Eagles at War (18 page)

‘They are fearsome weapons. I’ve seen soldiers’ brains dribbling from their cracked skulls after a strike from one. Your gods must have been smiling on you that day.’

‘Donar was,’ replied Arminius, thumbing his hammer amulet. ‘I was careful afterwards to buy the most expensive helmet that I could afford. Under the braided hair and silverwork, this thing is half a finger of bronze thick.’

‘It must be heavy.’

‘At the end of a long day, my neck and shoulders know about it,’ Arminius admitted. ‘But you get used to it.’

‘There’s no point complaining, because everyone’s in the same shitty boat.’

They both chuckled, and Arminius thought: He’s starting to like me. Good.

Several hours later, Tubero returned at the head of one of Arminius’ turmae. He was in buoyant mood, because they had been first to sight the Usipetes, in a settlement some four miles away. ‘I was quick to pull the men back,’ he said, ‘although I wanted to ride in there and let the savages have it.’

‘It was wise not to do so, tribune,’ said Arminius.

‘We could still attack them today,’ cried Tubero, his face alight.

If we do that, thought Arminius, eyeing the sinking sun, some of them are bound to get away in the poor light. And if they’ve noticed that we Cherusci are involved … ‘Your eagerness is infectious, tribune.’

Tubero grinned. ‘You want to take them too!’

‘I do, of course.’ Arminius hesitated, and then added, ‘I wonder if your plan might work better tomorrow, tribune, at dawn.’

Tubero frowned. ‘How so?’

‘Some of the Usipetes might still have their wits about them today. Give them a night of drinking whatever beer they find, however, and hit them first thing in the morning, and they won’t know what has happened until it’s too late. The whole thing will be done inside an hour.’

Tubero rubbed a finger across his lips, thinking. ‘What about the villagers?’

‘Most of them will already be dead, so the timing of our intervention won’t make that much difference. Leaving the assault until tomorrow will also reduce the possibility of casualties. Imagine how pleased Varus would be not just that you succeeded in your mission, but that you lost only a handful of men.’

Tubero nodded.

‘Another thing struck me, tribune. The Usipetes must have crossed the river by boat. Taking those craft would remove any chance of the raiding party escaping. If you were to send a century or two along the bank, say …’

‘I could order them fired at dawn,’ cried Tubero. ‘When our trumpets sound the attack.’

‘An excellent plan, tribune,’ declared Arminius.

Tubero smiled, as if the entire idea had been his all along.

Arminius had ridden his horse a short distance off the road, into the middle of a field of young barley. As ever, Maelo was by his right side. Around them in a loose semicircle were all of his mounted warriors. The men’s faces were fierce, eager, expectant.

The night-time cool was with them yet, but the sky was cloudless again, auguring the high temperatures of the previous few days. They had ridden from the marching camp with great care, passing the settlement by leading their horses, to reach their position in good time. It wouldn’t be long before the trumpeters with Tubero sounded, however. The sun was peeking over the tops of the hazel and crab-apple trees that dotted the riverbank to their right.

Arminius was about to give his men their final orders. And more.

He chewed his lip. This moment had come sooner than he had wished. Even these, the men of his own tribe, might give the game away after he spoke to them – not here, but later. All his work, all his plans, everything he had dreamed of since he was a boy, could be undone by a subsequent unguarded remark to a Roman in Vetera.

Maelo sensed his unease. He leaned forward, rubbing his horse’s neck. ‘Arminius, they’re loyal to you, heart and soul,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You don’t have to tell them everything, just enough so that they understand why the raiders have to die. They won’t flinch from the job. It’s not as if there’s any love lost between we Cherusci and the Usipetes.’

‘True.’ Arminius straightened his back, throwing back his shoulders. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

Silence fell.

‘We Cherusci may serve Rome, but in our hearts, we’re free men. Isn’t that right?’

‘Aye!’ came a responsive roar.

Arminius tapped his silvered helmet. ‘Despite all the trappings, I have
never
liked serving Rome. Never liked having to do what its
emperor
said, most of all when it had anything to do with our own tribe, or others. I don’t want to pay this new tax either. What am I – a faceless labourer in a workshop?’

