Lost Legio IX: The Karus Saga

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Karus looked over Fourth Cohort and then glanced around the hilltop. Most of the cohorts had now arrived. The last few were just emerging from the clouds, almost as if they were sea monsters climbing their way out of the ocean. More importantly, there appeared to be little disorder other than from the camp followers. Unit cohesiveness looked strong and intact. It was a testament to the legion’s discipline.

  “What’s your plan?” Felix asked and then continued before Karus could speak. “I fear there is little chance we can break out and elude the enemy. This is their ground. They know every path, rock, stream, and hill.”

  “I am thinking,” Karus said, eying his friend. He could read the stress in the other’s eyes. “We hold this hill and allow the enemy to throw themselves against our shield walls. We make sure we bleed them something good.”

  “We got lucky,” Felix said with some heat. “There are at least thirty thousand Celtic warriors down there, perhaps maybe even forty. Most are happily looting what is left of our supply train. We were only pursued by the more disciplined of the enemy. Had they all turned their attention to us, we would not be here talking this over. When they get around to coming, it will not be as easy as you are making it out to be.”

  “Do you have a better suggestion?” Karus took a step closer to his friend. He waited and, when Felix said nothing, continued in a low tone so that only the two of them could hear. “For all intents and purposes, we are stuck on this bloody hill. Even if we marched down the other side and tried to escape into the wilderness, the enemy would soon catch up. Exhausted and tired, somewhere along our column of march they would hit us, or at the very least set up a blocking position to bring us to battle. As you said, we got lucky. Will we be so fortunate the next time? I don’t think so. This is good ground, damn fine ground. They have to climb to reach us. We will have the advantage of strong lines and the ability to easily move reserves interiorly to where we need them. We can hold for a time, no matter how many they throw at us.”

  Felix released a heavy breath as he rubbed his jaw. After a moment, he glanced around the hilltop. “What if they sit back and decide to starve us out?”

  “I don’t see that happening,” Karus said and took a step back. “This is a religious site. There are druid stones around us.” Karus pointed one out to Felix. “No, they will come for us. The druids will insist on reclaiming their holy site. My guess is that just as soon as there is some light, the enemy will attack. With luck, we can bleed them good and even the odds a little.”

  Felix said nothing, clearly thinking it through. He continued to rub his chin thoughtfully.

  “We have the mule train,” Karus said. “Though we will be exposed to the elements, we will have food and water for a few days. Once an opportunity presents itself and the enemy is exhausted, we will either make a break for it or go over to the attack. If we have to, we will fight our way all the way back to Eboracum.”

  “Julionus screwed us good.” Felix untied the straps of his helmet and slowly removed it. “You always had the better tactical mind, Karus. If there is one person who can get us out of this mess, it is you. I sincerely hope your plan works.”

  “It has to,” Karus said, and then flashed a grin. “It’s the only plan I’ve been able to come up with.”

  Felix let out a long breath, almost as if he were calming himself from the stress of battle. A lopsided smile crept up on his face. “What do you want me to do with my prisoners?”

  “Prisoners?” Karus was surprised at the abrupt change in subject. He was even more surprised that Felix had bothered to take any.

  “Yes.” Felix gestured over to the left. Two men under a heavy guard were sitting on the ground. “Orders were to take any druids that fell into our hands. I managed to grab a couple.”

  “Druids?” Karus shook his head as he walked over, with Felix and Legionary Drusus following.

  The prisoners looked otherworldly. They wore black robes painted over with white arcane symbols. Their arms, hands, and faces were heavily tattooed, and their long hair had been limed back. One had been hit hard on the head and held a hand up to the wound, which oozed blood slowly out between his fingers. He looked a little dazed. The other glared up at Karus and Felix with a hatred that Karus found unsurprising. Studying the two of them, Karus felt nothing but disgust. He spat on the ground.

  “What with the legate dead,” Felix said, “I suppose those orders no longer stand. Want me to put ’em down?”

