War Raven: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume One (34 page)

Hands on hips, Wilda addressed Blaz, “Educate this ox will you, because he obviously thinks I’ll be staying behind. Men are such fools!” Wearing a smug grin she smartly swung away, leaving the two men staring at her swaggering rear.

Blaz placed a hand on Guntram’s shoulder. “You look surprised, but you know it’s our women’s right to accompany their men into battle if they choose. It seems Wilda has made her choice...”

“What!” Guntram exclaimed. “Frightening off a few pig rustlers is one thing, but we face Rome’s finest. Their trade is bloody butchery and they’ll show no mercy to any who stand before them. That aside, Wilda is not spoken for, and so has no man to follow.”

Scratching his head, Blaz sighed deeply before answering, “Guntram, regarding Wilda having no man to follow...you’ve still a lot to learn about my little sister.”

*

The day was fiercely cold as Ulner surveyed the auxiliary camp on the great river.

The wind blowing off the Rhinus was biting and he let the tent flap fall, glad to return to the heat of the brazier. He rubbed his hands vigorously together and then let them drop tingling into his lap, palm on palm. He needed to inspect the camp’s sentries, despite Jenell instructing him that he first had to eat. To reinforce the fact she’d promptly left to prepare some hot food. Resigned to wait for her return, he stared into the braziers’ glow, contemplating their time together.

It was the happiest he’d ever been, and he loved her. He realized that Jenell didn’t feel the same way, but she’d always been loyal and caring. And, she’d never hurt him with it, despite him knowing from the first time she came to his bed. What she gave was enough, and he couldn’t imagine a life without her. They often talked about their plans for the future, after Ulner had served his time. There’d be a small farm, and perhaps a child, if he wasn’t too old. When the subject of their difference in years arose, Jenell told him that his age didn’t matter, and that he was a good man.

Ulner hoped that one day they would make a child she could love, to make up for what he could never give her. Once, in the beginning, she’d spoken plainly about the young warrior who survived the raid on her village; the one she’d loved but knew she would never see again. She never spoken of it again and neither did he.

Now, there was barely a winter to serve and he’d be out. It would a different life for him and a new beginning for them both. Yes, the present campaign was ill-timed, with his company leaving soon to join the army’s main body. But, when he’d spoken to Arminius about it, he was reassured that the revolt was restricted to one tribe – the Chatti – and that it would be quickly over.
Bah! You worry too much, old man
, he mused.
Even if Varus plans to push the Empire into the setting sun, I’ll not be with him
.

A cold draught turned him around and Jenell stood there with his food. She smiled at him, and he was happy this campaign would be his last.

* * *

Chapter XLVIII

VARUS

“A man’s character is his fate.”

Heraclitus

The Roman marching camp at Haltern was a day’s trek east of the Rhinus. Varus’s tent was located at its centre.

The tent’s interior was decorated with fine silk curtains and luxurious, hand woven rugs from the far reaches of the empire. Draperies of magnificent colours hung from the walls and a large gilded table occupied the centre of the room, filled with a selection of mouth watering delicacies and fine wines.

After refilling his goblet, Varus returned to his couch, where he proffered a toast in the direction of his current favourite: “To Caesar and a successful campaign.”

Servannus raised his cup and repeated his words.

Varus turned his attention to Segestes who sat across the tent from him.
Far enough away not to smell him
, thought Varus. T
he pig gulps the wine like the slop he’s used to
.
What a waste; like casting silver before dogs.

“No mead I’m afraid,” said Varus, his tone was demeaning.

“It quenches the thirst,” Segestes answered, refilling his goblet to the brim.

“I’m glad to see that you appreciate the fineness of the grape.” Varus smiled glibly. “So, what is so urgent that you request this audience with me?”

“It concerns Arminius.”

“Your nephew and my commander of horse.”

“He cannot be trusted,” Segestes grunted. “And I bring news regarding his disloyalty. It concerns the rising amongst the Chatti that you march to crush.”

