by Ben Kane
‘Roman scouts occupy it already.’
Arminius absorbed this news with real alarm. If the rest of the Roman host was heading to Drusus’ old camp, which now seemed possible, Germanicus was intent on attacking his people next. ‘This is what you rode here to tell me?’
‘Aye,’ said Yellow Beard. ‘No man would wish what befell the Chatti on his worst enemy.’
‘Then it is my turn to thank you,’ said Arminius. He turned to Maelo. ‘Send a summons to all the settlements. Every whole-bodied warrior must be ready to fight within two days. I want every senior chieftain here by tomorrow.’
Maelo was up and moving before he’d finished talking. Arminius eyed the Chatti warriors again. ‘You are exhausted, and grieving for your loved ones. Take rest now. We can talk again later.’
Yellow Beard and Drooping Moustache gave him grateful nods as they were ushered away. Arminius raised his hands, silencing the unhappy muttering that had broken out among those listening. ‘Do not let fear enter your hearts!’ he shouted. ‘Remember what I did to the Romans the last time they were in our lands!’
Faces lit up. ‘Those were blessed days.’ ‘The gods were smiling on us.’
‘It seems the bastards weren’t taught enough of a lesson five and a half years ago. They will learn it anew! The ground will be soaked in their blood, and the forest carpeted with their dead. Our warriors will return laden with booty. Victory will be ours!’ Arminius raised a fist and they cheered him – not as loud as he would have liked, but enough to show their courage hadn’t been destroyed by the Chatti warriors’ bloodcurdling tale.
Arminius felt little of his proclaimed confidence. With the Romans so close, there wouldn’t be time to rally more than the warriors of his Cherusci faction, as well as those of Inguiomerus. Their total strength would be perhaps nine thousand spears, nowhere near what was needed to defeat Germanicus’ entire host – or even half of it.
Fear, real fear such as Arminius had not felt in many a year, raked at his guts.
Chapter XIX
TULLUS’ MOUNT TOSSED its head, and gave its neighbour to the left a playful nip on the ear. Its target was unappreciative, whickering and biting back. Tullus and the other rider – no less than Flavus, Arminius’ brother – had to spend a few moments reassuring their horses before calm had been restored. The pair, along with three turmae of auxiliary cavalry, were concealed in the forest some distance to the south of Arminius’ settlement. Sunrise wasn’t far off, and four days had passed since the Roman army had marched west, leaving them behind as the last Roman forces in the area.
Wary of the potential for disaster so deep in the tribal hinterland, Germanicus had opted not to strike at the Cherusci settlements and Arminius’ jugular. Instead, he had led his high-spirited soldiers back to their camps. Germanicus hadn’t taken all his troops, however. Frustrated by his own cautious decision to withdraw, he had ordered a daring raid to free Segestes. Speed would be of the essence during the mission, and so a cavalry force had been the obvious choice.
Flavus, a trusted ally still, had stayed behind with two turmae of his men and a turma of Chauci. He had been picked by virtue of his origins and relationship to Arminius; the Chauci because, unlike Flavus’ warriors, they would arouse no suspicion when they rode in twos and threes as spies into the local settlements. Tullus was there because he was one of the few senior Roman soldiers left who would recognise Arminius. At first, Tullus had not been happy that Flavus was in command – he was Arminius’ brother after all. Tullus had buried his misgivings after Flavus had explained the reason he had stayed loyal to Rome when his brother had not.
‘Arminius and I never got on, even as boys,’ he had said. ‘A promise meant nothing to him then, and it still doesn’t. Taking an oath is different for me. I’d rather die than go back on my word.’ Flavus had stared at Tullus, meeting his gaze for long moments. In the end, Tullus had decided that Flavus telling the truth, and he respected him for it.
Hiding nearly ninety men and horses was impossible for long, and the force had ridden – under the cover of darkness, two nights running – from Germanicus’ last camp straight towards Arminius’ settlement. Their luck had been in, and no one had found their daytime hiding places in the forests. On the third morning, groups of the Chauci had gone to scout the area, and to see how many warriors they might face. They had returned with good news. Segestes was still a captive, and most of Arminius’ best men were absent. The bad news was that so too was he, visiting the nearby tribes. Germanicus’ other order, to kill Arminius if they could, had become an impossibility. Tullus couldn’t help but feel disappointed.
