A Question of Dignitas

"Fuck"

The soldier peered round the tree trunk again. He saw the rest of his century...or what was left of it. The bloody Germanic tribesmen had hacked the Romans to pieces. There were limbs scattered across the ground, a scuta here, a gladius there. Several lifeless bodies were actually impaled to the trees themselves, no doubt some warped sacrifice to their barbarian gods. And the blood. The forest floor was stained red by the liquid of life, spilt from so many son's of Rome.

In the distance, perhaps only a couple of stadia away, the centurion could see the flames of a bonfire. The silhouette of several Germanic soldiers moved back and forth across the flickering light. The acrid smoke filtered through the trees, filling the soldier's throat. He gagged, covering his mouth with his crimson military cape. Sitting down behind the tree again, the damp of the forest floor feeling like the touch of Pluto on his legs, the centurion considered what had happened in the last few days.

The legions had set out to conquer Germania, in the name of Rome and the emperor Augustus, son of the deified Julius. The emperor had high hopes of acquiring more land for the empire. After all, they were just a few barbarian tribes in Germania. Nothing that the professional armies of the Imperium Romana cannot deal with. Or so the emperor had told the troops before they set out from the mother city. He had entrusted one Publius Quinctilius Varus with overall command.

The Roman forces should have taken the forest by storm, and expanded the empire to the Northern Sea, towards the realm of the snow-bound tribes of the far north. The reality was something shocking, violent and completely embarrassing.

The Germanic tribes united under one man, a warrior they called Arminius, and had used the forest to their advantage. The Romans never stood a chance. They were obliterated, man by man, century by century. Three legions went in: XVII. XVIII and XIX. The centurion totted up the totals in his head. Three legions alone would be around eighteen thousand men, but there were the auxiliary troops, and the cavalry to consider. The magnitude of the defeat slapped the surviving Roman like a tidal wave from Neptune. Twenty thousand men. There had to have been that many at least, and he was yet to see signs of another survivor.

How had he survived? He couldn't really remember much besides the adrenaline rush of the battle, the fear kicking in as Varus ordered a nightfall retreat, straight into another Germanic army. A classic pincer movement, executed with the type of style that would have made Julius Caesar himself proud. The centurion shook his head. He had to admit, that Arminius was an impressive enemy.

He faintly remembered the century falling apart, as the Germans smashed their way through the Roman lines. He'd tried to keep the men... no, boys. He'd tried to keep the boys together, Most of them had been boys, most having seen no more than twenty winters. They'd stood their ground as much as they could, but inexperience gave way to doubt, doubt became fear, and fear set the century to flight. Of course, a razor sharp spear penetrates a fleeing enemy in the back far easier than through a solid wall of shields. Most of the century had died within minutes. The centurion, his own self preservation becoming an immediate concern, had dived into the shadow of the forest, feigning death as the Germanic warriors surged past in their hundreds, all eager to let their blades taste Roman blood.

How long had he been there? A day, perhaps. It was near impossible to tell the time of day through the tick canopy of the forest. He knew it was nearing dusk now, as the small amount of daylight that did hit the forest floor was quickly fading. As he sat behind the tree, his presence unknown to the barbarian enemy, he considered his actions.

He had saved himself, for now. But he would never get out of the forest alive. He was Jupiter-knows how many miles from the border of the empire, several hundred more back to Rome. He had no money, no supplies. Hades, he'd even lost his shield in flight. He thought back to the legends of the Spartans that he had heard growing up. How the soldiers were told to either return with their shield, or on it. Never to throw it away in flight.

His heart sank as he compared himself to the Spartans of a time gone by. He would have been rejected by them for surviving such a relentless attack. He would be an outcast, a nobody...a coward. Just as he would be in Rome. No-one would want to associate themselves with the centurion who ran away, who threw his own shield away to save himself and left his century, his entire legion, to be slaughtered by the barbarians.

There was only one thing to do.

He picked up the one thing that he had held onto, his gladius. The blade was still stained with Germanic blood, from the heads and hands he had hacked off in the initial assault. Using his cape, the soldier wiped the blade clean, the blood blending in with the crimson fabric. Once he was satisfied the sword was clean, the soldier hauled himself back to his feet. The sword felt heavier than normal, his energy being sapped by his will to carry out this final task. Images of his wife and son, waiting for him in Rome, filled his mind. A single solitary tear fell from his right eye. He knew that he would not see them again, and hoped that the gods would protect them.

"Jupiter Optimus Maximus, accept my life and protect theirs". The quick prayer did little to lift his spirits. With a deep breath, he stepped from behind the tree. His military cape fluttered behind him in a slight breeze, a breeze that now blew the smoke of the bonfire away from him. A shout from up ahead, as a German scout spotted the lone Roman. Within seconds, he heard the beat of running feet, heading towards him through the trees. He held the sword to his chest, the point resting over his heart. As the first Germanic warrior emerged from the trees, the Roman yelled his defiance.

"FOR ROME, FOR THE EMPEROR, FOR DIGNITAS"

He struck home, seeing his wife and son for the last time.