More voices of agreement.

‘There comes a time in a man’s life when servitude can no longer be borne.’

They watched him, naked curiosity – and wariness – filling their faces. ‘Not every hunting dog loves its master, Arminius, but it still does his bidding,’ called one warrior. ‘The dog that bites its master can expect to have a knife drawn across its neck.’

‘Especially if that hunting dog sleeps by its master’s side,’ added another.

‘You speak true,’ said Arminius. ‘Auxiliaries – like us – who rebel against Rome are punished in the most severe ways. But if the Romans were to suffer a catastrophic defeat, if they were to lose thousands of soldiers at one stroke, I say that you will die of old age rather than at their hands, on a cross or in an arena. Why? Because afterwards, those Roman whoresons would be too scared to cross the damn river!’

His men liked that, but they still looked uneasy.

‘You’re talking about rebellion, Arminius,’ said the warrior who’d mentioned the hunting dog.

‘I am, plain and simple.’ He let them suck on the marrow of that, and was pleased to see increasing numbers of men nodding. He raised his voice again. ‘I have had enough of the Roman yoke around my neck. I
say
I am free, yet I have to do the Romans’ bidding, have to pay their damn tax. I am a leader of the Cherusci, but I serve alongside one of their legions, fighting peoples with whom I have no quarrel. It is time to change these things. Time to become my own master again. Time to stand up and
fight
.’ His eyes tracked over his men, slowly. ‘Are you with me?’

‘I am,’ said Maelo, punching a fist in the air.

‘And I!’ Arminius was delighted to hear the warrior who’d spoken about hunting dogs and their masters. The men around him voiced their accord. It took a few moments, but then, like the rocks that follow the first stone of a landslide, the rest of his warriors joined in.

Arminius raised his hands. ‘I am thankful that we are as one on this, but the Usipetes must not hear us, my brothers.’

‘Why in Donar’s name not? We should wake them so that we can all fight the Romans!’ declared one man.

A good number of voices called out in agreement, but they quieted as Arminius began to speak again.

‘It would give me great pleasure to act so, but the place to fall upon the Romans is not
here
. It’s not
now
. We are too few, and I wish to wipe out not two cohorts, but three legions! The attack today must go ahead. If possible, every Usipetes warrior must be slain.’ He continued as his men’s faces filled with dismay. ‘The truth of it is that the Usipetes’ chieftains have already agreed to join our cause. If they find out that we have murdered some of their kin, Roman orders or no, they will tell me to shove it up my arse. That’s if I’m lucky!’ He was pleased that some warriors laughed. ‘It’s not just about the Usipetes either. We need several tribes to join us. If the Usipetes pull out, my chances of winning anyone else over will sink into the marsh, never to be seen again.’

Silence.

‘I say this with a heavy heart, but we
have
to follow Varus’ orders today. We must go even further in fact, to ensure that word of our involvement never crosses the river. If possible, every last one of the raiding party must be slain.’ Arminius sat stiff-backed on his horse, his stomach twisting in knots. Ten heartbeats passed. A dozen more skipped by, and still no one spoke. Arminius held his peace, keeping his expression stern.

‘Swear that if we act as you ask, you will deliver thousands of the whoresons to us,’ demanded the ‘hunting dog’ warrior. ‘Swear that we will wash away the stain of our actions with Roman blood.’

The weight of hundreds of men’s stares bore down on Arminius. Donar, help me, he asked. The wrong word, or a slip of the tongue, and he would lose them.

‘With Donar as my witness, I, Arminius of the Cherusci, make a solemn oath. With you by my side, I will teach the Romans a lesson that they will never forget. Their blood will flow in rivers; their cries of anguish will rend the heavens. Thousands of them will die, among them Varus himself. We will take their eagle standards as our own, and afterwards sacrifice their senior officers to the thunder god. In Rome, the
emperor
will tremble at the news of what we have done. Never again will his legions march through our lands! Never again will they trample our people!’

‘I want to see that day,’ declared Maelo, loyal as ever. ‘I will follow you.’

‘So will I, by all the gods,’ said the ‘hunting dog’ warrior.

