The Legion

In an effort to gain military acclaim, Emperor Domitian created the Legion I Minerva, and dispatched it to attack the Chatti tribe in 83-85 CE.

In 89 CE Legion I Minerva, along with VI Victrix, X Gemina, and XXII Primagenia under General Lappius Maximus were deployed to quell the uprising in Germania Superior when Lucius Antonius Saturninus and two legions rebelled against the emperor. Saturnus was due to be reinforced by Germanic tribes from across the Rhine, but an unseasonal thaw had prevented the tribes from lending aid and the rebellion was quashed easily, the four legions suffering only minimal losses.

I Minerva was left temporarily in Germania Superior while the other three legions returned with General Lappius Maximus to Germania Inferior. Of the two legions involved in the mutiny, Legion XIV Gemina was ordered to remain in Mainz while Legion XXI Rapax was relocated to Pannonia.

It had only been a few years since the Dacian King Decebalus had launched a sneak attack destroying Legion V Alaudae in Moesia and the stain on legion honor for the defeat of three legions in the Teutoburg forest eighty years earlier had never truly healed. Domitian was angered by the possibility of a renewed threat from the Germanic tribes and wanted to make an example to the world of his wrath.

I Minerva, now under command of Legion Legate Antonius Drusus Scipio was ordered to see the will of the emperor done, meaning an excursion across the Rhine in Alemanni territory with the intent to capture or execute the Alemanni King Hludwig.

Preliminary intelligence reports from across the Rhine suggested the failed bid by Saturninus to defy Rome caused the uneasy alliance of tribes built by King Hludwig to fracture, scattering the various tribes in groups of no more than a couple of hundred apiece back into the surrounding forests and mountains.

Scipio was pragmatic, mobilizing an entire legion and auxiliaries was a laborious and expensive task, so he decided to dispatch three of the legion’s ten cohorts, the 1st, 2nd, and 9th. The cohorts would also be accompanied by a force of 500 auxiliaries with an aim to cross the river and rout whatever remnants might still be in the vicinity. Scipio decided he would remain with the legion proper and assign operational command to Legion Tribune Gaius Flavius.

The young Flavius was born of a patrician family and the appointment of the 19 year old to I Minerva was seen as a stepping stone for a young man with senatorial aspirations. Knowing the inexperience of Flavius, the selection of the I Minerva’s first cohort would provide the Tribune with the talents of the legion’s primus pilus, centurion Tiberius Sextus, an eighteen year veteran of the army and an exceptional soldier and tactician. He would assume battle command should the need manifest.

Centurion Tius Valerius, primus prior of the second cohort and was also a well-seasoned veteran with numerous battle accolades and campaigns to his credit.

With two of the legion’s most celebrated centurions to hold the young nobleman’s hand, Scipio believed the excursion would provide the tribune with some much needed field experience and add some glory to the young man’s name.

The weather had been warm for the time of year and the waters of the Rhine were running fast and high. Having been amongst the first to make the treacherous crossing, Tiberius watched impassively from the far shore. Mobilizing over two thousand men, supply trains, and horses was a laborious task. As the primus pilus observed the operation, one of the supply boats overturned and several men drowned.

“Bad omen to start,” mumbled Quintus Aurelius under his breath from his position beside the centurion. He was Tiberius’ Optio and second in command of the first cohort’s first century.

“Save such words of ill portents, lest those around think your courage has fled you,” chastised Tiberius, a stern expression on his clean shaven face.

“My apologies Centurion,” said Quintus. He had been with Tiberius for four years as his optio. Tiberius was a strict man and harsh disciplinarian, but he was fair and did not brook cowardice.

Primus prior Valerius walked up, red crested helm tucked beneath his left arm. “Strength and honor centurion,” he said, reaching out to take Tiberius’ arm. The two men clasped forearms a moment before disengaging.

“Strength and honor Valerius,” acknowledged Tiberius. “Are you just across?”

“Second cohort is almost completely across, just waiting for auxiliaries and supplies now,” replied the younger centurion.

Tiberius looked to Valerius then to Quintus. “Leave us,” he instructed to his optio. Once Quintus had removed himself, he faced the other centurion. “I am pleased to have you along for this Valerius, this foul weather and uncertain terrain may test our discipline,” commented the senior centurion.

Valerius laughed, “For the glory of Rome.”

“For a pompous emperor seeking hollow honors,” countered Tiberius sourly.

“You think this is a futile exercise?” asked Valerius.

