Germania, AD 16

March, 16 AD,
2nd year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar Augustus,
Morning

Chapter 1

It was at the beginning of March, the month of the avenging God, that the legions left their winter camp on the western bank of the Rhine. Like the previous year, the commander known as "Germanicus" was leading them, and he had proven to be worthy of their trust.

The young man who looked out over the Rhine this morning was however hesitant as he went out on the landing stage. He was sunk into dreams, his eyes glistening, focused on something far away.

The men in front of him could not recognize him, he thought. But they would wonder why he had requested to be transferred from the 14th to the 2nd. They would also ask him for his name.

As he stepped into the boat, he raised his shield as if to hide behind it, trying to slip away into a corner. They would find the gesture odd, but leave him alone after a quick glance. The plan would have worked, had it not been for a wet spot on the wooden platform. Just as he stepped into the boat, his other foot lost contact with the ground and he almost fell headlong. He regained his balance at the last moment by lowering his shield.

"I've been revealed", he thought, but the men around him were quiet. Only the nearest two of them had bothered turning their eyes toward him, even though he had made a very loud noise in the silent morning.

Thankful but surprised, he slipped away into a corner as he had planned, and sat down.

About the reason for his transfer, he could always lie. Yes, he was not a good liar, but if he kept repeating the same story no matter how false it sounded, they would stop asking eventually.

His name, however, was another story. He could not lie about it, he could not change it. It was written down in several places; his commanders could find it if they wanted to.

Aemilius Varus. Sharing the same surname as the man who had destroyed three legions was not a good omen for the religious around him, and nor was it a good reminder for those of a stoic mind.

The boat had left the shore now. He could feel it rolling heavily even on the small waves on the river.

Only now did he start looking at the things around him. Most of the men in his boat were younger than himself. Immediately, his confidence rose. Yes, now it would be different than last time.

His transfer had come at the cost of degradation. Formerly a leader of a hundred men, he was now a hidden nobody in the middle of the formation. The man who worked for his pay until the day of his retirement, and then disappeared never to be found again, never to be asked for or missed by the other soldiers. And he had almost begun to come to terms with this fate.

Now, however, his mind drifted off to greater things. He was aborted by the voice of the centurion. He had an unnaturally bright, cracked voice, making him sound like he was still fourteen even though he looked above twenty. Aemilius could not help feeling a strong sense of disgust over his every move, as he raised his hand and waved to them to call for their attention, then accompanying his words with rather empty, but extremely animated gestures.

"Upon landing, remember to assemble in a line on the shore, right between the men from the boat to the left, and the one to the right. I don't think there will be any enemies on the shore, but if there are, we must be ready."

Perhaps you should comment the terrain too, as if we can't see that for ourselves, thought Aemilius, but tried to calm down. The thought of having this man in his position, yes, his position, he thought, was not an as great humiliation as what he had suffered in the 14th.

"Any questions? We have done this before, but perhaps I should rehearse the procedure. If anybody has any problems with equipment, the others will fill the line in their spot - we must hold our formation and be ready for combat even if the slowest among us aren't. However, to make sure nobody feigns equipment problem to avoid fighting - if there is any - remember that there is a punishment for being too slow off the boat. So get ready now."

Aemilius could see the other shore now, as it came out of the distant haze. The air smelled exactly the same way as the last time they got here. Almost like burning flesh and smog from the coal of the hearths were the barbarians were making their food.

He did as the centurion had said: grabbed his pila, made sure the gladius was on his side. The pugio was in its sheath. Though he doubted it would ever be of any use, the most sadistic centurions had a habit of always looking for missing legionary daggers when they were drunk, or in a bad mood. It was a perfect excuse for using the "disciplinary measures".

The boat came to a halt as its front touched the soft ground, sliding up a few feet onto the Germanic earth. And he jumped over the railing, waded through the shallow water, and half-ran to the spot where they would assemble.

This time, he arrived at his spot first. The 2nd was not as well trained as the 14th, he thought. These were all green recruits: even though the centurion seemed to know his theory, Aemilius didn't expect him to show any bravery as soon as it would come to battle.

