The Wald (31 page)

After his men r
eturned to their barracks for the winter that year, Drusus rode to Lugdunum, where he gathered up his family and headed to Rome.  Once there, he was hailed like no other Roman general had been celebrated in hundreds of years.  A holiday that had already been celebrated was repeated just so Drusus could be driven in a parade of triumph.

Since then
, the successful young general had added the titles of consul and senator to his rapidly growing list of honors.  For hundreds of years during the old Roman Republic, the consul was the highest elected official in the land.  He ruled together with a co-consul for a period of one year.  Now, in the era of empire, Augustus saw to it that the position was merely honorary.  The senate had ostensibly named Drusus consul, but everyone, especially the general, knew that Augustus made the ultimate decision.

The political strings continually wielded by Augustus in these manners weighed on Drusus.  With each new mark of distinction or power he gained, he had hoped to lead Rome back to its representative republic
an roots.  In practice, Drusus thought, with each new step he took, the emperor calculated a way to maximize the political benefit to himself, further entrenching the emperor, and his line, in the position of god on earth.

Drusus was glad to be rid of the intrigue of Rome for another military season.  He took the admiration of her people with him and dropped his
growing family off in Lugdunum once again.  His grand military escort then turned eastward to Mogontiacum, the launch point for that year’s invasion of Germania.

Septimus, Marcus, and the Gallic brothers, Avectius and Chumstintus
, waited for him there.  Like Drusus, each of them saw their share of promotion and honor following the battle at the narrow pass two years before.  The brothers received letters from the emperor himself heaping them with deserved praise.  It was their brave leadership that had led to the massive slaughter of thousands of fleeing tribesmen, a feat that would do more to preserve the peace in the region than dozens of treaties.  The brothers would begin this year as senior officers and advisors to Drusus.

Neither Marcus nor Septimus received the commendations as had the tribunes, but each was promoted up the hierarchy of centurions
– such was life in the army as it did battle.  Even in victory men were killed which created a natural advancement process.  The two men now served in the general’s first cohort, an honor bestowed only to the centurions with the most experience or promise.  Both men now had ample amounts of each.

Manilius was missed by the men.  They all hated him
for the order he demanded and for the whippings he directed.  But they all loved him for the success his attention to detail brought to the battlefield.  No one, however, ever admitted that they had loved Manilius.

Now the new camp prefect, who was called Hostilius, had to first earn the men’s hatred and respect so that he could one day
warrant their love.  The first could be had with just a few words which would take away rations or order compulsory labors that served no purpose – something the army seemed quite adept at demanding.  It was possible to win the second, respect, over time with diligent work and a consistent product.  The last, love, was the most difficult to gain.  It was based on the capricious nature of men.  And soldiers, among all men, were the most difficult from whom to secure their love or admiration.  Keeping the proper balance between a fat baggage train, billowing with blankets and food, and a sharp campaign with stunning victories was the surest way to gain love.  Everyone, including Hostilius, knew these facts.  Putting them into practice was up to planning, execution, and a fair amount of fortune from the gods.

The morning the army was to leave Mogontiacum, Septimus awoke earlier than usual
, when the sun would still sit below the horizon for a long time.  He went to Marcus and told him to rouse his troops for him if he was late in returning, then left without an explanation.  Marcus swore in hushed tones about being awakened at such an early hour, but eventually faded off back to sleep, organizing and reorganizing his men in his dream’s march.

Septimus gathered a horse from the stables and rode quietly through the growing civilian district of the city.  He turned left down a road until he just
passed the last home in the city.  There he turned right and trotted in the cool moist air that surrounded the mighty river.  After a pleasingly silent ride, he arrived at his destination.

Jupiter’s Column sat peacefully in the dark, barely silhouetted against the sky.  Septimus climbed down and let his reins drop, confident that his horse would bide its time by nibbling at the fresh grass that poked up between the paving stones.  He prayed to the gods constantly, but always felt more comfortable if he came to a monument before leaving on a long expedition.

