Pars IV – Romanus

Caput XXXVI

***CDXVI***

It was their first time together since one marched away to the east. Another departed for Britannia. Then the third for Germania following the Lollius disaster. Despite the somberness of the occasion leading to this reunion, the trio could not help but smile. To the observers of the reunion the power now coalesced by the three men standing shoulder to shoulder seemed palpable. Across the chamber, Augustus watched and could see a future where Rome's expansion would never end, for at their father's knees stood three young boys.

The oldest, golden haired like his father, seemed to be revealing the wonders of the east to Decimus Claudius Drusus and Tiberius Bassus Perseo. The two boys, just three and four respectively, were entranced by Lucius Cornelius Jason's tale. Surprisingly, it made Augustus smile despite himself, identifying the ironic position of the three – the Cornelius boy now filled the role of the massive and battle-scarred Perseus to Drusus, Jason, and the late Tiberius. Now those left gathered to mourn the passing of Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa.

The great man, long-time right hand of Augustus, served Rome long in his more austere manner. Agrippa's prowess had carried Augustus early in his rise, providing martial supremacy Augustus could not. Augustus long feared Agrippa's death, knowing the man would forever support him. Despite Agrippa's support, Perseus welcome to the fold suffered from the magnetism that drew Jason and Augustus' own stepsons in. the Greek's hardness and martial charisma reminded Augustus too much of men in his past, namely Julius Caesar and his chief deputy – Marcus Antonius. But, just as he had won over thousands before, even Augustus lost to his charm. And I lost so bloody hard he has my title and my daughter.

His daughter, along with the wives of Jason and Drusus, stood near Agrippa's widow. A widow that would be Julia, if Agrippa had not convinced me to marry her to Britannicus. It was that man, newly titled Britannicus, that now approached. Augustus long had feared the rise of another warlord to challenge his coalescence of power. Now, Perseus would succeed him, and Perseus would never feel that fear, considering he already possessed the spolia opima. As a Roman commander, he had killed the man who stole Julius Caesar's sword and with Crocea Mors in a Roman's hand the spolia opima had never been more deserved.

"Are you tired of the youth?" Augustus greeted him.

"I am nearer your age, old friend, than theirs. Hades, my oldest is just a year younger than Drusus."

"How is he?"

"Well, commanding in Germania while Drusus is here."

"A legate, I believe."

"Yes, commanding Twenty-six Alaudae." Augustus laughed.

"Gods they were angry when you changed the number."

"Why in the gods' names would I want multiple legions numbered the same? It was damned foolish." Perseus paused, "Do you still plan on giving him Africa?"

"In a few years. I'll ensure he serves as consul next year, despite his age, with Jason. Drusus and you will turn over to them. I suspect you still doubt his age and wisdom?"

The now third term consul, for ab urbe condita seven hundred and forty-two, began slowly, "When I was his age…" Augustus cut him off.

"By the time you were twenty-four you had commanded armies and fleets, defeated barbarians from Gaul to Parthia, and fathered a child with another man's wife." Augustus smiled, "But, for you, old friend, I will give him three more years. Some time with his young bride, young Vipsania Marcella." Percy nodded thankfully and moved toward his wife and young daughters.

Julia smiled at him as he approached. Gathered around her were the girls. Julia the Younger was nine, a mirror of her mother. Octavia's father was of little doubt despite her mother's reputation prior to marriage to Perseus and just a year younger than her sister. Their third daughter lay in Julia the Elder's arms. Less than four months old, the girl despised every midwife brought to her, yet instantly calmed in Augustus' daughter's arms. The girls able to walk wrapped their arms around his legs and his wife and youngest daughter, Livilla, beamed at him. He smiled in return while casting sad eyes upon Claudia Marcella Major. She patted the hand he stretched out to her and nodded in sadness. They turned as Augustus stood.

"Before I give the speech you all expect, of his Roman-ness and bravery, let me simply say this: Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa was a dear friend, though I do not remember ever telling him that."

