“So tell me about what you saw in Germania,” he inquired, his stutter having gone away.
Germanicus paused and lowered his head. “Teutoburger Wald was a terrible sight. There was very little left of the bodies, though from what we could still gather all had been horribly mutilated. Many had been tortured brutally in some disgusting ritual that only barbarians could appreciate.” Germanicus paused, obviously vexed at the memory. He stared at the ground, drawn into the flood of memories, especially the battles where they destroyed Arminius. “But we avenged them. Oh yes, our vengeance was brutal, and it was twice as savage as anything they had ever witnessed. We spared no one.” He then told Claudius of the campaigns of the past two years, the climactic battle at Idistaviso, and the subsequent sacking of the Germanic stronghold.
“I wish I could have been there to see it all,” Claudius sighed, looking away. The longer he was around Germanicus, the more his stutter seemed to vanish. “There is only so much one can gather from reading books. You have the knowledge that only life experience can give. I admit that I am envious at times.”
“Don’t be.” Germanicus retorted. “You have a lot to give, dear brother. I don’t know how or when, but I know that some day you will be destined for great things. Some day you will be the protector of Rome.”
“You place too much on superstitions, brother,” Claudius replied.
Germanicus had been referring to an incident when they were both children. An augur had witnessed a pair of fighting eagles drop a wolf cub from the sky. Claudius had caught the cub in his tunic, which the augur was certain signified that one day he would become the savior and protector of Rome. Claudius had never put faith in omens, unlike his brother.
“Yes, I may be superstitious,” Germanicus replied. “In fact, it is something my men say is a shortcoming. But I believe that some things are predestined by the Divine. Do not shy away from your destiny, Claudius. It will come to you some day, when you least expect it.”
Claudius smiled at the thought. Germanicus’ passion almost made him believe it.
The two brothers talked away the rest of the night. In the morning, Claudius escorted Germanicus to the house of their friend, Herod Agrippa. In a few days Germanicus would leave for the east. Claudius did not realize then that it would be the last time he would ever see his beloved brother.
It was over. His lifelong campaign to rid Germania of the Roman scourge was over. Arminius lay underneath the stars and contemplated it all. He had been lucky enough to escape from the stronghold when the Romans stormed it. Many had not. Now his fellow war chiefs, the few who survived, were offering his head to the Romans whom they had sworn to fight until the very last. Ha! Did they not appreciate the accomplishments he had made? He had driven the Romans west of the Rhine, from which he knew they would never return. Their expeditions of the last two years had been for vengeance, not re-conquest. The Roman invaders would never again occupy the lands east of the Rhine. That had to account for something. Crops could be re-sown, homes could be rebuilt, and the people who survived would once again repopulate the region. He truly had liberated all the peoples of Germania, even if he had been defeated on the battlefield.
He thought about his uncle, Ingiomerus. The old man had been a hothead and had probably cost him a few battles. However, he had been exceptionally brave and had been part of what had kept the coalition of tribes together. He had also been the one member of his family that had remained loyal to him.
Arminius pondered what he considered to be his greatest personal tragedy: his wife and son were gone. He would never see either of them. He wondered what kind of life his son would have. Would he ever get a chance to know who his father was? Such was a forlorn hope. Surely Arminius could find himself another bride, and he could have other sons. However, the void now left in his life would never be filled.
Artorius roused himself two hours before dawn. He donned his polished armor and cloak, complete with his newly awarded decorations, and started on his way. There was a definite spring to his step as he strolled through the camp. Not a sound could be heard, except for the audible snores coming from the tents, where soldiers slept off the effects of the previous night’s debauchery. At the gate, he showed the sentry his pass. It was a cool morning and the city was calm. Remarkably, the streets had been cleaned from the previous day’s celebrations and the city now slumbered. After some time he reached the gardens.
There were climbing vines covering the walls on the inside. Roses were still in full bloom; their scent assailed Artorius’ senses. As he walked around the garden he came to an elevated altar, where a priest stood with his father and Juliana. They were watching and waiting for him. His father was dressed in his finest tunic, and Juliana wore a white gown with flowers in her hair. They both looked magnificent. His father looked as if he were ten years younger. They smiled at Artorius as he walked over, his helmet held underneath his arm. Juliana immediately ran over and embraced him, kissing him on the cheek. She looked even more beautiful than before.
“My dear Artorius, it is so good to see you,” she said, elated.
“Good to see you, too,” Artorius replied, as he held her close. “I’m glad to see Father has finally done the honorable thing with you.”
He then walked over to his father, who extended his hand. Artorius took it, and then pulled his father in and embraced him. Once they separated, Primus gazed in admiration at his son in his military garb.
“My son,” he said. “I hear you’ve already been decorated for valor. I received a letter from Pilate telling me all about your exploits and the deeds you accomplished. He said you stormed the wall of an enemy fort and took it almost single-handed.”
“He exaggerates,” Artorius laughed. “I just killed an old man who happened to be Arminius’ uncle.”
“So it was you who killed Ingiomerus.” Primus looked shocked. He then placed both hands on either side of Artorius’ head. “My son, that is wonderful news! No wonder they decorated you! Anyway, enough talk of war. We have business to conduct.”
“Business?” Juliana asked with a wry smile. “I didn’t know that ours was such a formal and impersonal affair.”
Primus laughed aloud as he placed an arm around Artorius’ shoulders and guided him over to his place on the stand. In a short and private ceremony, Primus and Juliana were married. It was something that was long overdue in Artorius’ mind.
After the ceremony, all three took a walk on one of the hills that surrounded Rome. It was a beautiful day, the most beautiful day Artorius could remember. Juliana walked in between them, her arms laced between each of theirs. For several hours, they talked about anything but the war he had just fought. Artorius asked about their health, about home, old friends, and anything else he could think of. When they tired of walking, they relaxed in the shade of fragrant olive trees, enjoying wine and the closeness they felt as a loving family. Finally, Juliana breached the question about the war to Artorius.
“May I ask what Germania was like?” she asked.
“Cold and damp in the winter, though the summers can be rather pleasant,” Artorius replied. “And it’s populated by a race of rather inhospitable people. It is mostly forests and swamps. Teutoburger Wald was an absolutely atrocious place.”
“Tell me about when you found your brother,” she continued.
“My love, please,” Primus said, placing a hand on her arm.