Septimus circled the square base, lazily running his fingers over the relief sculptures of Juno, Minerva, Mercury, and Hercules – one on each face of the base.  He smiled, pleased with himself that he had been the one to discover the Pillars of Hercules far to the north in the middle of the sea.  There was luck in that, he thought.  All soldiers, whether they cared to admit it or not, prayed for luck.

He raised his arm and continued walking around the thin tower with his fingers bouncing in and out of the scaled pattern of the column.  Septimus closed his eyes and talked with the gods.  He told them his plans and directly asked for their favor.  At one point he reached his free hand and set it on his chest over his heart to gesture to the gods
, who were as real as the rock he touched.

When his time of prayer ended Septimus stepped back and looked up at the detailed sculpture that adorned the very top.  In it, Jupiter rode a great horse.  Together they trampled a giant that was in the form of a snake set to strike.  Septimus had looked at the carving and others like it his entire life, but for the first time it struck his heart with worry.

Before, when he sought strength from a Jupiter Column, he had only seen the king god vanquishing an evil foe.  Now he saw the sharp fangs of the wretched beast.  What if the snake giant had a chance to inject its venom before the hero stomped out its life?  What if the tribes, just at the moment Drusus would raise the hoof that was his army, lashed out and struck?  He was terrified.  Septimus told himself that there was no good reason to be so frightened from this vision, that this was no way to feel at the moment of embarking on a military campaign.  It was a shocking omen.

“Inspiring isn’t it?
” came a lone voice.

Septimus spun to see Drusus sitting on his war charger.  The centurion looked around him and saw that the commander was alone, which was rare.  Drusus saw his confusion and added, “I
, too, come here on the eve of battle.  It reminds me that I fight for the gods and not mere men or ambition.  May I join you, Septimus?”

“Yes, lord, of course,” answered Septimus.

The commander flipped his leg forward over the horse’s neck and slid down from his leather-covered, wooden saddle.  He walked to the monument and stood before it with his eyes and arms wide.  Drusus moved his lips while he silently uttered words to the gods, who were more than capable of hearing regardless of the volume he chose to employ.  In just a few moments his time was over and he crawled back onto his steed.

“Do
you have more of your own mumbling to do, or will you ride with me?” Drusus asked.

Septimus had planned on spending more time in quiet, but it was uncommon for one of his rank to get unfettered access to his general, so he agreed on the spot.  In no time the pair
was idly chatting like old friends as their horses ambled down the road that lay closer to the river than the one Septimus had used for his outbound trip.  Drusus asked more about how Septimus grew up and about his father.  The centurion shared everything he could remember. None of it was very flattering to one like the general, raised in privilege, but Drusus never once seemed offended by the crude upbringing.

“Ah, my own father
from whose seed I sprang with my older brother Tiberius fought against Augustus, you know.  I don’t remember it, of course, since I was only about four when the emperor became my new father,” Drusus said.  Septimus did know this bit of information.  Most of Rome knew that Augustus had adopted the two sons of a rival in order to be firmly placed in the powerful Claudian family line.  It was all politics, the likes of which Septimus could never understand.

“Perhaps someday, Augustus will see the wisdom of returning Rome to a republic with senators who have real power.  Until then, I suppose we’ll just fight for empire,” Drusus continued as if he had not just uttered treasonous thoughts.  The general looked at Septimus and saw a flicker of concern
, so he added, “Don’t trouble yourself.  You haven’t just been let in on a grand conspiracy to overthrow the emperor.  I’ve made my thoughts known to him and my brother.  They both ignore me like you would a dog that is too foolish to take seriously.  They pat me on the head and tell me to go off to Germania and conquer some more peoples.”

