This is a topic I've felt like writing about for a while. Would like to know what people think as I'm considering writing a larger piece on this spanning more time and going into greater detail.
Varus and The Battle of Tuetoburg Forest
A thin mist settled across the dense expanse of Tuetoburg forest, its light veil falling upon the three marching Roman Legions. Its chill making the men shiver as the dampness penetrated their rough army issue woollen tunics. They had been on the road since before dawn, and as the sun rose it revealed to the legionaries a vast forest, stretching to either side as far as they could see until it began to melt into the mist. The men were nervous and uneasy; constantly sending furtive glances into the gloom of the surrounding trees. This may have been declared a pacified area, but the legionaries knew all too well of the resentment harboured by the Germanic tribes towards their would be rulers.
Legionary Titus Maxus was no stranger to this resentment. The grizzled soldier had been involved in countless skirmishes with the more aggressive of the tribes that refused to stay pacified for very long, not to mention the frequent raiding parties trespassing south across the Rhine. He bore the scares to prove it, and upon seeing him there could be no doubt he was anything other than a soldier. He was not particularly tall, but broad shouldered, heavy set and undoubtedly strong. The way he wore his armour and carried his large rectangular shield as if they were made of paper were testament to this. A livid scar ran down his face, a memento from a Germanic tribesman who had come closest to killing Maxus. The man had paid for his efforts with his life, as had countless other men who had thought to end his time in this world.
As the column continued its slow trudge through the gloomy forest, Maxus found himself pondering their current situation. As a mere legionary he was not given details as to their purpose, but these things have a way of working their way out. The rumours have it that a Germanic prince, allied to Rome, has called for the aid of their General, Quinctilius Varus- something to do with helping crush a rapidly growing revolt in the Rhine area to the West.
Whatever it was it found the Roman column having to travel a long distance through the huge sprawl of Tuetoburg forest, the route that would get them to their destination fastest, though with the most risk. The thick mass of trees to both sides of the column created the perfect site for an ambush, but the Germanic Prince himself had assured Varus of its safety.
This was a matter of bitter dispute amongst the men commanding the individual legions, the Legates, and the commander, Varus. They had wanted to go around the forest, opting for a safer route so as not to expose themselves. Varus has ranted and raved at them, accusing them of cowardice. Well, so the rumours went. Whatever the cause of this route, Maxus reasoned, it was a bad idea to have opted for this path. This was the source of the men’s uncharacteristically sullen mood, there was hardly any talk, most of the legionaries simply trudged determinedly along the forest road just wanting to see the end of the disturbing woodland.
As Maxus continued on his train of thought about their current state of affairs a halt was called. The tight ranks of the legionaries came to a stop. A deep silence settled on the column, an oppressive quiet that no one felt they had the nerve to break, it seemed to have enveloped them completely. From Maxus’ point in the leading Legion he could just see through the slowly thickening mist the officers of the three legions and Varus meeting together at the head column.
As Maxus let his mind wander, waiting for the Legions to resume their march an ear splitting howl erupted from the forest. It was taken up on all sides of the shocked legionaries, the volume rising as more and more voices joined in. Then, as abruptly as it began the sound stopped. Maxus felt a shiver run down his spine and gripped the smooth metal pommel of his sword, its touch reassuring. He sent a quick prayer to Mithras, the soldier’s god, asking for the strength to stand firm, for himself and for his comrades.
The officers at the front of the Legions raced back along the line to take position at their respective units bawling out orders as they came. However, their voices were soon drowned out as a noise like thunder erupted out of the forest, seeming to the soldiers as if the sky itself was falling down around them. The veteran legionaries recognized the sound- swords and spears being hammered against shields. Tribesmen were building themselves into a war frenzy, preparing to throw themselves onto their hated enemies.
The centurions began shouting out orders to their men, trying to form them up to face the coming assault. But the path was too narrow; the men were strung out in their marching formation that stretched over a mile in length and were unable to move into a suitable formation to face an attack. The line was only three deep each side of the track, and the woods were as close as the range of a javelin. A few of the younger men started edging backwards, and received a berating for their troubles from their Optios and Centurions.
“Ready Javelins!” The order was carried down the line, taken up by every Cohorts Centurions. The men at the front paced one step ahead, turned side on and raised their Javelins over hand and waited for the order. There was still no visible sign of the enemy from the forest but there was definitely no doubt they were coming. The thunderous clamour from the forest abruptly stopped, and the howl renewed once more, though this time growing nearer to the Roman column spread out along the road.
As the first German warriors burst through the edge of the trees the order was give, “RELEASE!” A hail of javelins arched through the air, a dark mass of deadly iron tipped rain flying towards the Barbarians. Maxus lost track of his javelin with everyone else’s and watched as they struck home amongst the charging mass of enemies. Some tried to raise their oval shields, but it was futile, the Roman javelins punched through shields, armour and bone indiscriminately- it was slaughter. This was repeated all along the Roman column, the Barbarians hitting along the whole stretch on both sides.
The initial casualties from the Javelin volley were swallowed up in the tide of the screaming Germans as they struggled to get to their hated enemies, the mass of wounded and dead men a mere fraction of their full force.
The Centurions shouted to their men, “DRAW SWORDS!” and the legionaries tightened their formation, shields thrust forward and swords at their sides, ready to thrust into any exposed flesh of the enemy. Maxus raised his shield and watched the seething mass of enemy warriors surge towards him. His throat was dry, but his head was clear, he had done this so many times it had become second nature. The first German tribesman screamed his war cry and slashed his sword over head, aiming to take Maxus’ head off. He saw the path of the stroke, raised his shield up, stepped inside the mans swing and thrust his short sword into his exposed stomach, twisting it so the blade wouldn’t stick. The German grunted and fell to the floor where Maxus quickly finished him off with a thrust in the neck.
