Chapter 12: March to the Rhine
Chapter 12: March to the Rhine
The day we left Rome to head for Gaul.
In my room, I checked the equipment I would need for the expedition. Following General Comazon’s advice, I had to prepare clothing suitable for real combat. Instead of flashy Syrian attire, I chose practical Roman legionary gear.
I put on a linen tunic that touched my skin directly—short, reaching to the knees, designed so it wouldn’t interfere with marching or fighting.
Over that, I wore a lorica hamata, a chainmail cuirass made of fine leather and metal rings. It was light but sturdy, suitable for both cavalry and infantry combat.
Around my waist I fastened a wide leather belt, a cingulum. From it I hung a gladius and then a pugio dagger.
The gladius was made from top-grade Hispania steel, with a silver-decorated eagle motif carved into the scabbard.
On my feet, I wore caligae—military boots tightly bound with tough leather straps.
On my head, I placed a bronze galea helmet, fitted with plates to protect my cheeks and the back of my neck. A red feather crest rose from the top, marking me as a commander.
On my left arm I held a parma, a round shield, and in my right hand I gripped a hasta, a long spear.
“Varius, are you ready?” Julia Maesa asked as she entered the room.
“Yes, Grandmother. I’ve finished preparing.”
I stood up fully armored. Julia Maesa studied me closely, looking satisfied.
“You really look like a Roman soldier. But above all, don’t forget that safety matters most.”
“Yes, Grandmother. I’ll be careful.”
Ugh… It’s my first time going to a battlefield, so I’m shaking.
“A high priest shouldn’t say that. If you can even commune with the divine, you shouldn’t be afraid of enemies hiding in the forest, should you?”
Still, scary is scary… At least it’s reassuring that you’re the one controlling the body at times like this.
“Even if you say that, if I die, you die too. How is that comforting?”
Before sunrise, I said goodbye—to Grandmother, Mother, my aunt, and even Gannys.
I was still only a twelve-year-old boy.
Everyone praised how gallant I looked. Maybe it was a universal truth: what you wear can completely change how you appear.
We headed to the assembly point at the Campus Martius.
Hundreds of Roman soldiers were already lined up in formation. Torches lit the dim dawn, their flames reflecting off armor and weapons in a spectacular sight.
General Comazon approached on horseback. He wore full body armor—lorica segmentata—and a red paludamentum cloak over his shoulders. His helmet bore a large plume, proudly displaying his status as supreme commander.
“Varius, you’re here!” Comazon welcomed me. “From today onward, you’re part of my staff. You’ll learn a great deal on this expedition.”
The expedition force was impressive.
Five hundred elite troops of the 22nd Legion “Deiotariana,” two hundred auxiliary cavalry from Gaul, and transport units hauling siege equipment and supplies.
A force of roughly eight hundred men.
“The objective is to drive out a small Alemanni raiding party that crossed the Rhine,” Comazon explained, spreading a map. “The expected duration is about two months. It won’t be too dangerous, but it’s enough to build real experience.”
(Translator’s Note: The Alemanni or Alamanni were a confederation of Germanic tribes on the Upper Rhine River during the 1st millennium. )
When the sun fully rose, the departure order was given.
Trumpets blared, and a signal-bearer carrying the standard led the way. I rode at the front with Comazon.
The feeling was strange—like I was leading the march, like I had become someone great.
So this was what it felt like.
No wonder people get intoxicated by uniforms and develop the hunger to rise higher and higher.
The higher you climb, the bigger your desire becomes. The summit is right there, and you become obsessed with the conviction that you can’t stop now.
Feeling the Roman citizens’ cheers aimed at us, you start to feel an even deeper thirst.
A thirst you can’t resist—the thirst for applause and acclaim.
Is this why I changed later? That arrogance, like no one could control me?
“Yeah. This is the feeling. It’s exactly when you need to be careful, but you lose control because your desire keeps growing.”
Once we left Rome, we entered the Via Flaminia, the major road that ran north along the Adriatic coast. Olive trees and vineyards spread on both sides, showing a landscape of abundance.
“Varius, that mountain you see over there is Mount Soracte,” Comazon said, pointing to a distant peak. “It’s famous—it appears in Horace’s poetry.”
(Translator’s Note: Quintus Horatius Flaccus, commonly known in the English-speaking world as Horace, was the leading Roman lyric poet during the time of Augustus. Horace's poetry, specifically his Odes, features a famous, evocative depiction of Mount Soracte (Monte Soratte), a limestone mountain in Italy, which serves as a backdrop for exploring philosophical themes of mortality, nature, and the "carpe diem" ("seize the day") philosophy)
Hearing him say it, a passage came to mind.
…Mount Soracte gleams under snow,
the laboring woods bend under their burden.
Streams in the valleys freeze,
the cold wrapped tight in hard ice…
For the first several days, marching was relatively easy. The well-paved Roman roads let carts and horses move smoothly—at least until we made camp near Ariminum (modern Rimini).
From the next day, the hard route began: crossing the Apennine Mountains.