Standing still, looking forward straight into the clearing ahead of him (the forest had been cleared here during last year's campaign, to create a safe spot for disembarking), he could hear the sound of metal to metal as the other legionaries assembled on his side and behind him. Casting a glance to his side, he could see a frightened-looking young man with black bristles, who immediately turned away his face when his eyes met Aemilius'. Beyond him, was a short man with a grim, broad face, but with a half open mouth. Next to him stood a giant, who looked even taller when standing next to the "dwarf". This was certainly good proof of what he had thought of before: the new centurion was a theoretic. The giant and the dwarf together would create a weakness in the formation, they would form an excellent gap for the Germanic axes, and the giant would have difficulties seeing the dwarf's shield and aligning it with his own.

In a sudden rush of bravery, he put his hand on the shoulder of the frightened-looking man next to him.

"My name is Aemilius Varus, what is yours?" He smiled broadly, and the young man answered with a nervous smile but looked more like he was pulling a wry face.

"Fulvius Sempronius", the young man replied.

In a sadistic rush of malicious pleasure, he continued:

"My uncle led 3 legions to their death". Again, he smiled broadly, exaggerating the expression. "Right here, on the eastern shore of the Rhine." The young man was looking around him nervously, unsure what to reply. "And I will soon lead this centurion." The uncertain man made another attempt at smiling, and nodded, looking away to end the conversation.

Yes, now it was done. There was no point in hiding it. Better get it over with. The men in the rank behind him would have heard it as well, and the rumor would spread. Nothing more to worry about.

The centurion arrived in front of them, last. Aemilius, now in a good mood, could not resist the temptation of pointing it out:

"We were slow, weren't we? Perhaps the one who arrived last needs to be taught more about the discipline of roman legions?"

The centurion went dead silent, looking at Aemilius with a stiff face. He was hesitating. Aemilius decided this was worth remembering.

"You would do well to remember who is in command of these 100 men", he finally responded, with uncertainty in his voice. Mostly, the men succeeded in holding back their laughter, and the centurion could ignore them without committing breach of duty.

Aemilius smiled, as he turned towards the grizly forest, then toward the leader of the cohort.

In the fog, Aemilius could hear the trumpets signalling "all clear". Mechanically, the 100 men begun to move, joining the other centuria of the cohort, forming a column to begin marching deeper inside the forest. Relieved, Aemilius realized that the 2nd hadn't received the tedious task of building a castrum to protect the ships at the clearing. Instead, they would march into the darkness ahead, through the marshes, forests and ridges of Germania.

(to be continued)

Chapter 2

Germanicus had ordered full advance in separate groups, with cavalry scouting ahead. The infantry would not gather until the late evening, building a castrum each night, even if it would slow down the advance considerably.

Not far from the landing spot lay a small village. Burnt out and largely abandoned since a previous punitive expedition, it was now mostly a home for brigands and thieves trying to escape roman or barbarian law, and they would usually run away at the slightest sign of trouble.

As Aemilius' centuria approached the village a few hours after the crossing, he could see that it would not be the case this time.

From the forest, he could spot one man, three women and a small infant in the clearing.

"Germanic burnt out villages are not as beautiful as ruins of eastern cities", he thought, "but they're always good to find a place to sit".

He was awakened from his thoughts by the centurion, who, again with a broken, shrill voice, addressed the hundred of them:

"We will move into the village and take prisoners!" he announced.

Aemilius sighed. Was the centurion out of his mind, or did he have bad vision - or both? What good would the capture of a number thieves, one of them with a child, do for the war? He shock his head.

"We will split into three groups", continued the centurion with enthusiasm in his voice. "Each will advance on the village from different directions. If anyone tries to escape, use your weapons." After a short pause, he added: "I suppose you know how to use them?" with a so mechanical smile, that it looked as if he had practised it from reading a book on rhetoric - but without using a mirror.

The advance was quick, suddenly out of nowhere three groups of 33 men approached the village and surrounded the man, the women, and the infant. The man held a small wooden stick, one of the women held a small rock in her hand. The other two women held the infant between them, one of them in the bossom and the other protecting it with her body, but they stood so close together that it was impossible to tell who was actually holding the child, at least from where Aemilius stood.

The centurion smiled broadly as he stepped forward into the little circle that had been formed around the "enemy", who had not yet given the slightest sign of putting up a fight.

