Hunting the Eagles

by Ben Kane

  ‘Move,’ Tullus ordered, pointing with his sword.

  The girl’s grandmother whispered in her ear, and she quietened. Together they walked to the hole in the back wall. As Piso stood aside, he proffered a lump of bread. ‘You need this more than me,’ he said in broken German.

  Again the girl seemed about to express her anger, but the old woman took the bread with gratitude. She urged her granddaughter outside. Then, easing herself into the hole, she glanced back at Tullus and gave him a nod, before also disappearing.

  Tullus felt a little less soiled. He eyed Piso and Vitellius, who were waiting for him to speak. ‘Not a word about this to anyone, you understand? Not a fucking word. If I hear as much as a whisper, you’ll wish you had never been whelped, so help me.’

  ‘Aye, sir,’ they both muttered.

  ‘Outside,’ ordered Tullus.

  He was emerging from the longhouse’s doorway when Tubero came riding up, his usual retinue behind him. As usual, the sight of Tullus made his lip curl. ‘I come to inspect your cohort, centurion, and instead find you ransacking a hovel for scraps like some common soldier. So much for the pride of the legions!’

  A dutiful laugh rose from his staff officers, and Tullus’ temper, so often his bane, flared. ‘I wasn’t looking for food, sir. I heard something inside, and went to investigate.’

  ‘That’s more commendable. How many more did you kill?’

  ‘None, sir,’ replied Tullus, forcing a regretful expression on to his face. ‘It must have been a scavenging dog. There’s a hole in the back wall, you see.’

  ‘A dog?’ The disbelief was clear in Tubero’s voice. His gaze fell on Piso and Vitellius. ‘Did either of you set eyes on this dog?’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Vitellius, ‘but I heard it.’

  ‘Me too, sir,’ lied Piso with relish.

  Tubero’s lips thinned, but his interest moved on. ‘Time to leave this shithole, centurion. Are your men ready?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I understand that the next village is larger than this. We’ll have to work hard to ensure that all of the Marsi filth are laid in the mud before dark. I expect your cohort to play its part.’

  ‘It will, sir, as ever,’ replied Tullus, wishing that a battle awaited, not another massacre.

  With another contemptuous look, Tubero rode on to the next unit.

  Tullus tried to find solace in the fact that he had saved two lives, but in the face of what they had done, and what awaited them a few miles away, it was impossible. The coming days would prove no better, he knew. The only choice left open to him was to wall off what happened – even to pretend it wasn’t happening – and carry on.

  Perhaps there was one benefit to the mass slaughter, he decided. Germanicus’ campaign of death and destruction would attract Arminius’ attention in the same way as the screams of a wounded rabbit drew in a hunting fox.

  To Tullus’ frustration, Arminius and his Cherusci warriors did not materialise during the following days. Unhindered, the legions and auxiliaries laid waste to every Marsi settlement that they found. News of their presence spread fast, and a good number of the villages were deserted by the time the army arrived. It was a secret relief to Tullus, although he admitted that to no one.

  They found no sign of the eagle mentioned by Degmar. Numerous chieftains and tribal priests died under torture ordered by Germanicus, protesting that they knew nothing. The prisoners were either telling the truth, Tullus concluded, or regarded the eagle as a prize worth dying for. Either way, the Romans’ failure to locate even one golden standard – most particularly for Tullus, that of the Eighteenth – boded ill for their recovery.

  He drank a lot of wine during the month-long campaign.

  The Romans’ brutal tactics soon provoked the local tribes – the Bructeri, Usipetes and Tubantes – to take up arms. Wary of confronting Germanicus’ heavily armed legionaries in open battle, they began to harass the force as it marched back to the Rhenus, the job of restoring morale complete. They attacked the Romans inside forested areas, as Arminius had done, where the legions could not deploy in their usual battle formations. Over a two-day period, more than half a dozen assaults were made on the miles-long column. Scores of soldiers were killed and injured, but discipline remained good, limiting the tribesmen’s success. On the third day, knowing that Germanicus’ host would soon reach the relative safety of open ground, they attacked in greater force, striking hardest at the rear.

