‘And there are no Armin’s men out there?’ he asked the spy.
‘Yes, there are,’ he told Chariovalda while dodging a low hanging branch in the dark. He did not quite manage it and was left bleeding and cursing. ‘But they should be dead by now.’
‘The Fox is a night animal,’ Fulcher grunted. ‘Rarely asleep when the moon shines on the sky. Perhaps he is riding around?’
‘Then you will be fucked,’ the spy said cheerfully. ‘Fucked properly. You just try to relax. That way.’ He pointed for a path and the cavalcade followed us as we rode on. We rode north for an hour, out of sight, the exploratores ranging ahead. We saw nothing save for deer and owls, some sleeping cows and a body of an unfortunate man one our scouts had apparently encountered in the woods. Finally, we reached the shore, and the river was surging and churning in the moonlight, almost peacefully. It felt like the army was making terrible noise as the horses were nervously neighing, anticipating what we would ask of them. The spy rode forward, stopping his horse in the water. He whistled sharply and from the other side a trio of Cherusci rode out. One waved his hand and the spy turned to Chariovalda. He nodded and rode to the south, singing softly. Chariovalda sighed audibly, and he nodded at the Decurion to his right. Then, the army moved.
We were twenty miles upstream from Drusus and the waiting Cherusci army, there was no time to waste, and so, the four hundred men bravely guided their horses to the river. The horses immediately sunk to their bellies in water, the armored men holding on grimly and guiding the desperate beasts for the shore across. The horses whinnied, men cursed, and if there had been any men of Armin’s or Sigimer’s out there waiting, we would have failed in our surprise. Drusus’s money was well spent, however. The river was so full of swimming horses that one with enough skill could have easily skipped to the other side by jumping from man to man, but nothing alarming was taking place across on the other side. While shivering, I remembered Moenus River and the day I lost Ishild and Lif. ‘Perhaps this is a sign I’ll get them back?’ I asked Fulcher, who was apparently thinking of the day as well as we approached the edge of the river.
‘Yes, or lose more,’ he spat as the cold water made him gasp. ‘It was not a good trip. No.’
I cursed him and followed him. The water had a strong current and men and horses steered north helplessly, but most Batavi and the Thracians grinned bravely, prayed desperately and whipped the horses to struggle on through the dark water, swimming in full gear. Inevitably, some did not make it, losing their grip in the saddle and armored in chain; some men could be heard drowning as the horses swam on, and we prayed to Woden the beasts would endure. Most did.
‘Forward and form in your units!’ Chariovalda was exhorting men as we entered the land again. The alae of cavalry slowly formed up, Thracians to the left and behind, the 1st and 2nd Batavorium took the point with some of the men of Segestes. It took a long time to get the men in shape. The woods looked ominous and cautious whistles by officers caused dutiful scouting to take place immediately. A shady bank of clouds covered the moon, and we ploughed on. The men of Segestes could be seen discussing with Chariovalda and the praefectus of the Thracians, a young Roman who was apparently unhappy being under Chariovalda’s command. After some ten miles, Chariovalda lifted his arm. The army stopped.
‘Eat, wait,’ the call came out, and the shivering men dismounted in a small cops of woods, posting guards. It was night, and the morning was still a ways off.
‘We need a guide,’ I said with clattering teeth, for the wind was chilly, and we were all damp.
‘What will you do?’ Fulcher asked.
‘Get me one of those men of Segestes,’ I told him. ‘I’ll get us some wine and meat.’ I was rummaging in the saddlebags and pulled out suspicious strips of meat Fulcher had packed up and begged Grimwald for wine and that is when Fulcher escorted a young man to me. His face was full of pockmarks, and he carried his shield uncertainly. He had a curious look on his face, and he tilted his head so his long, light brown hair fell forward. ‘What is your name?’
‘Hugo,’ he said with a steady voice. He was young, younger than I was.
‘Didn’t you find an adult?’ I asked Fulcher as I threw him some of the meat.
Hugo’s hand whipped out, and he grasped the flying meat from the air. ‘I’m young, Lord, but hardly incapable.’
‘Hugo, eh?’ I asked him as he stuffed the meat in his mouth to Fulcher’s horror. I got up with a grunt, walked over to Fulcher and gave him some of my food and the wine. ‘I won’t risk him going hungry, Hugo. So you are a man of Segestes?’