"Well done!" said the centurion addressing each of the three groups of legionaries in turn. "Well done!" His voice was triumphant. "Well done!" Then he turned towards the surrounded, deliberately slowly - at least Aemilius got the impression that this was just another move learnt from a book about rhetorics. He looked more ridiculous than dramatic, as he finally turned his gaze to the man, the women and the infant.

"You have been surrounded by a centuria of the 2nd legion", he begun with a solemn voice. "I must ask you in the name of Tiberius Claudius Nero Caesar Augustus, imperator, pater patriae, consul and tribune, that you put down your weapons without a fight or we will take them from you with violence."

"You forgot pontifex maximus", Aemilius pointed out, trying to keep a straight face in the ridiculous situation. The centurion had talked so slowly when he mentioned all the emperor's titles, that the entire situation became even more absurd. The legionaries burst out into a loud, roaring laughter and the "giant" that Aemilius recognized from the river bank on the morning gave him a friendly, encouraging pat on the shoulder.

The centurion, worried by the sudden to him inexplicable laughter, went red with rage:

"This time I can't avoid using the disciplinary measures", he yelled, boiling with fury, turning to Aemilius, but lowering his gaze unable to look into the man's steady, calm eyes. Instead, he turned towards "the dwarf", and kept his eyes on him as he continued:

"I will half your rations for three days!"

"For such serious crimes as laughter, there's always decimatio", responded Aemilius for the dwarf, who was looking frightened at the threat, and who had only joined the previous laughter reluctantly. Again, laughter broke out, and this time, the "dwarf" laughed heartily too.

The centurion turned to the man, the women, and the infant, who had all silently looked at the madness with surprise in their faces. Now the man opened his mouth:

"I don't speak latin", he said slowly, with a horrible accent. Aemilius was inclined to believe his words. But the centurion, already angry with the previous scene, ordered the legionaries to draw their swords to "convince the prisoners not to resist". He couldn't possibly have chosen to give a more disastrous order. The barbarian with the wooden stick rushed forward and managed to hit a legionary in the head before being simultanously stabbed by three gladii, and the women with the stone soon met a similar fate, after hitting the centurion in the head with her sharp stone. The woman with the infant tried to run through a small gap in the encirclement, but one of the soldiers, trained too mechanically, instinctively erected his arm with the sword, and the woman was impaled through the chest, her baby falling out of her arms onto the hard ground. It cried once, then went silent, its eyes staring at the sky. The last woman had thrown herself to the ground, entering fetal pose, and she was the only of the five to survive.

(to be continued)

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CC level 5 please!

Criticism request:

Seeing as there's no spontaneous criticism, I'll ask a few direct feedback questions. This is my very first story where I experiment with complexity, flaws and irrationality in characters, and in breaking up narrative passages in smaller pieces. It is also one of my first experiments with writing less explicitly, with more details hidden either between the lines, or to be explained later in the story, in order to attempt to awaken curiosity in the reader. I don't know if my pretty direct applications of these techniques to my previous writing style is satisfactory, or if it just sounds messy.

Feedback questions:
1. did you think the psychology of the main character felt realistic?
2. what do you think of the main character from a moral standpoint? On a scale 1-10, with 1=villain, 10=hero, and 5=normal person, where would you put him?
3. in question 2, how certain are you that your assessment of the character's morality is correct? On a scale 1-5, with 1=uncertain, 5=certain. If you answered 1-2, do you think this is a bad thing for the story?
4. are you curious to find out about what happened to the main character in the 14th legion? Are you curious to find out more about the main character's future? If no, why do you think this is?
5. do you feel sorry about the centurion, do you dislike him, or are you not sure what to think of him yet?
6. did you notice any unexpected turn of events, that felt unrealistic or surprising in a non-convincing way? On the other extreme, did you notice any event that was too predictable? If so, what event?
7. were you disappointed that there has still not been any battle or similar action scene, i.e. has the story been too slow so far?
8. did I write anything so unclear that the lack of clarity ruined the story in some way?

Chapter 3

A few hours after they left the village, with the captured woman in irons, Aemilius' good mood started to gradually fade out. He felt his head aching, his hands trembling, his gaze getting dizzy. His forehead was hot, as in fever. His eyes drifted to the marching feet of the soldier in front of him, and the mud on the ground; he could no longer see the sky or the trees. He felt a need to vomit, a need to hide and draw the shield over him again, covering himself, his body, his face, entering a fetal position and closing his eyes until time and space had dissolved around him.

