Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles) (38 page)

“Artorius, Magnus
, what the fuck are you doing back there?”
Statorius screamed at them. He and the rest of the section were a good thirty meters ahead.

Their minds immediately bac
k to the task at hand, the two legionaries rushed to join their comrades so they could sooner be done with their nightmarish task.

The firestorm the artillery barrage had wrought only added to the horror of the spectacle. The buildings burned. Those still alive inside cried out in pain, begging for death to come. Artorius sweated profusely as the heat seared him. People ran to and fro, some having caught fire, all in
total panic. He wondered if they were walking through Hell.

As they reached the far side of the fort, a line of barbarian warriors stood fast, trying to make a last stand. There were not very many. Many were bare-chested, their bodies bearing numerous cuts and burns. Their faces showed the extreme fear, desperation, and despair of men doomed to die. The Romans moved deliberately and with the utmost sense of order as they moved out of the haze of smoke and fire. The barbarians each carried a pair of spears. Together they threw a volley towards their
advancing enemy.

“
Down!” Macro shouted.

A
s they dropped behind their shields, most of the spears skipped off harmlessly. The warriors then mustered what courage they had left, gave a final battle cry, and charged the advancing Romans who had all simultaneously risen to their feet.

Vitruvius smashed a barbarian with his shield. Two rapid thrusts with his gladius and two opponents lay stricken
on the ground, both twitching, blood gushing from their wounds as their bowels released in death.

One warrior tried to bring his spear around Artorius’ shield and stab him. He
knocked the spear aside with his shield and slammed the point of his sword into the barbarian’s stomach. Magnus brought his shield down onto one warrior’s foot and followed it up with a stab underneath the ribs. Within a matter of seconds it was over. The Cherusci’s final charge had been little more than suicide.

Artorius mounted the far rampart and surveyed the scene below. There were a large number of women, children, and elderly, along with a handful of warriors, who were running for the woods. Roman infantry from Severus’ detachment had already sealed off their escape. They were marching back towards the fort, methodically slaying all who stood in their path. Artorius wondered if any had escaped or were
all doomed to die in this place.

Germanicus then mounted the rampart himself and stared in awe at the spectacle of death. Realizing they were trapped, the Germans huddled close to each other in terror. The Romans ceased their advance as they came to within a few feet of the mob. Their officers eyed their
commander, awaiting his confirmation.

“Do we take prisoners,
sir?” a nearby centurion asked.

His face emotionless, Germanicus shook his head.

“We have come to destroy these people not conquer them. Extermination will be their lot.” He paused before reemphasizing his point. “Wipe them out…
all
of them.”

The
centurion signaled to the men below who then continued in their brutal task, sparing none. Men, women, children, all were slain. The ground became slippery as the earth was saturated in blood.

Artorius turned back towards the scene of fire and death behind him. The smoke was incredibly thick. Fire had consumed nea
rly all of the structures inside. The smell of burning flesh was pungent. His stomach finally overcame his ability to suppress his gagging, and he found himself vomiting uncontrollably. He was at first ashamed, until he saw that he was not the only one. Even those who managed to control their stomachs looked worn and shaken. Germanicus also was ashen-faced at the sights and smells that assailed them.

Artorius gazed over his shoulder once more, hoping they would not have to walk back through th
e nightmare they had created. He saw the body of the woman he had slain laying over the body of her husband. Both were burning, along with the corpses of their children. He shook his head, wiped the smoke and sweat from his eyes, and looked back at the scene outside the stronghold. Some of the barbarians wailed and sobbed loudly, others just stared blankly into space as the Romans trapped them against the outside wall of the stronghold. Soon not a single one was left alive. Many of the soldiers averted their eyes, taking no pride in that, instead of warriors, they had executed mostly women, children, and the crippled elderly. They knew the repugnant task they had performed had been necessary to exact retribution and end the war, but it brought them little solace.

“Is this what victory looks like?” Artorius asked Magnus, who was surveying the scene with similar feelings.

“I guess it is,” he answered. “Though tell me this, Artorius, is this what revenge looks like?”

Artorius took a deep breath, unable to avert his gaze.
“It is,” he said finally. “It is also the symbol of justice, the
final
justice that we have exacted.”

Arminius fell into the marsh with a loud splash. A mind-numbing pain shot through his injured leg as he lost his footing and fell face first into the mire
. Strong hands lifted him to his feet. As he cleared the slime from his eyes, he was grateful to see it was one of his warriors, who had escaped from the hell that had been their stronghold. Arminius recognized the man’s face, though he could not remember his name. He looked around and saw there were a few others who had managed to make their way out. They were mostly warriors, most of the women and children having perished inside.

“Come, we must move quickly before the Romans close this area off,” the warrior said.

Arminius simply nodded as the man placed an arm under his and helped him make his way through the swamps.

“So much death,” he
muttered to himself. He knew some of the men had taken their families and tried to escape during the night.

