cohort continued its march. “What business brings the legions of Rome to our lands?” He asked as neutrally as possible. “It has been some years since we’ve seen soldiers venture across the Rhine.” “Circumstances were slightly different then,” Macro replied politely. “We have come to make certain your people remain peaceful and are no threat to Roman interests.”
“If you see us as a threat, why not just come and conquer our lands?” one warrior blurted out. “Is that not the Roman way?”
Ietano blanched at the man’s outburst. Before he could speak, Macro turned to the warrior.
“Do not try my patience, barbarian. If you doubt that Rome can take your lands at leisure, think back to the final days of the war four years ago.” Macro strained to keep his voice as neutral as Ietano. “You are Cherusci, are you not?”
Ietano hissed at the brash warrior to keep silent, then sighed resignedly, “The Cherusci are no more. Your attempt to exterminate all of us may have failed, but you succeeded in wiping out the Cherusci influence from these lands.”
Artorius was a little surprised to hear the bitter regret in his voice, as if he were almost ashamed of his blood.
“What of Arminius?” Macro asked, seeing no need to delay looking for what he sought. “You practically revered him as a god, and yet his head was offered to the Emperor after the war.”
“Arminius is dead. He was recently murdered by some of the other chiefs, hoping Rome would not return to our lands and would leave us in peace.” He snorted, “Such a waste, that was!”
“Indeed. You did not play a role in his death, then?” Macro asked bluntly.
Ietano raised his head proudly. “I stood by Arminius till the very end. I am proud to have fought beside such a magnificent warrior and chief!” Macro nodded and gave a dismissive wave of the hand. Just then, the warrior who had been staring at Artorius stepped forward purposefully.
“Murderer!” he screamed, pointing towards Artorius who raised his eyebrows.
“Who in the bloody hell…” Macro began when Ietano stepped in front of the raging warrior putting himself between the enraged warrior and Artorius.
“No, Thrax! This is not the way; we are no longer at war with Rome!”
“To hell with Rome!” Thrax spat. “My sister and her children died at his hands! They had no part in that war!”
“What in the name of Mercury is this man ranting about?” Macro sighed, exasperated. He secured the information they came for, and he wanted to leave.
The barbarians’ stink carried on the wind. Unfortunately, the legion was downwind.
Thrax’s outburst caused a stir amongst the warriors, and suddenly Macro found himself wishing Proculus had not left them there.
“This bastard ran his sword through my sister! He murdered her children!”
“Instead of fighting, like the rest of the warriors in your tribe,” Artorius replied calmly, “you hid like a scared little girl?” Then he bit his tongue. Nice going, Artorius, he said to himself. That’s just going to make things worse.
Thrax screamed in rage and tried to push his way past Ietano, who stood fast in his way. The warrior was a big man, taller than Artorius by a few inches, though leaner in physique. A great two-handed sword was strapped to his otherwise bare back. The sergeant looked over at his centurion, who gave a curt nod. Artorius steeled himself to fight the enraged German.
“If your man is so bent on destroying me, he can have me.” Artorius planted his javelin in the ground and stepped out from the formation.
Ietano still did not move out of the way.
“I think it is only fair, and in the spirit of your people’s warrior traditions, that these two men be allowed to settle their differences,” Macro observed, his arms folded across his chest.
Ietano shook his head.
“This is not the way to keep peace with Rome,” he replied.
“Kill him and cut out his heart, Thrax!” a young boy shouted as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd. No older than twelve, he carried a spear and shield tailored for his size.
Artorius snorted in contempt. “Your grievance with me is about your sister and her children yet you also send children to their deaths?” He paused and continued, “That is not the Roman way.”
“That will do, sergeant.” Macro said quietly, privately pleased with Artorius’ daring remark.
At Ietano’s command, a few other warriors surrounded Thrax and half pushed, half dragged him to the back of the crowd. He raised his voice so that all could hear him, “This is not the way!”