When they stopped for lunch in a small clearing halfway up a hill, he was surprised to see himself giving his entire ration to the "dwarf", then turning his back to him, walking away before the man had time to thank him.

He sat down on a small rock an arrow shot from the clearing, and stared out into the deep forest, his eyes empty, wandering over rough tree bark, a grey-brown anthill, and a bunch of ferns.

He had lost control again, stepping over the line, carried away by his good mood.

The centurion would inform the cohort commander in the evening, and he would be degraded, thrown out of service, or humiliated in front of the others. The cohort commander would not know that his only crime was causing laughter, and that his comments were comparatively innocent: that he just couldn't resist his urge to joke or cast amusing comments when he had the chance.

He had failed to gain respect from the others. They had laughed, yes, but only reluctantly. It was a well-known fact that in a revolt, insubordinance or similar event, the men often encourage the usurper early on, but then turn away from him at the last moment. As a sadistic pleasure, they encourage him to walk right towards his own destruction, turning away at the last moment, literally or proverbially, pretending they knew nothing of it when the commanders inquiry them. And even if they did, it was only the leader - to what extent a leader and single responsible man can be indentified in a situation of unrest caused by a suffering that was experienced by all of them - who was punished. If a legion revolts and the revolt is queezed, they can't afford to execute 6,000 men, and nor will they leave it entirely unpunished, even though it is either all or none of them who are guilty.

Aemilius could remember hearing about a legion which had revolted because the men hadn't received their pay. The lack of pay had affected all of them, but only three men had been courageous enough to speak of it at first. The revolt took many months to queeze, and it did in fact not end until the senate had finally handed out the promised payments. Thus the very cause of the rebellion having been eliminated, the entire legion laid down their weapons and swore a renewed oath of loyalty to the senate (this was back in the time of the Republic). Also the three men who had begun talking about the missing money, had obediently surrendered and regretted the incident. They had been rewarded by execution.

Aemilius shuddered, struck by panic. Looking at his hands, he realized that the cold weather was not enough to cause him to tremble so greatly.

He had no true friends here, he thought.

Nobody would defend him if things went rough.

"You can see it in the way they laugh", he thought. The uncertain - disgustingly uncertain - laughter. If they would just be scared enough by a superior tommorrow, they would not hesitate to turn towards him, laughing, or even worse: yelling and whistling at him like the mob in the gladiatorial arenas: "Death, death, death!", as the plebians used to scream when a man had not fought bravely enough for their taste.

What did they ever know about bravery? Aemilius thought with contempt. A man who rotated his sword in the air in a ridiculous but aesthetic way was brave, even if he - quite predictably - lost. But a man who, faced by two opponents at the same time after losing all his team mates in a team fight, chancing a dangerous rush with lowered garde towards one of his two enemies to try to either even up the odds or die, he was a coward because he managed to stab the first opponent in the back while he was half turned away, just because his chance-taking had succeeded. Then, losing against the remaining opponent, the plebians would turn their thumbs down and scream for his blood, because he was a "coward".

Then there was the envy. These green recruits were the worst of the worst when it came to experience. Nothing would be more scary to them than a leader better than themselves. His constantly worried gaze, as he tried to conduct his duty like a good servant of all of the men he led, would only remind them of the dangers he was leading them to, and that they wanted to forget. Even if the men in his centuria in the 14th had lost fewer men under his command than during the predecessor, Publius, and the successor, Gaius, they had not been thankful. As soon as they knew he would leave them, they had gotten themselves drunk beyond reason and celebrated his transfer, and yelling after him not to show himself in front of them ever again.

Aemilius finally got to his feet, hesitantly walking back towards the clearing. His throat was sore with dehydration, his feet aching, his hunger deafening. His hatred towards the cowardice would not make him popular, he had already experienced that more than once. It has always been the case that men chose to put the most pointless of friendships - talking about trivial things like the weather or the sore feet they all had and all knew the others had - over righteousness.

He sat down next to the frightened-looking man from the river bank, who turned towards him with a frightened gaze, and a surprised, half-expectant smile. He remember the contempt he had felt when looking at the man that morning, but he also knew to suppress the contempt when he talked:

"The bread tastes good after a day on the march, eh?" he said, smiling towards the young man. The boy returned the smile, a youthful, innocent smile, and nodded quickly, eagerly on the verge of embarassing, too glad that someone took the responsibility to break the painful silence. Four other men turned their faces towards Aemilius, they too with expectation in their eyes.

