Hunting the Eagles

by Ben Kane

  Conversation around the fire stopped. All eyes bore down on Metilius as he unwrapped three blankets they’d taken turns to carry that day. The first contained Vitellius’ rusted mail shirt and the sweat-marked, ripe-smelling padded garment that he’d worn underneath. In the second were his arming cap and helmet, his baldric, belt and ‘apron’, and his well-used sword. Cooking utensils and personal effects filled the third.

  Every item made Piso’s mind spin with memories of his friend. Vitellius gearing up of a morning, complaining about the weight of his armour, talking to himself as he prepared the group’s food, or combing his thinning hair with an old, double-sided comb. Piso checked over his shoulder, almost expecting to see Vitellius, to hear his outraged demands that they leave his bloody kit alone.

  He heard nothing, and his sorrow bubbled up afresh.

  Metilius laid his own helmet on the blanket and picked up Vitellius’ one, which was lighter and of a more modern design. ‘That’ll do,’ he said in a quiet voice.

  Grief-stricken, unwilling to participate at first, Piso watched as, one by one, his comrades exchanged pieces of their equipment for items that had belonged to Vitellius. His folding knife and spoon – a rarity – went first, then his large bronze pot, which was good for making stew. Someone else took his belt and apron, another his strigil, ear scoop and nail cleaner.

  ‘Your turn,’ said Metilius to Piso.

  Piso reached over and took first Vitellius’ comb, which for some odd reason would remind him most of his friend, and then his sword.

  ‘’Tellius was going to get rid of that. The blade is pitted to Hades and back,’ said Metilius.

  ‘The hilt is still good. The gods alone know how he afforded it,’ retorted Piso, his fingers trailing over the yellowed ivory, his mind bright with images of Vitellius. ‘I can have a new blade forged. Make the thing as good as new.’

  ‘’Tellius would have liked that,’ said Metilius, the others’ nods mirroring his approval.

  They sat and stared for a time at the objects that remained, and then by common, unspoken consent, the blankets were rolled up again and placed to one side. The unwanted items were of no further use; they’d be left behind in the morning, when they marched out. Vitellius’ memory would live on in their hearts and minds, and in the pieces of kit which each of them had chosen.

  Piso’s grief, razor-sharp since his friend’s unexpected death, had been eased somehow by the division of possessions. Surprised, relieved, he glanced around, sensing that the experience had also helped his tent mates.

  Vitellius was gone, but, like Saxa and the rest, he would never be forgotten.

  Chapter XLIV

  TULLUS’ HORSE HAD been lost with the baggage train, forcing him to march from the camp where they’d routed Arminius’ tribesmen. His knees were killing him as he trudged along, and there was a deep-rooted ache in the base of his spine, yet nothing could have shifted him from his place at the front of the cohort. The Fifth Legion was in the vanguard today, and Tullus’ had reached a gravelled road upwards of an hour before. The time he and his unit had spent on the paved surface meant the front cohorts had to be nearing the first bridge. Vetera was close, the pain almost at an end. Twenty-something miles they’d come since dawn, so the legions could reach the Rhenus and, beyond it, their camp. Despite the punishing march made on empty bellies, the soldiers’ complaints had been few and far between.

  Morale had been high since their overwhelming victory, thought Tullus with satisfaction. It had continued to rise as first one day, and then two and three, had passed without further attacks. Reports from the scouts the previous evening, suggesting there were no tribesmen for miles around, had been greeted with glee. It seemed ever more probable that Arminius and his allies had given up for the year. Tullus’ own spirits grew more buoyant by the hour, but he had remained on guard. They weren’t home yet.

  Before this, their final push, he had had words with the cohort’s centurions. Discipline was to be maintained, every able-bodied soldier to be ready for combat. The men could sing, but until their feet hit the western bank, everyone was to remain alert. With open ground on either side of their route and the countryside empty, he had perhaps been over-strict, he thought, but better that than being surprised again by Arminius.

  The building used by the sentries who monitored the river crossing hove into view, and Tullus’ heart leaped. ‘Arminius won’t be putting in an appearance now, brothers. Bridge in sight!’

  A loud, rolling cheer met his cry. Even Piso, whose morale had been low since the death of his comrade Vitellius, seemed happier.