***CDXVII***

Percy knew being one of the few was a terrible place to be, because you kept becoming fewer. The current few to which he belonged were proven battlefield victors. The people of Rome knew the deeds of Lucius Cornelius Jason Scythianus, Publius Ventidius Bassus Perseanus Britannicus, even Crassus' grandson, now they knew of Nero Claudius Drusus Germanicus… and his death.

It was that death which drove Percy northward, for Drusus' consulship and mandate to pacify Germania beyond the Rhenus to Albis, now fell to him. Jason held the governorship in Britannia, where the Caledonians required another bloodletting to fall in line. His son, Varus, was in Rome, consul for 745 ab urbe condita, though he would soon leave for Africa. Jason would serve as consul for the third time the next year, and Percy hoped to turn over control of the provinces now under his direct control: Germania Inferior, Germania Superior, and all of Gaul.

He could never tell Tiberius, or Julia, but losing Drusus pained him in a way not felt since Drusus' brother's death in Greece. Even the deaths of his other children did not, unfortunately, compare. The infants, for all the love he felt for them, he did not know. Percy equated it to Drusus' young sons. Decimus, the elder, was now six, but would remember his father. Tiberius Claudius Drusus would not, as few remembered those only met before six months of age.

Beside him rode Jason the Younger, left in his care by the rapidly war-weary elder. The boy begged to follow him, ignorant of the horror that was war. But the glory of war for the son of a warrior represented too great an attraction. Therefore, despite his mother's protests, the son of Scythianus marched north. Their enemy, at least for the time being, were the Sicambri.

They made for Mogontiacum, where they would winter before pressing into the land Augustus already wished to name Germania Antiqua. Word already lay with the local commanders; they knew who came to command now. There would be no repeat of the Clades Lolliana. No loss of an Eagle by Lollius. Chaos and despair did not grip the remains of Drusus army. Britannicus came for Germania; and where Britannicus went, Victoria and Mors followed.

The legions at his disposal now numbered nine. Legiones VII Claudia, VIII Augusta, XIV Gemina, and XXII Deiotariana were officially Gallic legions. Already within Germania were Legiones XVI Gallica, XVII Britannia – transferred from Jason's dominion, XVIII Germania, XIX Germania, XXI Rapax, and his renumerated XXVI Alaudae. From their positions along the Rhine, nearly fifty thousand Romans and gods only knew how many auxiliaries and supposed allies waited. Supposedly some tribe called the Cherusci were prepared to send their princes to Rome in a sign of peace. Barbarians only accept peace on their terms or in death, he thought bitterly, wondering which would be the case in this wild land.

***CDXVIII***

"Fucking Illyria," Percy spat. As a centurion, he hated this shithole, as co-princeps, he hated it more. The Daesitiatae began the revolt, seven more tribes joined them. The first year of the war saw little success. Augustus then unleashed Britannicus. Fifteen legions answered to the Son of Poseidon, eighty-five auxiliary units supported them. With Tiberius, his son, he executed the war in the manner of his campaign against the Cantabri, as brutally as possible. With winter approaching, his men burned food stores and villages with abandon. If the Illyrian warriors would not surrender, they would their tribes die of starvation. With his son beside him, the war shifted from one of damage control, to one of eradication. As much as his Roman subordinates adapted to strategy, the Cherusci, Arminius, succeeded at it particularly well.

His son, Tiberius, with the young Germanicus, Drusus' elder son, already stood victorious over the Mazaei from Dalmatia. Most of the rebels retreated to mountain fortresses, fearing the rage of Britannicus and his sons. For Germanicus now called Pereus his foster-father. As the mother of three children and absolute in her faithfulness to her now deceased spouse, Antonia Minor found herself in the dangerous waters of supporting a family with limited resources. Enter Julia, Wife of Britannicus. With no desire to end the storied line of the Claudians, Julia's husband became the sponsor of Decimus Claudius Nero Germanicus. "Besides," Julia whispered in his ear one night as they lay together, "It keeps the Claudians close without reliance on my stepmother."