Dawn had yet to break, on this, the fourth day, but it wouldn’t be long coming. Birds were calling from every tree. An orange-red colour was seeping up the sky from the east, and the night chill was receding. Tullus bent his neck to one side, then the other, stretching taut muscles. They would move soon. Arminius’ absence now meant that Tullus was not needed, yet he was glad to be here. Success would be akin to giving Arminius a hefty kick in the balls, and a real blow to his pride. Better that than nothing. And failure? Tullus didn’t dwell on that, beyond asking Mars not to let him be taken by the enemy. Death would be preferable.
‘Ready?’ asked Flavus. A blocky man, he had the blond hair that had given him his Roman name, but his scarred face was similar to that of Arminius. Despite having only one eye, he had the same intense stare, the type that won fights before they had started.
‘Run through the plan one more time,’ replied Tullus.
‘It’s two miles to the settlement. We travel there at the trot. On the outskirts, we split up. The Chauci will ride among the houses on the left, and one of my turmae those to the right. I’ll take my second turma and surround the building where Segestes is being held – one of the Chauci will be there to point it out. You’ll be with me.’
‘We kill Segestes’ guards, and free him,’ added Tullus. ‘Any horses present are to be driven off, and then the longhouses are to be sacked.’ Germanicus had given orders to search for standards and other valuables lost during the ambush. Rumour was that the Cheruscan leader had given the three eagles as rewards to his allies, but Tullus still dared to hope that this was not the case.
‘Aye. The warriors mustn’t lose control of themselves, or the whole thing might come undone. If Arminius’ second-in-command Maelo is about, he could rally the warriors.’
‘Will your men do as they’re told?’ asked Tullus. Once the bloodlust took hold, soldiers became hard to rein in, and auxiliaries’ discipline was nothing like that in the legions.
‘They will, or they’ll face this,’ replied Flavus with a grim tap on his sword hilt. ‘The chieftain leading the Chauci has sworn his riders will obey him. If it goes to plan, we’ll be riding away within the hour.’
Tullus nodded. All I have to do is not fall off my horse, or get hit by a spear, he thought. He fixed his mind on the outside chance that they might find an eagle, maybe even his eagle. Such cheering thoughts were hard to maintain, however, and he was relieved when Flavus gave the order to ride out.
Tullus had travelled to this region once before, under Tiberius, but never with so few companions. As the farmers’ fields and scattered houses passed by, Tullus brooded on the fact that ninety riders was a puny force compared to the number of warriors a large settlement could put out. He hoped the scouts’ information was accurate, and that most of Arminius’ men were away. Tullus couldn’t say this, but it was unsettling to have German auxiliaries around him rather than Roman legionaries. Yet the dice had been thrown, so he shoved away his concern as best he could.
Thanks to the early hour, few souls registered their passing, although many must have wondered from their beds what the pounding hooves signified. An occasional figure, herding cattle or sheep to pasture, or fetching water from a well, watched in awed silence as the group trotted by. A farmer called out a greeting, but no one replied.
Tullus was riding at the front, with Flavus.
He’d been given a calm chestnut from among the horses on offer – ‘I want a battle-steady mount that will go all day, and obey my commands,’ he’d told the lead groom – and thus far it had served him well. ‘Good boy,’ he muttered, rubbing its sweating neck. ‘Not long now.’
At first, their approach did not cause any alarm. Indeed, those tending livestock shouted greetings. Even the startled old man squatting on his haunches by a dungheap lifted a hand. Tullus felt little sympathy for those who were about to die. These were Arminius’ people – Cherusci. Men, women and children, their hands were stained with Roman blood. With the blood of Tullus’ men.
Astute, Flavus maximised the shock of their arrival by giving the order to ready weapons only when they had ridden up to the first longhouses. ‘To your positions,’ he cried, pointing to left and right. ‘With me,’ he yelled to his chosen warriors, and headed towards the central meeting area.
