“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said.
“Take what time you need. Report back to me as soon as you are done,” Macro said. He turned and briskly walked away.
Artorius watched him go, and then realized he was still clutching the other centurion’s hand.
“It’s a pleasure for me to meet the brother of one who saved my life,” Calvinus said. He then motioned for Artorius to come inside his tent. Once inside, Calvinus pointed to a chair and asked him to sit down.
Artorius was shocked. He had never been invited into a senior officer’s quarters before. Calvinus handed him a goblet of wine before taking a seat himself.
“I suppose there are some questions you would like to have answered,” Calvinus said.
“As a matter of fact, sir, there are,” Artorius replied. “I want to know what happened to my brother, what really happened to him, I mean. I also want to know what kind of legionary he was. I was just a boy of eight or nine the last time I saw him alive.”
“Your brother,” Calvinus started, “was a fine soldier. You would do well to have learned from his example. I was his centurion in the Seventh Cohort for the two years he served with us. He was always learning; learning the way the century worked as part of a cohort, and how a cohort worked as part of a legion, how doctrine and tactics applied directly to the lowest level. He was always reading and writing. I was surprised when I found out that many of the letters he wrote were being sent to his younger brother.”
Artorius smiled at the memory.
“He did not confine himself to just military study, though. He would read anything he could get his hands on. And when he was not reading, he was strengthening his body. I remember a favorite saying of his…”
“With a sound mind and a strong body you can accomplish anything,” Artorius interrupted. “My apologies,” he said immediately, realizing his lapse in manners.
“I hope you took his words to heart,” Calvinus said before continuing. “There was only one thing he loved more than study and physical play, and that was Rowana. I don’t suppose he ever told you about her?”
“He did mention a few times about a woman he had fallen in love with,” Artorius answered. “It’s been a while since I read his letters, but I do seem to remember him mentioning her once by name.”
“Rowana was the type of girl any man would fall in love with on sight. Not simply because she was beautiful, but because she was a genuinely kind and generous person. She also exuded a lot of class. She was nothing like the tramps and whores that permeate the settlements around a military post. I had the sad duty of telling her what happened to him. She left soon after, and nobody’s seen her again. I wonder if she’s even still alive.
“I also wrote the letter to your parents concerning his death. Tribune Cassius made sure it was personally delivered. I wrote a lot of those letters.” He took a long pull off his wine and looked away for a moment.
“You mentioned that Metellus saved your life,” Artorius said, trying to keep the conversation going. “Would you please tell me how?”
Calvinus looked down for a few seconds, drank some more wine, and then continued. “It was nearly the end of the battle. We had fallen back to a final stronghold when the Germans broke through. There were so many of them, and by this point we were in a hopeless position. Our formation had completely broken down. Metellus had been missing since the initial ambush, as had many of the other men.
“It seemed like everything collapsed; only I and two others that I knew of were still alive. We were in a desperate fight when Metellus came running from out of nowhere. I was in the middle of a scrap against three barbarian warriors. He lunged in and took out two of them by himself.” He then told Artorius of the subsequent flight to Cassius Chaerea’s formation, and of Metellus’ mortal wounding.
“In a last desperate act to save his friends, he flung his gladius which killed a rather fleet- footed barbarian who was closing fast on us. I was not aware of his presence until I heard the cry and turned to see the man fall with Metellus’ blade embedded in his spine. He was only two meters from my back when your brother threw away his only chance to defend himself, to save my life. I saw your brother lying on his stomach just as a barbarian stabbed him in the back of the skull with his spear. The three of us who survived ran to Cassius’ formation and cut our way out.” He took another draught of wine.
“When we get to Teutoburger Wald, do you think you could show me where he was killed?” Artorius asked.
Calvinus paused. “I will, if we can even find the place. With six years of growth and gods know what the barbarians did to the bodies, it may be impossible to identify him. However, if possible, I will show you where he made his final stand. Don’t worry about finding me, I will come and find you.” With that he stood.
Artorius snapped to attention and saluted. “Thank you for your time, sir.”
Calvinus took a deep breath and a long pull off his wine after Artorius left. “And so, Metellus, your brother has come to avenge you. I hope he does you proud,” he said as he raised his goblet in salute, and then stared, unseeing, into the distance.
Macro was not with the century as they marched into Teutoburger Wald. Optio Valgus had been left in charge with Camillus as his second. Macro, Calvinus, and any other soldiers known to have survived the Teutoburger massacre were sent with the cavalry to act as guides. Severus, himself, took charge of the reconnaissance effort. It was only then that it became publicly known just who in the legion was a Teutoburger survivor. It seemed like all of them had taken great pains to keep their pasts a secret.
Teutoburger Wald was a forest infested with nearly impenetrable swamp and marshlands. It seemed like every few hundred meters they had to stop and build bridges and causeways through the marshes for the baggage trains to get through.
“How in the fuck could Varus have believed this to be a more expedient route?” Valens asked as he slipped off a rock and sank up to his knees in the water and mud. “This is by far the worst terrain we have encountered to date.”
“No argument there,” Praxus said as he helped pull his friend out. He looked around at their surroundings. “He must have had a lot of trust in that bastard Arminius.”
The Second Century was tasked to provide security as other units built the bridge over a particular section of the marsh. As they came to each quagmire, centuries took turns providing security and building bridges. Artorius looked around and saw that, with the nightmarish terrain they were standing in, keeping close order and formation was impossible. Praxus was five meters to his left, and Magnus was more than three meters to his right. The rest of the century had just as hard of a time maintaining a proper interval. Some legionaries were stacked practically on top of each other on small patches of dry ground while others were spread far apart.
“You know, we could probably walk to where we’re going in a day if we didn’t have to build all these damn bridges for the baggage train,” Carbo said.
“If you want to sleep in this crap without a tent or a cot, be my guest.” Artorius retorted.
“Hmm, I wonder if any of the locals can recommend a good bathhouse,” Valens said as he looked at his grimy feet and legs.
“Oh, sure, it’s right next to that little grove where they cut your head off and offer your balls to the forest gods. I hear Brumhilda’s Whore House is just up the block from there,” Artorius mused as everyone laughed.
“Think Brumhilda has a sister we can set Carbo up with?” Decimus asked, inciting further laughter from the section and a profane insult from Carbo. Laughter was good, even if it was of the nervous kind. Everyone had been on edge since the moment they entered the Wald. It was as if the very forest would swallow them up, just as it had the Legions of Varus.