There was an eruption of applause from the senators, many of whom were shaking their fists furiously at Piso. The defendant stared at the Emperor, the slightest smirk crossing his face. He knew what the final charges were, and in that, he looked for salvation from the Emperor. Vitellius patiently waited a moment for the disruption to die down.
“And on the final charge of murder, of which his wife, Plancina, is also accused, I offer this. Throughout Germanicus’ quarters all sorts of foul and demonic objects were found. Body parts of humans, unholy spells on lead tablets, animal corpses, all the makings of barbaric witchcraft. Again, when his death became imminent, Germanicus accused Piso by name. He also asked that his survivors pursue full justice in his name. Be it known, a notorious poisoner named Martina had been sent to bear witness to the fact that she assisted Plancina and Piso in the gradual poisoning and death of Germanicus. She acted as the executioner to their diabolical plot!”
At this time, the defense counsel for Piso rose and spoke. “It is known that a woman named Martina was, in fact, bound for Rome. However, it would seem that she met with an unfortunate end herself, probably at the hands of one of her own concoctions!” The man spoke lightly, which did not amuse the Emperor and enraged the senators.
“On the charges of poisoning and murder, it would seem the prosecution has no case, given their star witness is unable to testify. It is the final piece of a flimsy attempt at prosecution of a fine and honorable statesman of Rome. One, I might add, who was appointed by the Divine Augustus! Therefore, we ask that the charges be dismissed.”
There was an immediate, deafening uproar from the senators. It seemed that all order was abandoned as they shouted and jeered at the defense.
“Request denied!” Tiberius boomed. It was the first words he had spoken all day, since calling the court to order.
There was immediate silence. The face of Piso, as well as his counsel, paled. Outside, the crowds screamed for Piso’s blood. Plancina grabbed one of the defense councils by the tunic and whispered frantically into his ear. The man looked at her puzzled and grimaced when she nodded, nudging him hard.
“At this time,” he began, “my client has requested that she and her son’s defenses be conducted separately from her husband.”
Piso could not believe what he was hearing. His eyes grew wide in disbelief. His wife was abandoning him. Vitellius glanced over at the Emperor, who bowed his head in consent.
“Very well, Plancina and Cneius Piso will be tried separately and at a different time. For now, they will remain in protective custody until their day in the courts.”
Plancina and Cneius were quickly escorted out of the hall. Piso looked like a broken man. He sat with his head in his hands, the feeling of abandonment overpowering his senses. His defense counsel asked for a recess until the morrow, which Tiberius granted. Piso had to be helped from the chamber, as he saw his hope of vindication vanishing.
The night was dark and cloudy. With only a partial moon trying to force its light through the cloud cover, it was nearly impossible to see in front of one’s face. Artorius watched intently, all senses heightened. Though he was not required to stand sentry duty, he still took it upon himself to take a shift, lest he get caught unawares by renegade barbarians. He looked around at their tiny camp. It still had the standard palisade and ditch, though the entrance was little more than an overlapping section of the rampart, used to slow down any possible attackers. One soldier from each section was on sentry duty at all times, with two more guarding the entrance. The clearing they occupied was surrounded by forest on all sides, adding an ominous sense of not being completely alone. No light was allowed, in hopes of making it more difficult for the Germans to find the camp. The century was on its own, having failed to catch up with Proculus and the rest of the cohort. This had visibly frustrated Macro, who did not like the idea of having to camp anywhere on the eastern side of the Rhine. The forests still gave him nightmares of Teutoburger Wald.
Artorius walked over to the entrance and nearly ran into Praxus, who was standing guard with one of his soldiers. Praxus nodded in acknowledgment. Noise discipline was being strictly enforced. It was preferred, if any barbarians were out this night, that they should pass by, unaware of the presence of Roman soldiers. If the barbarians were feeling hostile, which they probably were, judging from the way the confrontation progressed earlier, they would have little difficulty in mustering enough forces to overwhelm the tiny camp. Macro knew that any potential attack would be met with shock and surprise. They would have to catch the barbarians off guard and make them forget the Romans’ numbers were few.
One of the sentries grabbed Praxus by the shoulder, pointing into the blackness of the woods not fifty meters in front of them. A cluster of torches could be seen moving their way, though it was hard to tell just how many. Artorius gave his fellow section leader a friendly smack on the shoulder and went to rouse his men. Most were half awake as it was. All had elected to leave their armor on.
In utter silence, the century formed up behind the section of palisade that faced the coming enemy. The plan had been rehearsed a dozen times; everyone knew what to do. Macro, at the head of the formation, peered around the entrance to the camp. In spite of their torches, the Germans were stumbling, practically blind. Many cursed their folly in a language few of the Romans understood. Macro was one of those few. He smiled, recognizing a particularly explicit curse as one warrior stumbled and fell into the ditch. It seemed as if the barbarians turned to see their companion’s misstep. They were laughing and pointing until a few realized exactly what it was their friend had stumbled into.
“Now!” Macro shouted.
With lightning speed the soldiers of the Second Century flew out of the entrance to their camp in two lines. Macro led the first line, Optio Flaccus the second.
As soon as the last soldiers cleared the entrance, Macro barked his next set of orders. “Front rank, action right! Javelins…throw!” The barbarians were caught completely unawares as javelins cut swaths into their ranks. Artorius found a target in the dim light and let his javelin fly. It caught the barbarian in the throat, which seemed to explode, his windpipe and esophagus ripped out the back of his neck, a gushing spray of blood in their wake. The barbarian’s eyes bulged from their sockets, arms flailing wildly as the weight of the javelin jerked him to the ground, nearly decapitating him in the process. A number of the Germans were skewered and knocked into the trench.
“Second rank…go!” Macro commanded.
“With me!” Optio Flaccus shouted.
At a dead run, he passed the far end of the first rank, took a hard right, and moved perpendicular with the rest of the century, flanking the barbarians. Once in position, they, too, let loose a torrent of javelins upon the hapless barbarians.
“Gladius…draw!” both centurion and optio bellowed. “Advance!”
Caught between the palisade and two formations of Roman soldiers, the surviving barbarians knew they had been beat and threw down their arms. The legionaries advanced to within a few feet of their adversaries.
“Do we take prisoners?” Flaccus asked.
Macro nodded affirmatively. “Bind their hands and feet, and then tie their foot bonds together,” he ordered. He then turned to Praxus and Artorius. “Sergeant Praxus, Sergeant Artorius, take your men and start fetching timber; long pieces that will support the weight of a man. Tesserarius Statorius, set up a security detail to cover them. Optio Flaccus, delegate men to guard the prisoners, and then come with me. Camillus!” The centurion walked off with the signifier as Flaccus delegated men to bind and guard the prisoners.