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)