The Wald (25 page)

“And how do you fare, old friend?” asked Segimer.

More out of anger than in pain, he responded, “I’m doing better than him.”  He pointed to the man next to him who had just passed out after another Cheruscan dislodged the javelin.  Blood pumped slowly onto the earth while the leg was bandaged.

“
Ermin!”  Kolman called.  “Come here, boy!”

Ermin
, who had run to his big grey horse to hold her soft muzzle to his chest, walked back to where the injured man stretched out.  “Yes, Kolman?” he asked, wondering if he would be shouted at or beaten for something he had done incorrectly.

“Segimer, your boy
saved me back there.  I’d like to give him anything for which he asks – within reason, of course.  How about my sword that still sits in your hand?  How will that suit you, boy, as a sign of my appreciation?”

Ermin
firmly shook his head.  “No, Kolman.  You take your sword. I’ll take Thusnelda as my wife when the time is right.”

Kolman was taken aback and initially wanted to cuff the boy’s head for being so presumptuous.  Segimer settled him, though, with a laugh and smack on the boy’s rear.  “You’ll take the sword, boy, or you’ll find yourself in the midst of a punishment you’d rather not endure.  Now take your new blade and go tend to the animals before Kolman finds the strength to smack your ear.”

“Yes, father,” the boy grumbled.  He turned and walked back to the horses with his shoulders slumped forward and the tip of the sword dragging in the dirt.

When he was out of earshot, Segimer said, “That was generous of you, friend.  Even though the boy hasn’t yet learned how to react in these situations, I thank you.”  Kolman nodded.

“Forget it, Segimer.  We harmed the Romans again today.  Each time brings us another step closer to being able to negotiate with them on more level footing.”

“You’re always thinking of the political aspect of life, Kolman.  Speaking of that,
your daughter, Thusnelda, will someday be ready to marry.  She will be a fine match for our families.”  He sniggered again, “It’s obvious the boy finds her fetching.”

“One step at a time,” answered Kolman.  Segimer nodded and stood to walk away, knowing that his ever-cautious friend would always need more time to make decisions that most men made in just
a single heartbeat.

. . .

The defiant woman captured by Septimus stood as tall as she could on her knees in front of Drusus. The legate, who sat on his chair in his broad leather tent, leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees, eyeing his subject.  A Batavian interpreter stood ready at his side.  The woman’s hands had been bound to her ankles by her guard before he left.  Manilius, Marcus, and Septimus stood at attention behind her.

Drusus studied her before he began interrogating the woman.  He found it difficult to believe that a woman so fair could have caused so much mayhem.  Two men dead when she was captured.  Another three wounded on the trip back to the main Roman column.  Her green dress, which to Drusus looked shabby by urban standards, was exceptional when compared to the clothes he had seen covering other
Sugambrian women.  It was now torn and soiled.  Her hair had a single braid on one side.  The other braid was long gone and her hair stood out wild and frizzy.  The woman’s lip had a cut that appeared to be a day old and was healing with black coagulated blood crusting atop it.  A brown-green bruise that matched the size her guard’s hand encircled her left eye.

“I’ve heard that Adalbern is quite old.  Ask this woman if she is his daughter,” Drusus told the Batavian.

“Lord Drusus,” Septimus interrupted before the interpreter could speak.  Manilius shot him his typical glance, but the centurion continued on.  “The woman is strong-willed.  I’ve dealt with her for days now.  Might I suggest that you offer your apologies for her treatment?  Perhaps you could even ask her name.”

“Who are you to believe you may make any proposals?  You are standing here only because you were fortunate enough to fall upon this beastly woman!  A Roman general owes no apologies to anyone,” answered Manilius.  Marcus just looked on, happy to keep quiet.

“Thank you, Manilius,” said Drusus.  “But the man is correct.  We want her to speak.  If it only takes a few words from me to make her believe she is in control, then so be it.  It cannot hurt to make her think me wonderful and you miscreants vile.”  Manilius stewed.  “Now Batavian, please convey the words that Septimus just recommended.”  He did so.

“The only apologies I will accept are those you demonstrate by leaving our lands alone,” she answered defiantly.
  “Return our husbands and wives and children to their families, you cruel instrument of your wicked emperor.”

Drusus thought of smacking her, but calmed himself.  He thought of his beloved Antonia back in Lugdunum.  While she would never be as reckless as the woman kneeling before him, her image relaxed the general. 
“Nonetheless,” answered the commander through his interpreter, “I offer my apologies for your treatment.  Manilius, please get this woman a chair.”  Septimus gave only the smallest hint of a smile while the camp prefect obediently set a chair next to her and cut the cords that tied her.  Despite her rile, she instinctively rubbed her wrists and stretched her joints before climbing into the chair.

“Thank you,” she said, trying to compose
herself.  Unbeknownst to the woman, her actions proved her to be a woman of some political stature.  Drusus had seen enough of the tribeswomen to know the difference between a commoner and a noble.

“You are welcome.  When our talk ends, would you mind if I called my personal
medicus to tend to your abrasions?” asked the general.

The woman was genuinely surprised by the offer and a tear came to her eye.  But she caught herself before letting emotions getting the best of her.  “No, thank you for the offer, but I am in fair enough condition.
  I am not here for Roman charity.”

“Madame, you are certainly stronger than any women I have ever known if you believe that you are in a good state.  However, I am not here to argue with you, but rather to talk, so it will be as you wish.  I propose we exchange
names so that we may address each other appropriately, as those of equal station.  What shall I call you?”

“You may use the name Dorthe when you send an envoy out to the Sugambrians to negotiate for my release.  What’s your name?”