Artorius let out a deep breath. It wasn’t that he was afraid to fight, he was confident his greater bulk and skill could take down the berserker, but he was concerned about the retributions, even though he didn’t start it.
To everyone’s surprise the boy shouted and charged Artorius, who neatly stepped aside and tripped the youth. Spear and shield flew out of his hands when he hit the ground. Quickly Artorius straddled the boy and closed his hand around the small neck. Not enough to hurt more than bruises, but enough to make it clear he could snap the boy’s neck at will.
“I am a soldier of Rome,” he hissed. “My battle is not against children, although I will kill them if ordered.”
The boy’s eyes were wide with fear.
A warrior who appeared to be the boy’s older brother stepped forward. “Please let him go. He is young and should not be here.”
Artorius nodded and stood. The boy allowed himself to be led away.
Macro cleared his throat and broke the awkward silence. “Let us consider this matter to be resolved. Understand that any further acts of violence will be perceived as open war against Rome Herself. I am certain you understand full well the consequences of this.” He glared at Ietano and the other elders to let the words sink in.
The German chief was breathing hard through his nose, but eventually he raised his hand and waved his warriors off. He then stepped forward, face to face with Centurion Macro.
“I agree with your words. But take heed, Roman. There will never be true peace between our nations. We will always be in the background of your thoughts and nightmares, watching, waiting. Maybe not in my lifetime, but one day Rome will all.”
“You will always be a scourge to us, I have no doubt,” Macro replied, dryly. “Take heed and realize that any such attempts against the might of Rome will end in fire and blood, as you are all too familiar. Good day.” With that he turned his back on the chieftain, an insult not lost on Ietano, and ended their meeting.
Artorius watched as Ietano started to wave his warriors back towards the village.
“Think they will try anything?” Flaccus asked Macro as the century marched away.
“I don’t know,” Macro replied. “I doubt if that chief has any real fight left in him. However, the warriors look like they still have plenty. It comes down to how much control he has over them. We will take no chances.”
“Understood,” Flaccus replied.
The court was crammed with people. The Emperor sat at the head of the chamber, on a raised platform. He appeared nonchalant, but he stewed inside. He made it a point to not talk with Piso in private. Any private discussions between them would be perceived as some kind of negotiation. Senators sat on benches on either side of the Emperor. They came to bear judgment in conjunction with the Emperor, who would pass any necessary sentence.
Piso, his wife, and son sat behind a table surrounded by his defense counsel. The table occupied by the prosecution was crowded, to say the least. Four prosecutors, Germanicus’ widow, Agrippina, his brother, Claudius, and the Empe
ror’s own son, Drusus, sat together. At length, the prosecutor, Vitellius stood to address the Senate and Emperor.
“Caesar, members of the Senate, I come before you today to bear witness against Cnaeus Calpurnius Piso, a man who has sought to further his own interests through sedition, rebellion, and even murder. Not only have his acts disrupted already troubled provinces, but the murder of the Emperor’s own adopted son, Germanicus Caesar, has deprived Rome of one of her greatest and most competent statesman.
“On the charge of sedition, I give you the following. That while en route to Syria, Piso did needlessly rouse the anger of the citizens of Athens with his volatile and hostile speech. And when ordered by his senior, Germanicus, to send troops to aid him in his Armenia campaign, Piso blatantly refused to do so. Were it not for the competent generalship and diplomacy of Germanicus, the entire province could have been lost. Piso even went so far as to lavish gifts upon the most insolent and unsavory of troops in the province, seeking to gain their favor. Those with distinguished records and superior conduct, he either ignored or treated with disdain out of their allegiance to Germanicus, and therefore the Emperor! And when Germanicus fell ill, he accused Piso by name of having been attempting to poison him. On his temporary recovery, the people of the east rejoiced. Piso had the audacity to send attendants to disperse them in Antioch!” Vitellius paused briefly. Piso was fidgeting in his chair. He wiped his brow with a handkerchief and swallowed hard. Vitellius continued:
“On the charge of rebellion, of which his son, Cneius, is also accused,” Plancina quietly wept at this, “Germanicus ordered Piso out of Syria, which he only complied with reluctantly. Upon Germanicus’ death, Piso immediately returned to Syria, in spite of the Legate Sentius having been lawfully appointed in his place. Piso then took the town of Celenderis for himself and even engaged Sentius in open battle. Amongst the charges of rebellion, I recommend that Piso be held liable for the death of every Roman soldier who perished in his pursuit of vain glory!”
