Hunting the Eagles

by Ben Kane

  Give me another opportunity, he swore now, and I won’t waste it.

  Tullus was deep in a most pleasant dream involving Sirona – he had managed to persuade her to lie with him at last – when a loud cry interrupted it. In the dream, it sounded as if someone was shouting outside Sirona’s room, or downstairs in the inn. Tullus did his best to ignore it, and kissed Sirona again. ‘Gods, but I’ve waited a long time for this,’ he murmured.

  She smiled. ‘So have I.’

  A hand shook Tullus’ shoulder, hard. ‘Wake up!’ demanded a voice.

  Sirona vanished. Instead of her warm bed, Tullus found himself lying face down in the muck under a damp blanket. He was in his armour, cold and uncomfortable, and whoever was responsible for his rude awakening had not given up. ‘Curse it all, wake up!’ said the voice.

  Still exhausted, Tullus realised that the culprit responsible for the rude ending to his dream was Fenestela. Opening his eyes, he found his optio kneeling alongside. ‘What is it?’ His breath clouded in the chilly air.

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  Tullus bit back an acid response. It was pitch black – the middle of the night – but Fenestela wouldn’t rouse him for no reason. He sat up, wincing as his back protested. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Listen.’

  Tullus obeyed. At this godsforsaken hour, he’d have expected to hear little. The occasional call of an owl. Perhaps a sound or two from the cavalry lines, or the mule pens. Maybe the tramp of a sentry along the nearest walkway, but nothing else. A whinnying horse and the sound of galloping hooves, therefore, was of note. So too were the dim cries of alarm. The last tendrils of fog vanished from Tullus’ mind, and he was on his feet. ‘Where’s it coming from?’

  Fenestela gestured towards the area occupied by the cavalry, off to their right.

  ‘Have you taken a look?’

  ‘I came to find you first.’

  It was usual to wait for orders, to wait for the trumpets’ call. Acting on initiative was not the army’s way. This was different, Tullus decided. The man who hesitated around an enemy like Arminius wound up dead. ‘I’ll get the men up. You wake every centurion in the cohort. Tell them to ready their legionaries for battle, and to wait for my summons – the advance, sounded twice, a delay, and once more. If they don’t hear it, they’re to stay put until further orders come in.’

  ‘And the other cohorts?’

  Alerting the rest of the legion would waste time, thought Tullus. A rapid response would have the best chance of containing an attack. ‘Don’t worry about them yet. Go.’

  Fenestela vanished into the gloom. Tullus adjusted his mail, pulling it down where it had rucked up above his belt. He straightened his scabbard, which tended to move a little too far towards his back. A scrabble around where he’d been lying produced his arming cap and helmet. These donned, and a battered shield in his fist, he was ready. Tullus stalked to the first contubernium, a mass of sprawled shapes lying close to each other. He poked the nearest one with the toe of his boot. ‘Up, you maggot!’

  His first demand was met by a groan. Tullus drew back and kicked the man. Leaning over, he stamped on his closest companion. They both woke up, cursing. ‘UP!’ roared Tullus. ‘NOW!’

  Apologies and yes sirs filled the air. Tullus watched the soldiers until he was sure they were all stirring, and then he moved on to the next contubernium. The men there had been woken by the noise and were getting up. By the time he’d reached the last few tent groups, the soldiers were waiting for him in combat order. Tullus gave them a nod of approval, and ordered the century to form a column. Fenestela returned, his task completed, and took his position at the back.

  Tullus addressed his men. ‘It’s not clear what’s going on, but you can hear the racket.’ He waited, letting the cries of alarm speak for themselves. ‘That’s where we’re heading – to see if the cursed Germans are within the camp.’

  His soldiers stamped from foot to foot. Some looked scared. Most seemed nervous, which Tullus also expected. Yet they were resolute enough, in particular Vitellius and Metilius. Even Piso, still glaze-eyed, stood ready. Tullus felt a stirring pride.

  As they tramped after him into the blackness, the clamour from the cavalry lines intensified. It also seemed to be spreading. Fresh sweat beaded on Tullus’ brow.

  What devilry was Arminius up to?

