The young legionaries were not the only ones ecstatic about their victory that day. Severus was quite exuberant as he addressed his legates and other senior officers.
“Men,” he said, “today we have dealt the enemy a horrific blow. They thought they could finish us in the same manner they finished Varus. And yet, there were no sacrifices to their foul gods today, no legionaries were tortured or mutilated. The few we did lose died valiantly, fighting as Romans! Mark well the deeds of your men. I will want full details on those you wish to recognize individually for their acts of valor, once we return to the fortress. I only wish I had wine to offer you, but unfortunately, our stores were taken yesterday during our debacle across the bridges.”
The legate and senior officers of the Fifth and Twenty-First Legions looked down, embarrassed.
“In spite of our victory,” Severus continued, “I want everyone to be warned: though we dealt the enemy a nasty defeat, they are far from destroyed. Their losses, while heavy, were not catastrophic. The Cherusci are still a viable threat, and the war is far from over. I want everyone to maintain vigilance and security on the remaining march. Let us not allow our men to fall into lethargic carelessness, thereby spoiling our victory.”
Ingiomerus held a blood soaked rag to his side as he sat by the fire. Though his wound had bled profusely and he was in extreme pain, it would not be mortal if he could keep infection from setting in. He had crawled away during a lull in the fighting, while the majority of the Romans had been in pursuit of his fleeing army. By the gods, the Romans had crushed them! In spite of his obsessive hatred for all things Roman, he almost had to respect them for the way they fought that day. Not one of his warriors had managed to get over the wall without a javelin, arrow, or scorpion bolt striking him down. The subsequent battle had been completely one-sided. His warriors had lost their nerve when they saw their companions routed on the walls. Other warriors sat around his fire, many of them bearing wounds from the day, discussing the events of the battle. Arminius sat in the background, his arms folded across his knees, and watched in silence.
“The Romans were waiting for us. We never had a chance,” a warrior named Ietano said.
“No,” Ingiomerus countered, “we lost our nerve. Had we maintained the attack, we could still have easily overwhelmed the Romans. Simply put, our warriors lost their nerve at the first sign of difficulty. It will not happen again.”
“You saw the carnage they inflicted,” Ietano said. “These men are nothing like the ones we smashed in Teutoburger. When cornered, they lashed out like demons.”
“You are a coward, Ietano!” another warrior named Haraxus said. “You, who without any wounds from the day, were probably one of the first to run!”
“That’s a lie!” Ietano shouted, rising to his feet.
Haraxus scoffed. “Is it? Ingiomerus is right. Had we maintained our attack, we would have smashed the Romans into dust!”
Other warriors started to voice their consent.
“We will regroup and destroy the Romans before they can retire across the Rhine!”
“We will do no such thing,” Arminius finally spoke. “We will regroup, we will reform, and we will destroy the Romans, but not today. They are fresh from their victory; oh yes, theirs was a decisive victory today; and any attacks made by us will be met with renewed vigor. No, we will retire to winter quarters. We will reform our armies into one. We will only fight the Romans once we have the decisive advantage. And I will not be second guessed again.” He stared at his uncle coldly.
Chapter XIV: Winter Quarters
Fortress of the Twentieth Legion, Rhine Frontier
October, 15 A.D.
As the legionaries stored their gear in their barracks room, Artorius noticed a number of letters and parcels on everyone’s bunks.
“Ah, I see the post has finally caught up to us,” Decimus said wryly. “Time to catch up on the last six months of gossip and news from back home.”
“After you’ve cleaned and inspected all of your gear, soldier,” Statorius replied.
Once Artorius had cleaned and packed away the last of his equipment, he sat on his bunk and looked at the letters he had received. There were three of them; two were from his father, the other from Camilla. It was dated from three months before. He quickly tore this one open and started to read.
My dear, sweet Artorius,
I am sorry it has been so long since I last wrote to you. My life has been an absolute whirlwind of activity, that I have not had time. I hope you will not be upset, but will be happy for me when I tell you that I got married recently! His name is Marcellus; he is the son of a local magistrate, and we live very well. He is a nice man, though to be honest I find it difficult to love him. I married him more for the social advancement and the need to marry, rather than love.
I still think of you with much affection, Artorius. Though another man may be my husband, you will always be my lover. Please continue to write to me. I still worry about you and care for you deeply.
Yours affectionately,
Camilla
“Well, fuck it,” he swore quietly. Magnus leaned over and snatched the letter from him. Artorius did not protest, but sat with his head resting on his hand in contemplation.
“Damn, what a twat!” the Norseman added as he finished reading. “Nothing like a woman to spoil things!”
It was Thursday. Artorius stood face to face against Vitruvius. Gradually, he was starting to last longer in his sparring sessions against the chief weapons instructor. The result was always the same, though. Perhaps today would be different. Vitruvius had to have some weak point. No man was invulnerable, though you could try telling that to Vitruvius! During their last battle against the Cherusci, he had personally killed eight enemy warriors and, once again, came away without a scratch. Artorius wondered just how many people Vitruvius had killed in his lifetime.
“Ready to do this?” Vitruvius asked.
“Let’s do it!” Artorius answered as he hefted his practice shield and gladius.
Both men came at each other quickly, punching with their shields, looking for openings to strike what, with service weapons, would be a fatal blow. Vitruvius stabbed towards Artorius’ flank, the young legionary quickly swinging his shield arm in a backhand swing. Vitruvius immediately lunged forward, punching with his shield. Artorius swung his shield back around, hooking the Sergeant’s shield on the inside. As Vitruvius pulled back on his shield, Artorius lunged forward, punching the decanus with his shield. Vitruvius stumbled back. Artorius was elated. He had found a weak point. He lunged forward, stabbing with his gladius. As he did so, Vitruvius rocked forward onto the balls of his feet and brought his own sword down in a hard slash onto Artorius’ forearm. Artorius yelped in surprise and pain, dropping his gladius. Vitruvius then ducked down and brought his sword back in a quick stab to the sternum. Artorius dropped to his knees, the wind knocked out of him. So much for having found Vitruvius’ weakness!
“You’re improving, slowly but surely,” Vitruvius said.
Artorius could only gasp, clutching his chest.
Vitruvius smiled and helped him to his feet. “I daresay you’d be a match against any soldier within the entire Third Cohort!”
“Anyone…except you,” Artorius said between gasps. There was a bit of frustration in his voice. He had been sparring with Vitruvius for months now. Granted he had learned many things from the chief weapons instructor, however, he thought by now he would have beaten the sergeant at least once.