Interlude
Exploratory Spacecraft 67(&%#@, Several Hundred Znargs Above the Teutoburg Forest
“I’m losing one,” said Red to Blossom, his whistles being cut short, a sure sign of desperation among his people.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her notes and clicks indicating deep fear.
“There is some kind of a sensitive among them. His body is going with the rest but his mind is wandering across the centuries of this planet.”
406 A.D. somewhere along the Rhine
Appius Calvus, the legionary haruspex, screamed and screamed, making not a sound while doing so. He, like the others, had experienced the shock of seeing trees pulled into the air, had been blinded by the sudden light, and deafened by the blast. But his senses had returned to him, in a short moment. The reason that they had returned, he found to his horror, was that his (for lack of a better term) soul, was inhabiting some soldier’s body. Looking out from a stranger’s eyes, Calvus saw an uncountable mass of barbarians crossing on the far side of a long loop in a frozen river. He felt the soldier tremble, both with cold and maybe with fear. The soldier looked left and right, allowing Calvus to see the general equipment of the troops. They were armed and armored in a way that reminded him of auxilia. Moreover, individually, they looked as German as any one of the barbarians who had swarmed the legions under Varus, or who were swarming up the river bank now.
“Eh?” asked that soldier, in his mind. “And just who the fuck are you?”
“Me?” Appius asked, his mind settling down for the nonce, “I’m Appius Calvus, haruspex for the Eighteenth Legion.” Calvus realized that neither he nor his inquisitor were speaking Latin. But, then, we’re not actually speaking at all, are we?
“Bullshit,” said the soldier. “Everyone knows the Eighteenth was destroyed in Germania about four hundred years ago. And haruspex? What’s that?”
“Four hundred years? My gods! Oh, a haruspex? It’s a kind of minor priest and taker of omens,” Calvus answered. “Though I fancy myself a bit of a poet. I also officiate at funerals. And however long ago it may have been, I was with the Eighteenth.”
“Yeah? Hmmm; you were probably killed back then and so your spirit has wandered until it came upon me. So not a bloody Christian, at least?”
“Umm…no, I don’t think so. What’s a Christian?”
The soldier then went into a long litany concerning the myriad failings he saw in Christians, from excessive empathy to hypocrisy to cowardice, along with their theology, such as he understood it.
“No, no,” insisted the haruspex. “I’m certainly not one of them.”
“Good,” said the soldier. “If I’m going to die today—and I am—I’d rather not be sharing the afterlife with a Christian.”
“We’re going to die?” asked Calvus.
“Look at ’em,” said the soldier. Calvus felt the chin pointing toward the oncoming horde. “Since Stilicho took away most of the troops to deal with the Goths, down south, we’re outnumbered eight or ten to one—or maybe worse—and there just aren’t enough of us to hold a long enough line.”
“How many legions have you got here?”
The soldier replied, “Six legions, nearly five thousand men.”
“Eight hundred men per legion? Six legions should be closer to thirty thousand, and a like number of auxiliaries.”
“Maybe once upon a time,” said the soldier. “Not now. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to join my mates in giving the barritus.”
“Sure,” agreed Calvus. “I’ll try to stay out of your way as we are killed…in my case, apparently, again. But what’s your name?”
“Well, I was born Hrodebert, son of Sigifurd, but when I enlisted they gave me the name, Rodius Sigius. My friends call me Rod.”
“Rod, it is. I…Rod, I think I’m being pulled away. Good luck to you on this day.”
“Wait on the other side, Appius. I’ll need someone to show me the ropes when I pass over.”