Perseus' own words to Germanicus made his stance clear. "I loved your father as a son. But he is not my only son. I have a duty to them. Your family is old and illustrious, mine is not. I do not hold that against you, anymore than I wish you to hold my circumstances against me. I care for my family, Germanicus, as your sponsor I consider you part of it. But a divided house, will not do." The younger man studied the aging general before him.

"If my father was your son, does that make me your grandson?"

***CDXIX***

The mist slowly lifted into the air as the camp pulled itself out of their tents. The day before, light assaults continually harassed the advancing three legions. Some losses had occurred, but the commander considered them acceptable. The men all knew his father would not have, but of course they only knew this due to Legio XVII Britannia. The veterans of that legion allowed word to spread of their commander in Britannia, and despite all of Publius Quintilius Varus' wishes, all twenty-four thousand legionaries and auxiliaries knew the capabilities and principles of Publius Ventidius Bassus Perseanus. Regardless of that, they obeyed their orders. And the formation prepared itself to march out and return to their camp, escaping the "pacified" German countryside.

Some of the more senior subordinates – legates, centurions, prefects – identified that much of Varus' successes came from an inescapable desire to live up to his father's name. The fact that he was the co-princep's bastard child, once a ruthlessly controlled secret, had become a relatively open one, as the man's power grew. Afterall, despite Augustus' reservations, the Praetorians still answered to Perseus and his reforms created the Legio Praetoria, a fully manned legion of infantry with cavalry and auxiliary support. Why would the son on the fringes of such power not strive for glory and honors? For the elites knew Perseus seemed unwilling to openly claim him, even though his sponsorship of Germanicus proved his willingness to manipulate the politics of Rome's most ancient clans.

Mars could feel their doubts as he watched them from the mist-shrouded pines. He was drawn to where the legion invoked his name. Nowhere within the empire did prayers direct themselves to him more than the bog-ridden lands of Germania. Unlike the sycophants in the camp however, Mars knew Perseus did not adopt Varus for the same reason Lucius Cornelius Balbus adopted Jason. As only the Son of Jupiter, he would only ever be a Son of Jupiter. Should Perseus adopt Varus, the younger man would only ever be Son of Perseus.

Mars watched a detachment of Germanic cavalry depart the stockade. He felt the tendrils of power belonging to gods not of his kind inundate this land. His mind turned to the boy he saved on the fields of Philippi. He knew then the boy's future with Rome would be a curious thing, he did not know it would be this interesting. For here, at the ends of the Roman world, men relied upon him despite the miles separating them.

A half dozen more patrols spread out from the camp, at least one of those was led by a senior officer, yet still Mars only watched. He felt more power arrive, these auras he recognized, and he turned to acknowledge Nerio and Bellona. Together they watched Rome's military machine break camp, all the while feeling the pressure of another people's gods pressing them. A fourth god joined, not one of them spoke, for Mors had come to saltus Teutobergiensis.

***CDXX***

The only sounds were the metallic click of armor and the creak of leather. The mists and darkness installed fear enough that drums did not pound, nor men speak. Orders, if spoken at all, were mere whispers. To their left, the woods appeared impenetrable. To their right, a great bog added to the haze as the chilled morning created a bank of fog that billowed over the Roman infantry. Of the nearly six thousand local auxiliaries and allies, most seemed to have melted away. The majority vanished during the light ambushes of the past few days or rode out to gather Roman allies. Those men fell under the command of Arminius. The Cherusci commander arrived at Varus' camp with letters of recommendation from Germanicus, Tiberius, and Perseus himself. With such recommendations, the Cherusci prince, raised in Rome, and given equestrian status by Britannicus himself, Arminius found himself fully welcomed into the governor's inner circle. Due to his father, Arminius carried weight with the tribes the way Varus carried influence as Perseus' son, and they bonded over it. Which had led to this late summer campaign, despite the personal hatred-fueled defamations levied against him by the father of the woman he loved, Segestes of the Cherusci. The bastard son of a bastard would side with the man whom his father trusted as a subordinate in Illyria and Segestes was thrown from the camp.