He shrugged. ‘I got my spear and shield last year. I was fifteen and had killed a cattle-thieving man of a rival lord. I got mine in Yule feast and Tiw, they say, approved.’
‘Fast, no?’ I asked him. ‘And fast to think?’
‘Fast enough,’ he agreed. ‘Why am I here?’ There was a clever look in his eyes.
‘Who is your lord?’ I asked as I sat down and stared at him. He was quiet, thinking hard, and I brushed my dark hair aside to see his struggle more clearly. My helmet was on the side, its dark eyeholes staring up at him. His eyes flicked that way, and he was thinking deep. ‘Boy?’
‘Man. I am a man, Lord Hraban,’ he said with some challenge in his voice. ‘I have no lord. I follow my father, a warrior in the band of on Angvir.’
‘And what do you think of Armin?’
He stopped at that, swallowing hard. He shrugged. ‘I admire him? I hate him? I do what my Lord Segestes does, of course, and we would not be here if he loved his nephew.’
‘And you know Rome seeks to catch the Fox, don’t you?’ I flicked a coin between my fingers; a silver denarius and his eyes appraised it, apparently knowing its worth. He was greedy enough, I decided and knew the difference between silver and copper.
‘Yes, I do. Moreover, I do know where he is camped. His father’s fires are in the middle of the lines of their clans, but he stays on the side. He has no standard in the battle and seeks to survive it. He did not approve this stand.’
‘I see,’ I nodded. ‘And would you guide me there?’
‘You are to slay him, then?’ he asked suspiciously, and I flicked the coin for him. His hand grasped it and his eyes settled on the next coin playing between my fingers. ‘Does not matter,’ he decided.
‘I don’t ask you to do anything but guide us as we ride. Soon.’
He looked beyond the woods, hesitating. Then he gave me a curt nod. ‘I’ll help. I’m sure Segestes, our lord would want me to.’
‘I’m sure he would, yes,’ I agreed and flipped him the denarius. He grabbed it with uncanny skill and gave me a small bow.
An hour passed. Another. Men were silent, tense.
Then, a Decurion ran through the camp kicking the men up. Most were asleep, which said something about the fiber of the Batavi, men able to sleep at the jaws of death, wet and hungry. They woke up, prayed to their gods and found their weapons and horses. All our gear was moist, covered in dew and cold to the touch. The army was shivering in their saddles. Far in the night, early morning really, we heard the Roman camp awaken to tuba. Then cornu blared, for they were ordering the standards out and that meant Drusus was swiftly preparing his two legions for a battle.
A low rumble was heard as the distant Cherusci were whipping themselves into the battle formations. They had had a terrible night, being constantly awakened, but now there was no doubt Rome was attacking. Many a cunus, a battle formation formed like a boar’s tusk, were taking shape, no doubt, or perhaps they would make a thick shield wall? Likely the latter, I decided, for all Armin and Sigimer had to do was to keep the Romans out for long enough, then harry them as they retreat.
‘Move!’ yelled Chariovalda, and the army was startled by his bellowing voice. He was done with stealth.
‘The bastard scared the shit out of me,’ Grimwald said nearby. ‘Hope he isn’t drunk.’ The hypocrite was taking a long swig of mead, which he handed to me.
&nb
sp; ‘He is drunk,’ Fulcher rumbled. ‘But so are most of the foe.’
‘No, I really did shit my pants,’ Grimwald complained, and we moved our horses away from him. ‘Ate something rancid yesterday.’
‘Change your pants later and wash your saddle,’ I instructed him as the Decurions waved their spears in the air, Grimwald echoed the commands and the belligerent riders moved through the light woods ahead that soon turned into a wide and flat beach.
The land was thrumming to the sound of the hooves. Horses were forming into two very loose arrows; one for the Thracians, one for the Batavi. The men were looking for any trouble ahead, the scouts rushing at the edges of the woods. Few saw anything, and so Segestes had probably kept his word. Miles passed. Not very far, the tumult of men screaming, cajoling each other and the Germani barritus began to drown our own noises away. A thin scream was heard. Likely, the archers had began lobbing their sagitta at the brave Cherusci who were mocking the Romans, no matter how many arrows found marks and how many deadly slingshots crushed bones. A warning horn signal blared ahead, a Thracian scout waving his hands at the leading elements of the cavalry. He was gesturing madly, his hands pointing in different directions ahead.
