James Mace - Soldier of Rome - The Legionary

In his heart, he wished that years ago he’d had the courage to tell Augustus what he could do with that whore of a daughter of his. The result would have been forced retirement from public service; no longer would he have been able to serve Rome. And, of course, there was the possibility of banishment. That he could have handled, for at least he would have still been with Vipsania, and perhaps he could have been a more active father in their son’s life. It was the one time he truly felt he had been a coward. But sadly, he could not undo the past. Vipsania remarried. Julia had been banished to a desolate island when her father discovered the truth concerning her adulterous ways. Drusus, the younger, grew up practically alone. All that was left was a lonely man destined to rule the world some day.

Germanicus, like his father, was attractive, extremely athletic, fair-haired, and almost Apollo-like in appearance. He was scholarly when it came to military study, and at the same time aggressive and adaptable when it came to practical application. Like his father, he was loved by the public and seen as a father by his troops, in spite of the fact that he was younger than many of them. His wife, Agrippina, was the younger half-sister of Vipsania. He was very much in love with his wife, and his children were the source of his pride and joy. He was also very protective of his younger brother, Claudius, who walked with a limp and had a serious speech impediment. But above all, he was a statesman and a soldier. He would do his duty, whatever that may be. He left to face the hysterical mob that had formed outside the palace.

It was a warm, sunny day. A young boy ran through the glades, waving his toy sword about. He pretended he was with his brother, off in the legions, fighting for the glory and honor of the Empire. It was getting late in the afternoon, and he would soon have to come in for his lessons. He did not particularly enjoy these, especially on days such as this. However, it was something he knew was necessary if he were to live up to the promise he’d made to his brother before he left two years before. He thought about his brother as he walked towards his home. What was life in the legions really like? His brother had sent him letters telling him about his home on the Rhine, of his brothers-in-arms, even of the beautiful young woman he had fallen in love with. Though Roman law did not recognize the marriages of soldiers below the rank of centurion, it did not stop these men from settling down and starting families. He wondered if Metellus intended to start a family with this woman. It was something eleven-year-old Artorius thought to be silly. After all, he was not yet at the age when girls became interesting, though his closest friend was a young girl named Camilla.

As he ran down the hill towards his home, he saw a pair of riders on the road. They were heading towards his home. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like they wore the uniforms of legionaries. He was immediately filled with excitement. Could it be Metellus, come home for a while? Did that mean the stories he had overheard about a disaster on the Rhine were not true? He immediately started sprinting towards home. His elation was cut short when he saw the riders dismount and hand a parchment over to his father. His mother was standing with her hands covering her face. What could be wrong? Did these men bear news concerning his brother? If so, what could it be? He slowed to a walk as he approached the house. The two soldiers looked less than pleased with the task of delivering their message and seemed anxious to leave. One stood with his head downcast, clutching at the bridle of his horse. The other shifted nervously from one foot to the other, unsure of what they were supposed to do next. Artorius walked over to the man who was standing with his horse.

“Are you a friend of my brother’s?” he asked, looking up at the man.

The soldier closed his eyes and turned away. “Your brother was a brave man,” he mumbled. He was obviously shaken.

“Artorius,” his father said with his arms now around his wife. “Go inside, lad.”

Instead, the young boy turned and walked away towards the river nearby. Incomprehensible thoughts crossed his mind, and he started to run. His father did not try to stop him.

Several weeks later, Tiberius stood at the gate of the Rhine fortress that now housed the Twentieth Legion, Valeria. A small band of refugees was being escorted in. Rumor had it these were more survivors from the Teutoburger disaster. A reconnaissance party had spotted the ragtag bunch and almost attacked them until one of them starting shouting in perfect Latin that he was a member of the Eighteenth Legion and had survived the massacre. There had only been a couple other groups of survivors found so far. The largest had been led out by Cassius Chaerea, a tribune with the Nineteenth. One hundred twenty had been with that group. Another group of about fifteen who escaped being captured turned up a week later. This latest group looked like it had been hit the hardest. There were only six of them, and they were a frightful sight.

Tiberius was stone-faced as he watched the men pass through the gate, yet his heart broke for them. Two were borne on litters hastily constructed by the reconnaissance party. The others stood, heads lowered in shame, their clothes tattered, bodies covered in partly healed bruises and infected lacerations.

“What are we going to do with them, Tiberius?” a centurion asked. “I mean, after we feed them and treat their wounds, of course.”

Tiberius’ expression remained unchanged. “We welcome them back. We tell them that the fault of the disaster is not theirs. The blame rests with one man alone, that damned Quintilius Varus, who now burns in hell. These men will take their proper places back amongst the ranks.”

“But, sir, what of the Emperor’s standing order about not accepting back soldiers who have been publicly disgraced? I pity them, yes, but I do not know if it would be proper, in the Emperor’s eyes at least, to accept them back as if nothing happened.”

Tiberius turned to face the centurion. “Centurion, you, as a professional soldier and a practical man, should realize that with the loss of life we have suffered, we need every man we can get. The shame and disgrace lies not with these men.”

“Yes, sir.” The centurion smiled and nodded. He felt the same way, but had to be sure of his Commander’s feelings and intentions.

Without further delay, Tiberius walked up to each soldier in turn. He placed his hands on each man’s shoulders and kissed them all on the forehead. He next grasped each of the litter-bound soldiers by the hand in a sign of friendship. He then took a step back and with a sweeping gesture of his arm towards the camp, said, “Welcome home, my brothers and friends.”

The soldiers stood dumbfounded. After all, they had just returned from the biggest disgrace an army had suffered since any could remember. No one could recall a time when a single Eagle had been taken, let alone three. Indeed, none of these legionaries had been alive during the disaster in Parthia, under Crassus, a generation before. Yet here was the Commanding General of the Army of the Rhine, a man all of them knew was destined to be the next Emperor of Rome, welcoming them back. They slowly started to walk towards the interior of the camp where legionaries stood ready with fresh clothes, bandages and medicine for their wounds, hot food for their empty stomachs, wine and companionship to salve their shattered souls. Theirs’ was a bond only soldiers could understand. Yet one soldier stood fast where he was. Tiberius walked over to him. The man was young, in his early to mid twenties. He had little to no facial hair, in spite of his lack of a shave. His eyes did not look as lost as those of his companions. Rather they were filled with stark awareness of horror and sorrow.