  Karus considered it. Then shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “We might be able to use them at some point.”

  “To what purpose?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Karus admitted. “Perhaps they will have use in barter or trade. They are holy men. We don’t know their value to the enemy.”

  “All right,” Felix said with a heavy sigh that reeked with disappointment. “I will keep them safe until you say otherwise.”

  The two officers walked away from the prisoners and back toward the line. Legionary Drusus followed at a respectable distance.

  “I want you to begin digging in,” Karus said. “Give me a defensive berm on the edge of the slope before your position.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Best not waste the time our enemy has foolishly given us.”

  “I will get right on it,” Felix said.

  “Good.” Karus looked beyond the Fourth and saw the standard of the First Nervorium Auxiliary Cohort. “Don’t let me keep you. I must speak with Pactus next. I will check in with you later.”

  Felix gave a curt nod and stepped away.

  “Drusus,” Karus said, turning toward the legionary. “I should be quite safe now. Go find Cestus and your century.”

  “Yes, sir.” The legionary saluted and left.

  Karus walked behind the Fifth’s line, thinking things over as he moved in the direction of the First Nervorium. The legion was in a dire position. They were outnumbered, unsupported, and a long way from friendly territory, with limited supply. Karus could not see how he could save the legion. He looked heavenward. A miracle was what they needed.

  If only the gods would grant one.

  As if in reply, the wind abruptly picked up, with an incredibly strong gust that blew across the summit. The wind was so cold that it stung Karus’s face, hands, and feet. The clouds, which had been lapping the crest of the hilltop-turned-island, surged over it like a great tidal wave.

  Karus and everyone around him were plunged into a dark, swirling fog, thick with moisture. The wind gusted hard. Karus stumbled as his legs inexplicably became weak, and he fell painfully to his knees. He rubbed at his eyes, disoriented, and saw a bright azure light illuminating the fog just a handful of feet away, toward where the surgeon had been. He rubbed at his eyes again, not sure he quite believed what he was seeing.

  One of the druid stones was ablaze in a pale blue light that pushed away the swirling fog. The stone’s fire grew in intensity, and a wave of dizziness rolled over Karus. He fell over on his side and rolled onto his back, helpless to do more than blink.

  Karus’s thoughts had become strangely muddled and his eyes grew heavy with exhaustion. He felt himself slipping off into oblivion, even as the wind stopped and a sense of quiet settled around him. The scuff of a footstep, sounding loud amidst the silence, snapped his eyes open. A blurred form was above him. Karus blinked his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks, attempting to focus as someone knelt beside him. His vision cleared.

  “You!” Karus was shocked.

  The Celtic noble he had seen in the legate’s headquarters a few weeks before looked down upon him. The man put a hand upon Karus’s chest armor—not in a threatening manner, but one that was filled with affection, much like a father comforting a child after a terrible nightmare. The man’s eyes were kindly too.

  Karus felt a wave of tiredness sweep over him, dragging him back toward that deep oblivion. His eyes closed, and though he struggled mightily, Karus began drifting off into a deep, dark void, fi
ghting a losing battle. The feeling terrified him, even as he heard the man speak in fluent Latin.

  “Sleep, Karus, for you have destiny.” The Celtic noble’s voice was deep and gravelly. “You shall have your empire without end.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Karus opened his eyes, blinking several times under the bright sunlight. It was quite harsh upon his eyes, and his vision swam before clearing. He found he was lying on his stomach, with the side of his helmet pressed into the dirt. The smell of moist, pungent soil and vegetation filled his nostrils as he breathed in. There was also a strange tang in the air that was slightly acidic. He could not quite identify it. Wondering what had happened, he shifted his head slightly. The cheek guard of his helmet scraped against the pebbles in the dirt.

  Karus groaned, shifting muscles that cried out in agony. It was as if he had not moved for some time.

  Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, and almost immediately lost his balance, collapsing painfully onto his knees. His head pounded abominably. He put both hands to the sides of his head and felt the cold metal of his helmet. Unfastening the straps with trembling hands and stiff fingers, he swayed unsteadily. Then he wrenched the helmet from his head, tossing it aside. It landed with a clunk and clatter.

  His vision swam again. Karus rubbed at his eyes. His mouth was dry, and foul. A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him, and he almost doubled over as his stomach cramped badly. He dry retched, gagging. Nothing came up.

  Had he drunk himself senseless?

  Karus could not remember what had happened the previous night. It was as if his head were in a fog. Still on his knees, he shook his head to clear it, and memory returned in a rush. The ambush, the legate dead, the senior tribune fled, Karus’s desperate defense of the legion, the enemy’s overwhelming numbers … A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him once again. He recovered, and the memory continued to return in a flood.

  Vision clearing, he looked up in alarm, studying his surroundings as he recalled the fighting withdrawal up the large hill’s steep slope, the enemy snapping at their heels. Karus’s eyes went wide as he took in his surroundings. He rubbed at them, not quite believing what he was seeing.

  He was surrounded by hundreds—no, thousands of bodies. Karus glanced around the hilltop, sickened. He emptied the contents of his belly into the dirt. Taking a shuddering breath, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat back on his knees, a terrible sadness tugging on his heart at the sight of so many of his comrades’ bodies.

  The legion, her allied auxiliary cohorts, the supply train, and the camp followers … all dead.

  Bodies were everywhere, some even lying one atop another. It was impossible to believe, to conceive even.

  How had he survived?

  Guilt threatened to overwhelm him, then he saw movement amongst the bodies and turned his head. Another survivor groaned, picking himself up to his hands and knees. The legionary looked wildly around, clearly disoriented. There was additional movement amongst the bodies. Others were stirring from their lifeless states.

  What was going on here?

  Karus dragged himself once again to his feet, struggling to focus his mind. He staggered drunkenly before managing to steady himself. He turned around in a complete circle, thoroughly astonished. He wasn’t surrounded by the dead, but the unconscious.

  “What magic is this?”

  Karus clapped his hands to the sides of his head as the world seesawed. He staggered a few feet forward until his sense of balance returned. He blinked, clearing tears from his eyes, and found himself standing upon the edge of a steep slope. Karus froze, eyes widening. The sun was halfway up into the sky, but that was not what caught his attention.

  There was a second sun, rising just behind the first.

  Karus closed his eyes tight and kept them that way, hoping that when he opened them the impossible vision would pass. It did not.

  He heard oaths uttered behind him as those just stirring regained their senses and took in the same sight. A woman screamed, and kept screaming. It shattered his momentary paralysis. Karus took a step back from the edge of the slope, then looked about him more carefully. As hard as it was to believe, Karus understood instinctively that he was no longer in Britannia.

  What had happened?

  How had they come to be here?

  Karus studied his surroundings more carefully. He was standing upon the edge of an extremely large hill. Ground down by age and weather, the top was flat and smoothed out, with only grass and a few large stones dignifying its top.

  The hill stood alone, shaped in the way a child playing at the beach might have molded a small wet mound of sand, and it towered over a veritable sea of trees. The forest stretched outward for as far as the eye could see. The leafy canopy, several hundred feet below the summit of the hill, was thick, nearly impenetrable. More confident of his balance, Karus stepped up closer to the edge and looked down. The slope was very steep, but manageable. It was covered with a thick carpet of green grass, the ends of which produced delicate white flowers. He had never seen grass quite like it.

  The hilltop itself was bare but for the strange grass, which grew to a length of about six inches. Karus moved a foot, feeling the soft, lush grass with his toes. In Britannia, the vegetation had been browned by winter.

  Karus tore his gaze from the grass. Looking down below him, he scanned the vast, unspoiled forest. There were no villages or farms that could be seen, nor were there any large breaks in the green canopy. He could see no smoke rising into the air either. Smoke was the universal sign of habitation.

