He sighed as he looked out the door of his camp-hut, and saw the snowflakes begin to swirl down in the fort's open square and parade ground. It was a cold, dark and foreboding day deep in the Teutoberg forest along the German frontier, and Vespasian's Roman legions had been having a hard time of it recently, constantly repelling the attacks of the barbarian hordes that called this god-forsaken country home.
His name was Marcus, and he was a 21 year old centurion attached, as a senior officer, to the Legate of one of the legions. It was nearly ten years after Quintus Varus had lost three full legions in these wilds to an ambush and massacre in these same woods to the German hordes. He had been stationed here, at the northernmost limit of the Empire for over a year, and longed for the warm, dry summer of the southern Italian boot where he'd been raised by his mother after his father had died in Judea.
He was tall for a Roman, nearly six feet, dark-haired and swarthy, reflecting his southern roots. His olive-skinned arms, chest and legs were covered with black, curly hair. He was very fit, a result of several years of army training and, more recently, the ferocious fighting on the frontier with his men.
He turned back to his desk and the paperwork and accounting that awaited him. His servant had banked up the fire in the hut's fire-pit with a large log and the room was relatively warm and cheerful despite the gloomy cold day.
***
Later that afternoon, just before dusk, he heard the rumbling of wagons and the clacking hooves of mounted troops entering the outpost. He stepped to the door and watched as new recruits marched in after the cavalry. The wagons lurched to a stop in front of the barracks and men climbed down. He noted that they all looked tired and sodden, even the horse. It was really not a fit day for man or beast.
He noticed several women being helped from the back of one of the enclosed wagons. While not common in the camps, women were present at various times. Some of the senior officer's wives would spend several months campaigning with their husbands. Others were camp prostitutes who were tolerated as long as the men behaved themselves and didn't engage in brawls over them.
As he watched, one of the legion's centurions accompanied one of the women toward his hut. She was wrapped in thick woolen cloak and the hood was pulled up over her head.
As they approached she reached up and pulled the hood back off of her head and the dark jet-black curls of her spilled out onto her shoulders, framing her pretty face.
Marcus was stunned. It was his mother, Julia Justa! He moved rapidly off of the porch and down onto the muddy ground to greet her.
"Mother, what are you doing here?" he exclaimed as he took her in his arms and hugged her tightly.
Her head and face were pressed against his chest as she replied, "Oh, darling, I couldn't bear to go any longer without seeing you."
He looked down upon his mother's face and saw her tears glistening on her cheeks.
He kissed the top of her head, her wet cheeks, and then kissed her gently on her full lips.
His mother was short and dark-haired and skinned like he. She was a typical Roman matron, educated and fiercely independent. She was the only child of a brilliant military man who had spent most of life with the legions. In her 38 years, she had seen much of the empire at one time or another, most of it following her father from camp to camp.
With his arm tightly around her waist he guided her into his quarters and dropped the cow-hide door flap and closed the heavy wooden door. He helped her remove her heavy traveling cloak and inner wrap. A servant came in with all of her baggage and placed it next to the wall in a heap.
She ran her fingers through her long hair and pulled it back and fastened it with an ivory clasp. She moved over closer to the fire in an effort to get warm again.
He looked at her again, hardly believing that it had been nearly a year since they'd last seen one another. She was so beautiful, small, but full-figured, with large breasts and full hips.
He asked her why she'd come to Germania, particularly at this time of year, nearly the end of the travel season.
"My father, your grandfather, the general, died recently, and I needed to be with you. I just couldn't stand being in the villa by myself any longer. I hope that you don't mind?" She looked up at him with a concerned look on her face.
"Oh, my god, no, mother! Never, I am thrilled that you are here, but it scares me to think of the trials of the trip to get here."
"Well, yes, it took a long time," she replied, "Nearly three months in total."
Marcus looked at her and smiled, "You know, Mother, that you are here for the winter. We will not be sending any troops or wagons south until spring arrives."
"I know, Marcus, they told me the same in Gaul before we set out a few weeks ago."
He chuckled, "I'll get the carpenters in here in a few days and have them construct suitable quarters for you. Until then you and I will have to share my meager accommodations."
"You'll do no such thing, my darling. I am sure that those men have far more important projects that require their attention. I shall do just fine with what you have here." She asserted with a twinkle in her eye.
"But, Mother, you'll have no privacy at all, and I work miserable hours, what with the men coming and going…"
"Enough, Marcus, I have spoken. Remember, I am the daughter of a Legate and have been exposed to the privations of military life."
She smiled at him as he raised his hands in acquiescence, "All right, Mother, I am sure that we will muddle along."
"Fine, now that that's settled; come over here, and help me unpack."
***
After he had helped his mother unpack and stow her clothes and sundries, he asked her if she wanted to bathe prior to the evening meal.
"Gods, yes, Marcus! I feel as though I've not been truly clean, or warm, in weeks," she sighed.
