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.

We were warned!

Fueled by doom, I chopped him like a beech and he fell like a tree. Three more grew in his place, blue-eyed and armed by Rome. All of Arminius' Germanic auxiliaries turned. All of them!

O Varus, Varus!

We were warned. You were warned! You lined the roads of Judea with the crucified barbarians. The Empire hailed you as a bane of rebels.

But Arminius still pulled wool over your eyes, and we walked right into his trap. You led us into it.

I batted away blades till my sword arm ached. Lightning flashed over the battlefield again and again. Between the spurts of white light, the dark spells felt worse. No. They felt better, because light illuminated nothing I wanted to see—least of all the Eagle of the XVIII-th wobbling, then swaying, ready to fall next to my stumbling standard bearer. He was a boy of seventeen, my standard bearer, ears sticking out so wide, helmets chaffed them raw.

I didn't see either the Eagle or the kid tumble, a small mercy from the Gods, for my horse screamed. Dying, it kicked out with all four legs, rocking me out of the saddle. With all that rain, it absurdly surprised me when the ground hit hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs.

I flopped onto my belly, gasping for breath—why?

Why, when I could have plunged my face into the muck and inhaled cold, foul water. Probably I didn't drown because during my fall I glimpsed that damn red-head woman again. She was soaked, splattered with mud and no better than a cow with terror, but somehow still alive.

Why, when I could have plunged my face into the muck and inhaled cold, foul water. Probably I didn't drown because during my fall I glimpsed that damn red-head again. She was soaked, splattered with mud and no better than a cow with terror, but somehow still alive.

Dazed, I rummaged for my sword under the feet of the combatants.

But instead of the sandals kneading dirt what I saw was the lined, mustached face dribbling from outrage. It loomed before me like it was right there for real, not a bitter fruit of my memory. I even saw saliva stuck in his beard after he spat at Varus. We were warned!

I coughed out a piece of my lung, bog and rain.

Juno's tits if I didn't understand Varus! The barbarian asshole who'd warned us about Arminius, was so torn between his hatred for Arminius and us, he couldn't and wouldn't hide it. These were two barbarians squabbling. One of them, Arminius, was raised in Rome, of Equestrian rank, virile, shaved and polished. The other was a crabby bear-fucker from Lower Germania.

Yes, I understood Varus' disdain for our informant. I didn't believe his accusations against Arminius either. Now we were about to die because we were blind.

To add insult to injury, Arminius' attack proceeded from our rule-book. Don't let them form up. Establish choke points... He learned well.

The hills pushed even closer together up ahead than on my sand bar. A few miles back, I spotted a fresh dirt wall. I even remembered shrugging at the backwater warfare. Just a turf wall, not very high, but it's not the size or the stone that counts. It's how fiercely it's held.

We taught Arminius how to fight like this. Varus loved him... or at least he loved the veneer of Romanization over him, when he had only to scratch Arminius to reveal a barbarian underneath.

And there he was, our Arminius, beating the crap out of us. There he was... as German as the day he was born in this fucking bog.

Lightning split day from night, but this one was different. It didn't wink out. The branching arc just shimmered in the sky, dead-ending in the bog behind me. Acrid smell of burning rot filled the air, along with an unfamiliar scent. It was pungent and strange. Troubling. Those facing the phenomenon, went to their knees. Those who didn't, followed their example. Everything, even the rain, it seemed, froze in terror.

Slowly, I turned around, shielding my eyes against the blinding light.

The lightning's end, the one that struck the bog then stuck in it like a stick, twined. Each of the two ends moved away from the other. It was a triangle at first. Its point ran further up the glowing branch, while the ends spread ever wider. Bog steamed in their wake. As I watched, the triangle widened into an arch. Then into a semicircle writhed in white, jolting light.

The strangest thing, the gap didn't have a stormy sky or a toxic bog. There were hills, but over them a distant white sun shone through a thin veil of mist. Instead of the riot of the fall colors—golds, greens, browns and reds—the roiling landscape stood teal, gray and purple. The shades of this other world were so very pale, they bled into one another until they were nearly indistinguishable.

Other than that, I recognized hills, valleys, clouds, trees, and streams for what they were, no different from Earth. Of course, the trees didn't screech in the storm there, while it continued its savage beating on our side. The place of peace revealed by the portal was mocking us. Or was it calling to us?

I shifted to my haunches and planted my fist in the muck. I pushed, then rose to my feet. I had an Emperor's view—thousands of backs, for everyone was still on their knees.

So... what was it to be? A certain death on Arminius' swords or—

Madness ballooned behind my eyes, almost cutting feet from under me again. 'A trap', it blared like a horn, 'another trap! Like a mirage in a desert of Africa. A surer way to lure you deep into the swamp. You'll drown in muck!'

I gritted my teeth.

Dark were Germania's forests. Darker still was the magic of her Druids. But this wasn't a twinkling light of a bog spirit fooling a deserter to his death. The portal was massive, glowing, eternal. It commanded and overwhelmed, as we, the Romans do. If the gateway was a work of Gods, it was the work of our Gods.

With a panicked quack, a gray duck flapped its wings and took off from the reeds. It threaded the middle of the burning semi-circle and kept flying over the peaceful hills till it was a dot on their horizon. It escaped.

An omen!

The eagle of the XVIII was right before me—another bird, another omen! I grabbed the shaft and lifted it high. Rain couldn't dampen my voice. I dared thunder to try!

"Legion, to me! Into the breach!"

I had no plan, save for a hunch that these other hills weren't as rife with swords as the green ones of the Teutoburg.

I charged, and the crowd followed in the same disarray as they were being slaughtered. The soldiers came, and the whores came. Even some of the bravest among the turn-cloaks came, led by the revelation or revenge. The red-headed woman I kept seeing everywhere came. Her hair looked fat from the rain, plastered to pallid cheeks, like streaks of blood.

They all came with me, and they kept coming.

***

There was more to the feverish nightmare that we now called the Crossing.

I formed up men who held their water to defend the gate when the barbarians rallied, awakened from a religious stupor. There was a soldier yelling from unbearable pain as the portal snapped shut, slicing his leg clean off at the hip. There was remorseful weeping once we realized what we had done.

Yes, there was more to that day, but my memories break into shards from when the portal had closed. We lost Earth. We abandoned it for this place, the Nanciscor.

on my command.At the end of my life now, I watch the city rise on the hills I first gleaned in the bog. I watch the Fidus Empire spread out from our new city, Fidelium. I listen to the voices of my children, born here. They, who've never seen Rome, say this, or that thing is as glorious as the 'old world'...

It makes me wonder.

What if we will have to stay here, in Nanciscor and never see Earth again? What then?

I don't know what would happen then, even though Fortuna put me in charge of the survivors. I should know. I should have a plan for them, and I don't.

Yet, I know this one thing.

Like a rock in the sea of the barbarians, we must stand firm and pure—or Rome will be gone from our hearts.

If Nanciscor, the land gained by chance, isn't a temporary sanctuary, but a homeland to our new race, the Fidelis, my bequest to it is to remember Arminius.

Remember Arminius—and there shall be no limits to the Imperium Fidus.

Forget Arminius—and the Empire shall perish with the tide.