by Ben Kane
‘We are honoured by the presence among us of Germanicus Julius Caesar, our governor,’ announced Caecina.
The centurions were well schooled – and relieved that their supreme commander had arrived. A loud cheer went up.
‘I give you the imperial governor,’ said Caecina, half bowing to Germanicus and stepping back.
More cheering erupted.
Tall, imposing, Germanicus stood forward, and raised his hands for calm. ‘The time for celebration is not here yet, I am afraid. Having seen the gravity of the situation with my own eyes’ – and he gave Tullus a nod of appreciation – ‘the only way to placate the legionaries is to agree to their demands, in principle at least. I can see that you like that as little as I do, but there are few options open to me. I propose sending a letter to the mutineers’ leaders.’
Germanicus threw a look at Tubero, who all but preened himself. ‘Legate Tubero came up with the idea: a letter purporting to have Tiberius’ authority. It will grant discharge to legionaries who have served for twenty years and longer. Soldiers with sixteen or more years of service will receive a conditional discharge; their only obligation will be to fight – if there is need – in the four years following their release from the legions. Their official donative will be doubled. Legionaries’ pay will also be increased, by a half.’
Tullus saw his own disbelief mirrored in almost every centurion’s face. The mutineers weren’t stupid, he thought. Tiberius was known for his steady, cautious nature. He wasn’t the type to offer such generous terms, without any fight whatsoever. Was anyone prepared to say so, though?
Germanicus was an observant man. He sensed their unhappiness. ‘What is it? Speak up,’ he ordered, his gaze roaming from face to face. They settled on Tullus. ‘Well?’
Tullus took a deep breath. ‘They won’t fall for it, sir. I have no idea how the emperor thinks, the gods bless him forever, but I doubt that he would capitulate to such demands in the first instance. The mutineers will think the same.’ Tullus could hear no voices agreeing with him, and his guts churned.
Germanicus’ lips tightened, but he uttered no rebuke. Beside him, Caecina was scowling and Tubero’s cheeks were marked by red pinpricks of fury. Germanicus eyed the centurions again. ‘Are any of you of the same opinion?’
‘I am, sir.’ Surprising Tullus yet again, it was Cordus who had spoken. ‘They’ll be expecting to haggle over their demands, not just have them agreed to straight away.’
There were some rumbles of agreement, but few centurions would meet Germanicus’ eyes. It wasn’t surprising, thought Tullus, hoping that he hadn’t done the wrong thing. Only fools disagreed with high-ranking officials, let alone the emperor’s heir.
‘Can you offer me any other immediate choices?’ asked Germanicus.
A resounding silence followed, broken only by the drunken shouts of legionaries outside the principia.
We could sit and wait, thought Tullus. Send for the legions upriver, in Germania Superior. The local auxiliaries could even be used to put down the rebellion. He had had enough, however, of speaking up, of offering himself as the sacrificial sheep. While Germanicus held Tullus in some regard, Tubero still had it in for him, and was more than capable of turning Caecina, and perhaps even Germanicus himself, against him. Tullus had spent too long in the wilderness to risk losing the regard of his newfound, powerful benefactor, so he stitched his lip.
‘In that case, we shall proceed with the letter,’ declared Germanicus. ‘May the gods ensure that it puts an end to this madness.’
The divine help that Germanicus had wished for did not materialise. Some hours after the letter had been delivered to the mutineers’ leaders under a flag of truce, a vast crowd of legionaries assembled outside the principia. Many were drunk, and all were irate. Shouting that Germanicus should come forth – he did, with Tullus and his full century as protection – they destroyed his letter, calling it a forgery. Their demands were repeated, and this time, the legionaries threatened, they were ‘to be looked at with the respect they deserve’. In other words, Bony Face shouted, a settlement had better be forthcoming within a day, or Germanicus could expect to have the principia burned down around his noble ears. With him inside, the twins added, to a swelling roar of approval.
The furious mutineers didn’t wait for a reply. Their intimidating threats hung in the air as they marched off.
‘Curse them to Hades! Their insolence is unforgivable,’ snarled Germanicus. He glanced at Tullus, who was quick to keep his expression blank. There could be no ‘I told you so’ attitude with someone so high-ranking.