  Chapter XXXVII

  ‘THE SAVAGES HAVE attacked!’ ‘Arminius is here!’ ‘Run!’

  The cold night air rang with shouts and cries. Legionaries milled about, weapons at the ready, and demanding of their comrades in nearby units if they knew what was going on. Some men slumbered on regardless, either from exhaustion, quantities of wine consumed, or both. Centurions and junior officers paced up and down, telling everyone to stay calm, and to prepare themselves for battle.

  As far as Tullus could see, marching past with his century, few of the troops were paying heed to their superiors’ commands. Panicked wasn’t the word he’d use to describe the mood, but it wasn’t far off. Frustration gnawed at him, yet he didn’t pause. Any intervention to calm things down would take time – and mightn’t succeed. The Fifth’s soldiers had shown how yellow-livered they were only hours before. Snuffing out the attack early on seemed a better gamble than trying to restore order, but if the situation deteriorated even a little further …

  Stop it, Tullus told himself. Focus. Find out what’s going on. If the enemy were in the camp, he would summon the rest of his cohort and then contain the bastards until Caecina could respond. They had cleared the Fifth’s lines now, and were pushing through a mob of fearful Gaulish auxiliaries. Few seemed ready to fight, and scores were streaming towards the camp’s furthest entrances. Angered by their cowardice, Tullus ordered the formation of a wedge. No one liked a clatter from a shield boss, still less a whack with the flat of a sword blade.

  The section occupied by the cavalry – also auxiliaries – came next. Beyond it lay the camp’s side wall. On edge now, Tullus slowed his pace to a walk. His eyes were accustomed to the dark, yet it was difficult to see more than the shape of the poor earthen rampart that had been dug out the previous evening. This weakness would have been noticed by the keen-eyed German scouts, Tullus suspected, and might have been why Arminius had ordered an assault. Try as he might, however, he could not see hordes of warriors climbing over the wall, nor groups of them charging across the intervallum.

  The cavalrymen in sight seemed calm enough, which was also odd. Tullus approached the nearest figures, a group of five men settling their horses. One look at his crested helmet had them saluting and straightening their backs. ‘Any sign of the enemy?’ demanded Tullus. The cavalrymen exchanged baffled looks and, frustrated, he added, ‘Within the camp?’

  ‘Not as far as I know, sir,’ said one.

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’ demanded Tullus. ‘My optio and I were woken by the din over here. Horses were making noise. Men were shouting. It sounded like an attack.’ The cavalrymen’s expressions turned sheepish, and Tullus roared, ‘Tell me, before I ram this vitis somewhere the sun doesn’t shine!’

  ‘One of the lads in another turma has a nervous horse, sir,’ said the cavalryman who’d first spoken. ‘It was frightened by the thunder, or so we’ve heard. He was trying to calm it, but the stupid creature snapped its lead rope and took off down the avenue, towards the centre of the camp.’ He pointed in the direction that Tullus had come.

  The explanation was so obvious that Tullus’ instinct told him that this was what had happened: that there were no warriors inside the walls, and the whole sorry affair had been started by a jittery horse. But for the gravity of the situation – gods only knew how the panic was spreading – he would have laughed. Warning the cavalrymen that if they valued their hides, they and their fellows were to keep their mounts under control, Tullus led his century towards the ramparts. There the sentries for two hundred paces in each direction, all present and correct, reported no sign of the enemy.

  His searc
h concluded, Tullus cocked an ear. Unhappy sounds were rising from throughout the camp, and he cursed. Arminius’ warriors might have attacked another section of the defences, but given what Tullus now knew, it was far more probable that the terrified horse had sown panic everywhere instead. After the previous day’s debacle, it was easy to imagine how frightened the sleep-deprived legionaries of the four legions might become. The level of noise proved that some were on the verge of panic.

  Their fate rested on a knife edge, Tullus concluded. If the soldiers headed into the bog, they would drown in the morass, or be killed by the opportunistic Germans. Even if Arminius’ forces weren’t prepared for this unexpected, almost gods-given development, they would soon realise what was going on. When dawn came, the disorganised, demoralised legionaries would be easy prey. The gates, thought Tullus. Every gate had to be secured.

