by David Black
The General stood up. With hands clasped behind his back, he paced back and forth as he continued explaining his situation and plans for the future development of Germania.
‘I was called out of retirement for this new office by the Emperor. Naturally I enjoy his absolute trust. I plan to put my past experience to good use, and am intent on running a more enlightened Governorship, where the future development of Germania is, wherever possible, driven by the carrot, rather than the stick.’
Arminius nodded politely. Clearly this old man didn’t understand the first thing about the people he was governing.
‘Now, this is where you come into the picture.’ Varus stopped his pacing and folding his arms, stared intently at Arminius. ‘The Emperor decreed that trade must be increased within the province, and I am to speed up the process of its Romanisation. Sadly, progress to date has been lamentably slow; there is still a great divide between plans and reality. I have of course given the matter a great deal of thought and decided while my Legions were still in winter quarters that to assist me in this complicated and difficult task I needed help. I contacted my office in Rome and asked them to search out suitable candidates. Only one name came back which was ideally suitable...it was yours Arminius. I contacted General Tiberius’ headquarters in Pannonia and requested your transfer to my command here in Germania.’ . Only one name came back who was exactly right for what I wanted. I contacted Legate Quintus Gaius Ovarious, Commander of the 7th Claudia Legion via General Tiberius’ headquarters in
The aging General returned to his couch. A hint of tiredness showed as he sat down with a grateful sigh.
‘I want you to establish a new network of market places throughout the province while you act as my eyes and ears among the tribes. Make contact with each you understand, explain my rationale, and by that, earn their trust. When you make your reports to me, your advice will be invaluable and with the flow of intelligence you bring, I shall have an incalculable advantage against any who may wish to disrupt the Romanisation process or revolt in future against the will of Rome.’
His voice suddenly became softer. ‘Your loyalty to Rome is well known and beyond reproach Arminius; your background makes you simply the ideal choice for such an important position on my staff.’ He smiled broadly. ‘To assist you in your mission it is my order that you will take command of the auxiliary cavalry squadrons of the 18th Legion as their Senior Decurion. Choose your own staff, make contact with the different tribes and create your own network of spies in the process.’
Arminius’ face reflected the shock which set his heart racing and churned inside his breast. If he understood correctly, the old fool had just offered him more than he could possibly have wished. Once again destiny beckoned, and the Gods smiled on him. He must seal this astounding news with his greatest lie since arriving in his beloved homeland. Arminius leapt to his feet and grinning broadly saluted.
‘It will be an honour General. I shall be proud to serve you...the Emperor and the people of Rome.’
CHAPTER 8
Part Two
‘Stand still you pathetic little man.’
Centurion Rufus glared angrily at one of the legionaries who were paraded in front of him. The man’s appearance reflected a disrespectful lack of attention to detail. The unfortunate soldier had hoped he might get away with rising slightly later than the others, but nothing missed his veteran commander’s steely eyes when all eighty of his comrades paraded for their Centurion’s daily morning inspection.
‘You are a disgrace to the 18th sunshine. Just look at you, you’re a fucking mess!’
The legionary palled. He knew Centurion Rufus set high standards in the premier century of the second cohort, but after a heavy night of secret drinking and dice with his comrades his appearance wasn’t even close to what was expected by the tough veteran.
‘You are a nightmare, you festering little maggot! Look at you! Your sandal straps are loose, your shield has got mud on it and look here, one of your shoulder straps is undone.’
Centurion Rufus stepped forward and flicked the errant armour strap with his vine cane. Suddenly, he stopped dead, only inches from the legionary’s face. He sniffed.
‘Is that booze I can smell on your breath soldier?’
The colour drained completely from the man’s face.
‘No Sir.’ He lied.
Centurion Rufus stepped back and bellowed ‘Optio Praxus!’
Rufus’s second in command doubled forward from his position in the front rank. He slammed his heels together beside his commander in the regulation manner and at attention bellowed back. ‘Sir?’