That bond appeared lacking though, as despite orders and promises, Arminius and his Germanic expeditions disappeared into the mists and trees and did not return. These departures were ostensibly to gather more allies, but even Varus began to doubt whether Arminius needed such time to gather reinforcements. As such, the legions marched forward blind. The lead cohorts marched on solid turf. But as thousands of booted feet ground into the dirt, as mist and rain blanketed them, they began to trudge through ankle deep mud. As their footing became worse, so did their discipline. Centuries and cohorts became mangled remnants of orderly advance as the steepness of the wooded slope to their left became impassable. The column, usually at a minimum four to six, if not ten, abreast as to allow for swift defensive maneuvers, collapsed to three and in some cases just two men across. It drew out the column to nearly ten miles in length.

***CDXXI***

At the fore of the formation, a young tribune attempted to pierce the fog. His eyes found no more success than the eyes of the young soldiers around him. Behind them, the sounds of fighting carried through the mists, but in their current conditions they could see nothing nor tell how far off the conflict occurred. He continued to move forward, even as a downpour came upon them. A rider approached and gave an order to find another location to camp. It took nearly two hours to find a suitable location and in the great forest, construction commenced.

Of the twenty-four thousand men which coalesced at Vetera on the east bank of the Rhenus before marching into the Cherusci lands and establishing a summer camp near the banks of the Weser River, just seventeen thousand entered the camp. Six thousand, nearly a quarter of the army, faded away during patrols or had accompanied Arminius on his mission to raise the rest of Rome's allies. Nearly a thousand others – Roman infantry, Gallic cavalry, and the remaining Germans – had been lost by the attacks over the last few days. Most of losses came during that day's ambushes executed by the Bructerii tribesmen. The ambushes, conducted with volleys of javelins, followed by rushes with lances, swords, and broad-bladed spears, inflicted losses more of more of materiel than manpower. A large percentage of the baggage train had been lost to the raids.

Even before night fully fell, the next day's marching orders spread to the force. Each subordinate knew their tasks and each of those passed on their duties to the men under them. They would continue their advance, passing under the shadows of the Kalkriese toward their objective, the Angrivarii. They would crush the embers of rebellion and return to their winter quarters on the west bank of the Rhenus. Yet only four men knew the actual orders and at midnight the army stepped off.

***CDXXII***

The sky was a dull gray. The sun could not penetrate the mists and fog. The romans found themselves walking through a hazy world they believed to be eerily similar to the veil through which the dead passed toward their judgement. Numonius Vala's Legio XVII Britannia formed the forward legion of the column. Vala himself rode at the rear of that legion, allowing ease of conversation with Varus, the only man to outrank him here. The largest section of cavalry, some two hundred men of Rome, he claimed as a direct command. His right hand within the Seventeenth, Praefectus Castrorum Eggius, commanded the forward elements of the legion and the column.

The Kalkriese Hill now loomed over the army. Their path was restricted to just one hundred yards of sandy soil separating the steep flanks of the Kalkriese and a great bog. Suddenly, in terrifyingly rapid succession, two horrors appeared to the column. Some looked to the sky, for it appeared the sun now rose over doomed men.

***CDXXIII***

At the fore, Praefectus Castrorum Eggius found his path blocked by a great trench cut into the road. Warriors lined the opposite bank. With practiced ease, hundreds of javelins filled the air aimed at Eggius' forward cohort. He began to shout orders even following cohorts pressed into his rear. To the army's left, what in the dark was believed to be natural steepness was revealed to be a man-made wall. As the column collapsed into a chaotic mass of humanity, a shadow momentarily passed over them. The shadow then became a wave of javelins hurtling toward the massed ranks of the Roman infantry. Screams rent the morning air, before being overwhelmed by the war chants and drumbeats of the rolling down the sides of Kalkriese. The barriers prevented the Romans from responding to the volleys of javelin with their own pila. In response, they rushed the wall in mass.

