Eagles in the Storm

by Ben Kane

  The first soldier tried to copy his mate, but was so pissed that he had to brace himself against an amphora. Giving up on standing straight, he also saluted.

  ‘Sincere apologies, sir,’ said the second legionary, who appeared a little more sober. ‘We came as fast as we could, me and my comrade. The merchant – the old man with a silver beard – told us to come with all haste, that Germanicus’ life was in danger. More men are coming, I think, sir, but we got here first. No point waiting for reinforcements, I said. Germanicus needs us. So in we came. And here we are, sir,’ he finished, looking self-conscious and more than a little woebegone. Threatening a senior officer – when drunk or not – merited severe punishment.

  ‘You did well,’ said Tullus, hiding his smile.

  The pair gave each other an uncertain look. ‘Sir?’ asked the first.

  ‘You were the quickest men here, and ready to risk your lives for your general. Germanicus is safe, in part thanks to you. Give me your names and units, and I’ll see that you’re rewarded.’

  The two exchanged another glance, astonishment mixed with sheer delight. ‘Thank you, sir!’ they chorused.

  Tullus took their names and centuries – he was pleased to find that they were both from the Fifth, his legion – and ordered them to go and tie up Degmar. Their blank expressions didn’t surprise Tullus that much. He sighed and said, ‘Let me guess. There is no warrior lying outside.’

  ‘I’m drunk, but I’m not blind, sir,’ said the soberer legionary. ‘The first person we saw was the dead shop attendant, behind the counter.’

  ‘He has the right of it, sir. There was no one outside,’ added his companion. ‘On our lives.’

  ‘The whoreson escaped,’ muttered Tullus. Degmar’s life was forfeit for being part of the assassination attempt, and yet a small part of Tullus was relieved that he’d got away. Degmar deserved to die for what he had done, but not through torture, the probable fate of the man trapped by the amphora.

  Ordering the two legionaries to search for any warriors who might yet be skulking in the shadows, Tullus went to find Germanicus.

  To his amusement, the general had broken the seal on one of the toppled amphorae and was supping wine from his upturned helmet. ‘Nothing like a brush with death to whet a man’s thirst,’ Germanicus said. ‘Care for a drop?’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Unease niggled at Tullus even as he drank.

  The River Rhenus, assumed by all to provide protection from attack, could no longer be relied on.

  The tribes were as dangerous as ever – perhaps more so than before.

  Chapter V

  SEVERAL HOURS PASSED in enjoyable fashion. The roasted piglets laid on by Mallovendus were succulent and delicious, and Arminius would have continued eating if his bulging stomach had allowed it. Demand for the beer was high, yet it continued to flow in abundance and, in direct consequence, the mood in the longhouse grew riotous. As men grew drunker, it was inevitable that brawls should erupt. A sulky peace was restored after Mallovendus threatened to castrate the next warrior to pick a fight.

  There was storytelling, music and dancing – Arminius had even taken to the floor once with the widow, cheered on by Mallovendus and the other chieftains. The celebrations quietened a little as men fell asleep or staggered back to their own houses. With the tables cleared, the children put to bed and the women gathered in a gaggle by one of the fires, the time had come for the chieftains to talk. Mallovendus had again gone to answer a call of nature, but on his return, the council would begin.

  Arminius was pissed. Not badly so, but his determination to abstain had faltered in the face of Gerulf’s barbed comments, and the pointed glances he had aimed at Arminius throughout the evening. He had managed not to react, but his thirst had become overwhelming, and he’d ignored Maelo’s attempts to make him slow down. It didn’t matter, Arminius decided, full of newfound confidence. A dozen cups of beer couldn’t prevent him from saying what needed to be said. His words would fall like seeds on fertile ground. The chieftains – more than a score of them, from eight different tribes – would not have travelled here in the depths of winter if they didn’t want to fight Rome, under his command. Gerulf would not stop him, and if he tried, Arminius would put him in his place.

  ‘Happy with yourself?’ Maelo’s disapproving voice was in his ear.

  Arminius twisted his head, furious. ‘I am.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be. You’re drunk. You also look as if you’ve swallowed a mouthful of sour milk.’ Maelo’s gaze flickered to their left, to Gerulf, and back again. ‘It’s him has you like this, isn’t it? The prick has been staring at you all night.’

