Eagles of the Damned

by David Black

‘A demon is coming master!’

  He rolled his head again. There was terror on his face and dread echoed in the deep baritone of his voice. His practiced stare looked beyond the sight of mortal man as he gasped.

  ‘A great wind from the Underworld...Fear the wind and save yourself, master.’

  The Haruspex moaned again and slumped forward across the table smothering further sight of the jumbled runes. He lay panting and emitting groans filled with fear of something dark and terrible. Whatever it was, it was nearby thought Varus, risen from the underworld and lurking in the shadows unseen. He glanced fearfully into the shadows about him.

  Varus looked on pale and horrified. What was the man talking about; a wind, what wind? What portal to the afterlife had been accidentally opened? This couldn’t be right. He sensed great danger.

  ‘Sit up Ignatius. Explain yourself.’ Varus commanded in a trembling voice.

  The Nubian had his master exactly where he wanted him. Displaying the perils of meddling with those beyond the veil always worked on the gullible old fool.

  The whites of his eyes stood out starkly as Ignatius cast his head left and right, searching into the shadows with growing terror.

  ‘We must make sacrifice to the Gods master.’ His eyes rolled again. ‘We must beg for help and seal the rift before it is too late.’

  Varus shuddered. He knew his soothsayer sometimes got too close to the demons of the Underworld. It was both enthralling and terrifying to be so near to him when it happened. The General knew that Ignatius crossed into the afterlife during a trance. There he made contact with the dark ones who helped him interpret the meaning of the runes. On rare occasions, the very foulest of underworld shades duped and tricked their way past the Nubian’s defensive charms and his many years of experience. Ignatius’ great power was sometimes twisted by their cunning and only the shedding of blood through animal sacrifice would close the rift and force the demons back to the darkest corners of Hades.

  His mouth suddenly dry Varus stammered.

  ‘Quickly then man, get outside and make an offering to the Gods.’

  Varus knew, as a devout believer in the power of the magical runes, he paid a heavy price for exposing himself to such dangers. But what else could he do? To govern successfully, he needed all his experience as both politician and soldier. His trump card though made the risks acceptable. Unknown to his political enemies in Rome, and the savage barbarians who roamed his province, he had one special advantage over all of them.

  With his Nubian’s help, he could see into the future...

  CHAPTER 11

  The narrow path between the trees was only just visible in the light from the torches his men carried. Arminius, Rolf and a handful of his escort stayed close to each other as they threaded their way in single file along the secret trail. They had removed their uniforms and left them with their horses and the rest of the escort almost a mile behind them. Now all wore the linen and plaid of the Cherusci. High above, the bright moon’s disc scattered a lattice of silver moonbeams into the depths of the black forest which surrounded them. An owl hooted somewhere behind them, but all else was still except the leaf litter beneath their feet, which rustled softly with every step they took.

  At the front of the party, the guide watched the ground carefully in the flickering light for the telltale marks which led the way. An untrained eye would miss them, but the man leading Arminius and the others was a skilled hunter, trained by a lifetime of living in the deep forests. He could see sign around him which others could not. The guide stopped suddenly and whispered towards Arminius.

  ‘There! Do you see it?’

  Arminius looked past the hunter. There was a faint glow in the trees beyond the torches’ spill of light.

  ‘It is the meeting place’ the guide declared softly. ‘Walk straight into the hollow with your sword sheathed. The others are there already. They are waiting for you.’

  Arminius nodded. He whispered to his men.

  ‘Stay here quietly with our guide and wait for me. This will be a delicate meeting. Do not enter the light ahead unless you hear my shout, or the ring of steel on steel.’

  His men muttered their understanding. Arminius turned to his cousin.

  ‘Rolf, you will come with me. We will enter with hands empty and outstretched to show peaceful intent. A slip or misunderstanding now will ruin everything and cost us our lives.’

  Rolf nodded and said quietly. ‘I understand.’