With a glare that would have melted lead, the Centurion roared.
‘Take this miserable excuse for a legionary away and double him around the outside perimeter in full fighting kit until he pukes up the booze inside him. Don’t stop until you’re sure he learns that no-one comes onto my parade stinking of booze. Is that clear?’
His Optio nodded, doing his best to suppress a grin.
‘Perfectly clear Sir!’ he replied in his clipped parade ground voice. Turning towards the quaking legionary he said.
‘Right then you little worm. At the double Legionary Trenious, follow me!’
As the two men jogged away Centurion Rufus spun round and glared at Trenious’ grinning comrades. He bellowed at all of them.
‘Oh! Think it’s funny do you? Right then, let’s see if an hour’s close formation drill will curb your sense of humour.’
A groan went up within the paraded ranks of the Century. One of the legionaries standing several rows back whispered to his mate from the corner of his mouth.
‘He’s not a morning person is he?’
His mate hissed back. ‘Shut up you idiot! If he hears you he’ll have us all running round the fucking perimeter.’
Rufus had sharp ears and heard the two men’s whispered conversation, but chose to ignore it. He had firmly disciplined one sloppy soldier and made his point to the rest of his men. Anyway he thought, they were good lads mostly, and didn’t deserve too much stick for one man’s dereliction. Drawing a deep breath from beneath his plumed helmet he roared.
‘The parade will turn to the right in file...wait for it...Right Turn!’
Arminius found Rolf supervising his men who were busily grooming their squadron’s horses. Several auxiliaries were taking canvas buckets of oats to their mounts while others carried bundles of fodder. Another auxiliary was emptying a bucket filled with fresh water into a wooden trough.
Rolf saw his cousin walking towards him. He turned and saluted. In his native tongue he said.
‘Good morning cous.... I mean Sir.’
Arminius nodded. ‘Good morning Rolf. I need to talk to you. Leave someone in charge and come with me.’
Rolf called to one of his men, then wrapping his cloak around him to ward off the morning’s chill; he fell into step beside his cousin as they walked together towards one of the encampments four main gates. Arminius deliberately kept the conversation in the Cherusci dialect.
‘For now Rolf, while we are in front of the men, you will follow Roman procedure when addressing me. You will call me sir at all times. Is that clear?’
Rolf nodded. He looked a little wounded by the sudden formality. Discipline was different in the auxiliaries and relied more on native rank than the strict protocols followed in the infantry Cohorts of the Legion. Clan sub-chiefs were usually promoted, as the Roman commanders were eager to exploit the existing rank structure of their mounted mercenaries.
Arminius saw the hurt look on his cousin’s face and smiled. He said gently.
‘Don’t worry cousin; it is purely for appearance sake. General Varus has given me command of all four mounted squadrons of the 18th and for now anyway, I want them to feel that I am still loyal, and one of them.’
Shock quickly followed by confusion spread over Rolf’s face.
‘I...I don’t understand?’
‘Don’t worry, you will
.’
They were close to the gate now. Rolf sensed conspiracy in the air, but he didn’t understand why. As they came within earshot of the Roman guards Arminius dropped his voice to a horse whisper,
‘I’ll explain everything to you when we are clear of the compound.’
As senior officer, Arminius returned the salute of the legionaries as the two men left the compound.
Ahead of them, a river wound its way slowly through the valley. Its banks were covered in tall reeds which wafted slowly in the light morning breeze.
When they reached the bank, Arminius found a deserted spot by a tall willow where they wouldn’t be overheard. Picking up a stone, he bounced it in his hand several times then suddenly hurled in into the middle of the river. It hit the surface with a loud plop and disappeared. Ripples spread from the point where the stone had struck.
Arminius pointed to the expanding ripples.
‘You see how the stone has made shockwaves in the water Rolf?’
His cousin nodded. Staring at the ripples he answered. ‘Yes, of course.’
