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.
Right! 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 strong, 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.
Metellus was surprised and appalled when he heard the sound of the war horns. He looked to his left and saw a horde of barbarians pouring down from the hillside.
“Where are those damned auxiliaries?” he shouted to himself, referring to the native fighters enlisted to fight alongside the legions.
They had been tasked with providing some semblance of flank security and should have given ample warning of any potential threat. He soon had his answer. For no sooner had he spoken those words than he saw a large number of auxiliaries amongst the charging barbarians. They were still dressed in mail armor, wearing legionary style helmets. So much for loyalty.
“Treacherous bastards!” he snarled through clenched teeth. He watched in horror as his century disappeared amongst the throng of men and metal. This couldn’t be happening!
Metellus had been reared on the concept of Roman invincibility from the date of his birth. Fighting together as a cohesive unit, his century had always been unbeatable. Nothing could stand up to them. But, by Jupiter, where were they now? In the confusion of the battle, he could not see anyone from his unit. He then realized that he and Clodius were alone. His friend was seething in rage.
“Traitors from Hell!” he screamed as he threw a javelin at one of the turncoat auxiliaries.
The weapon slammed into the side of the man’s neck with such force that the shaft whipped around and tore his throat away. The auxiliary fell to his knees and then to the ground, his head practically severed from his spine. Clodius then drew his gladius and charged headlong into the fray. Metellus watched horrified as a huge barbarian bear-hugged his friend and pinned him against the side of the rocks. Clodius spun his gladius around and stabbed the man in the small of his back. He then disappeared from view in the sea of struggling bodies.
As soon as he lost sight of his friend, panic swelled up inside Metellus. He did the unthinkable for a Roman soldier; he turned and started to run in terror. So great was his overwhelming fear, he was not even aware of what he was doing.
He ran for what felt like hours. His legs ached, and his lungs burned as he tried, in vain, to suck in enough air. He found he could no longer hold on to his shield or his pack. Without even slowing down, he dropped everything he was carrying, including his javelins, which had become tangled in the thick underbrush. He didn’t even know where he was running to. All he knew was that he had to get away from that swarm of death and destruction. As he passed through a tangle of branches, he tripped over a tree root and fell into a marsh, completely submerging himself. Again, he panicked, thinking that he was drowning. He clawed his way to the surface, gasping for air. He looked around and saw that all was black around him. It must have been getting late in the day. Combine that with the thick canopy of trees over him and the black clouds that dominated the sky, and he found that all was dark. He could scarcely see his hand in front of his face.