  Relations between the three tribes were usually peaceful. Clear-cut geographical boundaries, intermarriage and regular trade helped to keep all-out war at bay. Arminius knew that the Angrivarii and Bructeri would by now have heard he and his men rode for the Romans; their suspicions would be roused, but this meeting was vital to gain their trust. He also realised that only the respect neighbouring chieftains shared for his father’s name had brought them here. There would be only one chance; he simply had to make it work.

  Arminius turned and began to walk slowly towards the hidden hollow. As he moved softly between the tall trees the glow grew brighter until finally he stood on the lip of the natural depression. It was bright down there, illuminated by a dozen flaring torches and a fire which burned in the centre of the sunken dell. A group of men stood around the fire, their shadows crisscrossing the clearing and radiating out into the darkness beyond.

  Arminius reached down and picked up a dead branch by his feet. He began to bend it until it snapped with a loud crack. The men huddled together close to the fire spun round and drawing their swords looked up towards the sudden noise. Dropping the two pieces of wood Arminius called out.

  ‘Peace and greeting chieftains of the Angrivarii and Bructeri. It is I Herman, son of Segimer, Lord of the Cherusci.’

  There was silence for a moment and then a gruff voice from below called out.

  ‘Step forward Herman, son of Segimer, join us in the light that we may see you clearly.’

  Arminius whispered to Rolf. ‘Follow me down when I call you cousin. Now listen very carefully. I want you to trip and tumble when you are halfway down.’

  In the reflected light Rolf’s face was confused.

  ‘I don’t understand?’

  Arminius hissed. ‘Just do it!’

  He turned and slid down the steep bank until he reached the bottom. Keeping his hands clear of his body, he approached the silent group standing in front of him. Their blades glittered menacingly in the torchlight. He stopped the length of a man before them.

  ‘I am Herman.’ He turned with exaggerated slowness and pointed back up the slope. ‘My cousin Rolf, who is known to most of you stands above us. With your permission I will call him down to vouch for me.’

  One of the men stepped forward. There was suspicion in his voice.

  ‘Yes, call him down.’

  Arminius heard the tension. They were all taking a terrible risk by meeting here together in secret. The Romans had forbidden inter-tribal councils. They feared clandestine meetings were a precursor to revolt; all communication and arbitration between tribes must be made through General Varus’ office. Tension among the assembled group was palpable. This was a critical moment and must go as Arminius planned it. He called softly to his cousin.

  ‘Rolf, come down now.’

  His cousin began to slide down the slope. Close to the bottom, with a sudden curse he tumbled head over heels, landing flat on his back with a thump and another even louder curse.

  The effect on the group was immediate. Laughter echoed around the darkened clearing as the tension evaporated as suddenly as Rolf’s clumsy entrance.

  Joining in, Arminius turned to the laughing chieftains. Shaking his head, he said sadly.

  ‘Rolf rides better than he slides.’

  Wiping a tear from his eye one of the bearded men sheathed his sword. Reaching out his empty hand he growled.

  ‘Welcome Herman, son of Segimer. An ambush might begin with a shower of arrows from the darkness, but not by throwing a young C
herusci at us.’

  Arminius laughed again and shook the offered hand. The men’s tension was gone, the danger had passed. In the secret meeting place he felt a huge surge of relief. His plan had worked.

  Rolf limped up to the group scowling and still busily dusting himself down. Pulling a twig from his hair, with an embarrassed smile he offered his hand to the assembled Angrivarii and Bructeri leaders, as a token of his own friendship.

  * * * * *

  The meeting of the chieftain’s broke up as dawn’s light crept into the hollow. Plans had been explained and promises made. The Angrivarii and Bructeri peoples were with Arminius. Their leaders were eager to rid their lands of the Romans. One in particular wanted action straight away. His wife and daughters had been raped in the middle of his settlement by laughing Roman legionaries on the orders of their officer. It was the tribe’s punishment for failing to meet their quota of grain when it was due, and a cruel lesson for the future. The fires of revenge burned in the chieftain’s eyes. He was ready to attack them and take their heads tomorrow if they let him. Arminius pacified the man with promises of retribution to come. Calm was only restored when a solemn oath was given that he could spill all the Roman blood he wanted, and burn his prisoners alive when the time was right.