They haven't got to know each other yet, thought Aemilius. "Perhaps I still have a chance to gain their trust, and their friendship". Despite the contempt he felt, he smiled back to the boy in a calm, expressionless way, so that he would neither make the boy feel uncertain, nor make those of the four others who found the boy's expression ridiculous, feel that he moralized over their contempt.

Slowly, Aemilius sensed his hope was returning to him.

"Funny man, that centurion", Aemilius continued, trying to look as innocent as possible while saying it, then changing subject again, quickly: "I wonder when the first battle will take place, don't you?"

The young men nodded, happy to let him handle all the talking to begin with. They would get more courageous when they talked to him alone, thought Aemilius, during the march. And when they gathered again for dinner tonight, some of them would dare taking a more active part in the talking - and feel thankful towards Aemilius for helping them break their silence and dare to admit that they liked the others in the small group, and were prepared to soon become their friends. They still knew each other so little that they had no yet passed the stage of contempt for each other, and fear of showing the weakness - as it was often perceived among youths - of initiating a friendly relation.

"Not today", Aemilius mumbled in response to his own question, sweeping his eyes over each of the four of them in turn, trying a more serious expression in his face. "Our crossing of the Rhine was too quick and unexpected. But perhaps, tomorrow."

(to be continued)

Sometimes a simley can say more than one word....
:2thumbsup:

A little bit light for my taste. While it is good, I'm failing to see any reason behind his actions. Is it to retrieve his family name, to defeat some murderous German leader? I'm not getting his motivation for being in the legion and fighting for Rome.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Marshal Murat

A little bit light for my taste. While it is good, I'm failing to see any reason behind his actions. Is it to retrieve his family name, to defeat some murderous German leader? I'm not getting his motivation for being in the legion and fighting for Rome.

---

That was one of the ideas... it may have been a bad idea...

I had intended to make it more clear in later chapters why he was there.

===

Thanks for the feedback to both of you! :2thumbsup:

Chapter 4

They continued the march before most of them had finished eating. Aemilius positioned himself in the marching column next to the men from the lunch, so he would get an excuse to speak to them. Gaining the sympathy of men like Fulvius would not be enough, he needed to make contact with the more introvert and comtemptful among them, find out more about their personalities, and learn to predict their moves.

He introduced himself to the man by his first name only, and the other man responded that his name was Cnaeus. A tall, thin man, he walked around with a constant contemptful half-smile on his face, and an urge to constantly joke. His jokes were however often presented with a too stiff or uncertain face, that his listeners often did not realize they were jokes until after too long time had passed for a laughter to be polite. He sometimes had attacks of twitching in his left eye, but despite his uncertainty it never felt like he had lowered his garde enough to be vulnerable to rude attacks from the more ruthless and raw conflict-seekers among them. Rather, Aemilius found the man's tics unnerving, on the verge of frightening.

"Are you from the city of Rome, or one of the smaller villages of Latium?" Aemilius asked him in a friendly tone, trying to start a conversation.

"Rome", the man answered in a stubborn tone, casting a quick contemptful gaze at Aemilius.

"I'm from Rome too", Aemilius responded in a suddenly stiff tone, surprised to find him having instinctively reacted to the cold response he had received.

"Good for you", the tall man responded, again with a short tone, then turning his face away, not quickly and uncertainly, but calmly and provokingly, while maintaining the contemptful smile.

Aemilius didn't know whether to continue trying, or to accept the conversation as over. Turning his face around, he noticed some of the younger men looking at him carefully, and now they met Aemilius' gaze with questioning eyes, refusing to side with anyone until the discussion had ended and it had become clear who was most worthy of their respect - or fear.

He was saved by a scream from the centurion.

At first he couldn't distinguish any words, but the group in front of him came to a sudden halt. He was taken by surprised and bumped into the man in front of him before stopping, met by a disapproving look from the victim.

"Where is the prisoner?" he heard the centurion roar, now finally capable of distinguishing words. "Where are the guards?"

