Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles) (20 page)

“The village is cleared, Calvinus,” one of the younger
centurions reported.

Calvinus nodded to the man.
“Good work. Once every building is alight, conduct one last sweep through the village as we head back to our lines.”

“Yes
, sir,” the centurion nodded as he turned back to finish his task.

Calvinus looked into the faces of some of the men under his comm
and as they executed their grisly task. Many were young, no more than overgrown boys, forced to accelerate the ascension into manhood through brutality and war. He saw one young legionary, his face twisted in blinding rage, splattered with blood and brain from a villager whose head he had smashed in with a rock. The man, like many of his companions, looked as if he were demon-possessed; though within minutes his composure returned, once the last of the barbarians were slain. Though he never spoke of it, the men of the Fifth Cohort knew their centurion had survived Teutoburger Wald, and for them vengeance was personal.

Calvinus
remembered the other young faces he had once commanded. Seventy-two of his men had died in that horrible battle six years before. Besides Calvinus, only two others survived from his century. Of the men he lost, he remembered in particular, Metellus, the young soldier who had saved his life. Rumor had reached Calvinus that Metellus’ younger brother was now a legionary, serving with the Third Cohort. The centurion instinctively turned back and looked towards the glade they had passed through, which, ironically, was now occupied by the Third Cohort.

Calvinus never fully understood why the army had allowed him to retain his rank, moreover why they later promoted him to the command of an entire
cohort. He closed his eyes as he remembered his fallen soldiers, his boys whom he had loved like his own sons. In that moment, any sense of remorse for the butchery his men were committing evaporated. The Marsi had taken part in the treachery of Teutoburger Wald.
They had murdered his boys, and now they were paying their debts in full.

The Second Century marched back towards their camp in silence. As they passed through the woods w
here the battle had taken place, Artorius saw that the stricken barbarian
still lay against the tree. His breathing was shallow, his complexion pale. His body and the ground around him drenched in blood and body fluids, but he was still alive. Artorius wondered just how long it would take for the man to expire completely and hoped it would be a long time. He saw that all Roman casualties and equipment had been removed from the site. Javelins would be redistributed later. The barbarian corpses would be left to rot. He saw that a pack of wild dogs were already fighting over one body. Artorius gave a nervous start when he heard a shriek come from the center of the swarm. The man the dogs were viciously devouring was still alive.

Decimus let out a short, mirthless laugh as he watched the man being savagely ripped apart.
“Not exactly what he thought a warrior’s death would be.”

“Such is the fate of traitors and cowards,” Magnus added with contempt.

Artorius remained silent, surprised by his own lack of venom at the sight.

His thoughts turned elsewhere as they reached the clearing where they first came into the woods. There he saw Severus and a contingent of cavalry riding out from another part of the woods. Severus had his sword drawn
, and it was covered in blood. Artorius smiled. Even though he had never met his commanding general, he admired him. Severus was an extremely competent general, and unlike many of the soft types that infected the ranks of Senatorial legates, he always led from the front. Germanicus had the same reputation. If his men were in danger, so was he. The Emperor himself had been notorious for his apparently reckless lack of self preservation in battle. Such men inspired aggression and valor from even the meekest. Yes, these were definitely the sort of men Artorius wanted leading him.

Germanicus was growing frustrated, as he was sure his men were. While the Marsi had been ravaged and were out of the war completely, his primary target, the Bructeri
, had evaded him since the campaign began. Every time he thought he had them pinned down, they would vanish into the forests and swamps. His legions had smashed a few settlements, but these were rather small. As he sat at a table with the legates and auxiliary commanders, he knew further pursuit of the Bructeri would be in vain. The Chatti on the other hand, he had caught off guard and devastated, though most of their warriors escaped being killed or captured.

“What are your orders,
sir?” one of the legates asked.

“We will reunite with Severus,” Germanicus answered. “As you know, we are not very far from
Teutoburger Wald. Therefore, I feel it is imperative we go there and bury our dead.” He paused to let the words sink in.

There was some uneasy fidgeting from the
legates, but nobody said a word.

“I also feel it is important for us to demonstrate to the Germans that we can and will go wherever we wish,” he continued. “The men also need to be taken to Teutoburger. Take them there; show them what happened to their brothers
, and I guarantee it will renew their fighting spirit.”

“And what of the Bructeri?” another
legate asked.

“They will have to wait till another day. Further pursuit of them is completely futile at this point. Our task now is to take care of our fallen brothers. We will then turn our attention towards Arminius himself.”

Just then a soldier came running into the tent. “Beg your pardon, sir, but you may want to come outside quick.”

It was already dark, the sun having set an hour before. Germanicus and the
legates burst from the tent to see a group of soldiers shouting and cheering, clustered around something in the center of their group.

“What is the meaning of this?” he shouted as
soldiers snapped to attention and parted out of his way.

“Only this,
sir,” one legionary answered as he produced a battered but magnificent standard. It was adorned with a silver eagle on top, and the plaque underneath read:
Legio XVII.

Germanicus gasped. How was it poss
ible? The Eagle of the Seventeenth Legion had been found.

“We found it in a
ravine, sir. Looks like it escaped capture and was simply lost. We were out on patrol when one of the men saw a glint of something shiny. So he jumped in to fetch it out, and here it is.”

“Who was it that found this?” Germanicus asked.

“I did,” answered a young legionary who stepped forward. “Legionary Gaius Clovius, sir.”

Germanicus put his hands on the
soldier’s shoulders. “By Jupiter, you are now
Sergeant
Gaius Clovius, and you shall be handsomely decorated for this.”

