Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles) (2 page)

Chapter I: Teutoburger Wald

Teutoburger Wald, Germania

August
, 9 A.D.

***

What a fool you are, Quintilius Varus!

The mass of trees grew thicker, the sky darker, and what had started off as a mild summer shower had turned into a torrential downpour. The small
contingent of Roman horsemen was already soaked and shivering, their Germanic guides laughing at their plight. Soon after entering the forest, they came upon a bog. The mud was thick and slimy, the water smelled rank with stagnation. The group halted as the Germans gazed around. Their leader’s face broke into a sly grin as he saw the path he was looking for. They were getting close.

“How much further?” one of the trooper
s asked, the rain continuing to drench them, in spite of the tree canopy.

“Not far,” the lead guide answered, “I promise, it will all be over soon.”

“The gods curse this weather,” another Roman muttered.

“Which gods?” still another one grunted.

As the cold rain slowly trickled down the back of his neck, the barbarian guide laughed to himself.
The weather will soon be the least of your worries,
he thought. Just then a Centurion rode up to him.

“What in Hades is the holdup?” he asked, irritated. “You were supposed to find the most expedient route for our column, and instead we’re at a standstill!” He was soaked and freezing, though he did not notice, so hot was his anger. Centurion Calvinus hated and deeply mistrusted the Germans. He could not for the life of him figure out how Varus had ever grown to trust them.
The barbarian calmly turned his mount around to face him.

“It was your
commanding general who entrusted us with the leading of your men through the Wald. I am sorry that a little summer shower has soured your mood; however, I take it you are not questioning his judgment.” There was a sneer of defiance on the German’s face, something that only further enflamed Calvinus.

He brought his horse alongside the German’s and leaned forward so that their faces
were just centimeters apart. “Don’t think just because you wormed your way into Varus’ inner circle that you can take on airs with me,
Arminius
. If you don’t find us a way through this bloody mess right now, I will gut you myself!”

The threat was very real, though Arminius’ face remained calm.

“I already have,” he replied mildly, “there, past that fallen oak and the cluster of rocks, the path that will lead you straight through Teutoburger Wald.”

Calvinus gazed over to where the barbarian was pointing. Sure enough, there was a path that led through the bog. However
, it was very narrow, only wide enough for three to four soldiers to walk abreast in places. Steep rock formations rose up on the left side further down.

“You want us to march along
that?
” His anger was boiling over. With the rocks on one side and an impassible swamp
on the other, the path was the perfect lane for setting up an ambush. “One would have to be either insane or a complete half-wit to attempt that.”

“Your own auxiliaries are already up on the slope, protecting your flank, but if you think you can find a better way, feel free,” Arminius replied
with a bored sigh. “In the meantime, I suppose I should go and tell Quintilius Varus, Senator and Governor-General of Germania, that one of his centurions does not trust his judgment and, indeed, thinks him to be half-witted.”

As Arminius started to turn his horse back around, Calvinus grabbed him
roughly
by the tunic. “I smell treachery on you, barbarian. If you in any way prove me right, I will follow you straight into the pits of hell and destroy you, be you Quintilius Varus’ friend or no.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to your
cohort,
centurion?
” Arminius asked as he jerked away from Calvinus’ grip. As he rode away, he thought to himself that it didn’t matter if this Roman trusted him or not. In fact, it did not matter if the entire army mistrusted him. All that mattered was what Varus thought, and he had Varus in the palm of his hand.

Arminius was a Germanic warrior of great distinction,
War Chief of the Cherusci, and had previously served as an auxiliary commander of Germanic cavalry for the Romans. This had greatly appealed to the impressionable Varus, so much so that he had even taken Arminius to be one of his closest confidants.

What a fool you are, Quintilius Varus,
Arminius thought.
Your head and your eagles will soon be mine!
He took a glance over his shoulder to see if the rather troublesome centurion was still behind him, but Calvinus had gone.

“That Roman’s become too suspicious,” one of
the other scouts remarked as he rode up alongside his war chief.

“It matters not,” Arminius replied, “his bones will soon be trampled into the mud, along with the rest of the Army of the Rhine
.”

As Calvinus made his way back to the column, his cohort commander rode out to meet him. The man had his cloak wrapped around him, though it was soaked completely through. He was shivering and miserable, as were the rest of their men.

“What’s the delay up there?” the senior
centurion asked impatiently.

“The barbarians claim to have found us a way through, but I must tell you that I sense a trap
.”

The
cohort commander lowered and shook his head.
Here we go again
, he thought. “Calvinus, for the last time…”

“Gods damn it, why won’t any of you listen to me?”
Calvinus barked in a complete breach of protocol. He was at his wits’ end and tired of being ignored. For weeks he had been warning his fellow officers about his suspicions, and he was desperate not to allow the Army to take the path that he knew in his heart led to certain death.

His
commander’s eyes grew wide in anger at the sudden outburst from his subordinate, but Calvinus was not about to back down.

“I keep telling you about all the signs that say ‘this is an ambush,’ yet no one will listen! I smelled a rat as soon as this expedition was announced.
A few zealous tribesmen murder a Roman tax collector and his staff and we send
three
legions after them? Then Arminius assures Varus that there would be no resistance, that the tribes were mostly docile. Since when have Germanic tribes
ever
been docile? And was it not Arminius who convinced Varus to allow the soldiers to take their families and camp followers with them? That is the biggest breach of Army procedures
I have ever heard of in my career!”

