Soldier of Rome: The Legionary

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What a fool you are, Quintilius Varus!

The mass of trees grew thicker, the sky darker, and what had started off as a mild summer shower had turned into a torrential downpour. The small contingent of Roman horsemen was already soaked and shivering, their Germanic guides laughing at their plight. Soon after entering the forest, they came upon a bog. The mud was thick and slimy, the water smelled rank with stagnation. The group halted as the Germans gazed around. Their leader’s face broke into a sly grin as he saw the path he was looking for. They were getting close.

“How much further?” one of the troopers asked, the rain continuing to drench them, in spite of the tree canopy.

“Not far,” the lead guide answered, “I promise, it will all be over soon.”

“The gods curse this weather,” another Roman muttered.

“Which gods?” still another one grunted.

As the cold rain slowly trickled down the back of his neck, the barbarian guide laughed to himself. The weather will soon be the least of your worries, he thought. Just then a Centurion rode up to him.

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