  That day, it was the turn of the Twentieth Legion to form the end of the column, so Tullus only heard the dramatic tale of what happened afterwards. Confused by the strong enemy attack, the Twentieth’s lines had wavered. Heavy casualties were being sustained, and things were looking bleak until Germanicus, who had heard what was going on, rode back to seize control of the situation. His exhortations to the Twentieth’s legionaries to turn their ‘guilt into glory’ had dramatic results. The tribesmen were driven back, allowing the army to stop and construct a fortified camp for the night.

  Resistance melted away as the Rhenus drew near, allowing the army a safe passage to the western bank, and their camps. Spirits were high and the camaraderie of old had returned as the expedition came to an end. Wiser to his soldiers’ needs since the rebellion, Germanicus discharged scores of veterans who had served their time. He also laid on several days of games. Food and wine was provided in great quantity for the festivities’ duration. These unexpected bounties fell like spring rain on young seedlings. So too did the usual four-monthly payday, which was boosted by the addition of a special bonus paid for by Germanicus himself. Soon after, the governor departed for Rome – his mission there to report to Tiberius – content in the knowledge that normal life had resumed in Vetera.

  He left instructions with Caecina, which were soon relayed to Tullus and the other centurions. The legions were to prepare for a major campaign the following spring. To keep the officers’ minds focused on the task in hand, Germanicus’ final words were repeated verbatim at the end of every meeting in the months that followed. ‘Varus and his men will be avenged. Arminius and the tribes who massacred the three legions will pay. The lost eagles will be found, and our honour restored.’

  They became Tullus’ refrain as he knelt nightly before the shrine in his quarters.

  ‘My soldiers will be avenged. Arminius and the tribes who massacred them will pay. The Eighteenth’s eagle will be found, and my honour restored. Grant me these things, great Mars, and you can have anything.’

  Each and every time, Tullus paused before adding, ‘including my life’.

  PART TWO

  Spring AD 15

  Cherusci territory, deep in Germania

  Chapter XVIII

  ARMINIUS HAD BEEN woken by the dawn chorus yet again. Although used to sleeping until later, he didn’t mind. Each winter, the dark, the cold, the lack of sunlight and the drab brown of the countryside ground him down, month by dragging month. Spring’s arrival – and with it, the birds’ sounding of joy – was to be welcomed. He had slipped from under the bearskin and blankets, taking care not to wake Thusnelda. After a fond look down at her sleeping, pregnant form, he had dressed and gone alone to the sacred grove.

  Some hours later, belly rumbling with hunger, right thigh aching, he came striding back into the settlement. A word with the guards outside Segestes’ quarters – a daily habit – told him that the old man was up and about, and as irritable as ever. During Segestes’ prolonged recovery from his beating, he had complained little, but things had changed of recent days. Arminius took a sour pleasure from hearing how pissed off he was.

  Arminius’ own wound from the arrow had healed well – the priest had seen to that. It had taken months to return to full health and, truth be told, his right leg wasn’t as strong as before. It might never be, the priest had said. Keen to do all he could, Arminius was careful to do the exercises he’d been shown, and to have frequent massages. His efforts had paid off in part – training sessions with Maelo and othe
r warriors were easier now. No one said it, but he knew he was no longer as dangerous a fighter.

  I will be, one day, he told himself. Shoving away the bad mood that threatened, he returned the numerous greetings thrown his way, stopped to talk to an old friend of his father, and praised two boys driving a flock of sheep to pasture. By the time Arminius had reached his own longhouse, he was in good spirits again, and the rich smell of frying pork and mushrooms emanating from within made him smile. Thusnelda was preparing his breakfast.

  He stole inside, putting a finger to his lips to silence the slaves working at the animals’ end of the building, and stroking his dog’s head to quieten it. Thusnelda had her back to him. She was busy, alternately stirring a pan on the fire and kneading dough on the large stone slab that served as a work surface. Arminius padded to within half a dozen paces of her before she realised. She let out a little gasp.

  ‘I’ve told you not to do that! It’s bad for the baby,’ she scolded. Her happy expression contradicted her words, however, and she didn’t resist as he wrapped his arms around her middle, caressing her belly.