The
cohort commander listened impatiently to the same rant he had heard nearly a dozen times in the last week alone.

“And how about that older German, Arminius’ father-in-law
, Segestes?
He
even warned Varus that Arminius plans to betray us. I’m telling you…”

“No
, I’m telling
you
, centurion!” The cohort commander growled. “If you do not cease and desist immediately, I am going to drag you before the commanding general myself. Do not forget that Varus wanted to strip you of your rank and position the last time you were rude to one of his native guests, and it was my intervention which prevented it. And now you dare to get insubordinate with
me?
I will deal with you later, Calvinus; though I must tell you, you will be lucky if you leave Teutoburger Wald with your rank intact if I have anything to say about it. Now return to your century!”

As Calvinus rode away, he turned back to his
commander. “Sir, we’ll be lucky if any of us leave Teutoburger Wald with our
lives
intact.” He turned away and rode back to his men, rightly suspecting that he would never see his cohort commander again.

“We’ll ride ahead and make sure the way is clear,” Arminius told the bedraggled Roman contingent that still accompanied his scouts. They hardly even acknowledged him, each man off in his own little world as he fought the rain and the cold. Arminius and his Germanic companions galloped off, leaving the Romans behind. As they rode along the path, he heard the sound of
a
crow cawing. They brought their mounts to a halt as one of his scouts answered the call. Arminius looked to his left, along the top of the rock outcroppings. He saw an older warrior step out from behind a thicket of bushes. He was bare-chested and carrying a broadsword. It was his uncle, Ingiomerus. Arminius waved and dismounted his horse. His scouts did the same and followed him up the steep slope to where the rest of their fellow warriors lay waiting.

What a fool you are, Quintilius Varus!

Metellus Artorius Maximus looked around in disgust. He was thoroughly miserable as the
legions passed deeper into Teutoburger Wald, a thick and nearly impenetrable forest with concealed swamps. Arminius had assured the Romans that this was a safe and more expedient route.

R
ight!
Metellus thought. He was cold, soaked, and had absolutely no idea where they were going.

At nineteen years of age, Metellus had been in the army for a little over two years. He was a str
ong, intelligent, good-looking soldier with a promising career ahead of him. He wrote often to his family about how proud he was to be serving in the Seventeenth Legion. His younger brother, Artorius, had so wanted to come with him, to live the life of the legions. Metellus laughed briefly at the memory.

“If only you knew what you’d be getting yourself into, little brother
.” he said to himself as he tried to wipe the rain from his eyes. Leaves and branches slapped his face constantly as he struggled to move through the quagmire. He looked around in search of his century.

His friend
, Clodius, was close by, head hung low as he plodded along. The rest of the century was starting to scatter. This was not boding well in Metellus’ mind. Intervals and formations were becoming nonexistent in the confusion and the rain. As he looked behind him, he stepped right into a swampy mess, sinking halfway up his calf.

“By
Mars, I’m going to kill the bastard who convinced Varus to take this route.” he swore in a low tone.

Clodius stifled a laugh as he reached down to help his friend.
“What a damn shit hole,” he observed as he pulled Metellus out of the stinking mire.

Looking ahead there was nothing but trees and swampy marsh to be seen. “I thought that barbarian, Arminius, was supposed to be showing our reconnaissance cavalry the quickest way to go. I can’t believe this is the path they picked!”

“And just how in Hades do they expect the baggage trains to get through this?” Metellus asked. “Not exactly the best
job of planning.” The rain was coming down harder and his irritation was increasing. It wasn’t supposed to rain like this during the summer.

“And what idiot
said that we wouldn’t need our leather rain covers for our shields?” With no cover on his shield, it had become waterlogged and felt like it weighed a ton. His leather pack felt as if it was overflowing with water as well. He sighed and started walking again.

They moved out quickly, trying to catch up to the rest of their
century. Metellus was also concerned because it seemed that no one was paying attention to anything going on around them. Normally, Centurion Calvinus would have already been in his face, beating him with the vine stick for having fallen out of formation. Where was he, anyway?

Soon they came upon a
narrow path, the only place that did not seem to be overflowing with water and swamp slime. Soldiers were already moving in a narrow file along the lane, oblivious to everything around them except the pouring rain and the ground at their feet.

“No way
will the baggage carts be able to use this,” Clodius observed.

Metellus shrugged.
“At this point, it’s not really our concern.”

Clodius raised an eyebrow at that. “It will be if we end up sleeping on the ground tonight.”

Arminius watched the
disheveled soldiers pass before him. It was time. The moment for him to strike at the very soul of Rome and shatter her sense of invincibility had arrived.

Now!
War horns sounded, battle cries deafened anyone within earshot, spears and arrows flew, and what seemed like every Germanic tribe charged in a mass of men and spears. The force of their charge shattered the Roman lines like a demonic beast. So caught off guard were they that only a few were able to throw their javelins before they were overwhelmed. Formations were completely forgotten, and soldiers soon found themselves isolated and having to fight individually. Like a tide coming over the sands, they soon disappeared in the wake of their doom. The Romans who survived the initial shock were now in a fight for their lives against insurmountable odds. The outcome was never in doubt. The force of the wave of barbarian warriors knocked many Romans into the swamps, their heavy armor and weapons dragging them to a murky and watery grave in the blackness below.