Tullus was without a spear, and he left his sword in its scabbard as they pounded along – he was no cavalryman. What fighting there was to be done, he’d do on foot. His decision left him vulnerable, and he kept close behind Flavus. Happily, the path to Segestes’ longhouse lay bare of warriors. A vacant-looking youth who didn’t get out of the way was cut down, and a woman standing in her doorway took a well-hurled spear through the belly, but there was no one to confront them. Four guards stood outside Segestes’ prison, but they stood no chance against thirty fast-riding, combat-ready warriors. A volley of spears scythed in with lethal force before the sentries had had a chance to do anything. They fell to the ground, dead or dying.
The party dismounted, handing their reins to the three men delegated to hold the horses. In the lead, Flavus was already throwing open the door, his sword ready. He exchanged a look with Tullus – ‘Ready?’ – and they ducked inside. The place reeked of damp, mouldy thatch and sweat. There was little furniture, apart from a bed near one end, a table and one chair. This last was being brandished by a wild-eyed Segestes who had heard the commotion outside.
‘Come on, you cowards!’ he roared.
‘Peace,’ said Flavus, lowering his sword and motioning Tullus to do the same. ‘We have come to free you.’
‘Eh?’ Hope mixed with the suspicion in Segestes’ rheumy eyes as he lowered the chair. ‘Flavus? Can it be you?’
‘It is, and I am Senior Centurion Tullus,’ said Tullus in Latin, stepping into the light entering from the chimney hole in the roof and pulling back his cloak so that the phalerae on his chest winked and glittered. All of a moment, Segestes’ bravado vanished, and a smile worked its way on to his lined face. ‘Segimundus’ message got through.’
‘It did. Your captivity is over. Come.’ Flavus beckoned.
‘We’ve been told that Arminius is away,’ said Tullus, his heart pounding. ‘Is that true?’
‘Aye. The whoreson is off recruiting more chieftains to his cause.’ Segestes spat on the floor.
The news wasn’t unexpected, yet fresh bitterness scourged Tullus.
‘But my daughter – Arminius’ wife – is here,’ said Segestes. ‘And she’s carrying his child.’
New options presented themselves to Tullus. ‘Are they happily wed?’
‘They’ve been like two moonstruck calves since they met. My disapproval meant nothing to either of them.’ Segestes spat again. ‘To you Romans, Arminius is the violator of a treaty, but to me, he’s the abductor of a daughter.’
They had to seize her, Tullus decided. If Artio, the person he cherished most, were taken hostage, it would drive him close to madness. Flavus seemed to have come to the same conclusion. ‘Is she in their longhouse?’ he demanded.
‘I expect so,’ replied Segestes.
‘Take us there. Now,’ ordered Flavus.
‘It will be my pleasure,’ replied Segestes, looking smug.
Outside, Tullus was happy to surrender his mount in order that the weakened Segestes could ride. Holding the reins, he was able to talk with the old man as he guided them between the longhouses, with Flavus and his warriors as protection. Around them, chaos reigned as some buildings were ransacked and others set on fire. The reek of smoke and burning flesh was thick in the air. Women screamed, men called for their comrades and babies wailed. Distinguishable as auxiliaries only because they were on horseback, Flavus’ followers trotted hither and thither, killing at will.
Tullus took no joy from the indiscriminate carnage, yet he derived satisfaction from each dead warrior and retrieved Roman standard. There were plenty of both, but no legion eagles. Segestes appeared discomfited by the bloodshed, and when Tullus noticed, he said, ‘Know that I became Rome’s ally not because I hated my own kind, but because peace is better than war. If Arminius had not acted as he had, this would not be happening. The land would be at peace—’
‘And upwards of fourteen thousand legionaries would still be alive,’ interjected Tullus bitterly.
Understanding bloomed in Segestes’ eyes. ‘You served in one of the three legions! You were there?’
‘I did, and I was. Like you, I tried to warn Varus before the ambush.’ Segestes looked surprised, and Tullus went on, ‘I’d had suspicions about Arminius for some time, but I had no proof, nothing solid to give Varus. Perhaps if I’d managed to speak with him just after you had, things might have been different, but he had gone hunting by the time I got to his tent. I didn’t manage to approach him for days afterwards. Even then he wouldn’t heed a word that I said.’