There was an eruption of applause from the senators, many of whom were shaking their fists furiously at Piso. The defendant stared at the Emperor, the slightest smirk crossing his face. He knew what the final charges were, and in that, he looked for salvation from the Emperor. Vitellius patiently waited a moment for the disruption to die down.
“And on the final charge of murder, of which his wife, Plancina, is also accused, I offer this. Throughout Germanicus’ quarters all sorts of foul and demonic objects were found. Body parts of humans, unholy spells on lead tablets, animal corpses, all the makings of barbaric witchcraft. Again, when his death became imminent, Germanicus accused Piso by name. He also asked that his survivors pursue full justice in his name. Be it known, a notorious poisoner named Martina had been sent to bear witness to the fact that she assisted Plancina and Piso in the gradual poisoning and death of Germanicus. She acted as the executioner to their diabolical plot!”
At this time, the defense counsel for Piso rose and spoke. “It is known that a woman named Martina was, in fact, bound for Rome. However, it would seem that she met with an unfortunate end herself, probably at the hands of one of her own concoctions!” The man spoke lightly, which did not amuse the Emperor and enraged the senators.
“On the charges of poisoning and murder, it would seem the prosecution has no case, given their star witness is unable to testify. It is the final piece of a flimsy attempt at prosecution of a fine and honorable statesman of Rome. One, I might add, who was appointed by the Divine Augustus! Therefore, we ask that the charges be dismissed.”
There was an immediate, deafening uproar from the senators. It seemed that all order was abandoned as they shouted and jeered at the defense.
“Request denied!” Tiberius boomed. It was the first words he had spoken all day, since calling the court to order.
There was immediate silence. The face of Piso, as well as his counsel, paled. Outside, the crowds screamed for Piso’s blood. Plancina grabbed one of the defense councils by the tunic and whispered frantically into his ear. The man looked at her puzzled and grimaced when she nodded, nudging him hard.
“At this time,” he began, “my client has requested that she and her son’s defenses be conducted separately from her husband.”
Piso could not believe what he was hearing. His eyes grew wide in disbelief. His wife was abandoning him. Vitellius glanced over at the Emperor, who bowed his head in consent.
“Very well, Plancina and Cneius Piso will be tried separately and at a different time. For now, they will remain in protective custody until their day in the courts.”
Plancina and Cneius were quickly escorted out of the hall. Piso looked like a broken man. He sat with his head in his hands, the feeling of abandonment overpowering his senses. His defense counsel asked for a recess until the morrow, which Tiberius granted. Piso had to be helped from the chamber, as he saw his hope of vindication vanishing.
The night was dark and cloudy. With only a partial moon trying to force its light through the cloud cover, it was nearly impossible to see in front of one’s face. Artorius watched intently, all senses heightened. Though he was not required to stand sentry duty, he still took it upon himself to take a shift, lest he get caught unawares by renegade barbarians. He looked around at their tiny camp. It still had the standard palisade and ditch, though the entrance was little more than an overlapping section of the rampart, used to slow down any possible attackers. One soldier from each section was on sentry duty at all times, with two more guarding the entrance. The clearing they occupied was surrounded by forest on all sides, adding an ominous sense of not being completely alone. No light was allowed, in hopes of making it more difficult for the Germans to find the camp. The century was on its own, having failed to catch up with Proculus and the rest of the cohort. This had visibly frustrated Macro, who did not like the idea of having to camp anywhere on the eastern side of the Rhine. The forests still gave him nightmares of Teutoburger Wald.
