by Ben Kane
‘He speaks the truth, as Donar is my witness,’ said Maelo. ‘They’re an impressive sight, Ecco. The Romans won’t realise a thing until it’s far too late.’
‘The weather is changing too.’ Arminius lifted his gaze. The section of sky visible above the trees was a threatening shade of grey-black. ‘There’s rain on the way. It won’t take the legions long to turn the place into a complete quagmire. Have I convinced you yet, Ecco?’
Morning was passing by the time Arminius and his men had returned to the vanguard, comprised that day of the Nineteenth Legion. Ordering his followers to travel at the army’s head as before, he went on, accompanied by Maelo. The marching legionaries took up the entire width of the road, meaning the pair had to ride on the narrow strip of ground on one side. Moving against the general flow attracted curious glances aplenty from the tramping soldiers, and shouted questions from centurions and optiones. Continuing to play his affable role despite his rising desire to do the opposite, Arminius bestowed broad smiles aplenty and repeated, ‘My news is for the governor, and he alone.’
He was encouraged by the large numbers of civilians throughout the column. Mobile vendors of food and drink, who’d been supplying the army through the summer months, walked up and down alongside the files of legionaries, selling watered-down wine, bread and sausages. There were women too – soldiers’ common-law wives, or whores – carrying bundles of clothing and pots, and packs of shrieking children running along, playing chase. Here and there, in the breaks between cohorts, were wagons laden down with baggage, injured men and what looked like more than one officer’s personal belongings. Arminius even spotted a soothsayer, promising anyone who’d listen that he could read the future from the way a scatter of crows was flying overhead, or the pattern of clouds in the sky. His spirits rose further. Everything he was seeing was against military regulations. Non-combatants – women, children, merchants and the rest of the raggletaggle that followed an army – were banned from walking with the legionaries, in particular the vanguard. All vehicles were supposed to travel with the baggage train, much further down the column.
By rights, the next section of troops in the column should have been ten soldiers from every century in the three legions, eighteen hundred men, carrying the tools necessary to dig out a marching camp. There was no sign of them. Their absence was understandable, thought Arminius with grim satisfaction, because Varus and his legates were expecting the army to utilise the temporary earthworks built close to the road in previous years, and later on, parts of the permanent camps such as Aliso. Once he had delivered his calamitous ‘news’, and the legions began travelling in a different direction, a marching camp would be required that night. Work parties would have to be separated out from each legion, and sent forward. Even if this were done the moment he’d spoken to Varus, the site would not be ready when the main body of the army arrived. It was a small thing, thought Arminius, but it would begin to unsettle the Roman troops.
The engineers, who should have come after the camp-builders, were nowhere to be seen either. This was not unreasonable: the army was travelling along a paved road, straight back to Vetera. Once the column headed off this route, however, things would change. The first deep stream would bring the army’s progress to a standstill until the engineers and their equipment had been brought forward.
The ox-drawn wagons carrying Varus’ and the most senior officers’ baggage were in the correct place at least. Escorted front and back by half a cohort of legionaries, they were a score or more of heavy-laden vehicles with creaking axles, sweating drivers and passengers who’d cadged a free ride. Arminius spotted Aristides in the back of one wagon, his face screwed up with discontent. He had a rolled-up document in each hand, and was vainly attempting to keep away the clouds of flies that hung overhead.
‘Enjoying the ride?’ Arminius called out. Surprised to see him, Aristides shook his head in vehement denial.
‘I’m being eaten alive.’
‘The biting flies are attracted by the cattle. Get out and march with the legionaries,’ Arminius suggested, knowing full well that the scribe wouldn’t be up to walking twenty miles a day.
Aristides gave him a dark look. ‘I’ll stay where I am.’
‘As you please,’ said Arminius as Maelo chortled.
They rode on, soon catching sight of the First Cohort of the Nineteenth Legion, Varus’ designated protection for the march back to Vetera. Everything about these troops stood in contrast to the soldiers who’d gone before. Sunlight flashed off their standards, polished armour and helmets, and their ranks were as neat and straight as if drawn by a carpenter’s rule. The measured tread of their hobnailed sandals added a deep cadence to the general clamour. They were an impressive sight, and reminded Arminius again why he would always try to avoid direct confrontation with the legions. German warriors were stout-hearted fighters and unafraid of dying, but standing toe-to-toe with legionaries in battle was a poor idea.
