“And ghosts. Don’t forget, it’s the forest where the greatest disaster in our time took place,” Gavius replied.
“All the more reason for us to go there,” Artorius said, “to prove there is nothing for us to be afraid of. Besides, I think it only right we give some dignity and respect to our fallen, and that everyone sees just what barbarous people we are dealing with.” His face was tense. He was obviously trying to quell his burning anger.
That night Artorius found he could not sleep once again. His bouts of insomnia were becoming more frequent. He looked over at his tentmates. The rookie legionaries, namely Magnus and Gavius, tossed and turned fitfully, yet they slept. The veterans were all lost in deep, peaceful sleep.
Unable to find peace within his mind, Artorius got up and went for a walk. For reasons he could not explain, he found himself purposely walking towards Macro’s tent at the end of their line. The moon was full, and there was plenty of light to see by. As he expected, the centurion was standing outside his tent. This time he was not wrapped in a cloak, trembling. He was simply standing there, his back to Artorius. He was staring off into the distance, his hand resting on the century’s standard. Artorius was getting ready to turn and leave when Macro spoke.
“What is a legionary doing up this late at night if he is not on watch duty?” He spoke without turning around.
Artorius was surprised Macro knew he was there. He was suddenly afraid.
“I couldn’t sleep, sir,” he said, trying to not stutter or stammer.
“Then come speak with me…let me know what ails you.”
Artorius walked up to where his centurion was, not sure what else to do.
“You’ve been having quite a few sleepless nights,” Macro observed.
Artorius gasped. Did he know? Know that he’d been watching his centurion tremble and nearly fall apart on nights where it seemed the very darkness would consume him?
“You’ve probably noticed that my nights have been less than restful as well,” Macro continued.
Artorius tried to think of how to best say what was on his mind to his centurion. What he really wanted to know was; did Centurion Platorius Macro actually survive Teutoburger Wald? And if so, could he possibly have known Metellus? It was a long shot, and Artorius knew it.
Finally he spoke. “I think there is something about this place, this campaign, that troubles us both,” he said slowly. “Though I think it is for different reasons. I know there are those in this legion who are haunted by the events of six years ago, having seen it first hand. Am I right to assume you are one of those?”
Macro continued to look straight ahead, never turning his head towards his young legionary. He gave a great sigh before continuing. “Most of us do our best to hide our little secrets about where we came from before serving with the Twentieth. I guess my secret is out. I was once a legionary with the Nineteenth.”
Artorius closed his eyes, partially disappointed. Metellus had served with the Seventeenth, so there was practically no chance they would have known each other.
Macro continued, “I was one of those captured by the Germans during the battle. We watched as they sacrificed our officers on their foul altars. We had to watch as our brothers were slowly tortured, begging for death. All we could do was watch and await our turn. Three of us were placed in a wicker cage to be burned alive. As the Germans started the fire, a fight broke out amongst them concerning some stolen weapons and armor. They drifted away from us as they fought.
“Fortunately for us, the wood was damp, and the fire did not keep. It did manage to burn most of the way through some of the rope holding the cage together. We forced our way out, managing to free five others who were awaiting a similar fate. We hid in the forests, ever aware of the roving bands of warriors. It was still rainy, and the sky was constantly black. It was a couple of days before we could even catch enough of a glimpse of the sun in order to find out what direction we were traveling. We immediately started moving west. It took us nearly two weeks to get to the Rhine. Two of our companions succumbed to their wounds and died along the way. The rest of us did as best we could, subsisting off berries and tree bark. I was nearly mad with hunger when the Rhine bridges came into sight. It was then that a roving patrol found us. They almost killed us, except one fellow, who somehow managed to keep his wits about him, started yelling that he was from the Eighteenth Legion, and that we had survived the disaster. We were brought to the fortress of the Twentieth Legion. Two of the men were so badly injured with festering wounds from their ordeal, the patrol made makeshift litters to carry them in on.
“We were placed on extended leave; afterwards, we were given the option of rejoining the ranks. All of us gladly accepted. And now you know.”
“My brother, Metellus, was killed in Teutoburger Wald,” Artorius said. “Forgive me, sir, but I hoped that perhaps you might have known him. He was with the Seventeenth Legion, Seventh Cohort.”
Macro finally turned and looked at Artorius. “No, I did not know him,” he said. “But there is somebody who might have or at least might have known who he was. Are you on any duties tomorrow?”
“I’ve got sentry duty from first light till noon,” Artorius answered.
“Not anymore,” Macro said. “Tomorrow after breakfast I’ll take you over to meet someone. Something to remember, you are not the only one who suffered loss here. While actual survivors of the disaster are few, there are others still who lost brothers or fathers.”
Realizing the conversation was over, Artorius snapped to attention and saluted. Macro returned his salute and Artorius turned to leave.
“One last thing, soldier,” Macro said.
Artorius turned back to face the centurion.
“If you ever mention our conversation to anyone, I swear by all that I consider holy, I will slash your throat and tear out your heart.” His tone was soft and non-threatening.
Artorius did not doubt the seriousness of his words.
“Yes, sir,” he answered as he walked back to his tent. As he slept, he dreamed of the fire, torture, and death, described by Centurion Macro.
The next day Artorius awoke feeling anxious. He couldn’t wait for breakfast to be completed so he could go and see this person to whom Macro was referring. Sergeant Statorius came walking towards him, looking more than a little put out.
“Artorius, I don’t know what in the name of Hades you did, but the centurion said he wants to see you.”
“I’m on my way,” Artorius answered as he got up and quickly walked off.
“What was that all about?” Magnus asked.
“I don’t know. If he were in trouble, Macro would have told me to come back with him, but when I asked, he rather vehemently told me to send Artorius and then disappear.” Statorius was obviously troubled.
“Hmm, it can’t be too bad then,” Magnus mumbled as he went back to eating his breakfast.
Macro was standing outside his tent, his hands behind his back, as Artorius approached.
Artorius stepped up to the centurion and saluted. “Legionary Artorius reporting, sir.”
“Come with me,” Macro said, and with that he immediately walked in the direction of the Fifth Cohort.
Artorius had never dealt with anyone in the legion outside of the Third Cohort, so he was rather surprised when he saw Macro walk up to the pilus prior’s tent.
“Wait here,” he directed as he went inside.
About two minutes later he came out. With him was a centurion who looked to be around forty. He had traces of gray in his hair, and he had a long scar on his face that ran from his eyebrow to his cheekbone.
Macro spoke first. “Legionary Artorius, this is Centurion Pilus Prior Calvinus, Commander of the Fifth Cohort. It seems he knew your brother.”
Artorius went to salute and was shocked to see the centurion extend his hand. He fumbled with his salute and took Calvinus’ hand.