Two men and one woman came out of their huts and rushed at Artorius and his section. The men each carried a spear, the woman bearing a pitchfork. The two men attacked Decimus and Artorius, the woman rushed Magnus. Decimus calmly settled into a fighting stance and engaged his attacker.
Artorius saw that his opponent’s eyes were wide with terror. He knew he was going to die, and he was afraid. This only inflamed Artorius. He roared and lunged at his attacker. With his shield he quickly knocked the man’s spear to the side and smashed him in the face with the boss. With a rapid stab to the thigh, the German was on the ground. Artorius looked at the barbarian, his hatred only intensifying, and he smashed his shield edge into his face before moving on. He then looked over to see Decimus pin his opponent against the wall of a hut and stab him underneath the ribcage. He also watched Magnus plunge his gladius into the woman’s belly. There was no one else for them to fight as they made their way through the village. The farmers had few items of any value, which negated any hopes of plunder.
Once it was confirmed that all the villagers had either fled or been otherwise eliminated, the century lit its torches and walked back through, setting fire to anything that would burn. Soon, they came back to the hut where they had been attacked. The man that Artorius had wounded still lay on the ground. He was breathing rapidly, and he was in obvious pain, blood oozing from the wound to his leg, and his face a bloody pulp. An evil thought then came to Artorius’ mind. He sheathed his gladius and snatched Decimus’ torch from him.
“What the hell?” the startled legionary shouted.
Artorius then walked over to where the German was lying on his back, clutching his injured leg. His face was a bloody mess from the blows of Artorius’ shield. Artorius smiled wickedly and then slammed the torch into the man’s face. The German screamed in horror and pain as the flames started to slowly burn his face and hair. Artorius started to grind the torch against his face, screaming at the incapacitated barbarian.
“Burn, you son of a bitch, burn! It’s time you became a sacrifice to your foul gods.”
The man’s hair and beard was soon completely consumed in flames. He was thrashing and screaming, clawing at his face, tearing hunks of burning flesh off. Artorius drew his gladius and with several hard slashes, cleaved the barbarian’s head from his shoulders. He looked up to see Decimus and Magnus staring at him.
“You know, usually we use the torches on the buildings,” Decimus said calmly as he retrieved his torch and set fire to the hut.
Artorius gave a growl and kicked the mutilated head towards the hut. He was immediately calm again, not giving a second thought to what he had just done. He heard the screams of those who tried to flee the destruction, only to be cut down by the soldiers on the cordon. It was over as quickly as it had begun.
As the huts burned, the cohorts continued to advance through the farms, destroying everything as they went. Livestock were slaughtered, silos burned, and the dead inhabitants left where they fell. Once they reached the end of the settlements, they formed back into a column. Horns sounded, and the rest of the legion moved in towards their position, cohorts taking their respective places in the column. The legion then moved out, leaving behind a valley of burned settlements and scores of barbarian dead. No casualties had been suffered by the assault elements, and only a few minor injuries were sustained by soldiers as they navigated the difficult terrain on the ridgelines.
It was nearly nightfall by the time they reached the site selected by the cavalry scouts for their camp. Soldiers immediately set up security, pitched tents, and threw up defenses. Artorius and Magnus were among those tasked with digging the standard ditch and palisade. They worked in silence for a while, both men absorbing what had happened that day.
Finally, Artorius broke the silence. “I’m not crazy, you know.” “I know,” Magnus answered. “You just had some pent up emotions you had to satisfy. And believe me, compared to what these barbarians have done to our people, what you did was mild.”
“I thought about Metellus, and could he have been one that those bastards burned alive. I’ve heard stories about what these people do to their enemies. The thought of doing what I did never even crossed my mind until I saw the torch that Decimus carried. I couldn’t control my anger at that point.” He was obviously disturbed by everything.
“You had better learn how, soon,” Magnus said. “It’s one thing to lose control when burning out some farmers. Once we engage their armies en masse, it will be a different matter.” He paused for a minute. “You know, I’m actually a bit troubled by the woman I killed today. Did you notice she was pregnant?”
“No, I didn’t,” Artorius answered.
“Well, she was. Probably just a few months along is all. Still, it felt kind of weird.”
“Look at it this way,” Artorius replied, “you may have prevented another Arminius from ever being born.”
“I guess so. Still, it kind of messes with you. I mean, here we are on a campaign to avenge twenty-thousand Roman murdered, and the only thing I’ve done is stab a pregnant woman in the belly.”
“Perhaps our little demonstration will draw the Cherusci out in force,” Artorius said, not really confident in his assessment.
“Come on, Artorius. You don’t believe that any more than I do. By the time the barbarians rally enough forces to cause us any major problems, the campaign season will be damn near over, and we’ll be on our way home.”
They finished up their section and headed back to where their companions set up their tent and had supper cooking. Decimus and Carbo were cleaning their weapons. Praxus was repairing a broken strap on his body armor. Valens and Gavius were finishing up cooking supper, and Sergeant Statorius was engaged in conversation with Vitruvius, Ostorius, and some of the other decani from the century.
“Grab your mess tins, it’s just about ready,” Valens told them as they set down their entrenching equipment.
Artorius and Magnus were subdued as everyone engaged in their usual conversations regarding wine, women, home, gambling, their favorite gladiators or chariot racers, and more women. Decimus and Carbo were the only other members of their section to kill anyone that day. Gavius had only succeeded in killing a chicken and setting fire to a silo.
Statorius seemed to know what was bothering his newest legionaries. “Not like you thought it would be, was it? Killing your first human being, I mean.”
They were both silent.
“Artorius went absolutely berserk on that one fellow,” Decimus said.
“I saw that,” Statorius replied, “Did it make you feel any better?”
“No,” Artorius said finally. “I can’t really describe how I felt. Consciously, I know that all of these tribes are allied with the Cherusci, and they are all involved in the wars against Rome. There’s just that pang of what, I guess, is guilt. Is it always like this?”
“It’s natural human emotions. I would start to worry if you ever stop feeling it,” Statorius said. “It’s different on the battlefield, though.”
“Yes,” Decimus added. “Out there, there’s no doubt whatsoever as to who the enemy is and that they deserve to die. Besides, if you thought today gave you an adrenaline rush, wait till we face a horde, outnumbered five to one.” With that he stood up, patted each of them on the back, and walked off.