“That feels like a lifetime ago!” Artorius said. “It was the only time I was ever in a line squad that was at full strength. It was you, me, Magnus, Praxus, Gavius, Valens…” He stopped and wiped his forehead, which was suddenly damp with sweat.
“Carbo and Decimus,” Statorius finished quietly for him.
They continued to walk in silence for the next few minutes.
“It is about them you wish to talk to me,” Artorius said. It was a statement, rather than a question.
“Not just them,” Statorius answered. “But as I was close to them, as well…” It was his turn to find that he could not speak.
“Thirteen years,” Artorius observed after a short silence. “Thirteen years I knew them. They were more than just my legionaries; they were my friends. They truly were brothers to me.”
“Have you allowed yourself time to mourn for them, and for the others?” Statorius asked.
“We’ve done the call to the fallen, in case you forgot,” Artorius replied, not liking where the conversation was headed.
“That’s not what I asked you. I asked if you have allowed yourself time to mourn. My Century did not suffer nearly as badly as yours did, but I still lost men. No one saw me for days, not even my wife, after we returned. I had to give myself time to mourn them, lest it tear me up inside. I’m sure that being around your Century reminds you of that…”
“Look, Statorius,” Artorius snapped, turning to face him. “I do not deliberately avoid my men!”
“Not intentionally, perhaps,” Statorius replied, matching his gaze. He then followed up with a difficult question; one that he knew would grate at his old friend and former protégé. “How many men do you have battle ready?”
“As of this morning, twenty-eight fit for duty. The rest come back here and there as the hospital releases them.”
“And how many will come back?” Statorius was being persistent, though Artorius did not begrudge him for it.
“Perhaps another twenty,” he replied. “The rest will most likely never fight again. After what happened to my father in Pannonia, I hate the idea of good men being forced out of the legions. But if they are unable to fight, they can’t be legionaries.”
“Sadly, no society has ever done right by its broken heroes,” his fellow Centurion replied somberly.
“I won’t lie to you, Statorius. The lack of fighting soldiers in my Century does serve as a stark reminder for me. Thirteen of my men never came home, and of the ones who did, as many as half will never march with us again!” His anger was rising, though it was not directed towards his friend.
Statorius simply nodded and let him continue.
“I mean, what the hell?” Artorius ranted. “We fought the most savage battle of our time and nobody fucking cares! I don’t think the Roman army has ever lost as many as we did in a battle that was won; and yet when it was all over we’re told to go home, that it was all one big fucking mistake! My men died for nothing!” His entire body trembled as rage and sorrow overtook him. He now understood why Statorius had suggested they take the long road home, and why he had deliberately avoided going through the center of town. Artorius’ face was red. He looked away and shook his head.
“No triumphs for us,” he continued. “No accolades of a job well done. Instead, we have been the subject of a shame that is not ours.”
Apronius sat brooding over the same stigma that haunted his men. So many had fallen; his Chief Tribune was dead, two of his First Cohort Centurions were badly wounded. Proculus’ injuries were so extensive that he would most likely never fight again. A message had just arrived, and his face turned red with rage as he read it.
“Message from Rome,” Master Centurion Calvinus stated, rather than asked.
“Those fucking bastards!” Apronius snarled through clenched teeth. “They’ve completely disavowed our actions in Frisia. The Senate seems content to allow what happened to be simply forgotten. Hell, most people in Rome have no idea where Frisia is. Its tribute was minimal, so I doubt they will miss it very much.” His voice was thick with venom. His fist closed around the scroll, crumpling it and then throwing it across the room.
Calvinus stood silently as the Governor General placed his forehead in his hands.
“How can they ignore the loss of thirteen hundred men?” the Master Centurion asked after a minute of silence. “The Army of the Rhine suffered nearly five thousand wounded, as well. That’s twenty-five percent casualties! I swear by all the gods that this must be the highest percentage any Roman army has lost in a battle that they actually won. We came back from the brink of disaster, preventing another Teutoburger Wald! How can they ignore that?”
“Oh, it’s simple, really,” Apronius replied. “Most of our men came from the provinces. What does the Senate care if a few hundred Spaniards, Gauls, Germans, and other various non-Latin legionaries die? We won the battle, and that was good enough for them! So now they would just as soon forget it ever happened.” Apronius stopped in his tirade when he saw Calvinus was gripping the edge of the table, his entire body trembling.
“They were my men,” Calvinus said quietly. “Whether they were born in Italy or not, they were still citizens of Rome. They died serving the Empire, and the Senate dares to defile their memories!”
“Our losses have been great,” Apronius concurred. “To say nothing of the loss of the entire Fourth Cohort…”
“And I’m afraid you stand to lose more.” Calvinus stood upright, his face composed once more as the Legate raised an eyebrow.
“Calvinus, surely you can’t mean…” The Master Centurion shook his head interrupting him.
“I’ve had enough,” he replied calmly. “Apronius, I’ve given thirty-three years of my life to the legions. Nineteen of those were with the Twentieth. I’m tired. My daughter never knew me when she was growing up. My wife barely acknowledges my existence!”
“Forgive me, Calvinus, but I did not even know you were married.”
“I keep my personal life private,” Calvinus replied with a shrug. “Besides, she doesn’t live in Cologne. Ours is a typical Roman marriage; one of political expediency and the hopes of offspring for my line, nothing more. Though I was but a legionary, my family had strong connections, ones that allowed me to get a special dispensation allowing me to marry, provided my wife did not reside where I was stationed; which suited us both fine. Our first two sons died within days of birth, a third was stillborn. My daughter, Calvina, is the only one of my children to live to adulthood.”
“How old is she?”
“She turns thirty-one next month,” Calvinus answered.
Apronius was surprised. He had envisioned a young girl, or perhaps a teenager. Still, he was glad for the change of subject.
The Master Centurion then gave a mirthless chuckle. “My son-in-law, I’ve only met twice. His father knew of my family’s wealth, in spite of my status as a mere soldier, so he knew Calvina’s dowry would be great. He is the mayor of Napoli, so it was a good match for us, too…do you realize I have a thirteen-year old grandson I’ve never even seen? I am a stranger to my entire family.”
“The love of family can push even the most committed soldier to long for retirement,” Apronius replied, his hands folded in front of him as he leaned across the table. “Tell me the truth, Calvinus, that is not the entire reason, is it?”
The Master Centurion breathed deeply through his nose and shook his head.
“No.”
“You just said you’ve spent the last nineteen years with the Twentieth,” the Legate observed, to which Calvinus replied with a nod. “There was another tragic event that happened around the time you came here.” The twitching of Calvinus jaw gave Apronius the answer he was looking for.