Caput XXXVIII
***CDXXXV***
"What do you bloody mean I will not be going to Germania!" The slaves outside the chamber looked at each other as they heard the voice of Tiberius Augustus Caesar reach unprecedented volumes when directed at Perseus.
"What I fucking said." Percy raised a cup of wine and drank deeply. "You will stay in Rome, as I march north."
"Where is the honor in that, father?"
"Living." Percy studied his son. "I know you, I know you have thought about my death and what comes next. Augustus essentially named you my heir, I have no desire for anything else. The legion is not the only path."
"You have ridden it to heights…" Percy cut off his son.
"I bled the legions for power, would it not better to see the Senate merely hand it over? Do not confuse my path as the only one."
"They will not respect me."
"They will respect you more than they fear me! Not a single senator gives a shit about my politics. They care about my control of the legions. None of them dare raise a voice against me because my word would raise one hundred and fifty thousand men in arms. If the auxiliaries follow, how many more is that? Rome does not follow me because I am their Caesar, they follow me out of fear. Fear that I will turn the legions upon them the way Sulla did or unleash my dogs of war as I did upon Athens. Do not view my ascent to power as pathway for all. The gods of war have marched with me; I would prefer to see you stroll beside wisdom and justice." Perseus' allowed his face to soften. "I have called up five cohorts of veterans to remain with you here. Jason is eastward bound to curtail any mischief Piso would attempt. Find a balance with the Senate, Tiberius."
***CDXXXVI***
Moments existed when, despite the eagle being the bird of Jupiter and Zeus, Percy wished he possessed their vision. This night was one of them. He regretted he could not soar above the army he led toward potential death and see the wonder they created.
Five perfect camps, each with avenues and lines of tentage, stretched for nearly seven miles. Torches and cooking fires created great bastions of light along the road to Germania. The legionnaires within each camp felt confident that they marched behind Perseus. The Praetorians, the elite of Rome and under the direct command of Perseus, formed the second camp and held the honor of Caesar's presence. Within their camp the five hundred Batavian cavalrymen sworn to protect Perseus roamed in constant alert. Before them marched the reformed Legio XIX Perseo, a third of its manpower veterans of Britannia, Greece, or Iberia. The same could be said of Legions XVII and XVIII Perseo. The summons for veterans, issued in the name of Perseus, drew over five thousand. Those men were split amongst the three replacement legions, providing a corps which could be relied upon. The over ten thousand new recruits felt intimidated by the final legion.
Legio XXI Rapax, historically the most vicious of Percy's legions, marched behind the Praetorians. Pulled from Illyria, they would form the corps of veterans. They now called themselves Caesar's Predators, for they all knew from their service with him in Greece, Iberia, Germania after Drusus' death, and lately in Illyria that Perseus only called upon them when he needed the killing done.
Outside of the five legionary squares, hundreds of disorganized cooking fires filled the gaps. The new governor of Achaea, Gaius Vipsanius Agrippa told the Greeks that Caesar required twenty-five thousand auxiliaries in return for a loosening of the legionary grip upon the province. The demand served two purposes: Primarily, it provided Caesar with additional manpower; Secondarily, it removed fighting aged men from the province. The Greeks answered the call, to the figure of thirty thousand. As such, twenty thousand auxiliary infantrymen were joined by ten thousand horsemen. As such, the five understrength legions and their twelve thousand auxiliaries already upon the Rhine with Germanicus would soon be joined by more than fifty-six thousand soldiers. Caesar was coming Germania and behind him would march ninety-six thousand men.
***CDXXXVII***
"We must retreat," the tribesmen did not agree with Arminius. Retreat did not factor into the nature of tribal war. Tribes would fight and the next day their children would marry to keep the peace. Rome did not fight in that manner. Arminius knew this, but his fellow leaders did not understand that. They believed Rome should walk away after a loss. Instead, Caesar poured seven more legions and gods only knew how many auxiliaries into Germania. He had known that Varus was his son, but he did not believe that an illegitimate son would bring about such a response. Nor so swiftly, he thought.
Not even a year lay between the slaughter in the woods and the onslaught that now befell the tribes. The great fires killed more than they could count, mostly the young and the old – those unable to outrun the hellish green flames. Starvation followed, for while the Romans could bring in war stocks from their vast empire, the Germanic people could not. Nor could the Germans recoup losses the way that Perseus did. In less than a year, three full replacement legions existed and with them auxiliaries from provinces Perseus himself had razed.
Those untested legions remained behind at the defenses along the Rhenus, giving the Romans a solid defensive line should anything go awry. Meanwhile, the veteran legions plunged ever deeper into Germania, what Greek fire had not burned, Rome now put to the sword. As he had done across Greece, Iberia, Britannia, and Illyria, a forest of crosses followed Perseus' advance. Have I led them to utter annihilation? He thought as he rubbed a hand across the swollen belly of his wife. She would give birth soon, And this hell is where I bring him into?