“I dispatched scouts prior to moving the main force over. Preliminary reports suggested Hludwig may have had assembled a force as large as ten or twelve thousand, but if there were ten thousand men here they’ve long since gone. The terrain is sloppy, muddy. Even moving our two thousand men through here will be a test of logistics,” informed Tiberius

“At least we’ve Flavius to protect us,” mused Valerius, flicking a glance in the direction of the young tribune. Tiberius rewarded him with a wry smile.

“If there are stragglers still out there, the cold and wet will probably make them want to be well away from this place, but they may still pose a threat. Maintain your vigilance. I will keep a watchful eye on our young commander.”

“As you will,” replied Valerius, saluting the senior centurion, before leaving.

The remainder of the landing proved uneventful. True to Tiberius’ prediction, progress was slow and problematic for a force of such numbers. Supply wagons sank into the soft ground. Climbing in elevation helped some, but there was nowhere that seemed to be dry. Even at night, with tents littering the hillside amidst the trees, it seemed impossible to chase the damp away.

On the ninth day, finally the rains broke, heat from the sun pulled mist and fog up from the sodden ground. Visibility was reduced to no more than a score of paces. The trail they followed widened and narrowed, treacherous and slippery.

The sounds of trees cracking and falling at the fore and aft of the column echoed through the forest.

“Ambush!” yelled Tiberius, sliding his gladius from its sheath.

Arrows rained down over the column, felling legionaries before they had opportunity to raise their shields. “Defensive positions!” barked Valerius amidst the chaos, swiveling his horse to command the soldiers of the second cohort.

Crashing sounds preceded the appearance of thick logs tumbling down the up slope embankment, slamming into the shield barrier. Screams and horns and of a sudden, the fight was on. Barbarians spilled over the rise and down onto the column, forcing the legionaries down the slope and at a defensive disadvantage.

The fight was utter savagery. The column collapsed in on itself under the sheer weight of the barbarians. The wet conditions seemed to favor the barbarians, as they drove against the Roman line. Arms and legs were hacked and severed, screams and cries of the dying filled the air as men from both sides were cut down by steel. Wide eyes, Flavius watched in horror as men died around him. In an effort to flee, he tried to spur his mount, but the horse just reared back, spilling the tribune onto the ground. A body collapsed on top of him pinning him to the earth, then another and another.

From somewhere in the mist, Valerius heard Tiberius yell “Rally!”

No sooner had the cry gone out, than a spear materialized and felled Valerius’ horse. Rolling to his feet as the animal dropped from under him, he withdrew his blade in a fluid motion. No stranger to battle carnage, he swung his gladius with ruthless efficiency, scything through the barbarian horde mercilessly toward where he had heard Tiberius’ call. He turned in time to see an axe coming for his face. Snapping his head away from the blade he felt the searing pain of metal slicing through his cheek before he drove the tip of his own blade into the throat of his attacker. Climbing through the mass of human wreckage, he caught sight of the primus pilus as barbarians swarmed over Tiberius, the centurion carving his own swath of death before being pulled from his mount and vanishing beneath the tangled mass of frenzied humanity.

“To the Primus Pilus!” yelled Valerius, rousing the troops, but the onslaught was unrelenting as more and more of the Alemanni and their allies appeared until the legion’s defenses broke, throwing the column into complete disarray and scattering legionaries in every direction. “Hold fast!” yelled Valerius. Suddenly from out of the mist King Hludwig himself materialized, a thick towering man of nearly seven feet, body covered in gore. He let out a guttural battle cry and held his two handed war axe high overhead before pushing through his own forces to get to where Valerius stood.

The barbarian king barked something in his native tongue and pointed at Valerius. The centurion nodded slowly and adopted a defensive position. Hludwig raised his enormous axe and swung it at Valerius, a wide sweeping arc. Valerius ducked in low and stabbed Hludwig solidly in the right thigh. The man mountain bellowed in rage and deceptively fast brought his great axe back around. The Roman lifted his gladius to block the stroke. The force of the impact was so strong it nearly tore the blade from the centurion’s hand and drove him backward several steps. His right arm numb from shoulder to hand. Pivoting, Valerius nimbly tossed his blade from right hand to left, and spun, catching Hludwig near the left knee.

The king roared in pain and frustration and charged at Valerius, but he feinted right then dodged left as Hludwig missed and slipped in the mud.

Valerius breathed hard, using the momentary break to catch his wind.

Getting back to his feet, the wounds in his legs bleeding copiously, Hludwig bellowed again, voice deep and filled with anger. Valerius moved in, dodged the overhand chop and drove his sword into Hludwig’s belly, the hilt stopping only when it hit breast bone. Pulling his blade free of Hludwig’s barrel chest, Valerius stepped back. A cry of alarm rose up from the Alemanni in the immediate vicinity of their fallen king. Horns started to sound and the barbarians began suddenly disengaging and withdrawing back into the mist shrouded forest.