‘You were right,’ admitted Germanicus after a long moment. ‘They’re no fools.’
‘As you say, sir,’ replied Tullus in a neutral tone. ‘We’ll make them pay in the end.’
‘Indeed, but other matters are more pressing,’ muttered Germanicus. ‘What to do now?’
Tullus wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical, and discretion was the more prudent choice. He said nothing.
‘I could promise them an increase in pay, to be given on their return to barracks,’ said Germanicus. He shot a look at Tullus. ‘Would that work?’
Caught by Germanicus’ penetrating stare, Tullus had to answer. Hating the fact that he was a poor liar, he answered, ‘Men like to feel coin in their hands, sir, not listen to the promise of it days into the future.’
‘I am the imperial governor,’ said Germanicus, his jaw hardening. ‘I’ll not roll over to them, d’you hear?’
‘I understand, sir,’ said Tullus, thinking: you have to give them something tangible, or more blood will be spilled.
‘Take me inside,’ ordered Germanicus. ‘I must reflect on the best course of action.’
‘Sir.’ Tullus led the way, hoping that inspiration of a better kind would strike Germanicus before the mutineers’ patience ran out.
Tullus’ hopes were in vain. Whether through pride or inability to come up with a better option, Germanicus went ahead with his suggestion to the soldiers that an increase in pay would be paid when they marched back to their camps. Tullus was ordered to deliver the offer to the mutineers the following morning. He wasn’t surprised when Bony Face and his fellows rejected it out of hand. Red-faced with fury, Bony Face whipped his followers into a frenzy. Insults and then stones were thrown. In a calm voice, Tullus had his men close up and draw their swords. A stand-off developed, with both sides nervous and ready to fight, but neither quite prepared to begin the bloodletting. Tullus wanted to pull his soldiers back into the safety of the headquarters, but he had to get an answer for Germanicus first. ‘Will you accept the terms?’ he called out.
Bony Face stalked from the protection of his fellows, closing to within a dozen paces of Tullus’ men’s shields. ‘Tell your governor,’ he hissed, uncaring of the sword tips pointing at his heart, ‘that he had best come up with an offer that we actually believe. He’s got until sunset.’
‘Or what?’ demanded Tullus in a bullish tone.
‘Or I lead four legions against the principia,’ Bony Face retorted. ‘See how long you can hold out then.’
Germanicus was incandescent with rage when Tullus relayed the mutineers’ response. ‘The dog said what?’ Germanicus’ bellow was as loud as a centurion’s best parade roar.
Tullus repeated what he’d been told and, difficult though it was, continued to meet Germanicus’ gaze. ‘You have until sunset to give them your answer.’
‘Until sunset? I, the imperial governor, have to reply to that rabble? I, the emperor’s nephew, have to bandy words with scum who aren’t fit to polish my boots?’ Germanicus emitted a short, high-pitched laugh of disbelief. His eyes, sparking with anger, moved from Tullus to the other officers present. Most, Tubero included, were quick to drop their gaze.
‘It’s a terrible state of affairs, sir,’ ventured Caecina.
‘Jupiter on high, it’s insufferable!’ shouted Germanicus, pacing up and down. ‘Intolerable!’
No one dared a
nswer him.
If only they had until the following morning, thought Tullus. Under the cover of darkness, he could have led a select group of men to assassinate Bony Face and the other ringleaders. While dangerous, the mission wouldn’t have been impossible. In daylight, however, it would border on suicidal. Valuing his soldiers’ lives more than anything, Tullus decided not to say a word. Germanicus was no fool; he had to realise that his back was to the wall.
‘What can we do?’ demanded Germanicus, his eyes still roving around the tent.
There was a sudden interest in belt buckles and the toes of men’s boots. Uneasy coughs vied with throats that were being cleared. Tullus’ pride wouldn’t let him bend his head, and he cursed inwardly as Germanicus honed in on him.
‘Do we lead an attack on the ringleaders, and cut off all the Hydra’s heads?’ Close up, Germanicus’ great height was even more pronounced. He glared down at Tullus.