  To encourage the lie of peace in the invaders eyes, it was agreed that Roman merchants would be allowed to enter and trade with both tribes.

  Training of their fighting men must begin in secret, Arminius cautioned. The art of war was remembered, but the skills of the tribesmen needed honing back to the days before the Romans came. New swords, spears and arrowheads would be forged in their blacksmith’s fires but it would take time to equip so many men. Arminius agreed to send part of his trusted escort to each tribe in turn to help them train. Those the auxiliaries taught would become trainers themselves and lead their young men into secret glades deep in the forest where they could practice close quarter fighting between them without fear of discovery.

  Iron was a rare and valuable thing in the wilds of Germania. Arminius counselled the chieftains to be careful when asking for it in return for their valuable pelts and furs. The Romans would quickly become suspicious if too much was demanded too soon.

  Some important questions remained unanswered as the meeting ended. What of the other tribes Arminius has asked? Could they be trusted when he had asked them to join him in rebellion? To be sure of victory Arminius needed them all, but any one might betray him to the Romans.

  There was no way to know the answers for certain without first making contact. Arminius planned to kill Varus and destroy his Legions in the autumn. He needed the summer months ahead to recruit new allies and train them. During the council meeting he had been warned about one particular tribe, the Ampsivarii. Their leader, Segestes was regarded with suspicion by the men around the fire. He was an opportunist without honour they said. His men numbered in their thousands and they were good fighters, but as to which side Segestes would choose when rebellion began they had no answer.

  Riding back to the Roman’s summer camp Arminius was deep in thought when Rolf asked.

  ‘Do you think we will have enough men when the time comes Herman?’

  Arminius turned his head towards his cousin and replied.

  ‘I don’t know yet Rolf, but something occurred to me during the council last night when we spoke of it. We should be able to destroy the Legions if at least some of the others will join us. What we need to do, to be certain of victory is thin out the Roman’s numbers beforehand. If we can do that, they will be a weaker enemy and therefore easier to kill.’

  Rolf nodded then asked.

  ‘But how can we do it Herman? You said we cannot defeat them in open combat, they are too strong.’

  Arminius smiled reassuringly. ‘That’s right Rolf, but I think I’ve thought of a way...’

  CHAPTER 12

  ‘Come on you lazy bastards. I said Pull!’

  Centurion Rufus stood on the edge of the steep riverbank, urging his men to haul harder on the ropes, and lift the last upright into position on the partly constructed wooden bridge. Beside him, the engineering Centurion looked on anxiously as the heavy beam was manoeuvred into position.

  ‘That’s it lads. Steady now....Slowly...I said slowly!’

  Their road building phase was complete. They had reached the river and were now busy spanning it. The Cohort’s sixth Century was due to relieve them at daybreak next day and Rufus was keen to finish building the bridge’s framework before they arrived.

  The long wooden pole cut down from the surrounding forest hung suspended in the air under an intricate web of blocks and tackle. As the men held the rope and pulled on it, the long beam swung slowly into position, guided by two of his men who balanced precariously mid-stream on one of the supports, which had been driven into the soft gravel of the riverbed by Rufus’s sweating men the previous day.

  Centurion Rufus had followed standard procedure when organising the work detail that morning. Half the Century were stripped to the waist and involved in building the bridge, while the other forty men were fully dressed for a fight; fully armed, wearing armour and protected by their shields. Their sole task was to act as perimeter guards against surprise attack by renegade bands of marauding barbarians. Rufus would swop his men around after the midday meal of bread and olive oil had been eaten to provide a fresh workforce for the afternoon’s labours.

  The heavy beam was almost in place when there was suddenly an ominous cracking noise above it. One of the upper support beams was bending under the weight of its burden.

  Rufus yelled at his nearest men.

  ‘Quick lads, get something braced under that beam to support it before it snaps!’

