The rest of the century sat in silence as they let all that was said sink in.
Late that night Artorius awoke and found himself unable to sleep. He looked over at his dozing tent-mates, envying them in their slumber. He got up and decided to go for a walk. He strapped on his sword belt, laced up his sandals, and walked out into the night. As he walked down the row of tents, he was stopped by a roving sentry and asked to give the watchword. He gave it and continued on his way. The moon was out, and there was a slight mist in the air. It made everything seem surreal. As he walked along, he saw Centurion Macro leaning on the century standard outside his tent. He was breathing heavily, and though he barely made any sound in the dark, Artorius could tell he was crying. His cloak was wrapped tightly around him, and his body trembled violently even though it was not cold outside. He trembled with repeated sobs that shook the standard he was clutching. Artorius watched as Macro’s servant came out with a cup of steaming liquid, which he drank thirstily. It was the second time Artorius had seen his centurion like this, only this time was much worse. Carefully he stepped backwards, afraid of being seen. Suddenly he was very tired, and he longed for his bunk. As he lay back down he wondered what, exactly, it was that haunted his centurion. What could cause an iron horse like Platorius Macro to break like that? He then remembered an earlier conversation he had had with Magnus, and wondered if he had found one of the elusive survivors of Teutoburger Wald.
Chapter IX: Destruction of the Marsi
Barholden watched as his wife carried his son towards their hut. As he sat sharpening his sword, he was suddenly afraid. Not for himself, but for his family. He was a brave warrior, recently elevated to war chief of the Marsi. If a Roman gladius felled him, then so be it. Such was the fate and the honor of many a Marsi warrior. However, the Romans were not there to fight the Marsi warriors. They were there to exterminate the Marsi completely. His wife and his son would be no safer than he.
The legions had massacred and destroyed all of the Marsi settlements just east of the Rhine. Now they would try and complete their mission. Having foreseen this, Barholden had petitioned Arminius to send warriors to his aid. However, the war chief of the Cherusci was too involved in a petty squabble with his father-in-law and had laid siege to his lands. So, now, when his allies were truly in need, Arminius was not there to support them.
Barholden had spoken to some of the few who survived the Roman slaughter. They spoke of the abject cruelty and barbarity to which the Romans had subjected their people.
And they call us barbarians, he thought to himself. He knew then that this was not a mere raid by the Romans. No, they were here for revenge; and their thirst for vengeance had been building over the last six years. Six years since what he had felt to be the most glorious day in the history of the Marsi.
There were a good number of warriors amongst the Marsi, however, from what Barholden had been told this particular Roman army was huge. They had the Marsi warriors outnumbered as well as out-trained and equipped. He thought about how and where he would face the Romans. His warriors had conducted several ambushes on their columns already. However, now that the Romans knew the location of their settlements, the time for skirmishes would be over. The Romans would come right at them, right for their homes and families, and they would dare anyone to stand in their way. That was just what Barholden and his warriors would have to do. Evacuation was impossible, there was too little time. This day or the next, they would come.
His thoughts were interrupted as he heard his son cry happily and come running out of the hut. He ran right into his father’s arms. Barholden picked the lad up and gazed at him affectionately. He was so young.
“Brave boy,” he said, setting the lad down.
His wife, Milla, came out looking for the boy and smiled when she saw them together. He had not told her of the Romans coming, of their own impending doom and the possible extermination of the entire Marsi tribe. For that would be the price demanded by the Romans for the Marsi’s role in Teutoburger Wald.
“They will not get me or my family so easily,” he swore to himself as he continued to sharpen his sword.
Just then a warrior came running towards him from the outskirts of the village. The man was panting and out of breath. He kneeled before his war chief, head bent.
“Hail Barholden, War Chief of the Marsi! I bring news of the Romans.”
Barholden looked over at his wife. She was staring at him, alarmed. He told her to go inside, which she did immediately after picking up their son. He then stood, waving the messenger to do the same.
“Gather all the sub-chiefs and elders.” he ordered.
Within the hour, Barholden was standing in the glade that separated his people from the coming Roman onslaught. With him were the most distinguished and important warriors in his tribe. All were proud men, men who had fought bravely on many previous campaigns. Most had even fought against the Romans at Teutoburger Wald. Now they all looked to him for answers to their dilemma.
“As you all know, the Romans have occupied the valley just to the west of our lands,” he began. “We have all heard stories of how they have ravaged our lands for what happened six years ago. We have tried to harass them with ambushes and skirmishes. This has done little to drive them away. They are now but a couple hours march of here, and they look to destroy us once and for all. How large did you say their army was?” he asked the messenger.
“At least twenty thousand legionaries, plus auxiliaries,” the man replied.
The warriors gasped. All were brave, and none of them necessarily feared the Romans; however, they were used to having the decisive advantage in numbers.
“We are outnumbered,” one warrior observed.
“So what if we are,” another scoffed. “We have the protection agreement with the Cherusci. Surely Arminius has warriors he can send.”
Barholden spat into the dirt, a disgusted look on his face.
“Arminius is engaged in an internal dispute with his father-in-law, Segestes. Every warrior he has is now being used to lay siege to Segestes’ lands. There is no help coming to us.” He paused to let the words sink in.
The warrior who had been confident only seconds before couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“You mean after all these years, all these battles we’ve fought for that man, now in our moment of need he abandons us?”
“We cannot hope to win this battle,” another warrior observed.
Barholden shook his head. “No, we cannot. But what we can do is give the Romans such a taste of Marsi bravery they will never forget us.” He drew his sword and raised it high to emphasize his point. “Let us then die as warriors are meant to die, with our swords in our hands and faces towards our enemy.”
This elicited a series of cheers and battle cries from his assembled warriors. He was suddenly very proud, proud to be the leader of these brave warriors. As the host returned to their homes, he was troubled once again. He would have to return to his own home to see his wife and son for, perhaps, the last time.
The legions were formed up and on the move. The Third Cohort was towards the center of the Twentieth Legion’s formation with the Second Century occupying its second rank. The elite First Cohort occupied the very center, with the Second, Third, Sixth, Seventh, and Ninth Cohorts falling in on either side. The Fourth, Fifth, Eighth, and Tenth Cohorts were in the second rank in reserve. Artorius was filled with excitement and a little anxiety. The legion was in battle formation this time, no loose skirmishing here. Shields practically linked together, javelins at the carry. Soon the wood line was in sight. They knew there would be a gradual slope to climb, and then a straight shot to the Marsi settlements.