Artorius walked over to the entrance and nearly ran into Praxus, who was standing guard with one of his soldiers. Praxus nodded in acknowledgment. Noise discipline was being strictly enforced. It was preferred, if any barbarians were out this night, that they should pass by, unaware of the presence of Roman soldiers. If the barbarians were feeling hostile, which they probably were, judging from the way the confrontation progressed earlier, they would have little difficulty in mustering enough forces to overwhelm the tiny camp. Macro knew that any potential attack would be met with shock and surprise. They would have to catch the barbarians off guard and make them forget the Romans’ numbers were few.
One of the sentries grabbed Praxus by the shoulder, pointing into the blackness of the woods not fifty meters in front of them. A cluster of torches could be seen moving their way, though it was hard to tell just how many. Artorius gave his fellow section leader a friendly smack on the shoulder and went to rouse his men. Most were half awake as it was. All had elected to leave their armor on.
In utter silence, the century formed up behind the section of palisade that faced the coming enemy. The plan had been rehearsed a dozen times; everyone knew what to do. Macro, at the head of the formation, peered around the entrance to the camp. In spite of their torches, the Germans were stumbling, practically blind. Many cursed their folly in a language few of the Romans understood. Macro was one of those few. He smiled, recognizing a particularly explicit curse as one warrior stumbled and fell into the ditch. It seemed as if the barbarians turned to see their companion’s misstep. They were laughing and pointing until a few realized exactly what it was their friend had stumbled into.
“Now!” Macro shouted.
With lightning speed the soldiers of the Second Century flew out of the entrance to their camp in two lines. Macro led the first line, Optio Flaccus the second.
As soon as the last soldiers cleared the entrance, Macro barked his next set of orders. “Front rank, action right! Javelins…throw!” The barbarians were caught completely unawares as
javelins cut swaths into their ranks. Artorius found a target in the dim light and let his javelin fly. It caught the barbarian in the throat, which seemed to explode, his windpipe and esophagus ripped out the back of his neck, a gushing spray of blood in their wake. The barbarian’s eyes bulged from their sockets, arms flailing wildly as the weight of the javelin jerked him to the ground, nearly decapitating him in the process. A number of the Germans were skewered and knocked into the trench.
“Second rank…go!” Macro commanded.
“With me!” Optio Flaccus shouted.
At a dead run, he passed the far end of the first rank, took a hard right, and moved perpendicular with the rest of the century, flanking the barbarians. Once in position, they, too, let loose a torrent of javelins upon the hapless barbarians.
“Gladius…draw!” both centurion and optio bellowed. “Advance!”
Caught between the palisade and two formations of Roman soldiers, the surviving barbarians knew they had been beat and threw down their arms. The legionaries advanced to within a few feet of their adversaries.
“Do we take prisoners?” Flaccus asked.
Macro nodded affirmatively. “Bind their hands and feet, and then tie their foot bonds together,” he ordered. He then turned to Praxus and Artorius. “Sergeant Praxus, Sergeant Artorius, take your men and start fetching timber; long pieces that will support the weight of a man. Tesserarius Statorius, set up a security detail to cover them. Optio Flaccus, delegate men to guard the prisoners, and then come with me. Camillus!” The centurion walked off with the signifier as Flaccus delegated men to bind and guard the prisoners.
Artorius and Praxus knew exactly why their centurion asked for timber, even though he had given no specific instructions. Their gut instincts told them the truth.
“Oh, you are so evil!” Camillus said with a cruel smirk after Macro had revealed his plan.
Flaccus frowned and nodded. “If that doesn’t serve as a warning, nothing will.” . Groans could be heard coming from the wounded as they lay broken and bleeding.