  ‘My son is a warrior! He won’t be so easily scared,’ Arminius said.

  ‘You know it’s a boy?’ Her hands reached up to stroke his hair.

  ‘Of course,’ he replied, nuzzling her neck. ‘He’s my first-born. What else could he be?’

  ‘Ha! The midwife says it will be a girl.’

  ‘How can she know?’ With gentle hands, Arminius turned her around. They locked eyes, and kissed. Thusnelda pulled away after a moment and Arminius cried, ‘Hey!’

  ‘The pork is about to burn,’ she retorted, laughing and flipping the meat in the pan. ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Starving.’

  ‘I thought you would be. You went to the grove?’

  ‘Aye.’

  She studied his face, searching for a clue.

  ‘I saw nothing,’ he said with a dismissive flick of his wrist. ‘It doesn’t matter. The god isn’t going to offer me something every time I’m there, is he?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Inguiomerus is with us, and his people. After the Roman attacks last autumn, so are the Marsi. The Angrivarii won’t take much persuading, nor will the rest. I’ll have to visit the chieftains, but by spring’s end, I will have an army large enough to tackle Germanicus.’

  She frowned. ‘You’ll have to leave soon.’

  ‘There’s no way around it, my love. But I shall return inside a month.’

  ‘Not for long, though, and then you will be away all summer, fighting.’

  ‘You knew the type of man I was when you married me,’ he said, his voice hardening. ‘Rome has to be taught another lesson if we are to free ourselves from its yoke – and its taxes.’

  ‘And if you succeed, will that be the end of it? What’s to say the legions won’t cross the river again? Will you have to go to war every summer, until one year you do not return? I’ll be left a widow, and your children fatherless.’ She was crying now, and smoke was rising unnoticed from the frying meat.

  He took a step towards her, but she motioned him away. ‘Don’t!’

  His own anger rising, Arminius turned.

  ‘Wait. Your pork is ready.’

  Arminius hesitated. Leaving without a word, letting her cooking go to waste, would be satisfying. To do so, however, would deepen the rift that had just opened between them. The resulting argument might last for days, or even longer. Their fiery relationship had seen that happen before. Better to stay, he decided. ‘Thank you,’ he said in a conciliatory tone. ‘It smells delicious.’

  ‘I’ve gone and burned it,’ she replied, scowling.

  ‘You haven’t, my love. Come, have some with me. You’re eating for two now.’

  She shook her head: no.

  ‘Feeling sick?’

  ‘It will pass.’ She motioned him to the table. ‘Sit. I’ll join you.’

  ‘I’m a lucky man,’ said Arminius as she piled his plate high and placed it before him. ‘Not only are you a skilled cook, and beautiful – you’re bearing my son.’

  His flattery worked, and she took the stool beside his. ‘You’re not the only fortunate one. My husband is a fine, honourable man, and the greatest chieftain in the land. The man who united the tribes.’

  They kissed again. Thusnelda pulled away at length. ‘Eat. It will go cold.’

  ‘You’ve put in some wild garlic,’ Arminius said halfway through the first mouthful. ‘It’s delicious.’

  Thusnelda smiled. ‘I do my best.’

  ‘You do far more than that.’ He squeezed her hand.

  An easy conversation, the kind held between two people who know each other inside and out, followed. Arminius had just cleared his plate when excited shouting broke out some distance from the longhouse.

  Using his tunic to wipe his lips, and ignoring the disapproving look that Thusnelda gave him for it, he kissed the top of her head and made for the door. ‘My thanks for the food.’

  Osbert, one of Arminius’ best warriors, hove into sight as he emerged. Squat, barrel-chested and a lover of drinking and fighting, Osbert had seized one of the Roman eagles during their ambush on Varus’ legions. His thunderous expression revealed much, and Arminius cursed. Life had a way of souring things just when they were going well, yet it didn’t pay to let on that he could be so easily upset. He raised a hand. ‘Ho, Osbert! Looking for me?’

  ‘Aye. Two Chatti warriors have just ridden in.’