Flight

Thousands of dead littered the land, the moans of the dying mingled with the shrill cry of ravens descending on the site of battle.

Immediate threat at bay, Valerius doubled over, exhausted. Antonius Sulla soldier of the 2nd cohort, 2nd century appeared beside him. “We need to dress your wounds Centurion,” commented the soldier, placing a steadying hand on Valerius’ shoulder.

Standing upright, Valerius’ eyes swept the forest floor. Everywhere he looked there was death, the waters ran red with the blood of Roman and Alemanni alike, the stained ground making no distinction. Tiberius lay practically dismembered a short distance off.

“You are the ranking officer,” Sulla said, tending to the more serious of the centurion’s injuries.

“Over here!” someone yelled, “It’s the tribune.”

Valerius pushed Sulla away and walked in the direction of the call, arriving in time to see the young noble being pulled from beneath the heaped bodies of legionnaires and barbarians alike.

The sounds of whistling echoed from all directions around the abbatoir, drifting through the trees from unseen places. Valerius evaluated the situation. The survivors who hadn’t fled into the forest consisted of less than a thirty legionnaires and perhaps a half dozen auxiliaries. Of the eighteen centurions that had accompanied the three cohorts on the mission, only four remained, including Valerius. The others were primi ordines, Marcus Agrippa, centurion of the 1st cohort, 3rd century, Pontius Aquila, 1st cohort 5th century and Decidius Titus, 9th cohort, 2nd century.

“We need a defensible position,” barked Valerius, knowing the dying light might provide some refuge from the barbarians and give the Romans the ability to slip from the field of battle unseen.

“There is difficult terrain to the southeast, rocky outcroppings, might be more defensible, maybe a league distant,” offered Agrippa.

“Prepare those we can for travel and gather what supplies we may, we must leave within the hour,” bellowed Valerius. He summoned Titus and instructed him to get the able bodied to render what aid they could to the inured. He had no idea how long the reprieve granted by the death of the barbarian king would last and wanted to move away from the slaughter.

The whistling continued, a keening sound, seemingly from all directions. Valerius didn’t know if it was a call and answer form of communication, some type of dirge, but he knew they needed to move and fast.

A soldier approached Valerius carrying a leather bound bundle. “This was found on the barbarian chieftain,” he said, presenting the bundle. The centurion took the bundle in his hands and dismissed the soldier. Hefting the small parcel, he opened it to find a small leather-like book with unrecognizable scribbles, and a short ornate knife. Frowning, he re-wrapped the package and put it in his pack.

Letting Agrippa lead the way, Valerius moved up and down the tattered line of soldiers, helping with the injured. Aside from the gash on his face, he himself sported no less than another dozen wounds, but remained stoic, a pillar of strength for the men.

As Agrippa indicated, the terrain became much rockier and difficult to traverse. Finding a more defensively advantageous location, Valerius called for line to halt and set up a defendable positon. It started to rain.

Agrippa bore a smile on his face as he approached Valerius. “Finally, some good fortune,” he said.

Valerius looked around then snorted. “Good fortune?”

“There’s a cave over there,” he said, entrance practically hidden. “We can weather the rain inside while our foes will be soaked and sodden,” he explained.

Valerius frowned, he saw no opening in the rock. It was until he got closer he saw the alignment of stones and trick of the light that made the opening almost invisible.

“Take two men, do not light a torch until inside the cave,” instructed Valerius. He cast a silent prayer of thanks to Fortuna.

The narrow opening in the mountain did indeed open into a vast chamber, large enough to shelter all of the troops. Valerius was the last to enter, armor slick with rain water and blood. He reached up to touch the gash on his face.

“That’ll leave a scar,” Lucius Germanicus, Valerius’ optio said with an amused tone.

Valerius chuckled. “My pretty face,” he said with mock concern. From somewhere within the darkness, someone struck another torch.

The cave was deep, the narrow opening presented an excellent defensive advantage, like Leonidas at Thermopylae, the position could be held by relatively few. Valerius quickly established a body of men capable of constructing a phalanx to block the opening before taking stock of the rest of the troops. Flavius was huddled against the wall, unmanned by the ferocity and brutality of the fight. Nearly everyone in the cave bore wounds, some grave. Closing his eyes a moment, he could feel cool air moving across his face. From somewhere deeper in the mountain there was a source of fresh air.

“We need to get out of here,” babbled Flavius to no one in particular.

Pontius walked over and back handed the tribune across the face. “Act like a man,” growled the centurion.

Flavius clutched his reddening face, “I could have you brought up on charges,” he hissed, glowering at Pontius.