  Tullus felt a broad smile ease on to his own face. They had made it. No more of his men would die this year. His legion’s eagle hadn’t been recovered yet, but it would be, during next year’s campaign. Arminius would pay then too – the ultimate price.

  Closer they came. The sentries, two centuries strong, were lined up along the roadside, calling out to the returning soldiers. ‘Welcome home, brothers!’

  ‘You’re brave men, all of you!’

  ‘The gods be praised!’

  Tullus returned the salute of the units’ centurions, who seemed a little embarrassed. He would find out later how the alarmed sentries, thinking the approaching Fifth was a horde of Germans, had begun to hack at the bridge with axes. Only the intervention of Agrippina, Germanicus’ heavily pregnant wife, had prevented them from destroying it.

  Moments later, Tullus was delighted to see Agrippina standing by the approach to the bridge. Regal, calm-faced and melodic-voiced, she was garbed in a dress woven from the finest wool. Red coral and gold jewellery graced her throat and wrists; her hair was arranged in the latest fashion. A pair of body servants and several bodyguards hovered in the background. Agrippina looked every part the Roman matron, every part the royal. She was a shrewd woman to put in an appearance here, thought Tullus. The troops would love her presence.

  Agrippina’s voice carried as they drew near. ‘I bid you welcome, brave soldiers of Rome. Long has been your journey, many your trials, and severe. Yet you return victorious, having conquered the savage tribes who threaten our empire. Cross the bridge, return to your barracks. Food and wine await you there, laid on by the grace of my husband, Germanicus.’

  The legionaries shouted their delight.

  ‘Has Germanicus come back, good lady?’ asked Tullus as he came alongside.

  A shadow passed over Agrippina’s face. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘The gods bless him and keep him safe. He will be here soon, you’ll see,’ said Tullus.

  ‘GER-MAN-I-CUS! GER-MAN-I-CUS! GER-MAN-I-CUS!’ shouted his soldiers. The refrain was taken up by the troops behind, and soon the air resonated with the hypnotic chant.

  When Tullus looked back, Agrippina was smiling.

  Things grew better as they came off the second bridge into the vicus. To Tullus’ delight, Artio was waiting in the cheering crowd with Sirona and Scylax. With a squeal of joy, she came running towards him, Scylax at her heels, his tail swishing the air.

  ‘We had news that the army had been ambushed. I was so scared,’ Artio cried, throwing her arms around Tullus’ waist and walking alongside him. ‘But you’re here. You’re alive.’

  ‘I am,’ said Tullus, a sudden thickness in his voice. A little self-conscious, he stroked her hair. ‘It’s good to see you, but away with you now. I have duties to attend to.’

  Artio pulled away, making a face. ‘You’ll come to the inn tonight?’

  Tullus was aware that every soldier in gods knew how many ranks was listening to their conversation. He was a private man, and under normal circumstances he would have brushed Artio off. But this wasn’t a normal day. Not since his return from Aliso six years before had Tullus felt such overwhelming relief. They had come through the eye of the storm, stared death in the face, and most of them had survived. His men were at his back, safe. Artio was there, fresh-faced, beautiful and ecstatic to see him. Sirona seemed pleased too, and by the gods, she was looki
ng fine. Life was good.

  ‘Aye,’ Tullus said, reaching out to touch Artio’s cheek, and throwing Sirona a smile. ‘Give me a few hours, and I’ll be there.’

  ‘You promise?’ demanded Artio.

  Someone close by – Piso, or Metilius? – snickered.

  Tullus was so happy that he didn’t care. ‘I swear it,’ he said.

  Author’s Note

  WRITING AN ACCOUNT of the ambush in the Teutoburg Forest – a story which I hope you have read, or will read, in Eagles at War – was something I had wanted to do for years. Cataclysmic though it was, the clash wasn’t the end of the Roman Empire’s involvement in Germany. After a period of licking its wounds, Rome turned its mind to revenge. Leaving the massacre perpetrated by Arminius unanswered would have been unthinkable to those in power.

  The empire’s reaction took some years to come to fruition, for a number of reasons. A bloody war in Pannonia (roughly speaking, modern-day Croatia/Serbia) had only ended in AD 9. Replacement legions had to be moved to the Rhine, and a new governor found. Not until AD 14 and 15 was Rome ready to strike. In this book, I have done my best to recreate the events that took place in those two years, and to stick to the historical details that have survived. I apologise now for any errors.