Perhaps some of them made it. The rest had stayed in the stronghold, believing that Arminius could somehow bring salvation and deliver them from
Rome’s vengeance. Only a small handful of these managed to escape into the swamps, mostly young warriors without families. Those who knew that their loved ones could not escape had fought to the bitter end to protect them.

Arminius knew it had all been for naught.
“Such is the price of our vanity.”

The sun was setting and the army stood once again in parade formation. The forces that attacked the woods had completely
demolished their opposition. The dense woods had actually worked to the Romans’ advantage, as they were used to close combat and fighting in tight spaces. Though many had managed to flee the stronghold, even more had been slain as they fought to repel their attackers. Germanicus stood on a makeshift dais, holding aloft an inscribed placard; the final piece of another trophy constructed from the weapons of their fallen enemy. He was an absolute nightmare to look at. Soot, blood, and sweat covered him from head to foot, though he had lost none of his persona. He was completely exhausted and yet filled with elation. He placed the placard on the mound of enemy arms. The inscription read:

The army of Tiberius Caesar, after thoroughly conquering the tribes between the Rhine and the Elbe, has dedicated this monument to Mars, Jupiter, and Augustus.
1

“Once again we have brought victory to the name of the Emperor, the Senate, and the people of Rome!” Germanicus announced to his assembled host. “We have once more wrought vengeance upon our enemies! We can now return across the Rhine and then to Rome…in triumph!” This elicited a chorus of cheers from the ranks.

“My
brothers, your deeds and your valor will echo throughout all time.” Germanicus raised his blood-encrusted gladius in triumph. He could not have been happier or more proud of his legionaries.

Chapter XXIV: Redemption

***

The army marched back to their boats on the Ems River. Though they still maintained proper vanguard and flank security, there was a sense of ease amongst the ranks. They knew the Cherusci and their allies were completely broken. So many warriors had died in the battles of the past few days. Roman losses in both battles, while regrettable, were much fewer in number. The auxiliary infantry had borne the brunt of the casualties at Idistaviso. Only a small handful had fallen during the storming of the German stronghold. Sadly, the Second Century had lost three men during the assault. Among the fallen was Antoninus, the young recruit who had gone through training with Artorius, Magnus, and Gavius. He had slipped on the turf while trying to get over the wall and had taken a spear thrust to the throat.

Soon after the assault, Germanicus had sent Stertinius to make war once more upon the Angrivarii. So abrupt had been their surrender that all knew the Germanic alliance to be truly broken. Keeping his word about showing mercy to those who surrendered willingly, he granted them a full pardon.

Upon reaching the Ems, Germanicus ordered the majority of the army to take the boats home. The Fifth and Twentieth Legions, however, he ordered to take the overland route back to the Rhine. A day after having started their march west, Severus and Gaius Silius, Legate of the Fifth Legion, were holding counsel in Severus’ tent when a legionary stuck his head in.

“Beg your pardon
, sirs, but our reconnaissance patrols have captured a German who claims to be chief of the Marsi.”

“Send him in,” Severus replie
d with a wave of his hand.

The s
oldier nodded and left. Soon a burly but surprisingly well-dressed barbarian was ushered in by a pair of legionaries. He was wearing custom-made breeches, with a purple cloak draped over his muscular frame. His hair was pulled back, and his mustache neatly
groomed. One of the soldiers carried the barbarian’s sword, which he handed to Silius. It was a large, two-handed broadsword, sheathed in a highly ornate scabbard.

“His weapon,
sir.”

Silius took the sword and
waved the soldiers away. Both men saluted and left the German alone with the legates. Silius drew the sword, admiring its craftsmanship.

“This is
a good sword,” he remarked, hefting the weapon, checking its balance. “Given its condition, one would think it was meant more for ceremony than killing.”

“It has seen its share of fighting,” the Marsi chief replied in heavily accented Latin.

“Quite,” Silius replied, sheathing the weapon and placing it on a nearby table.

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” Severus asked
, arms folded across his chest.

The German assumed a similar posture before continuing.
“My name is Mallovendus. I am now chief of what remains of the Marsi. Most of our settlements, along with our people, were annihilated during your campaigns of the last years. Those who survived fear that we will once more face the Roman war machine, being as we are closest to your fortresses on the Rhine.”

“Such is the lot of your people,” Severus replied with a casual shrug. “But surely you did not come to simply make such an obvious observation.”

“No,” Mallovendus said, shaking his head. “I have come to offer truce and to beg for the lives of my people. I personally fear neither pain nor death.” He pulled back his cloak to reveal a number of fearful scars upon his torso. “What I do fear is that my people, like a candle, may be blown out of existe
nce completely. We have paid for our warmongering. I now ask that those who survived be spared. My sword, please.” He pointed over to the table where his weapon still lay.

Severus gave an affirmative nod to Silius who handed the sword back to Mallovendus. The Marsi chief
then dropped to one knee, head bowed, presenting his sword to Severus with his outstretched hands.