Only now did Aemilius realize that they were gone. He could remember faintly how they had gradually drifted backwards in the column over the last few hours. The men had cast inappropriate looks at the woman, but too deep in his thoughts, Aemilius hadn't reacted to it back then.

Not even when they had passed right beside him.

The woman had not been particularly attractive, he thought. She had had a skinny face, with yellow and green-blue tones in her skin, a thin, long nose, and narrow, frighetened-looking eyes below a thin, straight blonde hair.

But it was now obvious what had happened.

There could only be one explanation.

"Deserters!" the centurion yelled now, pronouncing every syllable with force, almost spitting out the word. "Under my command!" He moved back and forth, unsure of what to do, until finally he made up his mind: "Split up into groups of five! Search the forests, find the deserters! Find them at all costs!"

Aemilius stood like frozen. Splitting up the centuria in smaller groups after it had suffered desertion? At a time when the first enemy patrols are expected to get closer? When we have nearly five hours of marching until we get to the camp we are expected to reach before nightfall? When finding anyone in these cursed forests is nearly impossible anyway?

Suddenly, he found himself moving out into the deep forest together with Fulvius, Cnaeus, and three others whose names he didn't yet know. He wondered why he had followed them, why he was suddenly wading through the ferns, but he had no answer. Mechanically, he kept walking forward out into the darkness.

(to be continued)

Chapter 5

The darkness was getting thicker quickly. Nightfall came earlier further north, at least this part of the year, he thought. The silence was disturbing, frightening. Aemilius started longing so desperately for sound, that he was on the verge of preferring the sound of barbarians over the deafing emptiness.

The low vegetation was getting wet now, from the evening thaw. Mist had spread over the landscape, obstructing the vision further than ten horselengths away. Aemilius could see why in the Germanic tales the fog often came to life, as ghosts who were dancing over the cold ground.

The only noises that broke the silence was their own eerie breathing, and the sound of brushwood bending when colliding with their feet. Sandals were not ideal for this terrain. The feet often slipped on the wet ferns and they were often on the verge of spraining their ankles. Hunger, fear, and fatigue was grapsing his body, slowly taking command over his brain.

It was then that he first heard the noise. A hammering sound far out in the wilderness. He asked the others to stop and listen, but they shook their heads: they hadn't heard anything, and insisted on moving on. Aemilius was convinced he hadn't imagined it.

It wasn't until what felt like an hour that the sound got distinguishable again. This time, Cnaeus stopped, and Aemilius hushed Fulvius, who had carelessly begun to whistle to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

"What is that sound?" Cnaeus whispered.

"Germans", answered Aemilius. His gaze had transformed over the last few hours, and again become empty, glistening, starting out into nowhere. "Patrols", he continued, after a long pause.

"How many?" asked Fulvius, too loud again.

"Shhh", Aemilius responded by reflex. "You would be surprised how far sounds are carried through this landscape. It's not like at home." Fulvius nodded, uncertainly, but with a hurt expression. Aemilius continued, pretending not to notice the response: "I think there may be five men, but don't underestimate them! Five Germans against five Romans is more dangerous than fifty thousand Germans against ten thousand Romans. This is their type of warfare, and they know the terrain. They are coming closer, we must find a place to hide!"

"No, we must fight them". One of the three men Aemilius had not yet spoken to now intervened in the conversation. "As long as they're alive they will be a threat to us, and we can't return to the camp. Better fight them all five of us, than being killed one by one when we try to flee! The fog may end any moment."

One of the other silent men, and Cnaeus, nodded. Fulvius hesitated for a moment, then turned towards the three who wanted to fight. The last man was silent, expressionless, but seemed to side with Aemilius.

The sounds were coming closer. What had at first sounded like hammers, now turned out to be the sounds of hooves hitting the ground, and the sounds of shields and chainmail coming into contact repeatedly with the rythm of the movement of the horses.

"We will fight without the cowards", Cnaeus smiled, and drew his sword, while Aemilius turned around to run away and disappear through the brushwoods together with the unknown man who had preferred to follow him over fighting.

Aemilius felt like the sounds were now only just beyond the rim of the fog. He started running, despite the deafening hunger, his numb feet, and sore throat.

