Chapter V: Batavia
The century did not see any more barbarians after the encounter with the old man and the children. If there were Germans watching them, they did so from a safe distance deep within the forests. En route to the Batavian border they encountered the Ahenobarbi bridges.
As the bridges came into view, Artorius caught sight of two other centuries approaching from different directions. One was the Fourth Century, under command of Centurion Dominus. Artorius smiled when he saw the standard of the other century. It was Centurion Vitruvius’ Third Century. It looked as if they had split off from Proculus, as well. All three cohorts were not due to link up for another day, so the centuries made camp for the night on the remains of the fort they had erected five years before. That evening, Artorius was taking a walk along the perimeter with Magnus and Decimus.
“Quite a bit different than the last time we were here,” Decimus observed.
“Yeah, we’re not surrounded by thousands of barbarians looking to eat our guts for breakfast!” Magnus added.
Artorius gazed out onto the plains where they had fought the battle.
“This place is a massive graveyard,” he said coldly. “Can you not feel it? Thousands died here. On these very ramparts, they were cut down.”
Magnus thought back to that day, the day where they snatched victory and triumph from the very jaws of death and defeat.
“I remember watching those bastards fall in waves as our boys unleashed a torrent of javelins on them.” He then pointed to where the gate once stood.
“Pilate loosed his scorpions on them as they tried to breach the gate. What a rush it was. Charging as we did, right out into the open!”
“They didn’t see it coming,” Decimus added. “They thought they had us beat, that we would lie here cowering, waiting for death to come. What fools they were!”
“I remember, we left the bodies to rot,” Artorius continued. “Decomposition came quickly in the summer heat. It was but two days before we continued our journey home, and the corpses of the enemy dead created a pestilent stench.”
“Ah, but a dead enemy always smells sweet!” Magnus conjectured, giving his friends a morbid laugh.
As they walked along the rampart, bantering with the sentries on duty, they came upon Centurion Vitruvius, who was talking with a couple of his soldiers by the camp’s gate.
“Good evening, men,” he said, acknowledging the legionaries.
“Evening, sir,” all three replied together.
“So what brings you over to our section of the line?” the centurion asked.
“We were just reminiscing about our last campaign here,” Artorius answered, “and the thrashing we gave those barbarian bastards when they thought they had us cornered.”
Vitruvius gave a short, mirthless laugh at that. “Yes, that was quite a day, wasn’t it? I remember the hell and frustration leading up to that showdown, to include the loss of Optio Valgus.”
“At least Valgus managed to survive his wounds, as horrible as they were,” Magnus replied.
“He survived his wounds, yes, however his career and livelihood ended that day,” Vitruvius countered.
“Didn’t he get a decent pension from the army?” Decimus asked.
Vitruvius shrugged.
“He got whatever it is they give to an optio. It was not sufficient to get him the small estate he had always wanted. However, with my sister’s dowry, it became enough.”
“Yes, I had forgotten they were sweethearts.” Artorius said, smiling.
“They were more than that,” Vitruvius added. “Had anything happened to Valgus, Vitruvia would have skinned me! Now, if you men will excuse us, I need to talk with Sergeant Artorius alone.”
“Yes, sir,” Magnus said as he and Decimus saluted and left.
As they left, Vitruvius and Artorius continued to walk along the line.
“I heard about your run in with that rather irate barbarian with the great sword,” Vitruvius began.
“I intended to give him the standard ‘Vitruvius style’ thrashing, like you taught me,” Artorius replied shrugging. “Crucifixion has its own satisfaction.”
“We had a few scuffles ourselves. Nothing like what happened to you guys, though.”
“I’m glad none of our men got hurt or killed,” Artorius replied, earnestly.
“You’ve got good men and sound leadership in the second,” Vitruvius remarked. “How is Flaccus working out as Optio?” Artorius shrugged again.
“He does alright. I think he is a little out of his element, especially since he was Tesserarius for so many years and I do not think he ever saw the promotion coming. Honestly, I think Macro did it at least in part to give Flaccus a better pension when he retires in a couple years.”
“Of course he did!” Vitruvius said emphatically. “Flaccus is a good man, albeit a bit set in his ways and not very flexible. Still, he has the best interests of the men in mind, and he does what he thinks is right for them.”
“He is quite entertaining when dealing with the new recruits,” Artorius added. “I think their inexperience frustrates him at times, though he is quite affective at correcting their deficiencies! And what about your own Century? I hate to admit it, but even after five years in this Cohort, I rarely ever talk to anyone outside the second.”
“They’re a good lot,” the centurion replied. “My optio, another big brute named Macer, is quite good. He and I made optio at about the same time. I think with some fine tuning, he will be ready to take his own century in a couple years.”
“What of the rumor that Flavius is retiring soon?” Artorius asked.
Word had gotten down to the ranks that the legion’s centurion primus pilus had petitioned the Senate to allow him to retire at last.
“He has been a soldier for nearly thirty-five years,” Vitruvius replied. “Though he has come close to being killed in battle many times, I think it fitting that he lives out his days in peace. The gods know he’s earned it.”
“Any idea as to who his successor will be?”
“Not even a little bit,” Vitruvius lied. In truth, he did know who he thought would take over as the legion’s master centurion. “Ironically, the rank of primus pilus is the only one in the army where a candidate is elected by his peers. The only stipulation is he must have at least reached the rank of centurion pilus prior. That makes thirteen possible candidates, what with the nine regular cohort commanders, plus the four primi ordinones. The rest of us centurions do get to cast a vote, though we cannot stand for the position.”
For the next couple of hours, the former master and pupil walked and talked. Though professionally they no longer fell under the same chain-of-command, Vitruvius would always see himself as a mentor and guide for Artorius. The young decanus would not have had it any other way.
After several days of using woodcutters’ trails, as well as moving crosscountry through the masses of trees, the Romans finally entered the lowlands of the Batavi. Though still vastly populated by trees, Batavia was predominantly cattle country. Improved roads paralleled the eastern side of the Rhine with expanses of farm fields as far as the eye could see.
The people were markedly different in demeanor than the Germans. The Batavi were Roman allies and welcomed the presence of legionaries into their realm. Farmers ceased in their labors to wave and call out greetings to the Romans. Artorius could not understand most of what they said, but figured it could not have been bad things since there were no accompanying rude gestures. Children were awed by the legionaries and soon there was a trail of them following the century.
A village came into view as the Second Century continued its march. This was more of a town than a village, complete with a fifteen-foot wooden wall surrounding it. The gate was open, and there were a couple of guards standing on either side. These wore mail shirts with legionary-style helmets. Each held an oval, highly ornate shield, and leaned on a metal spear.