  The Chatti lands lay some distance to the south and southwest. Dealings with them weren’t uncommon. Nor were they everyday, thought Arminius with a trace of unease. ‘Their tidings?’

  ‘Not good. Germanicus has taken advantage of the lack of rain, and crossed the river early, in strength.’

  ‘I’ll see them at once.’ Ignoring his twinging thigh, Arminius strode the way Osbert had come.

  A large crowd – men, women and children – had gathered in the central meeting area, but they made way for Arminius and Osbert. Pressing through the throng, Arminius found Maelo sitting with two warriors, one of whom was wounded. Both men were spattered with mud and had haggard, grey expressions. Arminius had never seen either before, but wasn’t surprised that they seemed to recognise him. He was well known among the tribes.

  ‘Arminius,’ croaked the uninjured warrior, a yellow-bearded, short man in the prime of life.

  ‘Well met,’ said Yellow Beard’s companion, who had a wide face and drooping moustache. His clothes were so crusty and red-stained that Arminius judged some of the blood had to be Roman.

  ‘And the same to you. You are welcome in my village,’ said Arminius, inclining his head. ‘Has the priest been called for, to see to this man?’

  ‘Aye,’ replied Maelo.

  ‘I’ve ridden day and night to get here,’ said Drooping Moustache. ‘The priest can look at me after we’ve told you our news.’

  ‘Germanicus has attacked your people,’ said Arminius.

  Yellow Beard grimaced. ‘Aye. He divided his forces so that they could attack us from two directions. There were five legions, or the equivalent, in each “prong”.’ Arminius exchanged a dismayed look with Maelo as Yellow Beard continued, ‘We had no scouts out. The first warning we had of their arrival was a few hours before their host began surrounding our settlements.’

  ‘No one expects to go to war this early in the year,’ said Arminius, grateful that his people’s territory lay so much further from the Rhenus. ‘Scheming Roman bastards.’

  ‘Every warrior who could fight marched out to face them.’ A deep sadness filled Yellow Beard’s eyes. ‘We left our homes undefended.’

  ‘In the face of an overwhelming attack, that is sometimes the best tactic,’ said Arminius.

  ‘Except we were driven back, over the Adrana River,’ came the bitter reply. ‘The Romans fell upon our villages like wolves on a flock abandoned by the shepherd. Thousands of our women and children were slaughtered or enslaved.’ Yellow Bear
d’s voice caught, and he had to compose himself. ‘Our counter-attack made some ground at first, but we were forced to retreat a second time when they brought their archers and bolt-throwers into action.’

  A silence fell, and Arminius waited. Tragedies of this magnitude hit a man hard.

  After a time, Yellow Beard began again. ‘Some warriors thought Germanicus might negotiate. We argued for hours, but in the end an embassy was sent to the Roman camp.’ A heavy sigh. ‘It was foolish even to think he might deal with us. The dog rejected our offer out of hand. Germanicus said that he had not come to make peace, but war. The news made many give up hope. Perhaps half the tribe surrendered without conditions, while the rest fled into the forests and hid.’

  ‘This is terrible,’ Arminius said. ‘May the gods succour your people in their time of need.’

  ‘There wasn’t any sign of the gods when the Romans attacked, I can tell you,’ said Yellow Beard, his face twisting with anger. ‘When the killing was done, they destroyed what grain supplies remained, and burned every settlement to the ground, including our capital, Mattium. My people are destitute.’

  ‘The Cherusci will send as much aid as we can spare: food, blankets, weapons, medicines,’ said Arminius at once. ‘A hundred of my warriors will accompany you back to your lands, and stay until shelters have been built for all.’

  ‘You are generous indeed. We thank you.’ Yellow Beard bent his head. So did Drooping Moustache.

  ‘Let me guess Germanicus’ next move,’ Arminius continued. ‘He is going to strike north at us, the Cherusci.’

  ‘That would be my guess,’ replied Yellow Beard. ‘You know the old camp built by Drusus’ legions?’

  ‘I do.’ Built a generation before on one of the sources of the River Visurgis, the fortress had been deserted for many years. A strong hill position made it almost impregnable, thought Arminius, but of far greater concern was its proximity to his tribe’s territory.