Septimus did breathe easier, but now felt it best to continue the rest of the ride in silence. 
The centurion had no desire to be killed for treason.  Drusus was in the mood to talk.  He struck up the conversation again.  “You see there, Septimus?”  The commander pointed to two small temples sitting by the roadside that began to show more clearly in the red morning light.  “In there they worship Isis, an Egyptian goddess of fertility.  And in there they worship Mater Magna, the great Asian mother goddess.  Rome really can bring disparate peoples together.”

“Yes, lord,” answered Septimus.

Drusus laughed, “It’s always yes lord, this, and yes lord that.  Someday I’d like people to tell me what they really think.”

“You might not like what they have to say, lord,” said Septimus.

“Oh, that won’t bother me.  I’ll just have them thrown into prison for the rest of their lives.”  Both men laughed.

“Speaking of fertility, Septimus, do you have a woman?” asked Drusus.

Septimus thought the man was mocking him.  It was expressly forbidden for legionaries to have families, though some officers kept unofficial brides and children near their home bases.  Then, if they survived for an entire career in the military, they had a warm bed to which to retire.  “No, lord, I don’t.  I don’t think I need one.  The legions are my wives.  Why settle for one when you can have many?”

“Says the man who has never been married – a wise man knows that just one good wife is enough to keep a man satisfied and eager to please.  No, Septimus, it is fitting for a man to find himself a woman.  When you finish your marriage to the Roman army, you find yourself a good woman.  Make a few babies for that woman to chase after and then spend the
last of your days raising sheep as your father.  That will be a full life if you do all that.”

“Yes, lord,” was Septimus’ simple response.

Drusus chuckled.  “It’s good to see that I am so persuasive.”

“Yes, lord,” said Septimus.  Both men gave one last laugh as they parted ways, Drusus toward the
new bridge that crossed over the Rhenus, Septimus back to the barracks to shout his men from their slumber.

. . .

Drusus led two legions into Cattan that year.  The rest of his mighty expeditionary force was spread throughout Germania in forts and along the west bank of the Rhenus River.  The poor Cattan farmers, unfortunate enough to live between Mogontiacum and the first fort, had long gotten used to the coming and going of Roman patrols.  Yet at the sight of a string of soldiers and wagons marching in smart order out to the east, even they stretched out their crooked backs from their barley fields to gaze upon the legions.  Some still wished that the forest gods would send fire onto the whole lot of Romans as they passed.  Others, a little more enterprising or more forgiving, already counted the extra brass sestertii that weighed down their purses.  The Romans had to buy food from someone, these latter farmers said, might as well profit when the quartermaster came looking.

After a brief sojourn around the fort that sat in Cattan, the legions struck out again for virgin territory.  Their goal was to draw the Cattans out in battle and decimate them so future resistance would be impossible.  The Roman army had come to understand that the tribesmen were not fools and would often as not choose not to give battle, preferring to slink around in the woods.  Though less satisfying than a cut-and-dried victory, Drusus resolved to continue slashing and burning the landscape if the Cattans refused to fight.

Septimus walked at the head of his century after marching by day and throwing up camp by night for five days.  Each of those days brought small skirmishes from the Cattans, who seemed ready to use the tried and true tactics of the Sugambrians and Cheruscans before them.  Their riders would appear from the hills or forests, unannounced even by Roman scouts, to create mayhem.  There were not many of them, however, and the centuries held up well, losing only a handful of men.  Septimus, being in the center of the column in the cohort nearest Drusus, did not receive any losses from these attacks.

Each day also brought more burned
fields of millet or flax and flaming homes, more rutted countryside, more butchered livestock, and more enslaved women and children.

The centurion
marched, thinking about the high republican ideals expressed by his commander at their chance morning meeting.  How did a man with those beliefs justify attacking the tribes, he wondered?  How could you bring a people who seemed quite free to elect their leaders today to a life under imperial rule?  It had always been easy for Septimus to carry out such orders.  He was wedded to the army.  He asked no questions.  Drusus was more complex than that.  In the end Septimus decided that it was all just politics and beyond his station, so he moved on to other thoughts.