Germanicus was suddenly filled with euphoria. It was
an omen, it must be. A simple legionary just happens to stumble upon this sacred icon in the middle of this vast wilderness? Impossible! The gods must have decreed it. Germanicus was known to be highly superstitious and was overwhelmed by what he thought was sure sign of the gods’ favor. He looked to their foray into Teutoburger Wald with renewed assurance from what he perceived as divine sources.

Chapter X: Return to Teutoburger Wald

***

“Teutoburger Wald? Have they gone mad?” Gavius was beside himself.
He had finally killed his first enemy during the last battle, a perfect throw with his javelin through the heart of a Marsi warrior. His confidence was later shaken by the news they would be heading back to Teutoburger Wald.

“Oh
, come off it, man,” Carbo retorted. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid. It’s a forest just like the rest of this cursed land, with some added swamps for decoration.”

“And ghosts. Don’t forget, it’s
the forest where the greatest disaster in our time took place,” Gavius replied.

“All the more reason for us to go there,” Artorius said, “to prove there is nothing for us to be afraid of. Besides, I think it only right we give some dignity and
respect
to our fallen, and that everyone sees just what barbarous people we are dealing with.” His face was tense. He was obviously trying to quell his burning anger.

That night Artorius found he could not sleep once again. His bouts of insomnia were becoming more frequent. He looked over at his tentmates. The rookie legionaries, namely Magnus and Gavius, tossed and turned fitfully, yet they slept. The veterans were all lost in deep, peaceful sleep.

Unable to find peace within his mind, Artorius got up and went for a walk. For reasons he could not explain, he found himself purposely walking towards Macro’s tent at the end of their line. The moon was full
, and there was plenty of light to see by. As he expected, the centurion was standing outside his tent. This time he was not wrapped in a cloak, trembling. He was simply standing there, his back to Artorius. He was staring off into the distance, his hand resting on the century’s standard. Artorius was getting ready to turn and leave when Macro spoke.

“What is
a legionary doing up this late at night if he is not on watch duty?” He spoke without turning around.

Artorius was surprised Macro knew he was there. He was suddenly afraid.

“I couldn’t sleep, sir,” he said, trying to not stutter or stammer.

“Then come speak with me
…let me know what ails you.”

Artorius walked up to where his
centurion was, not sure what else to do.

“You’ve been having quite a few sleepless nights,” Macro observed.

Artorius gasped. Did he know? Know that he’d been watching his centurion tremble and nearly fall apart on nights where it seemed the very darkness would consume him?

“You’ve probably noticed that my nights have been less than restful as well,” Macro continued.

Artorius tried to think of how to best say what was on his mind to his centurion. What he really wanted to know was; did Centurion Platorius Macro actually survive Teutoburger Wald? And if so, could he possibly have known Metellus? It was a long shot, and Artorius knew it.

Finally he spoke.
“I think there is something about this place, this campaign, that troubles us both,” he said slowly. “Though I think it is for different reasons. I know there are those in this legion who are haunted by the events of six years ago, having seen it first hand. Am I right to assume you are one of those?”

Macro continued to look straight ahead, never
turning his head towards his young legionary.  He gave a great sigh before continuing. “Most of us do our best to hide our little secrets about where we came from before serving with the Twentieth. I guess my secret is out. I was once a legionary with the Nineteenth.”

Artorius closed his eyes, partially disappointed. Metellus had se
rved with the Seventeenth, so there was practically no chance they would have known each other.

Macro continued, “I was one of those captured by the Germans during the battle. We watched as they sacrificed our officers on their
foul
altars. We had to watch as our brothers were slowly tortured, begging for death. All we could do was watch and await our turn. Three of us were placed in a wicker cage to be burned alive. As the Germans started the fire, a fight broke out amongst them concerning some stolen weapons and armor. They drifted away from us as they fought.

“Fortunately for us, the wood was damp, and the fire did not keep. It did manage to burn most of the way through some of the rope holding the cage together. We forced our way out, managing to free five others who were awaiting a similar fate. We hid in the forests, ever aware of the roving bands of warriors. It was still rainy
, and the sky was constantly black. It was a couple of days before we could even catch enough of a glimpse of the sun in order to find out what direction we were traveling. We immediately started moving west. It took us nearly two weeks to get to the Rhine. Two of our companions succumbed to their wounds and died along the way. The rest of us did as best we could, subsisting off berries and tree bark. I was nearly mad with hunger when the Rhine bridges came into sight. It was then that a roving patrol found us. They almost killed us, except one fellow, who somehow managed to keep his wits about him, started yelling that he was from the Eighteenth Legion, and that we had survived the disaster. We were brought to the fortress of the Twentieth Legion. Two of the men were so badly injured with festering wounds from their ordeal, the patrol made makeshift litters to carry them in on.

“We were placed on extended leave; afterwards
, we were given the option of rejoining the ranks.
All
of us gladly accepted. And now you know.”

“My brother, Metellus
, was killed in Teutoburger Wald,” Artorius said. “Forgive me, sir, but I hoped that perhaps you might have known him. He was with the Seventeenth Legion, Seventh Cohort.”

Macro finally turned and looked at Artorius. “No, I did not know him,” he said
. “But there is somebody who might have or at least might have known who he was. Are you on any duties tomorrow?”

“I’ve got sentry duty from first light till
noon,” Artorius answered.

“Not anymore,” Macro said. “Tomorrow after breakfast I’ll take you over to meet someone. Something to remember, you are not the only one who suffered loss here. While actual survivors of the disaster are few, there are others still who lost brothers or fathers.”

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 could
n’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.