“The highest award a soldier of Rome, or any Roman citizen for that matter, can receive is the Civic Crown,” he stated. “It is for acts of valor while saving the life of a fellow citizen. For no greater act can one perform in the service of Rome than protecting its citizens. As brothers-in-arms, this has an even deeper and more personal meaning. I am here to present two of these awards to the men who saved my life at Ahenobarbi.” He then nodded to Centurion Macro, who read off the award citation.
“Optio Vitruvius and Sergeant Statorius, you are both awarded the Civic Crown for distinguished acts of valor in saving the life of a fellow citizen and soldier of Rome. Your valor and selfless devotion to your fellow legionaries is of the highest caliber and sets the utmost in standards of conduct representing yourself, the Twentieth Legion and the Army of the Rhine.”
Each man removed their helmets as Valgus placed the crowns on their respective heads. They then clasped the hand of their old friend before returning to their place in formation. Once all awards had been presented, it was time for them to form up for the parade.
The parade extended for miles, and the soldiers were only a small part of it. At the head was Germanicus in an ornamental chariot. His children accompanied him and were dressed in their finest splendor. Next, were the most prominent senators and magistrates. Severus rode at the head of these, along with the legates and chief tribunes from each legion. Enemy prisoners of war, few as there were, were next. They were marched together in shackles, heads hung low in shame. Surprisingly, amongst these was Thusnelda, the “liberated” wife of Arminius, though she was spared the ignominy of being chained. In her arms she carried her infant son, whom she had named Thumelicus. As she passed the reviewing stands, she glared at her father, who was a guest of honor amongst the Roman dignitaries. Thusnelda had learned only the day before that the price of her and her son being allowed to live was that they be paraded before Rome as prisoners of war during the triumph. She bore the insult with silent dignity, not wishing to do anything that might jeopardize her son’s life. Little did she know, part of the deal struck with Segestes was that his daughter would never be allowed to return to Germania, and her son would be sent to the gladiatorial school in Ravenna once he came of age.
Following the prisoners were wagons containing all the stockpiles of loot and plunder taken on the campaign. There was not as much as one would expect, but it was still an impressive sight. The two trophies that Germanicus had erected were displayed amongst these. The soldiers themselves came last, though Artorius was certain they received the loudest cheers and accolades.
He looked around at his friends and companions. All were proudly displaying their newly won medals and awards, along with the awards that some of them had earned on previous campaigns. As they passed the reviewing platform where the Emperor stood, they drew their gladii as one and saluted. Tiberius returned their salute, his face rock hard, eyes glowing with pride. Artorius thought about Magnus’ words from the other night. His friend was right, here was Rome. Rome did live in these brave men that he had fought alongside. No matter where they went, Rome would be, Her eternal spirit never leaving them.
At the end of the march, Artorius was tired but elated. As he returned to camp, he knew he would be unable to sleep. All he could think about was seeing his father again the next day, hoping he would be proud of him. He found himself walking alone along an isolated path when he saw a lone legionary gazing off into the hills with his back to him, arms folded across his chest. The sun was coming down, and it gleamed off the soldier’s armor. Artorius removed his helmet and walked up to the man.
“The evenings are beautiful this time of year,” the man said without turning as Artorius approached.
His voice somehow seemed familiar, but he could not fathom from where, like something he’d not heard for a very long time.
“Yes, they are,” he replied. “Makes one feel good to be alive.”
“Quite. You know, Artorius,” he said softly, “Mother wanted me to tell you she loves you, and that she is very proud of you.”
“Excuse me?” Artorius felt the veins in his neck start to quickly pulse as he tried to make out the man’s face. “Who are you, and how do you know my name? And how dare you mention my mother!”
The legionary gave a loud sigh, removed his helmet, and faced him. Artorius gasped, his breath taken from him. He dropped his helmet and fell to his knees, tears welling up in his eyes. He knew that face, its image was permanently burned into his mind, though he had not seen it for many years.
“It cannot be,” he breathed as he shook his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to believe what he saw. When he opened them again, the man still stood there. He found himself unable to control the surge of emotions that welled inside of him and fought to control his speech and his senses. “You’re dead. I buried you myself.”
“Yes, you did,” Metellus replied, “and by doing so, you brought peace to my tortured soul. For six years I floated between the paradise of the Afterlife and the agonizing pains of this world. So many of us were unable to find peace after our lives were ended with such savagery. And yet, I took solace and pride in seeing my little brother become a man. I have watched you, Artorius. I have watched you grow strong and powerful in both mind and body. You have the opportunity to accomplish great things in your life. You have learned to control your emotions and your hatred. Do not ever let them control you or your soul will never find peace in the next life.”
“How is it that I can see you?” Artorius asked, rising to his feet. “I have not gone mad, have I?”
Metellus laughed at that.
“No, you haven’t. I have been graced with this moment to reassure you my soul is finally at rest, as is Mother’s. My time here is short, and I must leave you.”
“Will I ever see you again?” Artorius asked.
Metellus contemplated his response. “Not for a very long time,” he said at last. “That is all I know. Artorius, I do not know what your future holds. Though I know we will not meet again for a very long time. Continue to grow stronger, live justly, and I promise you will see me again.” With that, Metellus turned and started to walk up a short slope that faced into the setting sun. As he reached the top, he turned and faced Artorius one last time, raising his hand in a salute. “Well done, little brother.”
Chapter XXIX: Soldiers of Rome
“We may have destroyed his army, but the wolf himself still escaped,” Germanicus said. He sat in a chair while the Emperor stood looking out a window, his hands clasped behind his back.
“The wolf of which you speak is now nothing more than an impotent sheep,” Tiberius replied. “Did you know we received a deputation from some tribal leaders that survived the campaign? They offered to give me the head of Arminius in exchange for our assurance that we will not invade again.”
“And what did you tell them?” Germanicus asked.
Tiberius turned and faced his nephew. “I laughed in their face, that’s what I did. I told them Rome did not need to employ such underhanded tactics in order to win our wars. I told them to pray that we never crossed the Rhine again, and that they never give us reason to. Don’t you see? Arminius has fallen. He no longer commands the respect of his fellow war chiefs. They are willing to hand him over to us, when seven years ago they practically revered him as a god. I would be surprised if the Cherusci even survive this as a tribe and nation. They took the brunt of the casualties and have scattered to the winds. No, my son, I have more important work for you.” With that he turned back to the window. Germanicus stood and placed his hands behind his back.