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would continue to conduct raids and skirmishes to harass the Romans, of course. But above all, they would pray to their gods that Tiberius would not venture across the Rhine.
     

     
    News of the disaster came hard to Rome. Families wept, mourning the loss of loved ones, and a general panic ensued. Many citizens were convinced that with no army to speak of on the frontier, it was only a matter of time before the barbarians reached the gates of Rome. Such thoughts were nonsense to the sensible person, however, so had been the destruction of the Army of the Rhine. How could this have happened? How could an entire army have been annihilated? Stories ran rampant of how Germania was a land of seven-foot tall giants who could crush legionaries with their bare hands. And there were thousands of them. Tens of thousands …no, hundreds of thousands. They spawned in those dark forests, watching, waiting for the moment to strike. And now they would come for the head of Rome itself.
    None took the news harder than Augustus Caesar, Emperor of Rome. Three of his legions, the Seventeenth, Eighteenth, and Nineteenth were gone. The barbarians had taken his beloved Eagles, the sacred symbols of each legion. Such a disgrace was unbearable. Equally appalling was the sheer loss of life. Twenty thousand Roman citizens had perished in the carnage. Now, the Emperor had to make some rapid decisions before the barbarians invaded the provinces in Gaul. Retribution was a given; the barbarians must be made to pay for this atrocity. However, the first thing that needed to be done was securing the Rhine bridges and eliminating any chance of invasion. And, by all the gods, someone had to quell the masses that were panicking and spreading stories borne more out of fantasy and fear than fact! For these things, he looked to Tiberius and Germanicus. They would save Rome or else nobody would. The Emperor was so consumed with grief and despair, he could do little to help in preparations for war. In the midst of council, he would suddenly cry out, ‘Quintilius Varus, give me back my legions!’ The 72-year-old Emperor would be of little help when it came to planning the actual campaign. Late one night, Tiberius and Germanicus were poring over a map of the Rhine frontier when Germanicus brought this point up to his uncle.
    “Let Augustus mourn,” Tiberius said without looking up from the map. “And let the public see that he mourns with them . Reprisal, securing of the frontiers, and salvaging the public’s sanity is now our responsibility.”
    Germanicus nodded in assent. “We have two legions, Second Augusta and Twentieth Valeria , we can send to the frontier almost immediately. Auxiliaries can be picked up at garrison stations along the way. I suggest we expedite the move by leaving the artillery wagons, at least temporarily, and stripping all baggage trains to the bare essentials.”
    “Leave the auxiliaries,” Tiberius said. “They take too long to get organized. What we need right now is speed. They can be picked up later with the follow-on forces. Right now, all that matters is getting to the bridges as quickly as possible. I’ll take both legions and start immediately. I’ve already sent dispatches to the legates of each. Once we reach the frontier, we’ll secure and reinforce whatever forts remain. Supply won’t be an issue while on the march. It may be another matter once we reach the Rhine. We don’t know what’s been plundered from the frontier forts nor do we know if the countryside has been scavenged or not.”
    “I’ve already taken care of that,” Germanicus replied. “I’ve sent word to the auxiliary commanders to send out as many foraging parties as they can. They’ll have extra stockpiles of rations available for pickup. We can use them to escort the baggage trains and artillery wagons once they come up, thereby freeing up more legionary forces. I’ll bring them as soon as I can rally at least another legion.”
    “You’re