  He stripped one entrance – the one behind him – from his list. The purported attack was coming from that direction, so even the dimmest soldier wouldn’t try to escape that way. Three gates remained then – one at either end of the camp’s shorter sides, and the one at the far end of the avenue Tullus was standing on. As he tried to decide what to do, the uproar in the darkness beyond worsened. Two centuries could hold a gate, he decided.

  He would march back to his cohort’s position and there split the unit into three, each two centuries strong. One would go north with him to the entrance that lay behind the headquarters. Caecina could be made aware of the situation at the same time. The two other groups would head for the east and south gates. Tullus barked the order to advance, but a growing, unhappy certainty filled his mind as they marched.

  If they didn’t move fast, it would be too late.

  Their journey proved tricky. The main avenues were clogged with scared, aggressive legionaries, arguing and fighting among themselves as they meandered along. Swearing, Tullus led his men into the smaller lanes that separated unit from unit. Crowds of nervous soldiers had also gathered there, but it was easier to find the gaps. Tullus and his party reached the cohort’s tent lines without incident. Augmenting his force with the Second Century, he sent the remaining four units off under the command of his two most senior centurions. That done, he made for the headquarters.

  It seemed to take an age to reach the camp’s centre. The usual, large command tent was missing, lost with the baggage train, Tullus presumed. A rectangle of six ordinary legionary tents stood in its place, and there scores of officers and guards were milling. Hundreds of soldiers were streaming past, towards the gate, and no one was trying to stop them.

  With his century in close formation, Tullus drove straight through the panicked mob to the headquarters. He found Caecina in the midst of a dozen or more legates and tribunes. Their raised voices and worried faces told their own story. Tullus paused at the edge of the gathering to listen.

  Caecina’s expression changed from moment to moment as he listened to the conflicting advice being given him. One legate wanted to lead the nearest cohorts towards the attackers. A second thought a defensive cordon should be set up along the camp’s north–south axis. A senior tribune – Tubero, no less – declared that the legions needed to be assembled in marching order on the intervallum and from there be dispersed to take on the enemy. Another tribune was even advocating retreat back to solid ground.

  Tullus’ frustration boiled over. ‘I must speak with General Caecina!’ he cried, pushing his way forward. Faces turned, registering shock, anger and disbelief. In Tubero’s eyes, Tullus saw real hate. It was too late to consider what punishments this transgression might earn him. He came to a halt in front of Caecina and saluted.

  Caecina, tired-looking but already in his armour, seemed unimpressed. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

  ‘I know what’s going on, sir,’ said Tullus.

  ‘Ha!’ cried Tubero. ‘D’you hear this? Tullus knows what’s going on – even though it’s as clear to us as the noses on the end of our faces.’

  Caecina twisted his head. ‘Guards!’

  ‘A wise decision, sir,’ said Tubero in a snide tone.

  Tubero’s comment sent rage pulsing through Tullus’ veins, but the danger they faced was too great to risk a confrontation. ‘My news is urgent, sir,’ he said to Caecina. ‘Let me explain.’

  Caecina’s nostrils flared, but he waved back the quartet of guards who’d appeared. ‘Be quick.’

  ‘There is no attack, sir.’ Ignoring the senior officers’ disbelieving reactions – Tubero even said, ‘Liar!’ – Tullus ploughed on. ‘The whole thing began with a horse that was startled by the thunder. The beast broke free and galloped off, among the sleeping soldiers. Complete panic ensued as they awoke and imagined Arminius’ warriors were in their midst. Men are beginning to retreat from the cavalry lines near the west gate. Those further away, unable to decide what’s going on, are also affected by the fear sweeping through the camp. The troops are trying to get out by the most distant gates, sir. That’s it.’

  ‘These are the ravings of a madman, sir,’ declared Tubero. ‘Every soldier in sight is talking about the enemy attack!’

  A good number of officers nodded, dismaying Tullus. He glanced at Caecina. He didn’t care about himself, but the army’s destiny hung in the balance.

  ‘How do you know this?’ demanded Caecina.

  As fast as he could, Tullus laid out what had happened since he’d been woken by Fenestela. Caecina listened in silence. To Tullus’ surprise, so did the senior officers. No one spoke when he was done, allowing the sound of panicked cries and running feet to fill the air.

