“Batavi auxiliaries, allies of Rome,” Macro stated, answering the unasked question he knew was on his soldiers’ minds.
“I remember hearing of them in action, prior to Idistaviso,” Flaccus remarked. “They forded the Weser River and harried the Cherusci flank. This allowed us to cross the river practically unmolested.”
“For which they paid a heavy price,” Camillus recalled. “I remember when Centurion Aemilius escorted the survivors back to the fort. All were ravaged by hunger and extreme fatigue after their harrowing ordeal. At least a third of their number had fallen during the sortie, including their chief, Chariovalda.”
“You know Germanicus offered to release them to return to their homes after that,” Macro replied. “They adamantly refused. Commander Stertinius was so moved by their bravery he insisted on letting the Batavi fight alongside his cavalry at Idistaviso.”
A horn sounded from atop the wall, announcing their presence. Soon, a deputation of town elders arrived at the gate. The Batavi had done much to mask their barbaric roots. Almost all were clean shaven, though some did wear their hair long, pulled tight in the back. Those with facial hair kept it trimmed close and well groomed. All were clean and wore well-made breaches and tunics of bright colors, mostly red and blue. The man who appeared to be their leader wore an ornate, yet practical-looking tunic, with a cavalry long sword on his belt. He stopped before Centurion Macro and bowed.
“Welcome, friends, to the land of the Batavi,” he said heartily, with just a hint of accent in his Latin. “I am Halmar, Chief of the Batavi.”
Macro bowed his head. “It is good to see we still have friends and allies in this part of the world,” he replied, extending his hand which the Batavi Chief readily accepted. “For what Rome has done for my people, we humbly open our gates to you and your men.” With that, he waved them in and started walking towards the center of town.
“For barbarians living beyond the frontier, they seem to do well,” Magnus observed.
“I agree. You can see where we influenced them,” Artorius pointed to a bathhouse.
The architecture of most of the buildings was advanced for the area. Many of the roofs were tiled, with walls made of brick and masonry. The streets were remarkably clean as well. Still, all the structures possessed traits unique to the natives’ culture. Soon they came to the town hall. There was an overhang over the entrance, with timber columns on either side. The double doors leading inside were wooden, with ornate shields and spears affixed to them.
“Section leaders with me,” Macro directed. “We may be here a while. The rest of you, go ahead and see what you wish, but stay out of trouble.” With that he followed the Batavi chief into the main hall.
The inside was lit with massive torches fixed to the support pillars. Displays of arms could be seen against the walls, going all the way down to a large oaken table that dominated one end of the hall. The chief waved the Romans to take seats. All did so, removing their helmets as servants came with trays bearing ale. Artorius took a drink of the frothy liquid and nearly choked; it was warm and rather bitter.
“So,” Halmar began when everyone was seated and given refreshment, “what brings emissaries of Rome to our lands?”
“We have been conducting an in depth reconnaissance of the lands once occupied by the Cherusci,” Macro answered. “Unfortunately, our reception has been less than warm. We had a run in with a band of renegades two days ago. We thought it best to find out from our friends and allies in this area as to what may be happening.”
Halmar quaffed his ale in one gulp and immediately called for another before answering.
“Those bastards, the Cherusci, are no more. They are scattered, leaderless since the death of Arminius. Most have been assimilated by other tribes, though they are little better. The Bructeri are constantly a thorn in our side. That is why you see that we walled up our towns and villages. They will not face us in the open. Our cavalry is superior, plus they know that any blatant violence against us will be construed as an act of war against Rome. Am I right to believe this is still the case?”
Macro nodded affirmatively.
“The Batavi have been a loyal ally. Rome values your friendship and will do what is necessary to protect it. If there have been any threats or attacks made against your people, they will be dealt with swiftly and terribly.”
Halmar raised his hands in resignation. “I only wish they had been so blatant. Then we could elicit your help in exterminating those vermin. The Bructeri confine themselves to raids in the night, attacks on our livestock and only rarely our people. Since the destruction of Arminius and the Cherusci, life for the most part has been good for us. As you see, we prosper.”
Artorius looked around the hall and was drawn to a raised display towards the far end. Torches were lit on either side, allowing one to view it fully. It looked almost like a grave. Atop was a long cavalry sword and oval shield. Both looked well worn, but they had been placed with much reverence. A brass plaque adorned the center of the display.
“Sir, may I ask what the shrine is at the end of the hall?” he asked.
Halmar sighed. “That is a memorial, erected in honor of my brother, Chariovalda, the late Chief of the Batavi. He was killed during the wars against Arminius.”
“We know,” Macro nodded. “We are very much aware of his bravery and his sacrifice. His actions allowed our legions to cross the Weser River and smash Arminius into dust.”
Unable to control his curiosity, Artorius stood from the table and knelt down in front of the monument, his eyes fixed on the plaque.
“What does it say?” Praxus asked.
“It says, ‘In honored memory of Chariovalda, Chief of the Batavi. Never was an ally nobler or more valiant. Erected by order of the Emperor Tiberius, by Germanicus Caesar, Commanding General and grieving friend.’”
“What of my brother’s old friend, the great Germanicus?” Halmar asked eagerly.
It was Macro’s turn to sigh. The mention of their former commander stung his heart.
“He is with your brother,” Statorius answered for his centurion. “They live forever in Elysium, where all heroes spend eternity; their deeds and their valor echoing throughout all time.”
Halmar’s lips pinched together, and he smiled sadly.
Darkness was approaching by the time the century’s leadership left the great hall. Outside there were many torches lit, and it looked as if a massive celebration was being held around a large bonfire. The entire century was gathered there, mixed with a host of Batavi natives. Upon seeing their centurion and section leaders return, all immediately fell in, awaiting orders.
“Sir, we’ve abstained from any drink until we know your orders,” Magnus stated with a crisp salute.
Macro looked around at the darkening sky. He knew it would be pointless, not to mention dangerous, for them to leave that night.
“Please, my friends, allow us to act as your hosts this evening,” Halmar said earnestly. “You are most welcome here, and I wish for you to make the most of your stay.”
Macro’s brow furrowed in thought for a moment, and then he nodded his consent. “Alright, but hangovers or no, be ready to march at dawn!” “Um, our celebrations often last until dawn,” Halmar replied with a grin. “Surely a meeting like this between allies deserves as much.”
Macro lowered his head in resignation then chuckled at the anticipation on his men’s faces.
“Very well, we will remain your guests through the morrow.”
A series of loud cheers erupted from the men. Valens, in particular, was pleased. He already caught the eye of a rather statuesque Batavi maiden and soon disappeared from the celebration.