Germanicus nearly choked on his wine, and he glared at his second.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked, his temper rising.
Severus very calmly handed a scroll over to Germanicus. “Only that this letter, and others, came via the Imperial Post while you were away. It bears the Emperor’s response to your proposed campaign.”
Germanicus looked resigned as he read the words of his uncle and adoptive father.
From the Emperor, Tiberius Claudius Nero Caesar, etc.
To Germanicus Caesar, Commanding General, Army of the Rhine, etc. greetings,
I must first and foremost congratulate you on your triumph over the traitor Arminius, and to send my deepest condolences to your men on the losses they have suffered, both during and after the campaign.
I fully understand your desire to continue in the war against the tribes of Germania, yet it is my opinion that you have had enough of success, enough of disaster. You have fought victorious battles on a great scale; yet you should also remember those losses which the winds and waves have inflicted, and which, though due to no fault of yourself, were still grievous and shocking.
Remember, I had myself been sent nine times by Augustus into Germania, and have done more by policy than by arms. By this means the submission of the Sugambri had been secured, and the Suevi with their king Maroboduus had been forced into peace. The Cherusci too and the other insurgent tribes, since the vengeance of Rome has been satisfied, might be left to their internal feuds.
You are therefore ordered to return to Rome once preparations for a transfer of authority have been made. You will arrive no later than the first of May to celebrate your much-deserved triumph, in addition to your second Consulship.
Germanicus set the parchment down and drained his goblet. He sat back, closed his eyes, and ran a hand across his forehead.
“Well Severus, my old friend and mentor, it looks like you may at last be getting your long-awaited retirement.”
To the family of Quintus Antoninus,
It is with deepest regret and sadness that I send word concerning the death of your son, who died in battle against the Cherusci. He was a brave and honorable soldier who fought valiantly to the last. Though his time in the Army was short, he made a huge impact on those who knew him. I know that no words of mine can bring him back; however, I want you to know that all of us who served with him share in your grief and that he will be missed.
With sincerest respect and condolences,
Platorius Macro, Centurion
Macro set his quill down and leaned back in his chair. This was the last of three letters he had finished writing. Three families of men within his century would soon be mourning the loss of their sons, brothers, or fathers. One of his slain soldiers had had a ‘wife’ and three children. Yet since Roman law forbade soldiers below the rank of centurion from officially marrying, the man’s ‘widow’ would inherit nothing. He could only hope the soldier’s other surviving kin would look after the woman he had loved and the children he left behind.
The last letter troubled him. Legionary Antoninus was only eighteen years old and had been a soldier for just over a year and a half. While the death of a Roman soldier was always tragic, the loss of one so young sat hard with the centurion. He always thought carefully about how he would word his letters. Would he tell them the brutal truth that Antoninus was dead because he could not get over the enemy rampart fast enough and had been stabbed in the throat as a consequence? No, he would stick with simply telling them their son died valiantly fighting the hated Cherusci. That, at least, was not a lie.
“Never an easy task,” Proculus said as he walked in. He knew right away what the younger centurion had been doing. He had to write five such letters over the course of the campaign. “May I sit?” he asked. It was an unnecessary question, but one asked out of courtesy.
Macro waved the cohort commander to a chair.
“Last year I had to write two of these letters after our battle against the Marsi. I hoped to delay having to do any more of these for as long as possible,” Macro said once Proculus sat down. “Of course, once you take command of a century it becomes an inevitable and never-ending task, doesn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so,” Proculus replied. “Macro, I’ve held the centurionate for ten years, three as pilus prior. I had to write my first such letter just two months after I took command. And you know what? It has never gotten any easier.”
“Your words are encouraging,” Macro said with a slight scowl. He glanced at the letters and then set them down. “As much as I try and play the tyrant, these men mean everything to me. Unlike many, I rose through the ranks within the same century. Most of the time, you’re lucky if you get to even stay in the same cohort once you are promoted past optio. Many of these men I’ve known and worked with for nearly seven years. A part of me dies every time one of them does.”
Proculus sat back, his fingers intertwined. “I know this doesn’t help, but consider Calvinus, Commander of the Fifth Cohort.”
“Yes, I know him,” Macro replied with a nod.
“He had to write over seventy of these letters once. Imagine how much of him died that day,” Proculus announced.
Macro leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “I know,” he replied. “One of my men lost his brother under Calvinus’ command. Not that he was at fault. I think it is a credit to Calvinus that he managed to get those whom he did out of that cursed place. My own centurion did not survive to write his letters.”
Proculus looked down for a second. He was surprised to see that Macro was not quite so troubled when the subject of Teutoburger Wald surfaced. Before then it was something he had always avoided discussing with his subordinate centurion.
“Does it still haunt you?” Proculus finally asked.
“Does what still haunt me?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. You know what I’m talking about,” Proculus replied.
“Of course it does,” Macro answered. “I swear the spirits of the lost never leave me. But at least now, especially after my men found the Eagle of the Nineteenth, I can at last live in peace with them.”
Chapter XXVI: Return to Rome
Camp of the Twentieth Legion, five miles outside of Rome
May, 17 A.D.
It would take several weeks to make the journey from the Rhine frontier all the way down into Rome herself. The army passed quickly out of Germania and through Gaul. Progress was made easy by the quality of the paved roads; roads which Artorius noted had been built on the backs of their predecessors in the legions. He also noticed an immediate change once they had reached the southernmost portion of the Alps and passed into Italy. The cold wetness of the Rhine was replaced by the warm and invigorating climate of the Mediterranean. In spite of being in friendly territory, Severus still insisted upon the troops setting up the standard marching camp, complete with ditch and palisade, every night. Every evening the camp was crowded with locals, mostly curious citizens anxious to set eyes on the famed legions who had smashed the barbarian giants into oblivion.
One evening Artorius and Magnus were standing outside their tent when they saw Centurion Macro inspecting the covered loads on several carts.
“Macro’s certainly anxious about his baggage carts,” Artorius observed.
“I noticed,” Magnus replied. “What’s strange is he packed a lot more than the other centurions. A bit unusual for him, don’t you think?”