“I hope this isn’t another example of your spleen getting the better of your judgement,” Varus countered. “Your hatred of Arminius is common knowledge – a man who’s served me well throughout the empire.”

“My words are not tainted by my opinion of Arminius,” Segestes responded.

“Is that so? Some claim that you are envious of his popularity with your people, and that you’ve never forgiven him for bedding your daughter against your will and instruction. His willing consort, I hear that she carries his child. A child who one day will carry the status of Roman citizenship like his father. An honour granted him by Caesar himself for his service to Rome and me...and a privilege you don’t have.” Shaking his head, Varus concluded, “I fear that your hatred of Arminius consumes you, Segestes. He is the bile that sours your words.”

“Rumour has it that Arminius’s young wife would drink his piss if he asked it,” Servannus contributed with a sneer. “Are you familiar with this German custom my lord?”

Varus chuckled; enjoying the chief’s simmering discomfort.

“I’ve no love for the man it’s true,” Segestes fumed. “And Thusnelda is my daughter no longer. She has shamed me, fooled by Arminius’s honeyed words.”

Varus knew how deeply Segestes had loved his daughter, and Arminius had taken her from him. When he died Arminius would also take his place as chief of the Cherusci, and Segestes’ hatred for him was bitter, unyielding.

Segestes paused to take another deep swallow from his cup, wine dribbling down his stubbly chin onto his swollen gullet.

Like an old toad
, thought Varus, before prompting, “Well, continue.”

“I’ve received information that the rising amongst the Chatti is just a ruse to draw you out to a place of your enemy’s choosing.”

“Draw me out and then what?”

“To attack you with a host as not seen in all the years of my life.”

“Interesting,” Varus replied, pursing his lips. “But hardly believable that an officer of proven courage and good service to me would suddenly betray the very hand that’s raised him up. Do you expect me to believe this of a man who’s shed blood for me?”

“It’s the cloak he’s worn, and my people speak without malice,” Segestes’ face was taking on a purplish tinge as his frustration grew.

“Your spies,” Varus pointed out.

“Yes, spies who are true to me.”

“It’s not their loyalty to you that I question,” Varus said. “But, their loyalty to Rome.”

Clearly offended, Segestes posed angrily, “Have I ever proven false?”

“True, you have not,” Varus confirmed. “Not that I know of at least. Regardless, you know that I’m on the eve of departing to squash this uprising, and that I intend to complete the conquest of this land.” Varus let his words sink in. “I believe this is shaping your judgement, Segestes. But, I assure you, no amount of scare mongering will succeed in stalling my plans.”

Varus took a leisurely sip of wine, and then addressed Servannus, “See how these barbarians find it impossible to accept the inevitable.”

Servannus grinned widely, nodding his head.

“I’ve spoken truthfully, so take it or leave it as you will!” Segestes answered hotly, rising to his feet.

“Very well,” Varus responded nonchalantly. “I believe I will leave it. And, if you have nothing further to add, I’ve other pressing matters to attend to prior to the army’s departure. I bid you good night.”

Without further word, Segestes stormed out from the tent, almost knocking over the sentry standing vigil.

“Do you think that there might be some truth in what he says my lord?” Servannus asked.

“Possibly?” Varus said, wearing a contemplative expression. “My young Servannus, one thing that you will surely learn in your long and prosperous career: is that it’s unwise to completely trust the word of any man or woman. Trust only in your own ability and strength.”

“So, does the army march tomorrow as planned?”

“Have the last units of the nineteenth arrived?”

“This morning.”

“Excellent!” Varus said. “And, Arminius rides with us. His men’s foraging has always played an invaluable part during our campaigns together. He will be our eyes and ears.”

“What if he cannot be wholly trusted?”

“Servannus, your concern for my military well-being is commendable. But remember, we have the might of the Seventeenth, Eighteenth and Nineteenth Legions. That’s twenty five thousand seasoned troops. If there’s a grain of truth in Segestes’ words we will crush any opposition like maggots!”