‘I will if you order me to, sir,’ said Tullus in a monotone.
Germanicus scowled. ‘You don’t think it’s a good idea?’
‘We’re too few, sir. Even if we made it to wherever the ringleaders are, they would tear us apart. Like as not, the mob would then turn on the headquarters.’ Tullus wasn’t sure about the last part, but he was not going to offer his men up as sacrificial sheep on the altar of Germanicus’ pride.
Germanicus considered his words, and then he let out a long breath. ‘In darkness, we might have succeeded, but not during daylight.’
‘That would be my thought, sir,’ said Tullus, hiding his relief.
Germanicus stalked off, coming to a halt before Tubero. ‘It’s rare for you to be silent, legate. What have you to offer?’
Tubero puffed out his chest. ‘I’d be happy to lead an attack on the ringleaders, sir, but, as you say, it would be too dangerous.’
Germanicus made a little sound of derision and walked on. ‘Anyone else?’
Tullus’ frustration rose as no one said anything for several moments. Why should it be down to him to speak? Officers far more senior than he were present. Nephew of the emperor or no, imperial governor or no, Germanicus had to be told.
In the end, Caecina had the balls. ‘The way I see it, sir, we only have one option.’
Germanicus whirled around, his face taut with emotion. ‘What is that?’
‘The mutineers must be paid their money, sir,’ said Caecina. ‘In my opinion, that is the only thing they’ll accept.’
‘The only thing? The only thing?’ Germanicus’ face was purple with rage; the veins stood out on his neck.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Caecina, looking nervous.
Germanicus raised his bunched fists to the heavens and a drawn-out Ahhhhh of anger and frustration left his lips.
Everyone watched; no one dared speak.
‘If we are all slain, the mutiny will continue.’ Germanicus’ tone was flat. ‘Restoring order is imperative, even if it means giving into the mutineers.’
Heads nodded; voices muttered, ‘Yes, sir,’ and, ‘Agreed, sir.’ Tullus gave silent thanks to the gods.
‘I doubt that I have enough funds to pay every soldier in four legions what he’s “owed”,’ said Germanicus with a bitter laugh. His eyes moved to Caecina, and on to the legates present. ‘I shall have to ask for a loan.’
Tullus watched sidelong as the senior officers fell over themselves to offer their assistance. Germanicus won’t forget this, he thought. For an imperial governor and royal family member to have to beg financial aid of his subordinates was a humiliation of the first order.
‘Good,’ said Germanicus, a slight inclination of his head the only sign of gratitude. ‘From the sounds of it, we shall have enough coin to pacify the rapacious dogs.’ His gaze stopped on Tullus. ‘Will the legions return to their bases now?’
‘I’d wager so, sir.’
‘That’s all we need for now.’ There was a short pause, and then Germanicus added in an icy voice, ‘Justice can be served later.’
Chapter X
‘GODS, HOW I hate this shithole!’ Segestes’ voice carried, as it was meant to, some distance from the longhouse he’d been confined to since his arrival. ‘Donar take Arminius, the flea-ridden mongrel!’ Arminius, standing on the grass close by, laughed. So did Maelo and the score of his warriors who were there, stretching their muscles. It was their habit each morning to exercise and train with their spears and swords – not something most men did, but they were the cream of Arminius’ followers.
‘Do you want me to shut him up?’ called one of the men standing watch by Segestes’ door.
‘Leave him be. I like hearing his complaints,’ Arminius replied, causing more amusement. ‘They’re a constant reminder that I did the right thing. If I’d let him go to Inguiomerus, we would have four thousand fewer spears to call on in the spring.’
‘I’m sick of the sound of him.’ Thusnelda came bustling from the direction of the woods, a basket of fresh-picked mushrooms balanced on her hip. ‘You can hear his voice half a mile away.’
‘How can you say such things about your father?’ asked Arminius with mock seriousness. He dodged away from the clout she swung at him.
‘I respect my father, but I cannot abide him whingeing from dawn till dusk. Couldn’t you keep him further away?’