The enemy was close. Only a few miles away.
But something else was happening.
‘Look!’ Fulcher hissed and pointed south east.
There, a massive movement was apparent. Thousands of men were running for the east. Segestes had abandoned his brother and his men to face Drusus.
We whipped our horses, men were laughing in terror and giving oaths to their gods, their spears held overhead, shields tight in their fists. ‘Break them! No dismounting, no shield walls. At them and throw them in Hel’s waiting arms, you rascals!’ yelled Chariovalda. The 1st and 2nd Batavorium with the Thracians rushed forward; heedless of the noise, not caring if we were observed. A young Cherusci stepped out of the woods and stared in horror at the impending doom rushing by. None cared for him, and he was left behind, his half-eaten apple forgotten in his hand, his pants soiled in fear.
I turned to look at our guide.
The young man coughed in the dust and pointed to the left, at the backs of the escaping Cherusci of Segestes. ‘That way, skirt the running rabble and then south in the thickets. Though Armin’s sure to be in the battle!’
‘They will run soon enough,’ I said through my gritted teeth as we broke off the arrow of riders for the east. I saw Chariovalda turn in his saddle and nod carelessly; I nodded back, and then we dove to the woods.
There, thousands of men were running right ahead of us to all the directions save the west. Many were on horses, most on foot, but they were not stopping. I saw a look of incredulity on some of the bearded faces, braver warlords turning to look back at the direction of the battle, feeling betrayed. We rode on and witnessed the milling mass of Cherusci facing two legions in triple axis formation across the ford though only a cohort at the time would be able to ford the river. Arrows were raining down on the covering shield wall of the Cherusci, and I saw the men around the bronze shield standard of Sigimer take the brunt of them. There, the old warlord was pulling at men, pointing at the running Segestes and hoping to extend his five thousand men to the right, where only the trampled grass now marked what had been a worthy battle line of fellow warriors. I did not see Armin, his blond hair and god-like face hidden in the bearded mass of warriors, all confused by the sudden retreat of Segestes.
But I saw Sigimer’s face as he saw the mass of riders thunder to his sight on his right flank.
It was twisted in nearly a hurt surprise as if he was a man robbed of honor by cowardly thieves. All energy left him briefly as his shoulders slumped, and he knew his reign as the Cherusci thiuda was nearly at an end.
‘This way, Lord,’ Hugo yelled, indicating we should go deeper to the wood. And we did, staring at the hundreds of desperate Cherusci rushing to form a wall to face Chariovalda.
We rode in the shallow beech forest to the south and saw scores of Germani women were yelling encouragements for the men to fight. They saw us and hissed at us, likely thinking we were running from battle. I heard Chariovalda scream, the cornu blared as 1st Cohort of V Alaudae rushed to the water across the river. The legionnaire cavalry, some fifty was preparing to follow them, then more cohorts. The Syrian and Cretan archer auxilia began lobbing their remaining missiles at the edges of the Cherusci shield wall. Chariovalda’s heavy horses charged for the forming line of men.
‘Are they going to dismount?’ Hugo asked with huge eyes. ‘Surely they must?’
‘No, they will not,’ I said with a grin as I guided my horse by some scared women, all backing away from us. They were tall, lithe women, their faces covered by cowls, and they were whispering. They had knives, and Fulcher kept an eye on them. ‘They can fight in the saddle,’ I added as I kept an eye on the belligerent women.
‘Surely they will lose their horses? They will hack at the legs and bellies and—’ Hugo continued as the hundreds strong army rushed for the bracing line of Cherusci.
‘They will take yours after your people are routed,’ I told him and pulled him roughly closer. ‘I see Sigimer, but where is Armin?’
‘He must be anchoring the other end?’ he said.
‘Where is his horse?’ I continued.