“I am called Drusus, simply Drusus.  It is my pleasure to meet you, Dorthe.  I wish it could be under different circumstances.  Now I do have to clarify something you just said.  We are not in the habit of releasing prisoners back to those with whom we are in conflict – especially women.  Like your own people, we typically take captives as slaves.  We do make exceptions for family members of nobles.  If you tell me that you are somehow related to a man of high standing among your people, that will make me happy because then I may have a greater chance to set you free.”

Dorthe’s chin climbed a little higher.  “I am Dorthe, the wife of Adalbern,
warlord and the most powerful among all the Sugambrians.”

Septimus watched as his general manipulated the woman into thinking she had
any control over her fate.  Drusus acted surprised by the news.  “I have heard of this man.  He is widely respected and, dare I say feared, among many peoples in the region.  But where is Adalbern now?”

Dorthe filled with pride at the thought of her husband’s fight.  The answer spilled out. 
“He is the one who inspired me to fight your soldiers.  It is he who assembled the vast army against you.  He is the man who brought together thousands of Sugambrians.  Adalbern assembled a force that contains the Cheruscans and the Suebians.  It is my husband who can bend the other tribes to his will.”

Drusus said to Manilius, “So it is the Cheruscans and Suebians who keep up these attacks.  Take Caelius and gather Chumstintus and his brother Avectius to plan an incursion directly into their lands.  I want your proposals by nightfall.
  We soon move east for glory.”  His eyes flashed.

“Yes, legate,” said Manilius, bowing. 
The prefect did not like the trajectory of his general’s mind – fighting for glory in measured doses often brought success, fighting only for the sake of glory often brought ruin.  Nonetheless, Marcus and he ducked out of the tent to gather the necessary maps and men.

“I’m sorry for the
delay; I had to release those men on an errand.  But I’m afraid I must still ask you where Adalbern can be found?”

“You’d like me to tell you, I’m certain.  But I don’t know where he is from day to day.  All I know is that he directs each of the attacks that should be
hitting you on a regular basis, shocking and killing your men.”

Drusus shook his head, “Oh, I am sorry to be the one to break this news to you, but Adalbern does not direct any attacks against us.  But don’t fear, I don’t mean to imply something terrible has befallen him.  No Sugambrian
, of which I am aware, fights us.  Adalbern marched his army south some weeks ago to meet the Cattans in battle.  He is nowhere near us.”

Dorthe looked incredulous.  “The Cattans
marched to join us in a fight against you.  You are lying just to make me second guess my own mind.”

“Dorthe, if only that were the case.  But I
personally rode to the Cattans this spring.  They had just finished meeting with your husband where he offered them some such spoils if they would go to war against Rome.  I merely had to offer them all the dark lands of the Sugambrians if they would fight for Rome rather than against her.  My messengers tell me that great battles are raging all over the south of Sugambria and the north of Cattan.  That is where Adalbern fights.  It will be a true shame if these fine people wear themselves down against one another and are, therefore, unable to do battle with Rome.  Now, do you have any other information you’d like to share with me?”

The woman furrowed her brow and balled her fists.  She said nothing.

Drusus continued, “Septimus, it was correct to approach the woman with gentleness.  Now you and this Batavian may take the woman away.  See her stripped and shackled in line with the rest of the slaves.  We can’t see her Adalbern rewarded with her safety since he remains in open aggression against us.”

. . .

Nearly the entire summer was past and Drusus’ grand army had not fought a single large-scale engagement against the Cheruscans or their Suebian allies despite having long ago crossed from Sugambrian lands.  The general had taken his men across the western branch of the Visurgis River, confirming that he yet again made a name for himself by being the first Roman commander to do so on land.  Of course, he was the only commander to do so on sea as well with his forays past the Pillars of Hercules last year.  If the Cheruscans were too timid to do battle with him then he would accomplish the most amazing feat for a Roman general since Julius sailed to the Britons or since his very distant relative, general Marcus Claudius Marcellus, personally claimed the spoils of war when he slew a Gallic king over two hundred years earlier.  He set his mind on fording the east branch of the Visurgis and traveling to the larger, more important Albis River.  Such an exploit would earn him more glory than he had already earned in his young life.  It would prove to Augustus that Germania was nearly fully subdued.  It would give Drusus a more influential voice when talking to his stepfather about returning Rome to its republican roots.

Drusus would achieve all of these glories for his men, for himself, and for Rome if only Manilius and his tribunes would get out of his way.  With the summer dwindling to nothing and the prospect of winter descending upon them, his officers began recommending caution.  The young Avectius and his brother Chumstintus asked him again and again, after each day’s march, what would become of the grand army if an early snow storm trapped them deep
in Germania.  The general always thanked them for their counsel before dismissing them.  It was easy to ignore them for the most part since they were his junior in rank, age, and experience.

But Manilius was a different matter altogether.  The legate had spent much of his time for the past three years dismissing his camp prefect’s vitriol which was always oriented toward th
e brash Septimus.  That task was simple because the commander believed Manilius was wrong about the centurion.  Drusus also just plain liked Septimus, though he never ventured to become all that familiar with the man as that would upset the delicate balance of power and prestige among the ranks of more senior men.  But Manilius had, in fact, been fighting Rome’s enemies since Augustus the Caesar was a young man.  His words on fighting and now resource logistics could not be ignored without inviting peril.

The supply chain from the heart of Gaul, to Vetera on the
Rhenus, along the Lupia, through the new forts’ walls, across the bridge built by the Gallic brothers, over land through the Sugambrian lands, across the west branch of the Visurgis, and over land through Cheruscan territory invited unspeakable danger.  The army could supplement some of its needs directly from the land and tiny settlements they came across, but nothing could adequately nourish, clothe, and outfit four legions except the complex web of supply that it created in its wake.  Without a more significant presence in the west, Manilius argued, they could not continue to push into the east.