Champion in Love (bxb)

The Portal in the Teutoburg Forest

Year 9 AD

Varus, give me back my legions!

—Emperor Augustus

***

It drizzled for days when the XVIII-th Legion entered the Teutoburg Forest. The air was stale even in the open, suffocating me with the smell of mildew. The bog exhaled fog from dawn till dusk. The long strands of it mixed with the low clouds. We were trapped in this chilly dampness for so long, that when wind sliced across my cheek, I sighed with relief.

The second gust of wind tore leaves from the beeches sticking out of heather. Twisted by autumn, the leaves flew with reluctance; one slapped me in the face. The spruces creaked behind the beeches, louder and louder, as if they could speed the wind up.

The storm was coming, and I wasn't the only one to feel the coming storm in my bones. The mood of the marching column soured, for we already were exhausted from trudging through mud. Their discontent weighed me more than the armor.

Commander Varus must have sensed the pressure as well. "Press on!" was his order. Perhaps, there was less muck up ahead. Perhaps, he was in a foul mood because our barbarian auxiliaries were dragging him into their squabbles.

I understood his frustration with our so-called allies. Which Germanic chieftain took whose daughter by force was all the same to me, so long as the Reine was Roman. So long as we stomped out the rebellions before they grew large. That's why I relayed Varus' orders down the line and cursed. We had no choice but to march through this gods-forsaken forest.

Even the horn singing the command sounded hoarse, laboring against the wind. Cough rattled me inside my armor. Our line was stretched so thin, I feared it would reach the end of the column way after the nightfall. How I wish that a chilly night camp would remain my only fear before that day was out!

How I wish!

Wind ravaged, blowing in the mother of all storms. In an instant, the day was black as night. Jupiter's thunder roared. Rain drummed on metal, wood and flesh. The wall of water drove even the spruces to the ground, let alone men. The world turned into a smothered fresco, where the hills blended with the clouds. The bog vomited what water it couldn't swallow under our feet, pure rainwater mixed with rusty one from the foul deep.

In this nightmare deluge, somewhere below the clouds and far above us, the barbarian war cry broke out between two thunderclaps.

"Close ranks!" I whirled my horse to face the hillside, shielding my face against the wind and pelting rain. Flooding bog was at our backs, Mithras' help us! It ate away at the meager strip of solid ground we clung to.

My hornist blew a brassy note calling men to order, but... what cursed ranks? We stretched too thin! There were camp followers mixed among the fighting men, for crows' sake! One of them, a red-haired woman, stared at me with round, dead eyes even now. That gaze stuck to me the way such things cut into mind.

Lightning forked across the sky, three-pronged. For a flash, the darkness fled, and it became brighter than noon. In this unnatural light, metal glinted off the Roman swords pointing at me.

Bitter laughter shook me, turning to cough. He warned us!

I swung at the closest attacker, a blue-eyed man in a studded leather and helmet of Roman make. The straps were properly tied, just like we had taught them. I didn't see his face in the darkness between the lightning strikes, but I imagined Arminius' face in my mind's eye.