***CDXXXVIII***
The young man moved slowly through the shadows. Soon he found himself standing beside the hulking figure just outside the firelight. Only now did he recognize the Imperator of Rome, Perseus Augustus Caesar. It took a few moments for him to work up the courage to speak.
"You would honor them if you joined them, Caesar."
"For a moment, then their fun would end because Caesar is in their midst." A flash of the moonlight caused the young man to be revealed. "What is your name?"
"Patrocles, sir."
"A Greek?"
"Yes sir, I joined after your call for three legions and auxiliaries. To release my people from the pressure of Rome's thumb, that was worth thirty years' service."
"I once knew a woman in Greece with eyes and hair the color of yours."
"Perhaps my mother, sir. She shared my complexion and love of Greece."
"Who is your father?"
"Caesar, I do not know. When our people struggled, my mother sold her body for food and blankets. I am the result, I know not my father."
"Life is difficult as a bastard, that I know."
"Yes, Caesar."
"Your mother sounds like a remarkable woman."
"She said you were a remarkable man. A terrible one, but remarkable."
"I am terrible, Patrocles. But I am what I am." The younger man watched as graying man disappeared into the shadows. He seemed as ageless as he did old. But the younger man could see the power still held within his weathered frame. He watched until the man disappeared completely. Patrocles struggled to match the old man to the stories told by his mother, Aspasia, and Chiron. They stories made him out to be more than human, a demon that appeared in times of war and killed until the war ended.
The man he just spoke to did not seem to meet that description. The old man appeared wearied by war, yet unable to move beyond it. To the Grandson of Athena, he appeared as if Ares grew tired and walked away to fight as a mortal. Or Mars, for his lot I suppose. No great evil exuded from Caesar. But neither did goodness.
***CDXXXIX***
Early the previous fall, six legionary forts sprang up east of the Rhenus. Three legions remained on the western bank throughout the winter, occupying the original fortifications since the time of Germanicus' father. Beyond the river though, six forts, carrying seven legions, now dominated the once lush forests, now a desolate waste of charred remains. The largest formed the center of the defensive line and housed the two most elite legions of the army, Legio XXI Rapax and the Praetorians. From there, following the spring thaws, seven legions under Caesar pushed east toward the Weser. Far behind this new frontier, Arminius' wife, Thusnelda, had given birth to a son. It appeared that son seemed to harken death. For within a fortnight of the birth, the Romans advanced. Already one of the aquila claimed from Varus' legions now again belonged to the legions, the tribal redoubt holding it reduced to ashes. One after another, more ancestral villages turned to smoldering ruins as the legions advanced in a manner that presented no clear avenue of approach. For five months, the Romans avoided any concentration of tribal warriors and simply maneuvered their way east, forcing retreats upon the harried Germans.
Now, in the ninth month of the year, forts again rose in the German forests. This second cadre of winter camps only contained five forts. Arminius could only watch in wonder as for a second season, Perseus convinced his men to rough the German winter in order to keep pressure upon the tribes. Arminius hated him for it, for he knew of no other man who could will such things to happen. Damn him.
***CDXL***
Jason could feel it was over, even as his son and wife knelt by his side. He felt as if fire coursed through his veins, an affliction only present since his last dinner with his reluctant subordinate, Gnaeus Calpurnius Piso. Never knew the cunt had it in him. He looked to Jason the Younger.
"Fucking Piso, get to the Twelfth. Whatever Piso does, you must protect Perseus. You must protect Rome." He grimaced in pain. "Fucking poison."
"A woman's choice," spat his son.
"It seems to kill the same," again he grimaced, his body contorting in pain. He reached and weakly shoved his son. "Go. The Twelfth will need, if Piso makes a move, you must stop him, legate." Jason the Younger froze, recognizing the trust and honor in such a title for what it was, resignation. But as a dutiful son should, he stood and pounded his fist against his chest. A tear fell as his arm shot out and without a second look, he spun and departed. The tear-filled eyes of a wife and mother now fell upon the pain-wracked body of the Son of Jupiter. "I was never a good husband," he croaked out.
"No," Claudia Marcella Minor reluctantly laughed in response. "You were not. I know of at least twelve mistresses; I am certain there were more."
"I am my father's son."
"I know. That is why Augustus never trusted you." Jason laughed, but she could see how it pained his body. She placed a hand on his arm and his skin burned. "I did love being your wife." He smiled.
"Then we are equals, for I loved you being my wife." She stroked his cheek.
"The lives of the noble Romans. Our lives are not our own."
"No." He suddenly gripped her hand. "Take my ashes to Rome, bury me beside Perseus." She nodded and continued to hold his hand until she could no longer feel the throb of his heart through his hand. Gently, she laid it across his chest. Claudia knew she never loved him, but his children did, so she loved his ability to be a father, to treat her well despite never loving her. Fatherhood seemed to suit him better than matrimony ever did. But what always suited him most was the battlefield. Preferably at Perseus' side.