The more vigilant manner of Varus’ escort was borne out when a challenge rang out as the pair drew near. ‘Halt! Identify yourselves,’ bellowed a centurion from the front rank.
Arminius raised a hand in a peaceful gesture. ‘I am Arminius of the Cherusci, commander of the ala attached to the Seventeenth. I bring urgent news for Governor Varus.’
A few words saw Arminius and Maelo waved on, past the marching legionaries. A large party of horsemen followed on the soldiers’ heels. Despite his confidence, Arminius’ stomach did a neat roll as he spotted Varus in the midst of his staff officers. If his story was in any way unconvincing, his entire plan could unravel.
He glanced at Maelo, and alarm filled him. Sweat was rolling down his second-in-command’s face. There was a wild look to his eyes too, such as a sheep has, seized by the slaughterman, a moment before its throat is slit.
‘What in Donar’s name is wrong with you?’ hissed Arminius.
‘He’ll know. Varus will know what we’re up to.’
‘He fucking won’t!’ Arminius smiled and waved at Varus, who had seen him. ‘In his mind, we are trusted and proven allies. For us to commit treachery would be unthinkable.’ Maelo swallowed, nodded, but looked no less panicked. Twenty paces away, Varus was beckoning. ‘Control yourself, Maelo, or I swear I’ll cut your balls off, and shove them down your damn throat.’
Maelo swept an arm across his face and forced a grin.
‘Arminius!’ called Varus.
‘Greetings, governor,’ said Arminius, adopting a sombre tone.
Varus’ smile vanished. ‘Is something wrong?’
Donar, help me now, Arminius asked, turning his horse so that he was on Varus’ right side and moving in the direction of travel. Head down, Maelo copied him. The army stopped for no man. ‘In a manner of speaking, yes,’ said Arminius. ‘We encountered a merchant fleeing south while scouting. He reported that the Angrivarii have risen in numbers against Rome.’
Varus scowled. ‘In Jupiter’s name, why?’
‘The new tax, it seems.’
‘Taxes are sent to plague us all! One might as well fight the rain as resist them,’ said Varus in a weary voice.
‘If everyone realised that, the world would be a simpler place,’ agreed Arminius.
‘The Angrivarii live to the north of here – not far, is it?’
‘Some thirty to forty miles, no more.’ Heart thumping, Arminius kept his mind fixed on the image of an iron fish hook, decorated with a fat worm, sinking delicately below the surface of a river. A short distance below, a fine trout watched it with beady eyes. Take it, thought Arminius. It’s there just for you.
‘Your second-in-command – Maelo, isn’t it – is he all right?’ asked Varus. ‘He seems unwell.’
Arminius threw a casual glance over his shoulder at Maelo. It was a small consolation that his face was no longer running with sweat, but his complexion was a pasty shade of grey. Arminius made a dismissive gesture. ‘The fool ate some fish last night, governor. Fish that was reputed to have
come from the sea! He’s been paying for his thoughtlessness since dawn. Coming out both ends, it is, regular as anything.’
‘Enough, Arminius,’ ordered Varus, looking pained. ‘I have more to be concerned about than Maelo’s insides. Tell me every word that this traveller said.’
Relief flooded through Arminius. He was careful not to add many specifics to his fictitious report. An innocent bystander would not be someone to note warrior numbers and suchlike. ‘The man was terrified,’ he concluded. ‘He lingered long enough only to tell me his tale before riding south.’
‘How strong a tribe are the Angrivarii?’ asked Varus.
‘They’re not numerous. If every stripling and greybeard among them took up a spear, I’d wager they could field three and a half thousand warriors. Maybe four,’ replied Arminius.
‘Did the traveller say anything about neighbouring tribes?’
Varus was no fool, thought Arminius. He didn’t want to lead his soldiers towards a widespread uprising. ‘No, nothing.’