‘Arminius’ silver tongue has ever been able to win people over,’ said Segestes with a scowl. ‘Man or woman.
‘She’s in that one.’ Segestes pointed at a longhouse to their left. ‘How will Arminius react to the news of his pregnant wife being in the custody of Rome, I wonder?’
‘My brother loves Thusnelda, and he has always wanted an heir. Their loss will drive him frantic,’ said Flavus, his eye glittering. He shouted a command, and a dozen of his men barged their way into the house. An indignant scream went up, and then another. It wasn’t long, however, before they emerged with Thusnelda, who kicked and struggled like a wild cat, needing four warriors to restrain her. One of her captors had a bleeding scratch on his face and a second was limping. ‘She’s spirited,’ said Flavus.
‘Aye.’ Tullus felt little sympathy for Thusnelda – she was his hated enemy’s wife. As long as they reached the nearest Roman forces before the inevitable pursuit caught up, they would have delivered a more humiliating blow to Arminius’ pride than the freeing of his father-in-law. His fury would know no bounds. The next time there was an opportunity to face Germanicus’ forces in battle, Arminius would not hold back.
But there would be no repeat of the bloody ambush in the forest and bog, thought Tullus with relish. Germanicus’ eight legions guaranteed defeat for Arminius and his allies.
Chapter XX
ARMINIUS WAS RIDING hard. He was, he thought, less than three miles from his settlement, and individual twists and turns of the woodland path were becoming familiar. A little way to his left, there, was a good spot for fishing the nearby stream. In the distance, he could see the low hill favoured by the local priests.
He’d been riding at breakneck speed for some time, and his mount was floundering. Strings of saliva ran from its open mouth and down its neck, and its sides were dark-streaked with sweat, but Arminius didn’t give a shit. Infuriated by its gradual loss of pace, and without a whip, he had taken to slapping its haunches with the flat of his sword. If the beast died beneath him, so be it. Getting back was all that mattered.
Over the course of the previous two days, he’d crippled one horse and exhausted several others in his efforts to return. The warriors in his party had long since been left behind, but he didn’t care about that either. ‘On, curse you!’ he cried, bringing down his blade on the horse’s rear again, eliciting a deep grunt of pain. There was only a fractional increase in speed, which soon fell away. Arminius was about to strike the horse again, but it staggered, and he lowered his arm. There we
re no farmhouses in sight. If his mount collapsed, he would lose valuable time searching for a fresh one, or running to the settlement. Better, then, to ride on slower than he wished.
The news of Thusnelda’s abduction and the freeing of Segestes could have reached him in few worse places. He had been on the far side of the River Albis, visiting the Semnones tribe, who lived to the east of the Cherusci lands. At the time, it hadn’t mattered that the chieftain he wanted to talk to was on a hunting trip a day’s ride further east. That was until a warrior sent by Maelo had come looking for Arminius with the calamitous tidings. He could still see the fear – of his reaction – in the warrior’s eyes, and his ears yet rang with Maelo’s gut-wrenching words. ‘Your brother Flavus has raided the settlement. Your wife has been taken, and Segestes freed. Our horses are gone too, but I have given chase.’ A throbbing fury pulsed behind Arminius’ eyes, causing a momentary darkening of his vision. Thusnelda! he wanted to scream.
Maelo got it wrong, he told himself. The fool has addled his brain with too much barley beer, and dreamed the whole thing. The tactic didn’t work for even two heartbeats. He knew that his second-in-command was more loyal, more dependable than anyone. The stars would fall from the sky before Maelo sent such a message in error. Arminius ground his teeth. I’ll find you, Flavus, brother, he thought, and cut your beating heart from your chest – but not before I’ve fed you your own balls.
He could see the first longhouses now. The chances of Maelo having rescued Thusnelda were slender, but Arminius’ heart quickened anyway. ‘Come on, you useless creature,’ he shouted, hitting the horse again. This time, it didn’t speed up at all, and despite his frustration, Arminius had to accept that its energy was spent. He threw himself from its back and began to run. ‘Maelo? Where is Maelo?’ he shouted, haring past a surprised-looking woman carrying two pails of water. He was past her so fast that her reply was lost. Arminius broke into a sprint, making for his longhouse.