***CDXLI***
The spring thaws brought about movement. From across the five forts, officers of all ranks assembled at the tent of Caesar. Aprilis was upon them and following the word from the previous fall, its transit long before reaching the front, that Lucius Cornelius Jason had seemingly been poisoned, they all expected that Caesar would no longer be willing to delay the enemy's end. Over a year and a half separated the seven legions and their auxilia support from their crossing of the Rhenus. Caesar led them and where Caesar marched, the army followed. Percy looked over his men. Germanicus' departure the previous week during a downpour of rain, with special orders reduced the number of officers present, but more than three dozen stood before him still.
"Praefecti equitati, you know your orders. You know what I expect of you. Go, and unleash hell upon them." More than half the officers departed. The cavalry commanders knew their orders. They also knew that Caesar had once commanded cavalry units and therefore placed even higher expectations on themselves. "The rest of you, we will advance as last season. Slow and methodical, only allowing engagements at the moments of our choosing. There will be no Varian disaster here. Only victory." The remainder saluted and moved on. He turned to the Praetorian Legate beside him, "It is time to end this."
***CDXLII***
"Arminius!" a Suebi scout approached. "The enemy appears a legion short," the man's voice was deep and gravelly. "Some ten thousand of their other soldiers as well."
"A full legion?" Arminius knew the Romans would move as soon as the enemy they shared, winter, passed. But an unaccounted-for enemy formation troubled him.
"Yes, Arminius." The Cherusci's elbow rested on his knee and face now sunk to his hand. There was a painful resignation to the movement. His face now pressed against his palm.
"Cavalry?"
"At least four thousand are gone. Perhaps we have bloodied them badly."
"No." Arminius shook his head. "Woden, help us," he muttered and felt Thusnelda's arm fall about him. Despite only being a year removed from childbirth, she had returned to the warband.
"What is it?" she asked, her voice rushed.
"It is him. He has done this before." He turned to his wife, and she could see the panic in his eyes. "Get across the Weser. Get our son and go east. To at least the Elbe, if not further."
"What?" He gripped both her shoulders.
"He has turned loose his dogs. By sunrise, villages east of the Weser will burn."
"We rush to the fords then!" the Suebi chieftain shouted.
"It is too late. Where do you think that missing legion waits?"
***CDXLIII***
Patrocles hated himself as he looked about at the devastation wrought by his unit. Young and old, men and women lay in the filth covered streets. The woman beneath him writhed as his mallet descended and the iron spoke drove through the flesh of her wrist and between the bones of her arm. One of his compatriots had already broken her legs and the spikes in her wrists would soon bear all her weight.
His sword claimed three men and two women in the barbarous charge into the village at dawn. Half the village awoke to flames licking at them as torches found the straw and dry wood of their hovels. Thirty-five years before, Iberians, Gauls, and Germans did this to his people on behalf of the Romans. Now, unborn at the rape of his own country, Patrocles inflicted the same on another people on behalf of the same master. It was only now, as he watched youth and elder alike trampled under hoof or kicked into the flames to die that he despaired any hope for his mother and cousin's dreams of a truly free Greece.
His commander, a prefect, was the son of a prefect that followed Caesar into the slaughter of Athens. There were tears in his eyes, but he gave orders regardless. Aspasia, the gift of Athena diluted by a generation, believed the death of Caesar would allow a new opportunity to rise again. As his mallet again fell on the iron spike and the woman, beaten and bloody, shrieked in agony, he knew that would not be. For it appeared the men of Rome carved the next generation from iron and rock, for even those that morally hated their orders, his prefect for example, waved a hand and death followed. The new generation was not allowed to rise until they proved themselves worthy to their predecessor. Thus, the iron blade of the legion was forever honed. Most of Patrocles' friends believed Greece a land of olives and wine, olives and wine did not stand against iron and fire.
He stood, his work done and gripped one of the ropes that would hoist the woman's cross high into the air. Hers would be but one of nearly three score. Patrocles felt something give way under his foot and looked down to see the broken body of an infant. His hobnailed sandal had driven the boy's corpse deep into the mud. I pray the gods watch over your soul, he thought. For half a moment his conscience faltered, yet at the next spoken order, he heaved upon the rope and the screams of the barbarian bitch on his cross joined the chorus of the other men and women paying the price of resisting Rome. A shouted command broke his attention upon the forest of crosses he and his fellow Greeks seemed to be planting across Germania.
"One's getting away! Catch her!" Without thinking, Patrocles followed the order and seconds later his horse pounded down the dirt path following the horse and its blonde rider racing away from them.
A/N: This chapter is much shorter than others, yes. But the entertainer in me would rather cut things off than ramble on for the sake of rambling on. To ensure everyone is tracking the timeline: Sept AD 9 – Varian Disaster. Oct AD 9 – Percy returns to Rome, Augustus dies. June AD 10 – Germanicus burns the forest, Percy's army marches north. Sept AD 10 – first Roman forts east of the Rhine. April AD 11 – Arminius son born, legions begin their advance. Sept AD 11 – second Roman forts built east of the Rhine, Jason scene. April AD 12 – final scenes. This is of course not the actual historical timeline, but it matches the story I wish to tell.