“I ask now that peace may exist between our peoples, that we may draw blades against each other no more.”

Severus maintained his stance and composure. “It would indeed benefit your people to enjoy the peace of Rome. However, what are you offering us in return for your deliverance; what token can you use to show us your good intentions?”

Mallovendus raised his head
and looked Severus in the eye. “I offer you the return of the Eagle of the Nineteenth Legion.”

The Twentieth Legion was on the march. Artorius was thinking about his lost friend, Antoninus, when he saw riders approaching their column. The scouts were
pointing out a Marsi settlement. He thought he heard the scouts say it was abandoned. Proculus and Master Centurion Flavius held a brief discussion before Flavius pointed Proculus towards the direction of the settlement. Proculus spurred his horse to his waiting men.

“Third Cohort
…skirmishing formation, six ranks! At the quick step…march!”

The orders were echoed by the
centurions and options as the cohort effortlessly formed up and marched away rapidly.

As they approached the abandoned settlement, torches were
being
passed out, when Centurion Macro gave the order not to ignite them. This puzzled most of the soldiers, as there were numerous huts and structures. This looked to have been a rather prosperous settlement that had somehow survived the purging of the Marsi lands.

“Take what you will, lads
.” Macro ordered. “You have thirty minutes to round up whatever you can carry. The buildings, however, we will leave intact.”

The
century cheered as they moved into the village. Even on a mission of plunder, they moved with order and discipline. Severus may have promised to spare the Marsi villages from burning; however, he had made no mention of plunder. Macro had been told the real reason for this. He had decided to keep it quiet, lest their search for the missing eagle prove futile.

Artorius entered a hut that he supposed belonged to a warrior, given the impressive, albeit archaic décor. There was an animal skin shield in one corner, along with a dagger and belt. He picked these up and examined them. The dagger was
quite ornate, though in need of repair and oiling. He found a copper goblet that stank of some foul form of alcohol. He figured it had probably never been properly washed. It would seem the owner of the house had left in a hurry.

“Who are you?” Artorius asked aloud. “Are you really a rebellious warrior and an enemy of
Rome? Or are you simply one of the many caught up in this war who only wants to live free and in peace?” He was surprised to hear such things coming from himself. He looked around then climbed a rough ladder to an elevated loft. There was a large, crude bed in the center, along with two smaller ones off to the side. Everything was in disarray.

Suddenly
, he heard excited shouts coming from outside. He quickly exited the hut, taking the goblet and dagger with him. He saw Camillus being carried on the shoulders of other soldiers from the century. He carried what Artorius thought was the century’s standard, but realized it was planted in the ground where Macro stood waiting. Upon closer inspection, Artorius saw that what Camillus carried was a Roman standard; moreover, it was an
Eagle
Standard!

“It cannot be,” he breathed silently. He rushed forward to see that it was
, unbelievably, an eagle the signifier bore. The
Eagle of the
Nineteenth Legion
no less!

“I found it in the house of what was probably the war chief for this region
.” Camillus said excitedly, once his friends had set him down in front of their centurion.

Macro could not contain his own smile of admiration and elation. The Nineteenth was his former
legion after all. Mallovendus had kept his word. Camillus held the eagle towards Macro.

“It is only proper that you be the one to deliver this to Germanicus,” he said.

Macro nodded and took the eagle. A surge of emotions swept through him. It was as if the lost souls of the Nineteenth were suddenly alive again. They lived through this symbol of their prestige and valor. Macro immediately suppressed his feelings and looked sternly at his men.

“Alright, nobody told you to stop what you were doing
. It’s been thirty minutes, now form it up at the double.”

He smiled to himself as the
century rapidly fell in, every soldier struggling to carry what he had plundered along with kit. Macro clutched the standard even harder and closed his eyes. Redemption was his at last.

Germanicus stood on the command deck of his flagship. Though his men were riding a euphoric high from their victory, he felt uneasy. The wind was cold and was picking up. The waters were rough and choppy.

“We waited too long to return home,” he mused.

“Beg your pardon,
sir?” the sailing master asked.

Germanicus shook his head.
“Nothing, just talking to myself.” The old sailor frowned and nodded. “Always rough seas, this time of year.” His eyes then grew wide as he looked into the distance. He immediately forgot about his commander and started running about, shouting orders to frantic sailors. Germanicus gazed into the distance and nearly panicked. The churning
clouds were black and racing towards them, as if they had a mind of their own. Lightning could be seen flashing, highlighting foaming
waves large enough to swallow the entire fleet.

As s
oldiers came up from below deck, Germanicus raced to the front of the ship. Some soldiers started to panic, unfamiliar as many of them were with an ocean gale. Others rushed about to help the sailors, unaware that their good intentions only inhibited the seamen from doing their job.

“
Neptune, have mercy,” Germanicus whispered as he clung to the railing with one hand and wrapped his other in a mooring rope.
“Hold on!”