It had been a fierce and merciless battle in front of the
enemy village. What had once been a field of wheat almost
ready to be harvested was now a corpse-strewn, blood-soaked
wasteland. A large number of Roman soldiers had surrounded
the few remaining enemy warriors and in bitter fighting killed
them off. With the very last of the enemy falling, the Roman
horn blower signalled victory. The battle had lasted more
than an hour and the exhausted veteran slumped down on the
spot. He breathed deeply and slowly to ease the tenseness
with the routine of a battle-hardened legionnaire of many
years. He quickly checked whether any of his wounds were serious.
Luckily, all of the cuts were superficial and he sent a short
prayer of thanks to Mars, the mighty God of War, who had once
again helped Rome to be victorious. The veteran was surrounded
by corpses of the enemy and the air was heavy with the stench
of blood and human guts. Looking around him, he realised he
was sitting on top of a headless enemy. The head had been
somehow chopped off and, grotesquely, had come to rest upright
a few feet away. The dead eyes in the blood-spattered face
of the fallen barbarian stared at the veteran as though he
wanted to protest his death. The veteran shook his head to
wipe away any thoughts of pity for the fallen of this northern
tribe, which had dared to break the Pax Romana.
Out of routine, the legionnaires started to make sure that
every enemy warrior was dead. The veteran, gladius in hand,
picked up a pilum. It had been thrown during the battle and,
as intended, the iron tip had bent upon impact so as to render
it useless to the enemy. However, the blood-stained tip was
still good enough for killing injured enemies from a safe
distance. No point in getting knifed at this stage of the
battle. He started to walk along piles of corpses, carefully
prodding each one in turn. All of the barbarians were dead;
however, one of the fallen Romans was still breathing despite
a gaping wound on his neck. Throwing the pilum aside, the
veteran picked him up and carried his comrade to where the
medical staff were setting up a tent to treat the injured.
He left the comrade with the medicus, who immediately started
to work on the poor soul. Taking a deep breath, the veteran
sheathed his gladius and turned towards the enemy village.
The attack had been a two-pronged one. While two cohortes
drew out the barbarian warriors and fought them in front of
their village, another cohort had worked their way through
the forest over-night and attacked from the other side. The
entire village had been torched by now and black smoke poured
towards the sky. There would be no survivors – neither
women, children nor the old would be shown mercy. The tribe
had dared to challenge Rome and had to pay the price for it.
This was the only way to ensure peace for the Roman Empire.
Every barbarian tribe in this cursed land of Germania had
to know what it meant to mess with the legions of Rome. ‘Stupid
idiots’ the veteran thought, ‘did you really think
a small tribe pouring out of the forest could seriously challenge
the Roman Empire?’ The thought was preposterous and
the veteran chuckled quietly. He joined some of his comrades
watching the inferno. Happy, relieved laughter could be heard
over the cracking of burning wood and the roar of the flames
as the legionnaires shared some water and food. The veteran
was proud to have been a part of this act of vengeance. Nobody
would be allowed to challenge Rome unpunished. Rome was the
Lord of the Earth and nothing would ever change that. These
barbarians should better realise that. He grinned and slapped
the shoulders of some of his comrades. Suddenly, he saw another
legionnaire standing apart staring intently at the blazing
flames. The veteran knew him to be a new recruit and, as a
matter of fact, this had been his first battle. Maybe he was
shaken by the ferocity of the fight. The veteran remembered
very well that in his first battle many years ago, he shook
uncontrollably for many hours after the battle was over. In
a sudden rush of generosity the veteran decided to give the
young legionnaire some moral support. Walking towards him
he shouted: ‘Hey, my friend, why are you standing here
all alone? Come and join your comrades and share in the glory
of our victory.’ The young legionnaire slowly turned
his head towards the veteran. His expression was definitely
not one of panic or fear; rather there was a look of deep
contemplation and sadness on his face. And there were some
tears. ‘That guy must be highly disturbed.’ thought
the veteran. Smiling broadly, he stepped next to the young
legionnaire and for a while both silently watched the village
disappearing in the flames. Even from this distance, the heat
of the immense fire could be felt. But it was more like the
glow coming off a cosy kitchen fire on a winter’s day
with apples baking in the coals. The smells wafting over the
Roman soldiers, however, were somewhat different too - wood
and something else the veteran knew to be the smell of burning
human flesh. Such was war and the young legionnaire better
get used to it quickly. ‘After my first battle’
the veteran volunteered without taking his eyes off the blaze,
‘I couldn’t control my shivering for hours. Some
of my comrades just slapped me on the back and told me to
get over it. That didn’t help of course.’ The
young legionnaire turned towards the veteran looking somewhat
puzzled: ‘My tears are not because of fear or battle
shock. My tears are for Rome.’ As if suddenly shaken
out of stupor, the veteran looked at him disbelievingly. Gesturing
at the burning village he said: ‘We have won the battle,
the barbarians have been wiped out - and you shed tears for
Rome?’ The young legionnaire wiped away his tears smearing
the dirt of battle on his face into long, black streaks. He
looked the veteran straight into the eyes. ‘You don’t
understand. Even mighty nations have humble beginnings. Rome
was once a village like this. Carthage was once a mighty empire
but it was destroyed by Rome. Looking at this burning village,
I bemoan the fate of Rome for I know that one day our empire
will also be engulfed by flames. And out of the ashes another
empire will rise, only to be superseded again.’ With
that he left the dumbfounded veteran standing and walked away.
His mouth gaping in disbelief, the veteran stared after the
young legionnaire. ‘They should never allow philosophers
to join the Roman army. That will be the end of Rome.’
he thought with his hand resting reassuringly on the hilt
of his gladius.