Varus watched as thousands of men rushed the wall, Roman aggressiveness in battle well-known to all within the Roman circles of the world. Unfortunately, Varus recognized the wall nearly identical in formation and construction to those utilized by the legion to defend their camps. Therefore, it was of little surprise that scores of Romans died at the base of a wall. Those that reached it, avoiding the projectile spears, only died by the lances thrust down on them from above. Torsos and throats found themselves opened by the spears while those suffering the losses possessed no way of countering the deaths. He ordered a withdrawal, but from his mount he could already see Germans, many of them in auxiliary regalia, amongst the second and third cohorts in line. Black and white war paint covered their exposed skin, at least the parts of it not covered by the blood of missing scouts. The mixture of natural dyes and Roman blood created an intricate pattern across faces and torsos. Some of the screaming barbarians were women he could tell, some covered themselves fully, others wore trousers as the men did and only covered their torsos with paint and blood. Gaps left in the Roman ranks by the volleys of javelins were soon being exploited and the Germans filled them with their axes and swords. Soon his soldiers retreating from the wall found themselves pursued by more Germanic warriors. The barbarians, sensing bloodlust, crossed their own wall and attempted to chase down his men. A portion of the cavalry raced away, Numonius Vala leading them, as he attempted to save himself. He could tell more of them wished to follow, but the wave of Germans, perhaps ten thousand closed in on them. Varus found himself hemmed in. The wall of Germanic warriors slammed fully into his force now. Near the front of the column, he could see Eggius attempting to form an organized response.

He felt as if he was watching another man's battle though. His mouth hung agape as he spun in the saddle. In a mental haze the woods became the plains of Cannae as he watched Hannibal route Paullos and Varro. His eyes showed an ancient defeat, his mind divorcing itself from his current situation. In this moment, he realized he was not worthy of his father's name, at least not in this defeat. For in this moment, his father would become the demon, the embodiment of Mars in human form. But he? He, Publius Quintilius Varus, attempted to remove his mind from this hell.

A javelin slashed across his shoulder, returning him to the bloodbath he found himself presently in. His horse screamed and reared, hurling him to the ground. Varus collapsed heavily to the mud. He collapsed heavily and as he struggled to his hands and knees shook his head, attempting to clear his mind. Instead, his vision only fell onto the bloody chaos around him. Hundreds of his men attempted to run, sprinting for the bog in vain hopes of escape. A German warrior rushed toward him, and Varus spun, opening his stomach with a slash.

No formations existed for Varus to escape to save Eggius nearly four hundred yards away. He took six steps toward the now less than cohort strength defensive line. Varus moved forward for six steps, only to find nearly a dozen warriors blocking his path. Suddenly he found a unit of eight at his side. His men, despite their deference to his father, hurled themselves at the threat. Varus slew two men himself, but after the violent encounter, all eight of his men lay dead. He turned around, again forcing himself to take in the carnage. As his armored men were forced down by barbarians, he saw their heads forced back and their throats cut or see two or more barbarians hack at his men until the ceased to move. His head turned again and two hundred yards away, his eyes locked with those of Arminius. He watched the man, his father's one time subordinate, give orders to more warriors and they began to move through the maelstrom of fighting toward him. No words passed between the two commanders, yet Varus felt the despair that Varro must have as Carthaginian cavalry closed off all hope of retreat.

He spun in a slow circle. All about him, his men died. Some to the sword, others as Germanic warriors held them face down in the bog and drowning them in mud or water. Many of his officers chose a different route, he could see their bodies crumpled around their swords in self-inflicted wounds. Eggius' position seemed overwhelmed. His observations ended as his eyes fell on a warrioress much closer than the warriors dispatched by Arminius. Blood coated her bare torso in stripes with black and white paint as war paint covered her face except for a strip of blood red across her forehead. Her blonde hair fell in braids as blue eyes, irises stained with the blood coating her, locked onto him. In her left hand, she carried on the German rough forged swords, in her right hung the head of the cowardly Numonius Vala.