And like that, as if a god had passed his hand over them, his men’s mood changed from wary and unsure to fierce and blood-hungry. ‘I will do as you say, Arminius!’ ‘And I!’ ‘I’m with you!’

A moment later, the sound of trumpets rang out from the north.

Arminius smiled. He had won them over in the nick of time.

X

TULLUS WAS STANDING
at the head of his cohort in a mixed field of emmer and millet. To the legionaries’ left, spelt was growing; to their right, lentils. The settlement lay to their north, about a quarter of a mile away. Dozens of thatched houses were visible past the crops. A fox trotted along the cart track which separated their field from the next, casting wary glances at the interlopers to its territory.

They had reached their position without incident, leading Tullus to think that the Usipetes had killed the inhabitants’ dogs. Even at this distance, it was normal for visitors to attract a hysterical chorus of barking, yet their only greeting had been the crowing of a solitary cock.

There were no spirals of smoke rising from the roofs, so no women were up, preparing barley porridge or baking flatbread. Small boys weren’t herding cattle to pasture, or sneaking in twos and threes to the river on fishing expeditions. Tullus felt even more certain that everyone was dead, and that the Usipetes were sleeping off the beer and mead they had drunk. He put the inhabitants’ fate from his mind. Their misfortune, and the Usipetes’ lack of foresight, would see the entire matter resolved fast.

His men had already spread out six centuries wide, with gaps of thirty paces between each unit. The other centurions were experienced men – but Tullus still made one last pass along the front of the cohort, checking that the legionaries were ready to advance, that they knew prisoners had to be taken. Some looked nervous. Many were praying. That was normal. Most wore fixed, determined expressions and the tense nods they gave Tullus was reassurance that they would do their job. He hadn’t long resumed his own place, at the very right of the front rank of his century, when the unmistakeable blare of trumpets carried from beyond the settlement to the north. Tubero and Bolanus, the other cohort commander, were ready. Arminius and his men would be too. Regardless of his ambivalence towards the Cheruscan, Tullus knew the man would play his part.

His stomach knotted now, as it always did before a fight. He offered up his usual prayer, a calming ritual. Great Mars, hold your shield over me and my men. I swear to offer a sacrifice in your honour if most of us make it through. He had learned long ago not to ask that all his soldiers survived. ‘Now,’ he said to the two musicians by his side. As their instruments added their noise to Bolanus’ trumpets, Tullus heard Arminius’ horns sound to the south. ‘Draw swords! Advance, at the double!’ he shouted.

The charge began. The half-grown crop of emmer and millet, never to be harvested, was trampled into the earth by hundreds of studded sandals. They crossed a narrow cart track and entered a field of bitter vetch, flattening that too. A lone pig, one that must have escaped the Usipetes, ran off, squealing. Still there was no movement from the settlement. Tullus kept an eye on the other centuries’ positions, but he made no attempt to keep his front rank parallel with the next unit along. There was no point.

This would not be a set-piece battle, when the legionaries halted a short distance from the enemy to hurl their javelins. Because of the village’s irregular but typical layout – a centre point of a raised, palisaded mound with buildings and workshops of varying size arranged in large, irregular rectangles around it – any sense of formation would be lost as they arrived. From that point, Tullus would lose control of all but the eight or ten nearest men. The trumpeters would provide him with the wherewithal to issue basic orders to the rest of the cohort if needs be.

A hundred paces out from the first buildings, they came across the first body, of a man, lying on his front. Judging by his muddied sandals and worn tunic, he’d been a farmer. As they ran by, a cloud of flies rose, disturbed, from the red stain between his shoulder blades. The corpses came thick and fast after that. Men, women, children. The old, the lame, even the animals had not been spared. Beside a dead boy of about four, Tullus saw a pup that had had its skull crushed. He turned away in disgust, but the dreadful sights were everywhere, too many to block out. What had been done to the village women was the hardest thing to stomach. It hadn’t mattered to the Usipetes whether they were toothless grandmothers or girls too young to have a monthly bleed. They had all been raped before being murdered. Upturned dresses hid the terror that must have distorted their faces, but the corpses’ terrible wounds and their blood-smeared thighs were enough to bring bile rushing up Tullus’ throat.