He ran without looking back, diving into hiding behind a small rock, down a steep slope around ten feet high, bruising his legs and back, then coming to his feet again, ignoring the pain. He couldn't tell if the sounds of the hooves were turning his way, or if they were still moving towards the others. The fools. Suddenly, he could hear two more gladii leaving their sheats somewhere far behind him. A short roar - a human voice - followed by faint screams, iron to iron, and then silence.

(to be continued)

Chapter 6

Afterwards, he had no idea for how long he had been running. His vision clouded, the sounds around him were engulfed by the pain and stiffness of the limbs, his shuddering in the cold evening inside the sweaty tunic, and the marks on his skin made by the chafing armor.

The forest turned grim in the darkness, the trees resembling hunchbacked, cruel giants, the stones resembling horses, the ferns moving in the wind like a marching regiment.

There were also marshes here. He could feel his feet occasionally sinking deep into the mud with a splashing sound, and the stench of rotten cadavre hit his nostrils.

The man who had followed him stayed close behind him, whenever Aemilius turned around, he was still there: silent, expressionless, faithful. It wasn't until the last remnants of the sunlight had been erased from the landscape, that Aemilius was finally sure they had managed to escape the German patrol, and slowed down to walking pace.

Not until now, did he realize how hungry he was, how exhausted he had let himself become. He had difficulties keeping his eyes open, but the unknown soldier on his side kept walking with steady paces, and Aemilius mechanically followed, not willing to be the first to beg for a rest.

However, as the night turned pitch black, with the starlight hidden by the thin, white clouds, he could no longer resist his temptation to break the silence. He could no longer distinguish the red color on the man's tunic and shield, nor his facial expressions.

"I think we're lost", Aemilius begun. "Are you sure we're going in the right direction?"

The dark figure shook his head, the gesture barely visible in the dark.

"East", he finally responded.

"What?" exclaimed Aemilius.

"The camp is to the east".

"Yes, I know. But are we headed east now?"

"Not sure".

"Then we must stop for the night. The longer we walk in the wrong direction now, the further we'll have to walk to correct it later. What makes you think we are at all headed east?"

"We've walked in this general direction since morning."

"Damn, that's not very reliable. In that case, we may even have been walking north or south for the last few hours, for all we know." Aemilius threw his shield and pila to the ground with some force. "Wait!" he suddenly exclaimed. "We could navigate by the stars". Then he swore again, as he realized they were obstructed by the clouds. The dark soldier shrugged and sighed.

"Last year", Aemilius explained, "I was taught by a Belgae mercenary that on clear nights, the Germans navigate these woods by the stars. He said: 'there is a star on the sky that shines brighter than all the others, over a set of stars forming a curved sword, and that star points to the north, towards my home'. I seem to recall something about anthills and trees for dark nights, but I can't remember if the anthills were to the south, or to the north."

"I've heard that too", the dark soldier suddenly replied with enthusiasm in the voice", but continued, after a pause, "but I don't remember either."

Aemilius sighed, sitting down on a two feet high, round stone, leaning his back towards a tree trunk next to it.

"One thing has puzzled me for the last few hours", he finally said, and the other man turned towards him. "Apart from the ache from this damn chafing armor". He smiled. "Why did you choose to follow me, instead of fighting with the others? And without a word, without Cnaeus questioning your decision as he had questioned mine?"

The soldier smiled, but said nothing. Suddenly, as Aemilius was about to continue the conversation, his eye caught something unnatural on the ground.

A man made figure created out of sticks and stones.

It looked like a man.

But where the head would have been, there was nothing.

As he regained his senses from the shock, he couldn't hold back a shout of joy.

"I know where we are! I know where we are!" He shouted, turning towards the dark soldier, unable to keep himself from embracing him.

The next moment, they were on their way again. Aemilius explained to his surprised follower (who finally introduced himself, as Rufius), that they had made these figures last year, while passing this spot during the retreat to winter camps west of the Rhine. Aemilius, and three other romans had built one figure each. However, when they had left them, they had still had heads.

(to be continued)

Chapter 7

They arrived at the camp around midnight, Aemilius thought. The last mile, they had been led by the warm, red light of torches shining through the woods, marking the spot where Germanicus had made a gigantic clearing and a small "town" of tents had been raised inside earth walls, ditches, and a thin wooden pallisade.

The night guards directed them towards an empty tent near the pallisades. There were no signs of punishment from the centurion... yet.