  ‘Has anyone here seen the enemy inside the defences?’ asked Caecina.

  There was no answer.

  ‘Not a single one of you?’ Caecina’s gaze raked the gathering. ‘Has anyone spoken with a soldier who has set eyes on the attackers?’

  Some officers began to seem embarrassed now. Even Tubero looked uncomfortable.

  Caecina scowled. ‘It appears you may be right,’ he said, relieving Tullus beyond measure. ‘Take me to the north gate.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Might I make a suggestion?’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Send an eagle to each of the gates, sir. They will help to steady the men.’

  ‘A fine idea.’ Caecina rattled off orders, commanding a legate, an eagle and an escort to both the east and south entrances. The Fifth’s own eagle was brought forth from the command tent to accompany their party. With the aquilifer nowhere to be found, Vitellius was deputised to carry it. He bore the gold bird aloft behind Tullus, his usual sour expression replaced by a wide, satisfied grin. Four soldiers, Piso among them, walked to either side, carrying flaming torches that allowed the eagle to be seen. Pride filled Tullus to have the legion’s standard at his back, although it wasn’t the same as if the Eighteenth’s lost eagle had been there.

  The throngs of soldiers heading towards the north gate had grown denser, yet the sight of the eagle made them give way. Again using the wedge, with Caecina close behind, Tullus forged a path into the area occupied by the Fifth Legion. From there, he guided them through the tent lines and approached the north gate from the side. A hundred and fifty paces out, he stopped.

  The entrance was obscured by a large crowd of legionaries which filled the intervallum and the spaces where tents should have been. Despite the fearful cries rising into the night, the soldiers didn’t appear to be moving outside the camp. ‘Maybe there’s still time, sir,’ Tullus said to Caecina. ‘They can’t make up their minds what to do.’

  ‘It’s one thing to run amok through the camp, but quite another to charge into the darkness beyond the walls,’ said Caecina. ‘We’d best get over there fast, though, before they change their minds.’

  Even in the poor light, the press seemed far thicker than it had been elsewhere. There was a chance that the panicked legionaries might fight back, Tullus decided, which meant his hope of positioning his two centuries between the mob and the gate was no longer feasible, at least wit
hout blood being shed. He wasn’t averse to that per se, but if it happened, the situation would descend into complete chaos. ‘Let’s walk along the rampart, sir. That’ll take us right up to the entrance.’

  Caecina stared at him. The earthen walkway along the top of the defences was wide enough for two men to stand abreast, but no more. ‘Just a few of us?’

  ‘Aye, sir. You, me, the soldier with the eagle and maybe a dozen more. It’s you they need to see, and the standard, not my troops.’

  ‘If the mob turns, we will die.’

  ‘That’s right, sir. But if we try to push our way among them, they will panic, and many more will be slain, including us perhaps.’ Tullus held Caecina’s gaze with a stolid one of his own.

  After a moment, Caecina nodded. ‘Lead on.’

  Fenestela was most unhappy at Tullus’ plan. ‘They’ll cut you to pieces.’

  ‘They might not,’ said Tullus.

  ‘Or they might,’ retorted Fenestela with a ferocious scowl. ‘You’re going to do it anyway.’

  ‘Aye,’ replied Tullus.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘You have to stay with the men. If things go wrong, they’ll need someone to lead them out of this shithole.’

  ‘You’re the one for that, not me.’ Fenestela glowered at Tullus, who returned the look. Several heartbeats fluttered by. ‘I’ll stay,’ muttered Fenestela. ‘You’d best fucking come back, though, d’you hear?’

  Tullus gripped his shoulder, and went to talk to the centurion in charge of the second century. If Tullus blew his whistle, both centuries were to drive forwards to the gate, and try to save Caecina and the eagle. The centurion seemed of a mind with Fenestela about the plan’s riskiness, but he nodded reluctant acceptance.

  Piso, Vitellius and the ten others picked by Tullus formed up behind him and Caecina without protest. ‘Keep those lights high,’ barked Tullus. ‘I want the eagle to be the first thing they see.’