Arminius had been keen from the outset to have Segestes close to hand, the better to monitor the guards he’d set upon his prisoner. Despite his jokes, several days of Segestes’ unrelenting, high-volume complaints meant that he too was growing weary of his prisoner. ‘I suppose we could put him in one of the houses near the edge of the settlement. Just for you,’ he said, trying to slip an arm around Thusnelda’s waist.
She dodged away from him with surprising agility. ‘Get off! Don’t expect to lay a hand on me until it’s done.’
Arminius scowled after her, as Maelo chortled. The others were amused too, but they hid it a little better. Arminius pretended not to hear any of them. Allowing himself to be the butt of an occasional joke – thereby proving he was as human as the next man – was no bad thing. ‘How about a plate of fried mushrooms instead?’ he called out.
‘Move him first,’ came the sharp retort. A moment later, the door of their longhouse slammed.
Fresh laughter erupted from Maelo and his men, and Arminius said, ‘You heard the woman. I’m going to starve and suffer from a constant erection if we don’t move Segestes.’
‘Best get it done soon then,’ declared Maelo. ‘I can see the bulge in your trousers from here.’
As his men’s mirth increased further, Arminius let himself chuckle. ‘We’ll move him after we’ve trained.’
They had been exercising for some time – running circuits of the settlement, lifting great sections of tree trunk, sparring with swords – when Arminius’ attention was drawn to the path that led westward, towards the Rhenus. Small boys and girls, and the pups that followed them, were dancing about what had to be a party of visitors. How was it, he wondered, that children were always drawn to the newcomer?
It was beneath his station to go and see who had arrived. There was no need anyway, for people tended to converge on the open central area where he and his warriors were gathered. Nonetheless, Arminius’ attention strayed from the task at hand, allowing Maelo to land a couple of painful blows on him with the flat of his blade. ‘Enough!’ Arminius cried.
‘Take your eye off an enemy, and he’ll have you,’ warned Maelo with a leer.
‘Piss off,’ retorted Arminius, grimacing back. ‘I can take you any time.’ Wiping his brow with the arm of his tunic, he waited for the party to reach them. Instead of sheathing his sword, he let it dangle by his side. Innocent enough, given the training men around him, but also a veiled threat if needs be. Fifty paces off, Arminius recognised an unruly mop of blond hair that could only belong to one man he knew. Cupping a hand to his mouth, he yelled, ‘Segimundus!’
A hand was raised in acknowledgement, and Arminius grinned. ‘I haven’t seen h
im in years, maybe since the ambush even.’
‘A little odd that he appears so soon after we’ve imprisoned his father, don’t you think?’ muttered Maelo.
‘Don’t be so suspicious,’ chided Arminius. ‘Segimundus stands with us. Rallying the tribes would have been much harder without his support. Remember too what he did to Varus.’ Arminius wasn’t sure if that last detail was true – no one had seen who had mutilated the Roman general’s body – but rumour then and since had Segimundus as the perpetrator.
‘Blood runs thicker than water,’ rumbled Maelo with a frown.
‘Yet my brother Flavus and I cannot abide each other. I’d save your life before his a thousand times,’ retorted Arminius, challenge in his tone. ‘And Segimundus was with us in the forest when Segestes was nowhere to be seen, wasn’t he?’
‘Aye.’
‘Well, then. Set aside your distrust. He’ll want to visit his father, I wager, but I’m the person he’s come to speak with.’ Sliding his sword into the scabbard, Arminius took a few steps towards the approaching party. ‘Welcome, Segimundus! It has been too long.’
‘The years pass swiftly, do they not?’ Segimundus, an imposing figure in a priest’s dark green hooded robe, dismounted and came to meet Arminius, arms outstretched. They embraced.
‘It’s good to see you,’ said Arminius, pulling back to stare at Segimundus.
‘And you. Are those grey hairs I see in your beard?’
Arminius gave his chin a rueful stroke. ‘There are a few, perhaps. You’ve got the same, I see.’
‘None of us can stop the march of time.’ Segimundus made a solemn face. ‘They add to my authority, don’t you think?’
‘As if you ever needed that. Men always listen to a priest.’
‘Not so. It takes more than a green robe or, for that matter, a chieftainship to win men’s hearts and minds. You know that as well as I do.’