“Shut up,” snapped Valerius. Turning to Agrippa, he said, “I want you to take one other and scout the cave, there’s fresh air coming from somewhere inside of here and I want to know if we have another way out. Let the torches guide you.” Holding the torch up, the movement of air caused the flame to lean.

Agrippa saluted and called Sulla to him. Striking another torch, they ventured deeper into the subterranean gloom.

“Pontius, the opening is your responsibility,” bid Valerius, pointing toward narrow opening.

The centurion saluted and moved closer to the handful of soldiers guarding the entrance.

“Titus, you oversee the wounded, do what you can,” Valerius instructed grimly, knowing some would not survive the night. The centurion nodded, saluted and set about the task of triaging the wounded, separating those likely to die from those with a chance to live.

“Quintus, we are blind inside this tomb, I need eyes outside to see, take Septimus and check the area around the opening to see if we were followed. Any signs of trouble, you are to return here, do not engage,” ordered the primus prior.

 “The gods have abandoned us in this forsaken land,” moaned Flavius.

“If you don’t quiet your sniveling, I’ll have you gagged,” warned Valerius.

“Have you noted the markings on the walls?” asked Germanicus, pointing at the crude paintings adorning the walls of the cave.

Valerius shook his head. In the dim light there were indeed an array of pictograms on the walls. Crude rough renderings of figures on the walls, various sizes and poses, some figures massive, others incredibly small. Turning away, “We need fire,” he remarked absently to no one in particular.

“I’ll see to it,” assured Germanicus, leaving to get some help.

Valerius nodded, leaning his back to the wall and allowing himself to slide down. He closed his eyes again, visions of the battle flashing through his mind.

Within an hour, there was a large fire inside the massive chamber. Valerius smiled, wondering where in creation Germanicus had found wood dry enough to burn in the rain drenched landscape.

Quintus returned with Septimus. The duo approached Valerius where he sat against the wall. “I could not detect any of the barbarians centurion, just Germanicus and the others collecting wood.”

“Remain alert,” whispered Valerius.

Titus approached. “We’ve lost two in the last hour. There are others that won’t survive the night, a few others could go either way,” he advised.

“Give those who won’t see home again what peace you might, water, comfort,” replied Valerius opening his eyes and looking up at the junior centurion. Titus nodded, a grim expression on his youthful face, before he departed.

Valerius closed his eyes, if only for a moment he thought. A sound alerted him, he opened his eyes. He hadn’t realized he had drifted off to sleep. Antonius Sulla stood near him.

“Centurion?” Sulla repeated.

Using the wall to assist, the centurion pushed himself to standing, “Sorry,” he mumbled. “What news?” he asked, noting the fire had burned low. The others in the cave were about their business and had left him to sleep, he frowned, the expression causing the wound in his face to complain.

“I am returned at Centurion Agrippa’s request. He bade me report back that he has found a passage through to the other side of the mountain. He remained to scout the area outside the mountain. The way is perilous though,” cautioned the soldier.

Valerius nodded. “How long have I been asleep?” he asked.

“Some hours I would think,” offered Sulla, shrugging his shoulders.

Valerius may have slept, but he certainly did not feel rested. He dismissed Sulla and walked over to Titus and looked at the collection of injured.

“We entered the cave with thirty-four, we are now twenty nine,” replied Titus. He cast a glance over his shoulder. “Two others will not see morning,” he whispered.

Valerius looked to where Titus glanced, then back to Titus himself. “We will need to depart very quickly,” he said, gaze unflinching.

Titus frowned and nodded. “I understand,” he replied, knowing the two dying men could not travel, Valerius was asking him to hasten them on their journey to the Elysian Fields.

Valerius nodded and the two clasped forearms, no other words needed exchanging.

Off by himself, in the dwindling firelight dancing about the cave, Flavius rocked back and forth, arms wrapped around his knees, babbling something unintelligible.

Valerius walked over. “We leave soon Tribune, gather yourself,” he instructed.

Flavius looked up, face smeared with grime. “We are all dead,” he said, “Ghosts.”

Valerius shook his head and walked over to Pontius at the entrance to the cave. “Agrippa has found a way through the mountain,” he informed.

Pontius nodded. “Good news. I will remain with a couple of men to protect the escape.”

“Give us an hour, you should be able to catch up by the time we are through,” Valerius said.

Pontius nodded.

Moving the through the narrow passages in the mountain was tedious and took the better part of half a day. Their supply of torches was rapidly depleting and almost exhausted by the time they reached the far end of the passage. Pontius had caught up with the main body of the group long before they were through. There was a much smaller chamber at the opposite end and the exit opened onto a narrow ledge twenty feet above the forest floor.