Varus rode on without replying, and Arminius’ stomach churned. In the bright sunlight, his story seemed as thin as old gruel. He wanted to keep talking, to ensure that Varus was persuaded to act, but feared to say too much. Remaining silent was as hard, however.
His heart beat out an unhappy score. To his rear, he heard Maelo retch. Arminius clutched at the sound like an ill-fed beggar seizes a thrown crust. ‘I told you not to eat that fish,’ he said. ‘The sea lies more than a hundred miles to the north. That should be enough to put any man off.’
‘I know,’ Maelo replied, groaning.
‘The timing of this uprising is inauspicious,’ declared Varus. ‘What do they hope to achieve this late in the season?’
Arminius felt a line of sweat trickle down his back. The usual time to go raiding, or to start a war, was at the end of spring, or in early summer, when there were months of campaigning available. ‘If I know the Angrivarii aright, reason will have had little to do with it,’ he said in a confiding tone. ‘Hot hearts are wont to overpower cold minds, they say among the tribes. Even now, it would be my instinct to react in the manner the Angrivarii have. It’s my Roman training that allows me to hold back, to think before I act.’
Varus regarded him with a smile. ‘Whatever the reason, their treachery cannot be overlooked. It’s fortunate that word reached us so soon, before they have had a chance to rally other tribes to their cause. Imagine also how difficult – and unpopular – it would have been to turn the army around close to Vetera. All we have to do now is, what – take a route to the north?’
It took a mighty effort for Arminius not to cheer. Instead, he said in a calm voice, ‘Correct, governor. We can follow the track upon which my men and I met the traveller.’
‘Good.’ Varus was already calling for his staff officers, and ordering that the engineers, and as much of their equipment as was feasible, be brought forward to their usual position. His legates were to be summoned, that they might discuss the best strategies to take against the Angrivarii. Word was to be passed along the entire column of the change in route, and the reasons why. Although contact with the enemy was not anticipated for a day or more, security was to be raised. ‘I want every man on the alert,’ commanded Varus. He turned back to Arminius. ‘Once again, I am in your debt.’
Arminius made an awkward gesture. ‘I was only doing my duty.’
‘As ever, you did it well. Now, though, you’d best return to your men. Leave some to ensure that the vanguard chooses the right path north, but I must ask you to take the rest ranging ahead – to see what you can find. For all we know, the Angrivarii could have sent raiding parties south.’
‘A wise decision,’ said Arminius. ‘I will also need to send riders to fetch the few men who missed our departure this morning.’
‘Do what you must, Arminius,’ replied Varus, waving him away. ‘Send any urgent news to me at once. Otherwise, report to me tonight, in camp.’
‘Very good,’ said Arminius. The next time I see you, I’ll plant a blade in your throat, he thought. ‘Come on, Maelo.’
‘Arminius!’ called Varus when they had ridden only a dozen paces.
Beside him, Arminius sensed Maelo stiffen. He turned, pulling a confident smile. ‘Yes?’
Varus raised a hand. ‘You didn’t say farewell.’
‘Pardon my haste. I wished only to begin my patrol. Farewell.’ Thank you, great Donar, Arminius thought, feeling a tide of relief as they rode on. ‘Gods above, I’m glad that’s over.’
‘You’re not the only one,’ muttered Maelo.
‘I should have left you with the men. You’re a warrior, not a spy.’ Arminius’ grin was half serious, half joking. ‘I still would have cut your balls off if you’d given the game away, mind.’
‘I’d have deserved it,’ Maelo admitted.
Easing their horses into a trot, they made their way towards the vanguard. Although no one questioned their passage, Arminius did not relax. It was yet possible that things could go wrong. Varus could develop doubts, and send a messenger to recall him. He had no idea where Tullus was, but if the centurion saw them, he might do something. So might that prick Tubero, if he appeared. It wasn’t likely that Flavus would catch sight of him either, riding as he was at the rear of the column, but Arminius kept a wary eye out for his brother too.
At length, they had left the legionaries of the vanguard behind, and the Gaulish cavalry too, and reached the safety of the open road. Only then did the events of the previous hour begin to seem real.
