The next day they managed to find some drier ground to march on. This helped them to maintain formation which eased some of their anxieties about security. After a couple of hours of marching they came to a halt. A rider soon approached them. It was Centurion Calvinus. He stopped at their position.
“Can we help you, centurion?” Valgus asked.
Calvinus dismounted and walked towards Artorius. “I need him to come with me.”
“Can I ask what this is about?” Valgus asked.
“There is something up ahead that requires the attention of Legionary Artorius,” Calvinus answered. “It may help him in finding what he seeks here.” His eyes were never off of Artorius.
“Very good Sir,” Valgus said and nodded his consent to Artorius. Calvinus left his horse with Valgus and the century as he and Artorius walked away.
“I can’t be certain, but I think that this may be the place we are looking for,” Calvinus said as soon as they were out of sight of the century. “Varus’ final camp is not too far from here, and I know we fought our final action before meeting up with Cassius in this area. Here we are.”
They came to a clearing which was littered with skeletons. Since the Germans would have picked up their own dead, it was apparent that these must be Roman. All had been stripped of any weapons, armor, or possessions. Decay and wild animals had stripped all of the flesh away from the bones. The bones themselves were in an advanced state of decay; some were not even recognizable and looked gnawed upon. There was not much else to see. Calvinus was obviously shaken. If this was the right spot, then many of these bodies had once been his legionaries. Artorius looked to see if any of them might be his brother. Positive identification was, of course, impossible at this point, but still he hoped.
Calvinus continued to point out signs that made the area seem familiar to him. He saw one skull that had its face smashed in, possibly belonging to Legionary Clodius. They came across numerous skeletons of varying size and shape, probably some of the families and camp followers who had shared the fate of their men. It was coming together like a puzzle. Finally, they saw a body off by itself causing both men to stop dead in their tracks. It was lying prone, skull facing towards where Calvinus thought Cassius’ formation had been. Most of the bones were scattered or missing, the work of wild dogs, mice, and other scavengers. However, there was a hole in the back of the skull where a spear might have been thrust. Calvinus then pointed to the right femur, which was, surprisingly, still intact. Running sideways at an angle was a noticeable cut in the bone, one not caused by animals or decay. It was the blow of an axe; one that would have severed the femoral artery, wounding the man mortally.
Tears came to Artorius’ eyes. There was no longer any doubt. He had found his brother. He set his javelin and shield against a tree and cradled the skull in his hands. His mind was awash in memories, happy memories of when his brother had still been alive. He remembered saying goodbye to Metellus the day he left for the army. Metellus had bent down and kissed him on top of the head right before he left. Artorius had not appreciated the gesture, which may have been all the more reason why Metellus did it.
“I want to come with you, to live the life of the legions,” he’d told Metellus. His brother had laughed at the remark.
“Perhaps some day you will. Remember little brother, with a strong mind and a sound body you can accomplish anything.” Those had been his last words to him.
Artorius smiled through his tears and kissed the top of the skull.
“Come, I’ll help you bury him,” Calvinus said.
They gathered up Metellus’ bones and walked to a large open field. There were still remnants of a palisade and half-filled ditch. It was where Varus made his final stand. The sights here were much more gruesome. Skulls were nailed to trees, ash and soot still left a residue on foul altars where the tribunes and centurions had been sacrificed. Signs of mutilation were obvious even with what little remained of the bodies.
A single, vast grave had been excavated. Artorius was surprised to see Germanicus himself present. Without much ceremony, but with great affection he laid to rest the first of the bodies that would occupy this mass grave. Legionaries started to bring the bones of the fallen forward, laying them side by side, and eventually on top of each other. Time constraints did not allow for a more individual and personal form of burial, and the dampness prevented the traditional burning of the bodies. Artorius saw Centurion Macro and some other soldiers whom he did not recognize off to one side. Macro saw him and nodded in acknowledgment of the burden that Artorius carried. Artorius and Calvinus took their place in line behind soldiers bearing similar loads. As they reached the grave, they took great care to lay Metellus down gently next to his fallen brothers. Artorius ran his hand across the top of the skull one last time.
“I will avenge you, brother.”
Later that night, Artorius and Magnus were cooking dinner for their tentmates. Artorius’ hand trembled as he placed some wheat cakes in the cooking pan. Magnus sat and watched in silence. Decimus and Valens walked in from sentry duty. All had seen the remnants of Varus’ camp and the macabre spectacle that still existed even after six years.
“I cannot believe what we have seen today,” Valens said.
“Me neither,” Decimus replied. “I have no idea how many we buried. Though for most of them there wasn’t much left.”
“The skulls that were nailed to the trees were the worst,” Valens said, closing his eyes at the thought.
“Artorius buried his brother today,” Magnus said as everyone stared at him.
Everyone except Artorius. He just stared at the fire. “How did you know?”
“I overheard Centurion Calvinus tell Macro. It explained why you were gone as long as you were. Besides, how often does a senior centurion from another cohort come and speak pleasantries with an unknown legionary? I mean, think about how many breaches of protocol happened today between you and that centurion.”
Artorius sat stone-faced. He couldn’t have hoped to keep this from his friends. Magnus put a hand on his shoulder.
“Artorius, we’re sorry,” Decimus said, grabbing his other shoulder.
“I lost an uncle here,” Valens said. “I never knew him, but I saw how devastated my father was when we received word of his death. I know not whether he was one of those we buried today.”
Artorius took a deep breath. “Well, now that we’ve finished here, what do you think Germanicus and Severus have in mind for us now?”
“I don’t know,” Decimus said taking the cue to change the subject. “We’ve got about another month of good campaign weather before we have to start thinking about our move back across the Rhine.”
“You mean we won’t establish winter quarters here?” Magnus asked. “I thought it was standard practice that the army would base itself in freshly conquered territory to prevent its being retaken.”
“We would, if we were interested in re-conquest,” Statorius said as he walked into the fire light. “We’re not here to take the Germans’ land from them. As you all have seen there is nothing here we want. The ground is a nightmare to farm; the tribes are even less civilized than those of Gaul were during the conquest of Caesar. To be honest, I highly doubt we will ever again expand our borders beyond the Rhine. We are here on a mission of vengeance, gentlemen, nothing more.”
Germanicus stood outside his tent, listening to his distraught chief augur. Though most Romans placed little real value in religion, Germanicus was one of the few who still held faith in the old beliefs.
“Sir, I don’t think you comprehend how grave your transgression was today,” the augur pleaded. “You are of the Order of Priests, an order which has a sacred obligation to avoid contact with the dead. In spite of this you took it upon yourself to lay your hands on the remains of those men. Do you have any idea of the possible repercussions of this?”