Arminius looked at Rolf until their eyes were locked. There was something odd about the look, a dark intensity in his cousin’s eyes which unsettled the young auxiliary.
Arminius knew he had reached a crucial crossroads in his long journey from Rome. It was time for the next step. If he was wrong in his assessment of Rolf, the road he must now tread would lead to swift and brutal death of his kinsman or execution at the hands of his hated masters. If he was right, it would lead perhaps to great victory and freedom in the future. He realised it was a huge gamble to say what he must. The stakes were high but he had no choice but to press on. Death hung in the air. If he had chosen badly, the wrong man was standing beside him by the river. For the first time in many long years of sorrow, he would have to throw the dice and risk everything.
Taking a deep breath, Arminius pointed again towards the widening ripples on the river’s surface.
‘I need to talk to you about something of the utmost gravity Rolf.’
Arminius let out a sigh. There was no hiding behind a wall of lies any more. Now, the moment of ultimate truth was upon him.
‘I believe beneath that uniform you wear your heart is loyal to your people....I have a plan which will cause ripples to spread throughout the Roman Empire. It is a plan so bold and immense that if it works the Romans will be gone from our lands forever.’
Rolf stood rooted to the spot. His mouth fell open. He looked at the man standing before him dressed in the uniform of a senior Roman officer. He was dumfounded, rendered utterly speechless.
Seeing his shock, bitterly Arminius continued.
‘As you know, I was torn from my family when I was still a small boy, taken to Rome and trained to be their pet.’
Rolf nodded, still unsure that this wasn’t a dream he would snap out of at any moment.
‘I have never forgotten who I really am. I am the noble born son of my father, a German Cherusci king.’
Rolf closed his mouth and nodded. The confusion was gone from his face. Now it was replaced with raw suspicion. Ignoring the look Arminius drove himself on, the floodgates were open and he mustn’t stop now.
‘Before I left Rome several years ago, I was given a scroll which made me a citizen of the Empire, a fully fledged Roman....’
His face clouding with a lifetime of humiliation and suppressed rage, Arminius spat into the dark water as long repressed emotion gripped him. Through clenched teeth he snarled.
‘Did they really think a piece of parchment could change my blood? Change forever who I really am?’
This time, Rolf slowly shook his head; he was beginning to recover from his initial shock and confusion; there wasn’t a torrent of comprehension, more like the faintest trickle, but he was slowly beginning to feel his cousin’s pain, and understand his words.
‘My plan involves you Rolf. I need someone I can trust implicitly, someone who will obey me without question and never betray me to the Romans or their lackeys’ among the tribes.’
Arminius gently laid his hand on his cousin’s shoulder.
‘You are absolutely vital to me and to my plan to free our people, and destroy the Romans!’
Rolf stared unblinking at his cousin. Falteringly he replied.
‘We are of the blood Herman, bound together by family bonds far stronger than Roman iron. I ride for the Romans only because I have to... but my word on it cousin, I give them no homage. They are, and always will be the invader!’
With fists clenched Rolf blew out his cheeks in a sigh. He felt a surge of overwhelming relief, at last to be unburdened from the guilt of his servitude to those he hated. He said.
‘If time could run backwards I would stand beside our fathers and fight the Roman to my last breath, and the very last drop of my blood.’
He stared with his own intensity now. Chest heaving, his own anger was bubbling to the surface and his blood was beginning to burn in his veins.
‘Like you Cousin Herman, I am Cherusci. I would never give you up to the Romans.
A sudden wave of relief washed over Arminius. He knew now he had chosen well and had the ally he so desperately needed. He dropped his hand from Rolf’s shoulder and asked.
‘Then you will follow me even unto death, to rid our land of the invaders?’
Rolf continued to stare unblinking into his cousins eyes as the war drums of his ancestors beat in his ears, to the rhythm of his pounding heart.
‘My word Herman, to the last moment of my life...I give you my bond.’
Nodding, Arminius turned and stared towards the vast sprawl of the three Legion’s encampments.
‘For now we must appear obedient and continue our duties as we gather allies to our cause. It will be months before I can ignite the tribes in total rebellion. For now we will work silently until all is ready.’
As he stared at the patrolling sentries on the distant watchtowers, Arminius drew his dagger. Opening one hand he sliced across his open palm. Rolf understood and did the same. As blood flowed they clasped bleeding hands together to forge the unbreakable blood bond. With eyes flashing pure hatred, in turn they both spat the words which sealed the future.
‘Death to Rome!’
CHAPTER 9
Walking from the senior officer’s briefing, Camp Prefect Macros scowled. A grizzled veteran, who for many years before promotion to the Legate’s deputy had faithfully served his Legion as Chief Centurion, spoke softly to the Tribune who walked beside him.
‘I don’t like this at all Paulo. We know virtually nothing about this man Arminius, but the General has seen fit to give him command of our cavalry?’’
Tribune Paulo nodded. Like Macros, his face was clouded with concern.
‘The man’s credentials are certainly impeccable but even if he is a citizen and member of the Equestrian Order, he’s still a barbarian at heart.’
The Prefect sighed. ‘This is the trouble with having a politician as our general. He’s just doesn’t think like a soldier anymore.’ Marcos growled. ‘You know how it works in the Legion Paulo. Promotion in the fighting cohorts and squadrons comes after years of experience. Men must first distinguish themselves in battle. They must be seen by their peers to be truly worthy.’
Tribune Paulo smiled at his friend.
‘What, like you?’
Prefect Marcos returned the salute of a century which marched past them. He turned his attention back to his companion.
‘Yes, exactly like me. Look, I’m a professional soldier who has gone as far as anyone promoted from the ranks can go. I’ve been with the 18th for more years than I care to remember. This is my home Paulo, and the cohorts are my family. I just don’t like the idea of a complete stranger, and a barbarian to boot who none of us know suddenly promoted into such a senior position. ‘
Tribune Paulo nodded and replied.
‘I understand how you feel. I’m sure there are plenty of other officers who feel the same way.’
Both men walked in silence before the Tribune enquired.
‘What do you think the Legate will do?’
Marcos shrugged. ‘Nothing probably. This has come directly from the General. His hands are tied.’
The 18th’s Camp Prefect stopped suddenly and looked around to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard.
‘Keep this to yourself Paulo but personally, I think Varus is way past his prime. He’s far too old for this job, and relies on his soothsayer a bit too much for my liking. You can’t run a province on the cast of a handful of runes, can you? The barbarians out there need a firm hand, not a soft velvet glove. They’re still savages and aren’t even close to being tamed.’
The Prefect snorted. ‘If he thinks they’re even remotely pacified, he’s wrong. I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could throw them... I don’t know about you, but I rue the day Drusus died. He knew the score all right. An iron fist, that’s the way he would have dealt with them.’
Shaking his head sadly he continued. ‘To lose such a brilliant General to something as stupid as falling off his bloody horse, and then dying from the infection of a broken leg is tragic enough, but to get an old fool like Varus as his replacement bodes ill for the future, you mark my words.’
Tribune Paulo nodded. Matching his companion’s whisper he said. ‘I hate to agree with you my old friend, but for once... I think you’re absolutely right.’
* * * * *
The mounted column entered the sprawling Cherusci settlement slowly. The horses snorted and their bridles jingled as they walked their mounts towards the clan chief’s hut. Behind Arminius and his cousin, his escort squadron of thirty mounted troopers were all dressed in the chainmail armour and uniforms of Roman cavalry. Each man had been carefully chosen from the reorganised 18th Legion’s cavalry after Arminius had taken command. Listening carefully to Rolf’s advice, every one of them had been handpicked for their loyalty to their clan. Every man in the squadron was a paid Roman auxiliary, but more importantly, every man was Cherusci.
