Proculus shook his head but could not conceal his grin.
“Any news?” Macro asked.
The senior centurion nodded. “We’re to change course and head north,” he replied. Macro raised his eyebrows. “North, eh? So where, exactly, are we going?” “Batavia,” Proculus replied.
Macro blew out a deep breath in a whistle. Marching to Batavia and back would add at least another month to their expedition.
Proculus continued, “The Batavi played a crucial role in the campaigns against Arminius. This was quite a gamble for them, given their proximity to Germania and the Cherusci. The tribes of Germania may have been shattered by the war, but that does not stop them from conducting raids of Roman allied lands as a means of retribution. We need to reassure the Batavi that Rome still stands by them and will come to their aid if need be.”
Macro nodded. “I understand.”
“So what are the women like?” Valens asked.
Artorius chuckled. Aside from Magnus, none of them had been to Batavia and yet somehow he knew what Valens’ initial response would be.
“They’re big amazons that kind of look like our friend Magnus,” he replied.
An incredulous grin spread over Valens’ face as he turned towards the Nordic legionary who was hefting his pack over his shoulder as the century readied itself to march.
“Is that true?” he asked.
Magnus shrugged. “Let’s just say it takes a special kind of man to handle one of them,” he remarked with a faux reminiscence. “They don’t all have beards.” Valens hooted with laughter and slapped Magnus on the shoulder. “Actually the Batavi are mostly cattle farmers. They love their land and are very particular towards it; hence, they did not attempt to claim any of the Cherusci lands after the war.”
“Second Century!” Macro shouted from atop his horse. “Forward…march!”
At a slow and methodical pace the century made its way through the forests. At times, they were able to utilize trails cut by the barbarians. At others, they had to make their way through the dense masses of trees and undergrowth.
“At least the march home will be easier,” Decimus observed as he pushed some low-hanging branches out of the way with his shield. These, in turn, snapped back and caught Carbo on the side of his helmet.
“That’s true,” Gavius said over the smattering of profanity from Carbo. “I forgot the main highway parallels the west side of the Rhine and leads straight to Cologne.”
“Just how far north does that road go?” Carbo asked picking pine needles out of his helmet.
“All the way to the sea,” Magnus answered. “It serves as the border between the Batavi lands and the Roman Empire.”
“Okay, I’ve got a question about that,” Gavius interrupted. “Most of us refer to Rome as being an empire, and yet I remember back in Rome hearing a lot of the older folks still referring to it as the Republic. So which is it?”
“Does it really matter?” Artorius asked, stepping over a fallen log. “Rome abolished kings more than five hundred years ago, and the very thought of a monarch does not sit well with the average Roman. That was what led to Julius Caesar’s downfall; his enemies feared that he wished to crown himself king, and they murdered him for it. Octavian was more subtle about his rise to power.”
“I wouldn’t call it subtle,” Decimus conjectured. “After all, he did end up fighting two civil wars in his rise to power.”
“True,” Artorius conceded. “Though the first, at least, wasn’t necessarily about power; it was about revenge. Octavian needed to bring Caesar’s murderers to justice. As for the second war. . well, Antony and Cleopatra brought that upon themselves.”
The rest of the section nodded in reply. Marc Antony had been a Roman soldier and statesman, so of course they were bound to feel a bit sympathetic towards him. Cleopatra, on the other hand, was viewed as a heartless and diabolical woman who brought about the destruction of her nation in an attempt to satisfy her own selfish desires.
“While I appreciate the history lesson,” Gavius said, “that still doesn’t answer my question.”
Artorius ignored the remark and continued, “After Octavian’s final victory over Antony and Cleopatra, he was given the honorary title of Princeps, or First Citizen. He was quite clever, refusing to be awarded the title of dictator. He was allowed to wear the Civic Crown; for in the eyes of the Roman people, he had saved them all. None of his titles or honors gave him any actual power. It was through manipulating the Senate and the constitution of the Republic that he was given absolute power. Four years after Actium Octavian was given the name Augustus. The Senate believed they had their Republic back, while Octavian became Emperor Augustus Caesar.”
“Funny how even the most educated of men can be fooled by a façade that the plebeians could see through,” Magnus said thoughtfully. “My grandfather served under Octavian during the wars against Antony and Cleopatra. To this day he laughs at the Senate’s arrogance and blindness. He could not, for the life of him, figure out how both Caesar and Antony were so smitten by Cleopatra. He tells me she had a big nose.”
“I didn’t know ‘Mad Olaf’ was still alive,” Decimus said.
“Alive and as mad as ever,” Magnus grinned as the century made its way onto a dirt road that cut through the forest. “His great hall looks like a Roman proconsul’s palace, and yet he still dresses and looks like a Viking. I got a letter from him the other day. He said that he’s thinking about coming to Rome this fall for the celebration of the fifty-first anniversary of the Battle of Actium; or as he calls it, the day we gave that Alexandrian twat a damn good spanking!” Talk of Magnus’ deranged grandfather elicited a chuckle from the section. “You know, he’s probably one of the only veterans of that battle still alive.”
“Anyway, I think the Senate was just tired after all those years of civil war,” Artorius continued, ignoring his friends’ sidebar conversation. “Plus, they were probably relieved that Octavian never sought to crown himself king and refused the dictatorship.”
“His being awarded the Civic Crown was a clever means of getting a crown though,” Gavius observed.
As the century made its way along the forest road, they saw an old man and two young children coming their way. The man was leading an oxcart laden with timber. The boy rode on top of the cart, and the young girl carried a basket full of berries that she picked while walking beside her grandfather. The old man’s eyes grew wide in terror as his gaze fell upon the signum that Camillus carried. He had seen those standards before, and with them, they brought death. The legionaries were not an overly impressive sight. Leather covers hid the bright colors of their shields, packs weighed them down like mules, and most had their helmets off and strapped to their packs. Still, the old man knew better, and the horrors of a thousand memories wracked his conscious. His grandchildren, on the other hand, had never seen Roman soldiers before and did not know what they were. The girl ran towards them, curiosity getting the best of her. She reached into her basket and offered a couple of blueberries to Decimus. The legionary smiled, set his shield down, and accepted the berries the girl placed in his hand. He promptly ate them and ruffled her hair before picking up his shield and continuing on his way. He saw Carbo staring at him out of the corner of his eye.
“My daughter is about the same age,” Decimus said, smiling.
Carbo just nodded.
The old man called out to his granddaughter who ran happily back to him, laughing all the while. She did not notice the sheer terror in her grandfather’s eyes. He grabbed both of the children, hands trembling, and held them close as the century marched past. As the last of the legionaries moved past his wagon, he still held his grandchildren close.