After so many years, the time for retribution was at hand.
XXI
IT WASN’T LONG after dawn, and Varus was sitting in one of the partitioned rooms in his large tent, comfortable stool beneath him, thick carpets underfoot, oil lamps on gilded stands illuminating the chamber. The sound of orders, and grunts as furniture was lifted, came from all around him – the entire structure was being dismantled, ready for the day’s march – but where he was remained a little island of calm. The forest that had surrounded them since their departure from the main road the previous day was invisible yet, which was a pleasure. Varus had already seen enough trees to last him a lifetime.
‘Some bread, sir?’ asked Varus’ cook, a dour veteran who had been with him since he took up his governor’s post.
Varus, who hadn’t slept well, gave an irritable shake of his head. Already he was preoccupied with the impending day’s march, along the narrow path that Arminius had specified. The previous afternoon’s journey had been difficult and unpleasant. A night’s rain would have worsened the conditions further. It was as well, Varus thought, that the legions didn’t have to travel far.
Wise to his master’s mood, the cook retreated in silence with the plate of fresh-baked flatbreads.
‘Aristides,’ said Varus.
The Greek hurried over from his desk, and the mounds of documents that he’d been poring over. ‘Master?’
‘Has there been any sign of Arminius?’
Aristides knew that his master was well aware there hadn’t – they had had no visitors other than the cook since the last time Varus had asked. He scratched at one of the multitude of bites that decorated his face and arms and, after a moment, ventured, ‘No, master. Should I go outside and ask the guards?’
‘Yes. Have a soldier sent to the main gate as well, in case he’s arrived there. Have the auxiliary lines checked too, for the few of his riders who stayed behind yesterday.’
‘Master.’
Varus glared at Aristides’ retreating back. How one word could reveal that the Greek didn’t understand – or appreciate – his concern about Arminius’ absence, Varus wasn’t sure, but it did. All he has to be worried about is his damn bites, thought Varus, feeling jealous. I have a whole army to think of, and a tribe of damn Germans to find and subjugate.
The smell of hot wine dragged his mind back to the present. His cook had reappeared, unasked, this time with a silver goblet, from which wisps of steam were
rising. ‘I thought you might like some wine instead, sir,’ he said. ‘It’s your favourite vintage, heated up and diluted a little. I’ve laced it with honey as well.’
Varus felt a smile break out. ‘Good man.’ Taking a sip, he toasted the cook. ‘It’s perfect.’
‘If you need another, sir, just call. I’ll keep my brazier hot until the last moment.’ The cook retreated towards the back of the tent, where his kitchen was situated.
Good mood restored, Varus decided that Arminius had been delayed by something – like as not being unable to track down some of his men – but he would appear sometime during the day. Even when Aristides returned to report that there had been no sign of the Cheruscan, and that his last riders had left before dawn to scout out the route ahead, Varus remained ebullient. When had Arminius ever let him down? A second, smaller goblet of wine fortified his spirits further. He put on his full general’s uniform: bronze, muscled breastplate, red sash, baldric, fine sword and crested helmet. Donning his crimson cloak last, Varus sallied from his tent, head held high. Mud squelched beneath his boots. It had rained even more than he’d realised overnight, which was annoying, for it would slow their progress on the narrow track.
His legates, Numonius Vala among them, and Lucius Eggius and Ceionius, his camp commanders, were waiting outside. They greeted him with smiles and salutes. ‘It’s a fine morning for hunting rebel tribesmen, sir,’ declared Vala.
Varus cast an eye upwards. Most of the clouds that had deluged the land a few hours before had gone. A watery sun was climbing above the treetops to the east. It was no guarantee that the weather would remain dry, but Varus had long found it best to remain positive. ‘Indeed it is. Make your reports.’
The Eighteenth Legion had been selected to form the vanguard that day, Varus was told. The Gaulish cavalry would precede it. To avoid the problems of the previous day, the engineers would march behind the first two cohorts of the Eighteenth, the better to be able to swing into action when their services were needed, as they would be.
