Sep 10, 2009, 9:16 GMT
Haltern, Germany - Rome's legions were beset by fierce Germanic warriors at the Battle of Teutoberg Forest some 2,000 years ago but anyone who tries to re-live the build-up to that historic encounter today has to cope with modern reality.
Donning the painstakingly-recreated armour of a Roman soldier is an arduous affair and moving around in it is not easy either. A growling dachshund straining at the leash of a passing lady hiker is just one of the more amusing trials and tribulations. Finding somewhere to tuck away a mobile phone in the standard-issue pocket-less tunic is another.
Trudging five kilometres across hill and dale north of the river Lippe near the town of Haltern in northern Germany is designed to give participants an idea of what it was like for 20,000 Roman soldiers in that fateful year. They marched in the summer of AD 9 to their bloody nemesis at the hands of an alliance of Germanic tribes.
Putting on the chunks of armour while being stared at by dozens of inquisitive visitors to the Roman Museum in Haltern also calls for a degree of dexterity. The museum is currently staging an exhibition to mark the 2,000th anniversary of the battle.
Fortunately director Rudolf Asskamp did not encumber this correspondent with the usual 20-kilo backpack and so he was able to act out the role of a battle-ready foot soldier or 'miles expeditus.' 'The legions often marched 18 kilometres a day and more,' remarked the expert from Haltern.
Wriggling into a chain mail shirt weighing 10 kilograms is not like slipping on a modern T-shirt. The best method is to 'dive' into the garment which is made of many small metal rings - that is if you want to avoid painful scrapes to the head. It's time then to quickly buckle up the military belt with its jangling decorations and grab the heavy javelin or pilum.
A typical legionnaire had around 30 kilos of equipment to haul along with him, including a shield in a leather case, a helmet and a sword on a strap. The items are worn close to the body and make walking far less difficult than one might think. The heavy chainmail shirt behaves oddly but the cooling effect is soon appreciated as the perspiration begins to flow on this hot summer day.
The idea is to tackle the potholes and puddles on the historic Roman trail in Westphalia head-on and manfully - after all no legionnaire worth his salt would have skipped around the edges in order to keep his sandals from getting dirty.
The main enemy in these parts consists of nettles whose stinging hairs are a hazard for the bare-thighed, would-be legionnaires. The helmet, which is normally carried in front of the chest and only put on when danger lurks, is not without its idiosyncrasies either.
With the headgear worn the metallic sounds from the weaponry and scraping of leather accessories make conversation nearly impossible. How did an antique commander manage to give orders to those 6,000 marching soldiers? 'The numerous horn-blowers must have certainly played a key role in passing on orders,' said museum director Asskamp.
In 2009 the Roman helmet with its wide cheek guards offers excellent protection against grinning spectators or cyclists, hell-bent on photographing legionnaires or else sullen Westphalian farmers who just like to stand and stare. After a good hour's marching though the pampered body of the modern couch potato begins to ache from head to toe. Even gentle inclines along the banks of the river Lippe become increasingly hard to cope with and soon the hand clutching the heavy javelin is tensed and sore.
Crossing a busy highway in battle-ready status means dicing with death. The latter-day legionnaire can hardly see where he is going, his heavy head moves sluggishly from side to side and sounds are muffled by the heavy helmet.
The best code of conduct for a modern Roman soldier when crossing the road is to rely on the consideration of other, usually rather startled, road-users.
How did those warriors keep their wits about them in the thick of battle? The legionnaires was always 'looking ahead' too, said Asskamp when asked to analyse this successful method of getting across the road.
Those who have endured the gruelling journey so far will easily understand a sample of self-deprecatory Roman humour. The valiant, heavily-laden legionnaires often referred to themselves ironically as 'muli' or 'mules' in the service of far-off Roman emperors whose names were destined to grace the pages of history books.
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