Despite the visage of death that hung over her, he could not deny her beauty. His eyes surveyed her full form as he sunk to his knees. She approached, her mouth contorting in some barbarian chant as she closed with him. The rage and battlefield prowess radiated from her and observing it mixed with her beauty, he could see how his warrioress mother ensnared his father. His gladius turned in his hands, a gift from his father. His thoughts went to his parents and grandmother. He thought not of Rome as the sword's tip aligned to his abdomen. As the beautiful delivery of death that the woman represented sprinted for him, realizing her battle honors were to be denied, he heard Arminius shouting in German. He gave her a slight smile, knowing he denied her a prize and threw himself forward, electing to die as a Roman man of honor should.

***CDXXIII***

Thusnelda, shieldmaiden of the Cherusci, screamed in rage before looking down on the man near death. Not yet twenty, she could claim eight Roman lives this day. Wounds to her eye and body told the tale of her bravery. Her father did not approve of this war, but neither would he approve of the fact that she spent her nights in Arminius' bed. The Roman muttered and she knelt, still angry her kill was stolen from her by this man's cowardly exit from life.

"Grandmother Bellona, I have dishonored you. Mother, I disgrace you. True father, Perseus of Greece, avenge my error. Restore our honor."

"Sniveling dog," Thusnelda muttered in her own tongue and with a cry, separated his head from his shoulders. Gripping it by the lower jaw, she thrust it skyward and shrieked an honor to her gods. Around her, warriors echoed her call and fell upon the shocked Romans. Removed from her though, Arminius thought differently, for only he knew the demon which his love had just invited into Germania.

***CDXXIV***

"I ordered him captured for a reason," Arminius hissed. Thusnelda rolled over, rage in her eyes. He admitted she had reason to be angry. They had just made love to one another and now he ambushes her with his displeasure.

"I did not kill him, coward killed himself."

"To his people, that was the honorable thing to do. Better killing oneself than living in the shame of defeat."

"Defeat in battle can be recovered later." He smiled and caressed the side of her face.

"Not for him. We think of honor for oneself and a tribe. Our family is important, but we can challenge them and still be thought of as whole." He touched her face again. "He cannot. His family's honor is his. If he loses his honor, he loses himself."

"Is Varus so noble a family to kill himself?"

"Varus is a fake name. He may carry it, but Varus is not his family."

"Then why would he care?" her anger was growing.

"Because his father is co-princeps. The second most powerful in all in Rome, six-time consul, and they say the son of a god. His mother was a goddess' daughter they say and a warrioress who died in battle. I wanted him alive, because without him alive, the demon that built forests of crosses and slaughtered thousands across Illyria will come for us."

"I thought you did those things for Rome?" her voice remained hard, but he could sense a slight bit of fear in it.

"One did not question Publius Ventidius Bassus Perseanus Britannicus. The man has killed more men than you and I have ever seen."

"What does that mean?"

"We need Maroboduus."

***CDXXV***

The Cherusci messenger arrived with a guilt box. The King of the Marcomanni accepted the gift and the verbal message and sent him away. Despite the increasing smell from the box, he left it unopen for two days. In his mind he considered three things. The first was his discomfort at the growing confederation in the north of Germania. The second was a chance to overthrow the threat of Rome. The third was the years he spent in Rome and the men he met. Among them had been a man said to have defeated "barbarians" from Hispania to Parthia. Rumors since said he conquered kingdoms beyond seas. King of the Marcomanni was enough for Maroboduus, at least until he could pick off his rivals when Rome finished with them. Maroboduus opened the box. In it lay the severed head of Publius Quintilius Bassus. He looked upon it for a few moments.

"Summon a messenger, one who speaks like a Roman. He will take this to Augustus in Rome." Two men joined him less than half an hour later. "Tell them the Cherusci did this, I will not have a Cherusci threaten us and draw us into their war. Tell Augustus, the Marcomanni do not wish war upon our noble neighbors and swear our gods and theirs, we shall keep our peace. And tell Perseus, Arminius killed his son."

A/N: Teutoberg Forest, for this story's sake, takes place at the same time and date as the actual battle.