  Many of the characters in the book were real people; these include Aulus Caecina Severus, Germanicus, Lucius Seius Tubero, Stertinius, Publius Quinctilius Varus, Arminius, Drusus, Caedicius, Segestes, Segimundus, Thusnelda, Flavus, Agrippina, ‘Little Boots’ (the future emperor Caligula) and Bato. Even lowly soldiers such as Marcus Crassus Fenestela and Calusidius existed. Scylax is the name of a dog in a Roman play. Centurion Tullus is my invention; so too are Maelo, Degmar, the soldiers of Tullus’ century, and Sirona and Artio. The last two names belong to ancient Gaulish goddesses.

  It’s frustrating that almost no ‘real’ German tribal names of the time survive. I had to invent Osbert and Degmar. Because I used name stems from the Dark Age era, I hope they sound authentic. Arminius, Inguiomerus and Segimundus are clearly Romanised versions of German names. Arminius may have been called ‘Armin’ or ‘Ermin’ – we are not sure. When writing Eagles at War, my editor persuaded me to use Arminius; I hope this doesn’t make him sound too Roman.

  Widespread conscriptions into the legions were made following the Teutoburg Forest disaster. Soldiers who were ransomed from the Germans by their families were banned from returning to Italy – it is my invention to have the same apply to other survivors. During the legions’ mutiny in 14, a Centurion Septimius was executed in front of Caecina, and the other centurions died as I have described. The incredible nickname ‘Bring me another’, or ‘Cedo alteram’ in Latin, belonged to a centurion at this time.

  I never saw Siamese twins when working as a vet, but an old friend delivered dead conjoined lambs in early 2015. They were grotesque, and people two millennia ago would have regarded such oddities as a mark of the gods’ ill favour. Germanicus’ speech to the mutineers, and their response – showing him their toothless gums and Calusidius offering his own blade, etc. – were real events. Germanicus’ letter to Caecina, demanding the rebellious soldiers’ leaders be killed, is attested. So too is the brief hostage-taking of Agrippina and Caligula. Suetonius’ words describing Augustus’ reaction to the news of his legions’ massacre in AD 9 were so dramatic that I had to work them in somewhere.

  Germanicus’ campaigns into Germany are recorded, as is his talk of ‘fire and sword’ and how his legions could turn ‘guilt into glory’. The Marsi were massacred in their thousands in the autumn of AD 14, and the Chatti suffered the same fate in spring AD 15. Drusus’ old camp was reoccupied for a short time by Germanicus’ army. Although there’s no evidence that Segimundus was involved, the mission to rescue Segestes is true; so too is the unexpected capture of the pregnant Thusnelda, although we have no idea how large a Roman force was involved. Flavus is not recorded as having been present, but I thought it apt to include him in the chapter. Segestes’ words when freed, and Arminius’ reaction to the devastating news, are in the ancient texts.

  The military campaign of AD 15 happened as I’ve written it. Although you won’t find it in any textbook, my brief mention of a type of heavier Roman armour with broad plates is not invented. I can’t say any more on the matter! Germanicus ignored convention to visit the site of Arminius’ ambush; he was guided there by veterans of the disaster. My descriptions of the site is as accurate as I can make it after researching how human bodies, clothing and weapons decay and degrade.

  Caecina’s disastrous journey along the ‘Long Bridges’ road took place, as did the second mutiny by two legions. Arminius’ followers destroyed the road and attacked the army, almost killing Caecina. It was my invention to have Tullus save the general’s life. Varus is purported to have appeared to Caecina in a dream, and the Roman legionaries were panicked at night by a runaway horse. We’re told that Caecina stopped the soldiers from leaving the camp by threatening to lie down in the gateway, but I preferred to have Tullus use the eagle to win over the mutineers.