  As the legionaries ran to comply, concentrating on averting catastrophe Rufus stepped forward as he drew breath to yell more instruction to the men controlling the beam.

  Without warning, the sandy riverbank beneath him suddenly collapsed, pitching him forward into the fast flowing river in a shower of stones and sand. Dressed in full armour, with a mighty splash Rufus immediately disappeared from view as he was sucked beneath the dark surface of the water.

  In the darkness below the surface Rufus frantically struggled to return to the life-giving air above, but he was trapped. The deadly combination of heavy armour and strong current held him firmly pinned among the rocks and weed on the riverbed. His struggles were rapidly weakening. Lungs burning, despite his desperate struggles, cold darkness began to overwhelm him.

  Most of the men were engrossed in trying to save the cracking beam and hadn’t noticed their Centurion fall from the bank. One of the legionaries perched on the support in the middle of the river had a clear view and saw him fall. He shouted a warning and dived headfirst into the turgid water below. Swimming powerfully against the current, the legionary dived under the surface close to where Rufus had disappeared. By now, the work party had the beam under control. As several tied if off, the rest, alerted by the shouted warning ran to the edge of the collapsed bank and waited for sight of their comrade.

  He suddenly appeared further downstream in a spray of foam and water. Frantically, he tried to pull his Centurion’s head clear of the water as he yelled for help. Men ran along the bank. Several who could swim jumped into the water to help the legionary pull their leader to the safety of the bank.

  Lifting and dragging him onto solid ground Praxus and some of the others knelt down around Rufus’s body.

  ‘Roll him over and give him some air!’ Ordered Praxus urgently.

  Luckily Rufus had been pulled from the water just in time. There was still a spark of life left in the veteran Centurion. His sopping body was suddenly racked with a paroxysm of coughing as he brought up several pints of muddy river water. As the worst of the coughing subsided, slowly Rufus opened his eyes.

  ‘By the Gods, that was too close.’ He mumbled. Focusing on his second in command Rufus asked. ‘Who was it that pulled me out?’

  Relieved tha
t his Centurion was alive his Optio replied.

  ‘Legionary Severus, Sir. None of the rest of us saw you fall in. He didn’t wait for orders, just dived straight in and grabbed you from the bottom.’ The Optio shook his head gravely. He looked almost guilty. ‘Truth is Sir, if it hadn’t been for his swift action I doubt we could have got you out in time.’

  Sitting up, Rufus coughed and spat out more water. Taking off his helmet he looked up at Severus. Scowling he said.

  ‘I suppose you think this will get you off guard duties back at camp laddie?’

  Severus remained silent. There hadn’t been time to think of reward.

  Rufus smiled at the dripping legionary then slowly shook his head.

  ‘Can’t show favouritism I’m afraid, it’s against regulations so it ain’t going to happen’ Rufus wiped the droplets of water from his scarred face. ‘But don’t you worry; I won’t forget what you did for me.’ He looked back at the fast flowing river. ‘I hate to admit this to anyone...’ He sighed ‘but I’m in your debt son, and I owe you one.’

  Arminius lay in his tent and considered his next moves carefully. To weaken the Legions before he attacked them, he must devise a plan to thin out the huge numbers of centuries and cohorts they contained. To act now he thought, would be counterproductive. His own men were still training deep in the forests and not yet ready to fight.

  All three Legions were busily engaged in patrolling, building duties and guarding the summer camp. In an emergency, he knew that gallopers could be sent, and those units deep inside the province would be recalled within days. The Legions would quickly reform and be back to their full fighting strength.

  No he thought, what he needed was an excuse to scatter full cohorts, each containing hundreds of soldiers throughout the province, and keep them there permanently. They must for some reason have orders to stay in the temporary camps throughout the winter. His men could then attack the numerically weakened remainder as they marched west to the safety of their winter quarters on the other side of the Rhine, just before winter’s first snows began to fall. The small garrisons dotted around the province were at present planned to be temporary, and would only be manned until the Legion’s winter withdrawal.