  Where was he?

  Karus racked his memory and recalled the hill he had led the legion up, seeking better defensive ground to hold off the Celtic attackers. He recalled the flat, bald top of that hill, crowned with a large circle of stones, a holy site.

  Was this Druid magic?

  The hill he was standing on now was clearly not the same one he had stood upon last night, working to keep the legion together and her lines firm. The trees down the slope were different as well, not the small, stunted things that grew under Britannia’s harsh climate, but giants that reached hundreds of feet into the air. Karus had never seen trees so tall.

  A large-winged bird caught his attention. It was bright greenish. The bird skimmed just above the treetops, then gracefully climbed upward on a draft of air.

  “Sir!” The voice was full of panic.

  Karus turned to find a legionary who had dragged himself to his feet. He recognized the man as Livius Marcus, a veteran from his own cohort. Marcus had put in more than fifteen years of hard service. He was a rock, unshakable in battle, unflappable, and a steadying influence in the line. Marcus was up for advancement, which would eventually see him promoted to optio.

  Karus was stunned to read the naked terror in the other man’s eyes.

  “Sir,” Marcus said, voice quavering, “what’s happened?”

  “Great gods,” another cried out in a half shriek. Karus looked around and saw the man cowering behind a large purplish rock. “Oh great gods, where are we?”

  At the words, Karus felt as if a bolt of Jupiter’s lightning had struck him. This wasn’t druid magic. The druids would have done nothing for the Romans but speed them on their way into the shadow. This had to be the work of the gods. In their infinite power, the gods had transported the legion here, to this strange land. Karus rubbed his chin as the idea grew. It was the only thing that made sense to him.

  Glancing around the strange terrain, he shook his head, knowing the truth when he saw it. Karus sucked in a breath, eyes returning to the strange bird. He had not expected this … to wake up somewhere else, somewhere completely different.

  Yes, this was clearly the work of the gods. But which one? Jupiter? Mars? Janus? He recalled the series of stones set in a large circle crowning the hill he had selected for their last stand. A vague memory of those stones glowing a pale blue flashed before his eyes, followed by a memory of someone else. Karu
s could not remember clearly what had happened. Yes, a miracle had been performed. He was sure of it. The legion had been saved. The gods in their wisdom and mercy had spared the Ninth from certain defeat and destruction!

  Karus blew out, and then took another deep breath, exhaling it slowly. When the opportunity presented itself, he would offer up a suitable sacrifice of thanks. The gods had done right by him, and it was only reasonable to return what little favor he could.

  A panicked shout drew his attention. A legionary leapt to his feet and threw aside his shield, sword, and helmet. Screaming, he went running down the steep slope of the hill in a mad dash. He stumbled and fell, his feet caught up in a tangle of lowlying brush. Scrambling back to his feet, he plunged madly onward, and in moments disappeared into the tree-line below. There were more cries of alarm and panic after that. Amongst them, he also heard a mule bray repeatedly and a horse whinny in terror. Karus glanced around again. Most of those he had initially thought dead were now stirring, regaining their senses with a good number now on their feet and milling about in confused alarm. There was even some wailing and crying coming from the camp followers and children. The sound irritated Karus. He had never much liked children.

  “Sir,” Marcus said again, “where are we?”

  “Discipline,” Karus said to himself as he eyed his people. For with the death of Julionus and the cowardly flight of Saturninus, he was now in command.

  “Sir?” Marcus asked, confused, brow furrowed under the rim of his helmet.

  Karus clenched his jaw.

  These men, in the service of the empire, were professional soldiers. Daily, they were worked to exhaustion, either through drill or manual labor. This made them tough, and hard. During the most stressful situations and under the worst possible conditions, it was the glue, the secret recipe, that held a legion together. It was what made the Roman legionary the toughest, meanest, and most feared soldier on the battlefield. Though the march north into enemy territory had been a brutal and taxing affair, it had changed nothing.