  The Romans’ pretence of remaining inside their encampment, terrified, is recorded, as is the disastrous German attack. Both Arminius’ speech to the chieftains and Caecina’s to his soldiers took place. We have no idea how Roman legionaries would have dealt with the death of a close comrade, but an emotive scene in Quartered Safe Out Here, George MacDonald Fraser’s excellent account of the last days of the Second World War in Burma, describes what happened in the mid-twentieth century. Because I believe such things do not change with time, I had Piso and the other legionaries divide up Vitellius’ kit just as MacDonald Fraser and his fellows did. It’s reported that Agrippina stopped the panicked sentries from chopping down the bridge over the Rhine as Caecina’s army came marching back – this detail was another historical gem I could not leave out.

  There are so many other things to mention. I want you, the reader, to know that the richness of archaeological finds means that many of the objects referenced in my books are real. The items include wine strainers, shield covers, glasses with gladiators on them, folding knives and spoons, manicure sets, whistles (although it’s not known if they were used in combat), the stakes carried by marching legionaries, and the timber guttering on barracks.

  Centurions are recorded as having called their soldiers ‘boys’ as well as ‘brothers’. After an animal was sacrificed, it was butchered and the meat given to the poor. Despite what some people believe, Romans cursed a lot – a lot! The plentiful, lewd graffiti in Pompeii and the bawdy poetry that survives is proof of this. The ‘C’ word was one of the most common swear words used. So too was the word ‘cocksucker’. ‘Fuck’ is less well attested, but there is a Latin verb futuere, which means ‘to fuck’. My more frequent use of the ‘F’ word compared to the ‘C’ word is nothing more than an attempt to spare blushes.

  In spite of its many inaccuracies, I enjoyed the Spartacus: Blood and Sand TV series. I was taken with its archaic-sounding language, hence my use of ‘Gratitude’. The phrase ‘into the mud’ is a nod to a great author of dark fantasy, Joe Abercrombie. The expression ‘shoulder to shoulder’ may well have been used by Roman soldiers, but my intent in this book was also to honour the modern-day warriors who play rugby for Ireland. The hashtag #ShoulderToShoulder is used on social media when showing support for the Irish team. In Eagles at War, I also used the expression ‘Stand up and fight’, the Munster team’s call to arms. Leinster – my province – will get a mention in the next book, with their more difficult to place ‘Come on, you boys in blue’!

  As far as I’m aware, there is no evidence of the Suebian tribe’s involvement in any of the fighting in Germany in the years 9–16, but every textbook on this period has Suebian tribesmen in the illustrations, which amuses me no end. I think the artists involved can’t help but draw the famous ‘Suebian knot’, which is the only ancient German hairstyle we know of. I put in the Suebian warrior in the final battle as a bit of fun.

 
Although we know how legionaries were trained, and some of their fighting methods, much remains unknown. Wedge formations were used; so too was the ‘saw’. I’m grateful to Garry Fitzgerald of Legion XX Deva Victrix for telling me of the theory about how men might have slipped from the front rank to the second without exposing themselves to the enemy – I had Arminius use the move in the ambush on Caecina’s position. Later on in the book, Arminius holds a spear in the same hand as a shield – I’m not mad, this can be done at need.

  When trying to recreate how life might have been, it helps to travel to the places, or the general areas, where the historical events took place. I have now been to northwest Germany three times. There are so many museums to visit, foremost among them the wonderful archaeological park at Xanten, historical Vetera. I cannot recommend enough a visit to the park, which has accurate reconstructions of a three-storey gate to the town, a sizeable section of its wall, as well as workshops and a guesthouse. There’s even a Roman tavern and restaurant where you can eat food prepared using ancient recipes. Not far to the east is one of the best Roman museums I have visited, in the town of Haltern-am-See. Some hundred kilometres further inland is the Kalkriese battlefield, thought by many to be the actual site of the battle of the Teutoburg Forest. Cologne, Mainz and Bonn, cities with more great Roman museums, are only a short drive further down the Rhine.

  The ancient texts are another route to the past. If it weren’t for Tacitus, Florus, Velleius Paterculus, Cassius Dio and Pliny, writing this book would have been much harder. Their words, often rather ‘Rome-aggrandising’, have to be taken with a pinch of salt, but they are nonetheless of great value when it comes to picturing life two thousand years ago. Bill Thayer, an American academic at the University of Chicago, has to be thanked here. His website, LacusCurtius, has English translations of almost every surviving Roman text. I would be lost without it. You can find them here: http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/home.html.