“General,” Servannus began. “I would just like to say that both the men and I have unshakable confidence in your leadership, and in your knowledge of these barbarians. And, I hope that I’m not being presumptuous by mentioning that it’s well known that our Great Emperor also has great faith in you.”

“I would hope so Servannus, as I have always served him well,” Varus said smugly. “And, without doubt I will continue to do so.”

*

Servannus, mounted and in full battle armour, watched the vast camp being dissembled. Shivering, he consoled himself that this was the time that he’d planned and worked so hard for.

Eager to ingratiate himself with the governor on his return to Germania, he’d familiarised himself with the history of Varus’s rise to eminence.

Ever the opportunist, the youthful Varus had wasted no time taking steps to elevate his station and that of his family. Firstly, he married Claudia Pulcha, the grand-niece of the Emperor; a union which won him the favour of Augustus, and promotion to the governorship of the wealthy Syrian province quickly followed.

During his time in the east he acquired a sizeable fortune, as well as a reputation for being a rapacious levier of taxes. Such was his reputation, that by the end of his term of office it was lauded – amongst those with insight into the economic affairs of the region – that Varus ‘came as a poor man to a rich province and left it a poor province as a rich man’.

Post Syria and in his fifty second year, the highly placed Varus was granted the Governorship of Germania. It was a position that put him in charge of the five legions stationed on the Rhinus frontier, together with the responsibility for Rome’s policy east of the Great River.

During his two years in office, Varus had succeeded in making a considerable impression on his officers, his administrative cohorts and those he governed. Having acquired a taste for luxury and excess during his years in the east, he was regarded by his staff as an arrogant indulgent, as a general whose self-opinion far out-weighed his military talent. And the tribes: his contempt for them was only out-done by their hatred of him. He regarded them as a subjugated sub-species, imposing ever increasing taxes and crippling legal dictates.

Of course, none of this bothered Servannus – quite the opposite – he admired
the man’s ruthless ambition.

Determined to get close to the governor, Servannus had exploited their early meetings, pouring fatuous praise into his ears. It was a strategy that soon gained him favour. Now firmly ingratiated, he seized every opportunity to cater to Virus’s inflated ego, with the counsel of other military strategists being neither sought nor welcomed.

His horse shied back as a trumpet call signalled the striking of the forest of tents. Then a second sounded to ready the pack animals and to destroy the remaining fortifications, and a third for the troops to fall into marching ranks.

Finally, the iron-shod, massed units of men were asked by the commander’s herald if they were ready for war. Three times they raised their voices to respond, “We are ready!”

Servannus looked on as the army, unwavering in its self-belief, departed.
Yes, I’ve done well
, he congratulated himself
. And, it’s only the beginning!

High above, rain clouds were gathering.

* * *

Chapter XLIX

HOPE

“Wait for the wisest of all counsellors, Time.”

Pericles

The smoke from the earth-fire smarted Guntram’s eyes, and all about him last minute preparations were being ratified. The long-house was a flurry of activity, but despite the commotion Arminius appeared calm, in control. Guntram was impressed.

“You sent for me?”

“I have news,” Arminius stated without preamble. “My people across the Rhinus have sent word of your brother and the woman.”

A pulse beat strongly in Guntram’s neck and he swallowed hard before forcing out the question, “Do they live?”

“My people inform me that your brother was seen at Xanten, before the close of winter. And the female, Jenell, lives as the woman of an auxiliary officer.”

“What do you mean as his woman?” Guntram asked, his mouth very dry.

“I mean that she shares his bed willingly, as well as catering to his other needs,” Arminius answered plainly. “I know this man, this Ulner. He is a respected soldier, and not the kind of man to mistreat a woman.”

“I . . . I see,” Guntram stuttered, shaken by the news. “And what of my brother?”

“When seen, he appeared to be in good health. Since the raising of your village he’s lived as the personal slave of a Roman tribune named Servannus.”

“What?” Guntram exclaimed. He clasped his hands tightly to stop them from shaking. His next words came slowly. “Are you sure of is?”

“I’ve no reason to doubt my sources,” Arminius replied, scrutinizing Guntram’s face. “This Roman-”