  ‘You are sharp-eyed,’ admitted Arminius with a rueful smile. ‘It’s an attempt to anger me before we begin talking, and it’s worked, curse him.’

  ‘You’re not the only one who’s drunk,’ warned Maelo. ‘Tempers are quick to rise when men have bellies full of beer. Gerulf will keep needling you. He’ll tell them that you want to be the first emperor of the tribes or some such. Take his bait, and you risk losing everything.’

  The idea made Arminius’ rage bubble up, red hot, and he clenched his fists under the table. ‘Why can’t he see? United, we can defeat the Romans, but each tribe alone will be crushed beneath the Roman heel. It’s no simple task either – Germanicus’ army is far too big for that. I am the best candidate for leader. I am the one with years of experience of the enemy war machine. The ambush six years ago was my idea. Three legions were annihilated, and Varus committed suicide – because of me. I did all of it – not Mallovendus, Inguiomerus, Gerulf or any of the other fools at this table.’

  ‘Listen to me, Arminius of the Cherusci,’ said Maelo, taking his wrist in a grip of steel.

  ‘I—’

  ‘Shut your mouth,’ hissed Maelo, cutting him off.

  Shocked – even Maelo never spoke like this to him – Arminius obeyed.

  ‘If the noise wasn’t deafening, and everyone wasn’t drunk, you would have just destroyed your alliance. It’s rash to speak of fools when they’re sitting all around.’ Maelo’s face was right in Arminius’ now. ‘Do I have to take you outside and shove your head in the snow for you to see sense? These men are here of their own volition, not because they are beholden to you. They too wish to destroy Germanicus’ legions, and see our lands free of Rome’s sway forever. Coax them with the right words, and they’ll follow you like oxen after a bucket of grain. Insult them, act like their superior, and they’ll leave without promising you a thing. Overnight, your army will shrink to just our faction of the Cherusci.’

  ‘Inguiomerus—’ began Arminius.

  Maelo let out a phhhh of contempt. ‘Blood relation or no, he won’t throw his lot in with you if none of the others will. He’s arrogant, but he isn’t stupid.’ Maelo’s voice was boiling with fury now. ‘Alone, we will be crushed by Germanicus, so you have to smile at Gerulf’s jibes and turn his words against him. Make him the one whom the others doubt. Can you do that, Arminius?’

  Shocked into clear-headedness, but also embarrassed, Arminius lashed out. ‘What will you do if I fail? Will you leave me too?’

  Maelo gave him a withering look. ‘I have been your sworn man for more years than I can remember. My place is by your side until the end, wherever and whenever that may be. That said, I would rather my death be glorious than stupid. Our warriors are the best fighters in the land, but they cannot beat the Romans on their own. Think on that ere you speak to the chieftains.’ He sat back, breathing hard.

  Arminius digested Maelo’s advice in silence while around them the merriment continued. Dice games were being played by those still sober enough to count; others were holding contests to see who could down the most beer. Some men were trying to stand on their heads and drain a cup at the same time. Much hilarity ensued as attempt after attempt failed. Different groups of warriors were competing against one another in singing the sonorous tribal war chant known to the Romans as the barritus. Out of tune, but as loud as
during a battle, their voices rose to the rafters in a tremendous, deep-throated wave of sound.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Maelo.

  Arminius scowled. He wanted to smash in every one of Maelo’s pointed brown teeth. To do so would be the act of a fool, however. It was probable he would fail – Maelo was soberer than he – but it would also look bad, and damage his chances of winning over the chieftains. Worst of all, he admitted to himself, Maelo was correct. About everything. Curse my pride, Arminius thought, the familiar bitterness flowing through his veins. It ever threatens to be my downfall. His gaze met Maelo’s again. ‘You’re right.’

  The deep line marking Maelo’s brow eased; there was even a hint of a smile. ‘You couldn’t bear the thought of being face down in a pile of snow – that was what made you see sense, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Piss off, you dog.’ Arminius elbowed Maelo – hard. ‘As if you could drag me outside and do that.’

  ‘I can do it and more,’ Maelo mock threatened, throwing an arm around Arminius’ shoulders and pretending to heave him to his feet.

  ‘I leave you two for a moment and you’re grappling like beardless boys!’ boomed Mallovendus. ‘Who’s got the upper hand?’

  ‘I do,’ replied Arminius and Maelo in unison, grinning.

  ‘Fighting words, both!’ said Mallovendus, amused. ‘While I’d like to see such a contest some time, more pressing matters must come first.’

  ‘Aye.’ Arminius stepped away from Maelo and smoothed down his rumpled tunic. ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘I shall speak first. You’ll be next, and we’ll be able to see how the chieftains like what you have to say.’ Mallovendus gestured to the nearest servants to fill every cup, and when that was done, he pounded a fist on the table. Heads turned. A few faces were guarded, or hostile, chief among them Gerulf, but most were open and expectant.

  Stay calm. Get the better of Gerulf, Arminius told himself, and they’ll join me. He shot a look at Gerulf, who smirked. Arminius’ stomach began to churn, and his palms to sweat. He was relieved when Mallovendus began to talk, and even more so as his feelings were made plain. After welcoming the chieftains to his home, he laid out a vivid and horrific picture of what had befallen so many Marsi settlements during the summer. He placed all the blame at Germanicus’ and Tiberius’ feet.

  To wait more than five years before taking revenge for the tribes’ ambush on Varus was, Mallovendus said, the mark of ruthless, vengeful enemies. Men whose blood ran ice cold. How else was it possible, he shouted, for their cursed legionaries to kill every living thing they found?

  The chieftains, including Gerulf, bellowed their anger, and Arminius’ hopes of success rose.

  ‘Men, women, children. The old, the sick. Even the infants in their cots were slain,’ Mallovendus cried, spittle flying from his lips. ‘The livestock didn’t escape either, oh no! The whoresons killed every beast they could find, from the hunting dogs and horses, the oxen and sheep, right down to the last hen. What kind of enemy does this not just to one tribe, but to them all? We cannot let these atrocities go unanswered. Rome must pay – in blood!’

  A thunderous roar went up. Arminius pictured Thusnelda, and their child, whom he had never held. You will pay, Germanicus, he thought, the rage thrumming through him. One way or another.

  ‘Not content to wait until the spring,’ Mallovendus revealed, ‘I sent a group of my bravest warriors to Vetera of recent days, their task to assassinate Germanicus.’

  Stunned, Arminius stared at Mallovendus, who winked at him as if to say, ‘Didn’t expect that, did you?’ Maelo was right, thought Arminius again. To underestimate the chieftains was both foolish and dangerous.

  ‘The attack failed, but that will not stop us,’ Mallovendus announced. ‘We will meet their legions when they cross the river, and wipe them out!’

  ‘KILL!’ yelled Horsa, battering the table. ‘KILL!’

  The cry was taken up by everyone in the longhouse. Even the women, and the children who were still awake, joined in. Arminius mimed the word, but he was studying the chieftains’ faces. Most were on his side, he decided. It was up to him to win over the rest.

  Mallovendus let the uproar continue for the space of thirty heartbeats before he raised his hands for calm. ‘We are of one mind, and that is good. But brave hearts and ready spears cannot defeat Rome’s legions on their own. We know how to defeat them, for we have done it before!’ Mallovendus pointed a thick finger at chieftain after chieftain, until he had indicated most of those present, and every man who had helped Arminius to wipe out Varus’ army. ‘Through cunning and guile, stealth and bravery, we slaughtered three legions, and took their eagles. We sacrificed their senior officers to the thunder god Donar, and nailed the legionaries’ heads to trees so that no one could mistake what had happened there.’

  Again the chieftains voiced their loud approval.

  ‘You have come to share counsel, and we will hear your words by the evening’s end. Next, though, I wish Arminius of the Cherusci to speak. He is known to all of you, and needs no introduction, for it was he who banded us together before. He whose idea it was to lead Varus’ legions off the paved roads, and into our well-laid trap. I am your host, but it is thanks to one man that we are here.’ Showing real respect, Mallovendus dipped his head towards Arminius.

  Pleased by the plentiful growls and mutters of agreement, Arminius stood. ‘I thank you, Mallovendus, for your fine hospitality and heart-stirring words, and for your plan to slay Germanicus. I’m grateful to every one of you for travelling far from your homes to gather with us tonight.’ He paused, and was gratified by the silence which followed. Gerulf’s expression was disapproving, but Arminius didn’t falter. This was his moment; he had been preparing for it for months.

  Taking a deep breath, he began.

  The chieftains listened, stony-faced, as he told them of Rome’s plans to subjugate every tribe from the Rhenus to the Albis and beyond. They shouted abuse at the notion of imperial taxes for one and all, and cheered when he told them again, blow by blow, how they had helped to massacre Varus and his army. Arminius spoke of the summer’s indecisive campaign as an opportunity missed, and he was careful to blame no one individual for their final, failed attack which had seen so many warriors slain. Now, he urged, the passion throbbing in his voice, was the time to unite once more. To stand together against the monster that was Rome.

  Almost every face was captivated. Almost every chieftain was sitting forward on the edge of his seat. The time was ripe, Arminius decided. ‘Shall we crush the legions again?’ he asked.

  ‘YES!’ they bellowed.

  ‘Shall we remove the legionaries’ hobnailed sandals from our people’s necks, and the emperor’s thieving fingers from our purses?’

  ‘YES!’

  ‘Will our people live free forever more?’

  ‘YESSSS!’ Baying like wolves, the chieftains rose to their feet. Carried away by the moment, one Chatti chief jumped up on the table and grabbed the eagle, brandishing it aloft to the loud acclaim of his fellows.

  I’ve done it, thought Arminius in triumph, even as he shook a fist in the air with the rest. They will fight with me. He threw a look at Gerulf, and was delighted when the man didn’t meet his eye. Do your worst, thought Arminius. I am the better orator by far.

  The clamour took an age to die down, but that was good. His hardest task was done; what remained, the time-consuming matter of organising their campaign, would be easy in comparison.

  ‘The finest speech I’ve heard in years,’ Mallovendus declared, pouring them both a large measure of beer. He clinked his cup against Arminius’. ‘To victory, and Germanicus’ death.’

  Arminius repeated his words, and drank.

  ‘That was well done,’ said Maelo in his ear.

  ‘No need to shove my head in the snow then?’ countered Arminius.

  ‘I’ll let you off this time.’

  Grinning, they saluted one another and finished their beer.

  The noi
se began to settle as the hoarse-throated chieftains took their seats and replenished their drinks. Many a cup was raised in Arminius’ direction; the questions about what they should do to counter the Romans also began to fall.

  ‘You’ll be answered soon,’ said Arminius with calm authority. ‘First, I would know how many spears each tribe can bring to our army.’

  ‘You would know? At last your cloak falls away to reveal your true colours,’ crowed Gerulf.

  ‘What in Donar’s name are you talking about?’ demanded Arminius.

  ‘All you want from us is our warriors and their spears,’ accused Gerulf. ‘If you could take them without us, you’d be a happy man, isn’t that right?’

  My life would be much easier for it, Arminius admitted to himself. Out loud, he said, ‘It would be impossible for me to succeed alone. Your leadership, your bravery and your initiative are vital. They are what will help us to win this war.’

  ‘Us?’ jibed Gerulf. ‘Don’t you mean “me”?’

  ‘Speak more plainly,’ snapped Arminius, realising it had been shortsighted to think that Gerulf would give in without a struggle.

  ‘You make a good case for fighting the Romans, I’ll give you that. What’s not so clear is why you should lead this enterprise,’ said Gerulf. He paused, then added, ‘Or are you planning for one of us to be in charge?’

  Wrong-footed, Arminius faltered. ‘I hadn’t thought about it.’

  ‘Come now. Do you expect us to believe that?’ mocked Gerulf.

  ‘My tribe brings the greatest number of warriors to the fight,’ said Arminius, trying to regain control. ‘When you add my uncle’s men, the Cherusci will make up almost half the army, like as not.’ He glanced at Inguiomerus, praying for his backing, and was pleased by his uncle’s considered nod. ‘Inguiomerus takes my counsel, and I had thought as the leader of the largest grouping, I—’

  ‘There you have it,’ cried Gerulf, interrupting. ‘From his own mouth you heard it!’