It was dark when he awoke. Shadows cast their darkness and stood in stark contrast to the light of flickering fire. Yawning deeply, and stretching his stiff muscles, Flavius Lupus stepped outside of his warm tent into the dark foreboding morning. The dismal landscape, foreign to him, would be as close to home as he would ever be. Striding towards the campfire, and bending down to tend to the pot remaining there, he made his breakfast with whatever meager rations he could forage.  As the sun slowly crept above the tips of the trees of the forest that barred them from reaching their goal, his closest friend joined him. As they sat, Flavius marveled at the creation he believed that his gods had wrought. In that very moment,  appeared to him as though he had all of the time in the world. Voicing this to his friend, he was disappointed in the response that he received, for his friend was a Christian, a believer in Christ, and life through Him after death. His friend, believing that the human body is a temporary vessel containing the soul, also believed that life was fleeting. “Memento Mori,” his friend always said, “remember, you have to die.” Though they did not believe the same thing, they were still best friends, having grown up and enlisted together.
     As the sun began to come up, both soldiers staggered up to their feet, lungs breathing in the crisp fall air. As they leisurely walked up the hill in the center of the encampment, both soldiers turned back simultaneously to look over their shoulders. Seeming to stretch for miles, there, in front of them, was the camp of three of Rome's Legions. This was a startling tribute to Rome’s power. After lazily sharpening their weapons, the friends en-burdened themselves with their armor. Helmets flashing in the morning sun, they both slowly sauntered over to the center of the camp, where their centurion was shouting orders to the troops. The infamous Legions of Rome, the strongest military force at the time, listened intently as their centurions filled them with the information of their quest for glory and honor. Filling them with contempt for their enemy, the Centurions broadcasted an image of a barbaric group of people, worthy of Roman contempt. To finish the conquest of Germania was their final goal, and to crush the power of Arminius was where they would get their glory. Restoring the full power of Rome's rule to rule to Germina was their quest, and crossing the forest of Teutoburg was how they achieve it. Falling into formation, Flavius looked to the woods where it appeared for a short burst of time to have been a flurry of movement. Blinking his eyes, the shapes had vanished. Thinking nothing of it, he turned to his comrades and began to talk. Of course it hadn't been another army, for who could challenge the military might of Rome?
     As time wore on and the Legionnaires continued their march, the woods around them became tighter, and darker. No longer visible was the glistening sunlight that had guided their step that morning. Far behind them was the meadow where they had made camp the night prior. As his group of soldiers brought up the rear of the column, Flavius’ mind began to wander. No longer focused on the column stretching in front of him, nor the looming woods on his sides, he was transported back to the camp earlier in the morning. He could see it in his minds eye. The gentle running water from the stream as it had trickled softly over the rocks, the gentile flapping of birds wings as they had flown overhead, and the beautiful colors of the autumn foliage in the trees bordering the forest. Wait.. what was that he had seen as he had fallen into formation? Looking back now, it had been too large to simply be a shadow.. might it have been a human? Could it have been one of the members of the many powerful Germanic tribes? Questions ringing in his ears, Flavius suddenly snapped back to the present. Looking at his best friend, he began to open his mouth to voice the questions he was wondering. Whizz…. SMACK! The sound of an arrow impaling human flesh was unmistakable. As Flavius’ best friend sank to the ground, an arrow protruding from his chest, he let out a low, guttural moan. Sounding like an animal in it’s death throes, he began to cough up blood while clutching the arrow in his sweaty, dusty, bloodstained hands. As Flavius watched all of this happen, the Centurion began to bark out orders. At this moment, Flavius’ training began to take over. Grabbing his shield and springing into action, Flavius set his shield upright next to his closest Legionnaire. Peeking through the cracks in his shield, he could barely make out the dark shapes twisting through the woods.  Not obeying the shouts to stay low, he raised his head to look into hearts of the shadows.  He never felt the arrow that hit him. As he lay looking up at the sun, he marveled how short life was, and how little time he had truly had. His best friend’s words finally made sense. Memento Mori. The words almost felt freeing to him. As he felt himself drifting away, like a piece of driftwood in the Mediterranean sea back home, he felt himself grow weightless.  It was light when he fell to his final sleep.