(Translator’s Note: The Apennine Mountains, or Apennines, are a 1,200–1,350 km long mountain range extending down the length of peninsular Italy, acting as its geographical "backbone" from Liguria in the northwest to Calabria in the southwest.)
Climbing and descending winding mountain paths was no simple task. It was even harder while wearing heavy armor and carrying weapons.
I’m twelve. This kind of thing is brutal.
“The key to mountain marching is managing your stamina,” Comazon advised. “If you push too hard at the start, you’ll collapse later. Maintain a steady pace.”
Throughout the mountains, we saw construction works that displayed Rome’s power: massive stone bridges spanning deep valleys, terraced roads cut into steep slopes, even tunnel sections carved through rock.
“All of this was built by legionaries’ hands,” a veteran centurion said proudly. “For us, being a soldier isn’t just fighting. Building roads and bridges is part of the job.”
After crossing the Apennines, the vast Po Plain spread before us.
Endless wheat and barley fields, rivers running through them—northern Italy’s wealth in full view. This was Rome’s breadbasket.
“That river you see is the Po,” Comazon said, pointing to the broad waterway. “Follow it upstream and you reach the Alps.”
Cities dotted the Po basin: Mutina (Modena), Parma, Placentia (Piacenza)…
All were colonies founded in the Roman style. Amphitheaters, temples, public baths—Roman architecture everywhere.
“These cities were built after the Gallic Wars,” Comazon explained. “After Caesar conquered Gaul, Roman citizens were settled here to form these towns. Now they’re fully Romanized.”
After a week marching across the plain, we finally reached the foothills of the Alps. The snow-capped peaks in the distance were magnificent, and the temperature began dropping sharply.
“Now the real hardship begins,” a veteran soldier muttered in a friendly way. “The Alps are cold even in summer.”
The villages here were completely different from the Po cities. Houses were wooden, roofs thickly thatched. People wore heavy wool clothing, and their speech mixed Latin with Gallic.
“They’re called Gallo-Romans,” Comazon explained. “Gauls and Romans living together, creating a new culture. A good example of the empire’s diversity.”
Diversity… yeah. You could feel it.
I had known the empire was vast even while growing up in Syria, but seeing it with my own eyes made it more real.
I thought a boy’s body would only get more exhausted, but maybe you adapt. Whether my stamina improved or I simply adjusted, it felt more manageable than expected.
Once we crossed the Alpine pass, we finally entered the province of Gaul.
The scenery was different again. Denser forests, faster rivers, cooler and more humid weather.
“Gaul has its own charm, doesn’t it?” said a Gaulish cavalry commander I’d grown close to. “Deep forests and many rivers—good for defense, hard for offense.”
Gaul’s cities were smaller than those in Italy, but they had their own distinct character. Roman buildings and Gallic traditions blended together. Especially the temples—many worshipped Roman gods alongside Gallic gods.
“This is Rome’s strength,” Comazon said with admiration. “We don’t completely erase the culture of conquered peoples. We fuse it with Roman culture. That’s how the empire can last this long.”
At last, after a month of marching, we reached the Rhine.
Across the river stretched the dense forests of Germania.
So this is Germania, not Gaul. Is this the northernmost border of the Roman Empire?
“Yeah. The atmosphere is completely different.”
A massive fortress already stood on the Rhine: Castra Vetera (modern Xanten). It was large enough to house two legions, with high walls, watchtowers, and observation posts to monitor the river.
“We’ve arrived,” Comazon finally let out a breath of relief. “Now the real mission begins.”
The Rhine was wider than I expected, its current fast. The Germanic forest beyond was dark and mysterious. Just thinking that Alemanni warriors could be hiding somewhere inside made my nerves tighten.
The Alemanni…
A Germanic tribal confederation that would repeatedly clash with the Roman Empire after the 3rd century, constantly threatening the borders. Formed by multiple Germanic groups joining together, they were famed for brave, battle-hardened warriors.
The name “Alemanni” carried the sense of “all men,” implying a gathering of many tribes.
They were skilled fighters with swords, spears, and shields, and through repeated clashes with Rome they learned tactics like ambushes and surprise attacks.
In short, they were among the most persistent enemies of the empire.
Emperor Caracalla had defeated them only two years ago, but it had been temporary. For the next hundred years, fierce fighting would continue.
While the Roman Empire suffered civil wars and chaos during the era of soldier-emperors, the Alemanni would launch major invasions into Roman territory—pushing the empire closer to crisis.
“Varius, how do you feel, now that you’re here?” Comazon asked with an amused expression.
“I’m nervous, but excited, General. I’ve finally seen the empire’s frontier with my own eyes.”
“Yes. This is the boundary between civilization and barbarism. Our mission is to guard that boundary.”
The boundary between civilization and barbarism…
Would the people on the far bank see it the same way?
As I entered the fortress, my heart pounded with anticipation for the adventures ahead. The long journey that started in Rome had finally reached its destination.
Now it was time to build real combat experience.
A red sunset fell across the fortress sky, and the sound of the Rhine flowed quietly beneath it.
Starting tomorrow, the true test of becoming a soldier would begin.