‘Oh!’ Hugo said and winked. He showed me deeper to the wood. There, we passed slaves and women packing gear, pulling at panicking horses, preparing bandages, and my bronze helmet gave most all a start as I guided my horse amongst the remains of a camp. ‘Over there,’ he told me, pointing to a tight grove of beech trees, and sure enough, under them there were plenty of bigger, stronger horses leashed to the trees. And with them, there was one with silvery reins and a dark leather saddle. A Roman four-horned saddle. I got down, pulled some rope from Fulcher’s gear, and bent down to do a deed that would give me Armin. Then I mounted again.
‘Oh, you are one evil vermin,’ Fulcher said, eyeing Armin’s horse. ‘Poor beast.’
‘We wait,’ I told him and Hugo. We guided the horse to the side under the shadows of some low hanging branches.
To the west, men died.
We heard the impact of men charging the shield wall, the strange groan of wood and metal and flesh meeting violently. We heard the encouragements and screams of men fighting, people being trampled, and could nearly imagine the coppery, thick smell of blood and intestines, piss and shit. The legions wading across the waters did not have a chance to test their swords against the fierce Cherusci by the ford.
For the cavalry routed the enemy.
Chariovalda’s charge completely toppled the right flank of Sigimer’s oath’s men into a red, chaotic ruin, and so we heard the thin blare of the distinctive horn, the same that had ringed across the hills when we last met Armin. It was a sound the Romans had learned to fear, for each such blast had signaled near doom for our armies. Now, though, the blare was desperate, going up, then down, and up again.
Armin was hoping to save the majority of the clans.
The Cherusci ran.
Around us, the slaves lifted their heads. Women were screaming encouragements to each other, horses were neighing, and in the distance, men could be seen flitting through the woods.
‘Stay still,’ I hissed at Fulcher and Hugo. ‘They won’t see us in the shadows.’
‘Hope he gets his horse,’ Fulcher grumbled.
‘I would, it is priceless,’ I said.
Warriors were seen. Some had arrows in their shields, others were bleeding from wounds, but most were untouched. A constant din of battle could be heard as the Roman drove to the backs of the army, and there Sigimer held firm, buying his men time. I could dimly see him in the glaring morning light, dissipating fog, and billowing dust. He was under the bronze standard reaching high, high above a thick, brave shield wall. I saw Roman pila coming down on the wall in droves, then the tromp of charging legionnaires and ultimately, the fall of the standard. The wall held, buckled, and broke
as Chariovalda’s men had circumvented to its side.
It was chaos.
In that battle, some twenty Romans died, most of the losses of Rome that day, and the Cherusci were scattered. They were running for us and with them, no doubt, was Armin. Pockets of resistance all over the fringes of the wood hampered Roman forces.
‘Can you see them?’ Fulcher asked Hugo.
‘Armin?’ he said softly, stretching his head in all directions as hundreds of men were beginning to pass us in panic. ‘I see only beards.’
‘A blond one and a dull handsome face,’ I hissed. ‘Let there be one,’ I added, cursing at the dust, the vegetation and the hundreds of men streaming away. Screams made it hard to speak. Hard to think, even. There were many men fighting in the woods, for lord’s honor forbade retreat and some actually held true to that creed. Some women fought, even, for Cherusci women did not fall prisoners easily.
‘Ware!’ Fulcher screamed, and a pilum embedded itself on the tree next to our shadowy cops of woods.
Then a group of well-armed men ran for the horses.
There were three men. Two were clad in brilliant ring mail, and one had a long vest of bear fur. He clutched a short, fat horn on his hip, and there was a long spatha, a heavy sword on his belt. His eyes were bright blue, his face well boned and strong, and he was cursing as he pointed out to his men where to go. One ran to pull at some women, cajoling them to hurry, another jumped on his horse, holding a spear and helped Armin control his horse. The horse was nervous, and it was not all due to the battle.
I hesitated.
I should not have hesitated, not after Armin had so many times tried to use me for his ends. His ends were the freedom of his people, and despite my love for Drusus, despite the admiration for the Roman army and my new friends the Batavi, I could not easily move against him.
He was a hero.
He was the one man, likely the only one I knew, with the vision to beat the foes of the Germani. Unless you counted Maroboodus, my Father, who would kill Drusus, yes, but only to profit Rome in the end, I thought. And I knew, despite my new allegiance to Rome, that all of Germania would suffer under the yoke of Drusus and Augustus. The land would change, and perhaps not for the better.
The Winter Sword: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 3) Page 10