The fight raged in a similar fashion the whole way down the Roman column. The line was too thin though, and even though the Germans were taking heavy casualties the legionaries slowly began to give ground against the crush of Barbarians. Amongst the din of fighting, screams pierced the air, quickly growing in number. Maxus glanced to his right and saw a little further down the road the line had been breeched. Germans were swarming through the gap, hacking and slashing at the Romans as they went. Officers shouted out orders and Maxus saw the Roman line close in on itself, presenting another wall to the mass of Germans.
It dawned on Maxus then that it wasn’t likely they were getting out of this, he glanced around and saw the determination in the faces of the younger legionaries and felt a great sadness well up inside him. He had had a long life, a good one, but these new soldiers had barely seen what the world had to offer.
Maxus cursed himself angrily; there was no time for such soft thoughts now. He hardened himself for what lay ahead, preparing himself for the inevitable. Death. He thrust his sword into another German who was foolish enough to come too close and heard him hiss in agony. If he was going to die then he was going to take as many as these bastards with him as he could.
All along the column the German Warriors were piercing the line, more and more Romans were forced into defensive rings, small pockets of resistance fighting for survival. The sounds of death filled the air, shouts and screams mixed with the clash of weapons, and the dull thud of swords hammering on shields. Every now and then a howl would erupt from the German warriors as they breached one of the defensive rings and began slaughtering the legionaries. Once one of the formations broke the Roman soldiers had to resort to single combat, where they were quickly overwhelmed by the enemy’s superior numbers.
Maxus quickly realised if they had any hope of survival they had to regroup as fast as possible. He looked around him for his Centurion but he was nowhere to be seen. He gritted his teeth in anger, feeling the helplessness of his situation.
Then, out of the mist came a small band of Romans, their horses at full stretch, every man in the small band hacking down at the Germans milling around them. Maxus realised that it was General Varus himself, he could tell by the expensive cut of his tunic, and his bronze, muscle sculpted cuirass that was polished to a brilliant sheen. Maxus heard a centurion bawling out orders, and a portion of the line swung inwards and let the General and his retinue pound into the relative safety of the column. Before the Barbarians could take advantage of this the line had closed once more, presenting a wall of red shields and sharp swords to the enemy. Varus curbed his horse and addressed the men around him,
“I wont lie to you, the situation is bleak. We are surrounded, we have been tricked. I will not go into details as we don’t have time, but I want you to know we are not beaten. We are Romans!”
He raised his voice at the last part and was met with a ragged cheer from the surrounding legionaries. Maxus saw the edges of the Generals lips rise in a faint smile, proud of his men.
“We are going to proceed along this path in tight order, we will keep going till we clear this forest where we will regroup. The end is not far, we can make it”. Varus looked around at the soldiers nearest to him, meeting their frightened gazes and holding them fast,
“We will do this,” he said softly. With that his dismounted, took a shield off a fallen legionary and took his place in the front line of the column.
“FORWARD!” The legionaries started edging forward along the path, hacking at any Germans who came too close. Maxus’ spirits lifted; there might be hope after all he reasoned. He was in the front rank of the line that progressed forwards along the path, not far from Varus himself. He looked behind him, and saw over the heads of the rearmost legionaries in their formation a huge mass of Germans following in their wake. Were they the last left? He shook his head, there must be more- surely all fifteen thousand of them couldn’t have been destroyed?
As the progressed down the forest road they discovered the fate of their comrades who were ahead of them in the line. Bodies lay everywhere, some missing limbs, others butchered so badly they were barely recognisable. One of the younger soldiers stopped to throw up and caught a smack round the head by the Centurion for his trouble. The Germanic Warriors behind the rough marching square were getting bolder now, shouting insults and hurling abuse at the slowly retreating Romans. They hadn’t tried attacking again though, which worried Maxus. They must be waiting for something.
Before he could even worry about this he had his answer. Further along there was a wall of Barbarian Warriors formed up, barring the road. Others began to emerge from the concealment of the woods to either side. They were completely surrounded now, there were too many to break through.
Varus turned to his men, and growled, “We will not receive quarter from this scum. We will not run, we will sell our lives so dearly they think twice before taking on any Roman again.”
Silence greeted his words this time, but as Maxus look around he noted the grim determination on the face of every man in their small group. He tightened his grip on his sword and waited.
With a shriek the Germans charged the Romans, they covered the open ground quickly and fell upon the legionaries with renewed vigour, hacking and slashing at them, trying to break past their guard. Maxus turned aside a stroke intended to take his head of, reversed his sword and thrust it through the exposed neck of his enemy who fell to the earth with a pathetic mewling sound. Again and again he fought off opponents, but the weight of number slowly pushed their rough square inwards, until so many lay dead it began to lose its shape and become a circle. Inch by inch the Romans fell backwards, their circle getting smaller and smaller as more legionaries fell. The Barbarians were heedless of their losses, caught up in a frenzy that made them force their way onto the short Roman swords.
There were only a handful left now, all weary, sweat soaked men who barely resembled the might of Rome anymore. Nearly all of them were wounded, some worse than others. No one spoke. Their circle so small now there was hardly any room in the middle. A small knot of men defying a horde. Maxus looked round and saw Varus was still with them. Varus looked the men left with him in the eye and spoke softly, “It’s been an honour”.
The Germans charged home once more, this time their rush was barely checked. Maxus stabbed out at a German, felt his sword connect, but then his shield was ripped from his arm. He felt a blow strike his helmet making black spots dance at the edge of his vision, he thrust out again with his sword, but this time two barbarian swords came back in response. Maxus felt one enter his thigh, and the other bit into his chest. With a final sigh Titus Maxus fell back, letting the darkness take him.