Aemilius fell asleep quickly once he laid down on the rough earth floor of the tent, and slept a light, nervous sleep. When he woke up, day had already broken. Most of the soldiers had already prepared their armor and weapons, and were standing in separate formations all over the camp, ready for a command to leave through the gaps in the pallisade, one by one. Aemilius hurried to get dressed, while searching for his legion's insignia anywhere in the camp. Finally, he spotted it: the capricorn, waving majestically over the camp in the far end. He hurried to get there in time, at the same time curious about what was going to happen next.

Suddenly, he heard someone calling out his name, a familiar voice. At the last moment, he resisted his urge to turn his face towards it. Shuddering with rage, he recognized it as one of the men from the 14th. Rufius stopped for a moment, then hurried after Aemilius, somewhat surprised over his suddenly increased pace and over his ignoring the voice.

It was impossible to find the correct centuria. Aemilius and Rufius simply positioned themselves to the rear in one of the nearest groups they could find, and then listened to the voice in front of them: it was Germanicus.

"Soldiers of the 2nd legion! I've said the same things to the 14th already, and will say the same things to the other two legions before we go. The Germans have assembled an army around 3 miles ahead, and we have spotted Arminius among them. There will be a battle today!"

"Remember that we fight for the defense of the Rhine border, and our wives and children in the cities near it. We also fight for the city of Rome - for the right to civilization and freedom, while the barbarians fight for their right to keep living in dirt and darkness! It is well known that the side that fights for the greater cause fights better, for victory loves prudence, as the proverb goes. But also bear in mind, that our righteousness alone will not be enough for victory, if we expect it to do the fighting for us! Therefore, you must fight as hard as only a righteous cause can drive a man to fight. Then, we will be invincible!"

"The sacrifices we made this morning gave lucky signs, as usual, but why would they not be? We have nothing to fear from this rabble unless we get overconfident or careless, or stop fighting expecting our neighbor to do it for us. The battle cry for today is: 'Victory to the righteous cause!' And so it shall be!"

As soon as Germanicus finished the speech, the trumpets and horns signaled the 2nd to move out of the camp. Aemilius looked nervously around him, searching for the centurion and the cohort commander. He had to be with his centuria when the battle commenced.

(to be continued)

It's starting to get exciting. When will be the next chapter out?

1. did you think the psychology of the main character felt realistic?

Of course, why not? The human mind is capable of virtually anything.

2. what do you think of the main character from a moral standpoint? On a scale 1-10, with 1=villain, 10=hero, and 5=normal person, where would you put him?

I've read to Ch. 5, and this far he doesn't seem like that much of a "bad guy" yet. Sure, he's a bit provocative, but he keeps most of his resentment towards others to himself, thus not hurting them. Aditionally, he actually tries to help the less experienced soldiers (I figured that he had at least some fighting experience, but I might be incorrect) and prepare them for fight, so I'd probably say 5-6 ATM.

3. in question 2, how certain are you that your assessment of the character's morality is correct? On a scale 1-5, with 1=uncertain, 5=certain. If you answered 1-2, do you think this is a bad thing for the story?

3, and no, I don't think it's a bad thing for the story.

4. are you curious to find out about what happened to the main character in the 14th legion? Are you curious to find out more about the main character's future? If no, why do you think this is?

I'm curious about his past - his future will (hopefully) be revealed as the story go along, or do you mean future like "50 years later"? However, I think hints about his past should be given subtly.

5. do you feel sorry about the centurion, do you dislike him, or are you not sure what to think of him yet?

I feel pretty sorry for him. He's just trying to do what is expected of him, yet he fails at it.

6. did you notice any unexpected turn of events, that felt unrealistic or surprising in a non-convincing way? On the other extreme, did you notice any event that was too predictable? If so, what event?

A few things surprised me, like how Cnaeus was (supposedly) killed so early on (the characters who have their names revealed early on tend to be the most important ones), which I think was a good move on your side.

7. were you disappointed that there has still not been any battle or similar action scene, i.e. has the story been too slow so far?

Definitely not. I think retelling of battles is quite lame; I'm more interested in the psychology of people, and especially the darker sides of the human mind (like war).

8. did I write anything so unclear that the lack of clarity ruined the story in some way?

Nope.


Also, do you mind if steal your concept of asking the reader questions? I don't get too many comments on my own story:sweatdrop: