by H. B. Ashman
“Marius, what a pleasure to see you.”
“Domitia, I have to say, this is quite a surprise.”
Domitia tilted her beautiful head, the small movement somehow still elegant. “How long has it been? Years?”
“Long enough to have missed you turn from a girl into a beautiful woman.”
Domitia’s eyes sparkled at this remark.
Marius cleared his throat. “It is rather unusual for a woman of your birth to be so far from the comforts of your villas.”
“It is indeed. Urgent family matters forced me to meet with my father. And by now you probably know how useful my brother is in these regards.” She said it loud enough for Gnaeus to hear, who in response frowned and bit his lip.
Marius studied Domitia. Even out here, she looked like a true Roman woman of noble birth. Her long hair, the pride and sensual weapon of every Roman woman, was spotless and braided with golden pins that complemented her perfect makeup. Her dress and coat were Asian silk worth some men’s life wages.
“What brings you here?” Marius asked. “It is brave of you to come. These lands are not without dangers.”
“I am well aware of that. So is my father. He heard of your return to Salona and wanted me to join you until Vetera.”
Marius nodded. They were indeed making a stop at Vetera, Rome’s closest stone fortress and stronghold at the border to the barbarian lands. It was the edge of the Roman Empire, so to speak, a small military town, safe and well provided. The legions spent their winters there when it was too cold for war.
“Is your father not marching back to Vetera then?”
Domitia shook her head. “No, but do not ask me why. These are military matters, of which I understand little. Maybe these savages are planning another attack, forcing him to push farther north.”
Marius tilted his head, looking for the truth in Domitia’s eyes.
Domitia smiled, a beautiful mask. “He just wants his only daughter safe. It would be a tragedy if he were left with only his son.” She nodded at Gnaeus, who was dramatically swatting away flies close to him like they had the plague.
“Of course,” Marius said. “I guarantee you my shield and sword until Vetera.”
Domitia blinked slowly as if she had just received the long-awaited letter of a lover. “That would be very honorable of you, Marius Vincius.”
Marius noticed, for the first time, the dimple on her cheek. It was on just one side, not the other, like his wife’s had been. He nodded quickly, erasing the memory as best he could.
“Your tent shall be arranged next to your brother’s and mine. We march again at first light, try to be ready on time.” Marius turned his horse and rode back to his legion.
Marius did not care for tiptoeing around a privileged woman’s feelings. The duty of restoring peace in Illyricum weighed heavily on his shoulders. When Augustus had sent two legions to Salona, Marius as their legate, he had spent day and night with the Illyrian tribal leaders in the hopes of a peaceful Romanization of the province. And he was close, very close, to achieving it. Not for wealth or glory, but for Augustus’s Pax Romana, a promise of peace and stability to the people of Rome. To end the civil wars. But now that Lucius was not to be praetor of Gaul, and rewarded with gold and silver, only a fool would ignore the danger of the House Ahenobarbus.
Marius stopped Aithon next to Quintus, who was shouting commands at the centurions.
“The wall needs to be higher. This is Cherusci land!” Quintus barked, then turned his attention to Marius.
“You shall stay with me in my tent tonight, Quintus.”
Quintus raised his brow. “You think the barbarians will attack tonight?”
Marius frowned. “No,” he said, glancing back toward Domitia’s carriage. “Not the barbarians.”
Chapter Eight
A rminius led his horse down a small path that took him through the deepest parts of the Cherusci Forest, trotting over vines and dead leaves, past massive trees with gnarled trunks. He had noticed the Cherusci scouts several miles ago, their watchful eyes piercing through branches and fog, following his horse’s every step.
The dark woods grew brighter in an opening not far ahead of him, where sharp rays of light shot through the canopy like arrows. His silent companions, three men and a woman, stepped out of the shadows of the trees, their serious faces a warning to proceed no farther.
The men were muscular and at least a head taller than the Romans Arminius had grown used to. Their beards were braided and wild, their eyes blue and striking. The woman was tall and slender, pretty, with long blond hair tied behind her head like a horse’s tail. All of them were wearing woolen coats and leather pants of dark greens and browns. Luckily for Arminius, none of their faces were painted, a sign that they were not preparing for battle.
The woman was the first to step in front of Arminius, a long broadsword leaning over her left shoulder. Her eyes and stiff posture screamed her warning loud and clear: turn around.
Arminius slowed his horse to a stop, his eyes searching for an escape route. But before the situation could escalate, a strangely familiar voice shouted from behind the warriors.
“Enough, we don’t want to make Rome feel unwelcome.” Segestes stepped into the clearing, gasping for breath as his flabby, toad-like body lumbered past the iron-eyed warriors toward Arminius. It had been many years, but the moment Arminius laid eyes on the old pig-faced Cherusci nobleman, he couldn’t help but feel disgust. It was Segestes who had warned the Romans of Arminius’s father’s plans to revolt. He’d been rewarded in gold. It had split the tribe in half—with Segestes as Rome’s ally on one side and Segimarus, the king, on the other. Even as a Roman, Arminius felt nothing but hatred for Segestes.
Taking in a deep breath, Segestes came to a stop next to Arminius’s warhorse, lifting a hand to its flank for support. Arminius urged the animal backward a step, causing Segestes to stumble. The warriors laughed. One of them, the woman, stepped forward and gave the horse a pat on the neck. The Germanics were known as some of the best horsemen in the Roman world.
Segestes gathered himself, shooting angry glances at the warriors. The years had aged him. He was even fatter now and was wearing a golden necklace and rings, undoubtedly earned in return for sucking Rome’s cock. “My Tribune, pay them no mind,” he said, wiping sweat off his forehead with his green woolen sleeve.
“Lead the way,” Arminius said, kicking his horse into motion as the warriors led him across the clearing, Segestes following behind as quickly as he could.
Down a steady embankment, the field opened to a small settlement, maybe twenty-five houses at the most. Walls of mud and wood held up large, grassy roofs that opened up to fenced paddocks for their livestock. Arminius had almost forgotten how primitive these settlements were, by no means any match to the grand marble and white stone of Rome.
Arminius rode his horse into the middle of the settlement and stopped in front of a large tree, the only one around. Ornaments hung from its branches: animal bones and wooden sculptures of gods.
Segestes stepped next to Arminius. “My Tribune, what brings you out here to our little settlement?” Segestes said, barely able to breathe from the short walk.
Arminius didn’t waste a glance on him and scouted for his father amid the gathering crowd—a mix of women, children, and men, their eyes as penetrating as daggers, their faces unwelcome and cold.
“My Tribune, I beg of you,” Segestes said, “please put my nervous mind at ease. What brings you here? Have we angered Rome?”
“Don’t piss your tunic, Segestes,” a broad-shouldered man said, stepping out of the crowd. He was older but still muscular. He held a large ax in his hands; his arms and high forehead were glittering with sweat. Unlike most Germanics, he wasn’t blond. His hair and braided beard were untamed and red.
Segestes ignored the man. “My Tribune, are you searching for a place to rest? May I offer you food and wine?”
“Stop spitting honey,” the big redhe
aded man said. “He is not here to eat and drink. Arminius is here for his father.” He spoke loud enough for the whole settlement to hear. The crowd broke out into mumbles and whispers.
“Arminius?” Segestes’ wide eyes surveyed Arminius.
“Did you think the Romans fed me and my brother to the wolves?” Arminius said to Segestes.
Segestes was trembling, pearls of sweat running down his round face. “Arminius, of course.” He smiled. “My beloved boy, the joy of seeing you again—”
“I see you still have no pride or honor,” Arminius said. “Save your breath. I am not here to kill you.”
Segestes let out an audible breath of relief as Arminius rode up to the redheaded man. “You know who I am?”
“Ha! My name is Aldo. I taught you the way of our warriors when you were still smaller than the very sword I made you swing. You cried the first time its weight tipped you over,” Aldo said, his gaze soft as if lost in fond memories. Then his blue eyes snapped out of it, wandered to Arminius’s gladius—his short, Roman sword. “You would not have had the same problem with that little stick you carry now.”
Arminius laughed. Although he did not remember him, he couldn’t help but like Aldo. “That little stick is more dangerous than you think.”
“We know that all too well.” Aldo’s face turned dark again. Arminius waited a moment, then faced the crowd.
“Where is Segimarus?” he asked, refusing to call the man his father.
“He lives over there,” Aldo said, nodding into the woods behind the settlement.
“He does not live with you?” Arminius asked. The crowd stayed silent.
Swinging his ax over his shoulder, Aldo stepped closer. “Your father’s house is not far. Come, I will take you.”
He started walking toward the woods. Arminius dismounted his horse and led it down the path behind Aldo, out of the settlement.
“Why does he not live in the settlement? Is he not your king?”
“We don’t have kings like your Augustus. After you and your brother were taken, the tribe split in half. Some ridiculed your father as a coward and sided with Segestes, while others stood with him, admiring him for giving up his sons to Rome to save what was left of us.”
Giving up his sons. Was he a gift to Rome then? The Germanic people were known to fight to the bitter end in order to be chosen by Freya to go to Folkvangr or taken to Valhalla by Odin. How could his father give up his sons so easily?
Aldo looked over his shoulder at Arminius. “He did not just give you up, you know.”
“It does not matter. Rome has done me well, brought me glory and riches. I belong to the empire now, and I serve it with great pride.”
After turning onto a path that was barely two feet wide—Arminius’s horse slipping on wet, protruding roots—they arrived at a small house. Blending in perfectly with the colors of its surroundings, the structure’s branches and wooden logs were stacked into walls, the roof mossy and overgrown with leaves. A small enclosure with a few pigs and chickens was the only proof that someone lived there, the animal’s snorts and clucks filling the silence with life.
“This is his house?” Arminius asked in shock. Aldo opened his mouth to say something when a barrel-chested, bearlike man appeared seemingly out of nowhere, a stack of wood resting in his arms. His tied-up brown hair had a few silver streaks running through it, matching the strains in his short beard. His muscular arms and rough hands were covered in dark markings and strange symbols that looked like circles, ravens, and trees. He did not carry a sword or shield but was intimidating nonetheless. For a brief moment, his lips curled into a thin smile, then faded quickly.
Even after all these years, Arminius recognized Segimarus, his father.
“I am here for Rome,” Arminius said. Not you, the unspoken words hovered between them. Segimarus remained silent, his eyes studying Arminius. Then he walked past him and into his house without a word. Aldo followed him, and so did Arminius after tying his horse to a tree branch.
The inside of the house was simple, with no more than a wooden table, bed, and stone fireplace. Arminius looked around, stunned at how his father was living. The only remnants of the king Segimarus used to be were a sword, a round shield with the symbol of a white owl on it, and a horned helmet, all mounted to the wall.
Segimarus kneeled down to stack the wood next to a fireplace made of grey rocks. “What brings you here, my son?”
Arminius studied the fallen king, his eyes carefully following his movements. “Segestes is in charge now?” he asked.
“For now. A Roman reward for his treason to your people,” Segimarus said without looking at Arminius. Aldo grunted in agreement.
“They are not my people,” Arminius replied, walking over to the wall to take a closer look at the weapons. The shield was most peculiar. Never had he seen one with a white owl painted on it. It was sitting on a tree, its wings spread wide. Arminius ran a finger over the shield. Old memories of his father swinging his sword and shield on the training grounds flashed in his mind.
Segimarus took a deep, audible breath. “If you are here for revenge, I won’t—”
“I am here for my legate,” Arminius interrupted him, turning abruptly to face his father. Their eyes met for a moment before Segimarus dropped his gaze.
“What does he want from us? We pay our taxes and have no quarrel with Rome.”
“He wants to know if it will stay this way.”
Segimarus grabbed a few logs from the stack and placed them in the fireplace. “What the Suebi did has nothing to do with us. Tell your legate he has nothing to fear.” Segimarus froze with a log in hand. “From us,” he added.
“But?” Arminius asked, although it was more of a statement than a question.
Segimarus shrugged his shoulders. “But I can speak only for this tribe, not the Chauci, Bavati, Catti, or the Hermunduri, Bructeri, Frisii, or for any of other the tribes that have nothing but hatred for the Romans.”
Arminius was ready for this visit to end. He got what he’d come for. The Romans had nothing to fear from the Cherusci, which, after all, was one of the largest tribes in Germania, their settlements spread out over all the forests north of the Rhine. With pinched lips, he nodded. He was turning to leave when his father’s gigantic hand grabbed his upper arm. Arminius turned to face him. His eyes narrowed in anger.
“Your brother . . . ,” Segimarus said quickly, loosening his grip but not letting go. Arminius stared into the sad eyes of the man who had abandoned him when he was just a boy. He didn’t owe this ruined king anything, not even an answer about his other son. And yet his lips started moving as if they were not his own. “Brave,” Arminius said. “A man of the ladies already.” He couldn’t help a faint smile from forming on his lips at the thought of his little brother, Flavus.
Segimarus smiled as well, nodding as he did. “And you?”
Arminius pulled free from his father’s grip. “Farewell . . . Segimarus.”
Arminius stepped out of the primitive hut, his heart heavier than he’d anticipated. Aldo and his father followed him, watching as he mounted his horse. Arminius met his father’s eyes once more. This is not your home, he thought, these are not your people. Odin and Freya are not your Gods. You belong to Rome.
Arminius shook his father’s penetrating gaze off and gave his horse his heels.
“Son!” his father shouted once more.
Arminius kicked his horse in the flanks, not bothering to turn, as he sped back through the forest, away from the world he’d left behind long ago.
Riding at a fast and steady pace, Arminius made good progress on his way back to camp. The forest grew dark and silent around him. Black clouds covered the sky, blocking out the light of the sun. Slowing his horse, he pulled out an oil torch from his saddle bag and lit it, but the flame’s light barely touched the small path ahead of him. He was about to look for another torch in his other saddle bag when a bird’s high-pitched screech sounded through the woods. His
horse halted abruptly.
“Steady, my friend, steady.” Arminius patted its neck. The animal calmed just as Arminius heard a woman’s shrill laughter from the shadows of the trees.
His horse began to stomp wildly. Arminius turned it in circles to stop him from rearing. It neighed restlessly and shifted its head from side to side against the reins. Once more, a bird’s high-pitched scream echoed, closer this time. Then an enormous white owl descended from the dark crowns of the trees, missing Arminius’s head by inches. His horse jumped to the side, almost shaking off Arminius in the process.
“Easy!” Arminius said, but the horse was too nervous to listen to him. It kept jerking him left and right. Arminius was about to urge his horse forward, let it run out its fear, when a dark silhouette appeared in the corner of his eye. When he turned toward it, it vanished. His horse must have seen it too; its tall legs shot into the air, kicking wildly. Arminius leaned forward, trying to balance himself while holding on to the torch, but the horse was out of control. Dropping the torch, Arminius was thrown backward, hitting the ground hard. The keening laughter rang in his ears once more. Arminius ignored the pain in his leg and back as he shot to his feet, launching forward in a desperate attempt to grab his horse’s reins, but it was too late.
He watched as the horse bolted, swallowed by complete darkness within moments. He spun around, drawing his sword.
“Show yourself!” he yelled. But the laughter had faded, giving way to the soft wind and the rustling leaves. Swinging his sword left and right, Arminius scanned the darkness.
“Show yourself!” he shouted again. An owl howled the distance. He listened a moment longer. He was about to sheathe his sword when someone, or something, grabbed his head on both sides, holding it firmly in place.
Before he had time to react, an old female voice whispered in the Cherusci tongue. “When it’s time, Arminius.” Arminius spun around and stabbed his sword into the dark, but all he pierced was air. There was nobody in front of him.
