The men we were passing were from Legio XIII Gemina, the shields covered with the protective hide covers, but some showed the Gemini painted on the leather. Old, ancient even, the legion was proud as a god. We were passing by the first cohort, who shifted their furcas as they tried to catch sight of the young Roman nobles, and a spontaneous, brave cheer echoed across the land, leaving Germanicus flushed with the adoration. Germanicus grinned, and raised his hand high.
“Postumus!” called a man, raising his furca with full kit high, and pointed at Germanicus. They all knew both men of Augustan blood were travelling with us, and made a simple mistake.
“Our Augustus!” called a burly centurion, while brandishing his vine stick.
Germanicus went white in the face, and we rode on under silence. Postumus nodded at me with a grin, and he and Wandal rode ahead and left us there. Drusus smiled and spoke. “He is the son of Julia.”
Germanicus cast Drusus a furious look. “He is. But has Julia fought Roman wars and brought anything but shame to the land? I carry blood of a true hero, my father’s!”
Drusus snorted. “Are you saying the victories of Octavian in war and out of it are not heroic? Ware your words.”
“You ware yours!” he retorted. “A mere noble should know his place.”
“Silence, boy,” I snarled to everyone’s shock. “Or I’ll tell everyone what place I saw you in, not that many years ago. And in what position. By Juppiter, they would wonder, but they would not think you as Augustus after.”
He croaked an answer, but I couldn’t hear him, and that fact was good for his health.
Carnutum was in sight in the horizon, and we rode for half an hour as the man struggled with his patience. Cohorts of Legio VIIII Hispana, Legio XIII Gemina, Legio XIIII Gemina, Legio XV Apollinaris and Legio XX Valeria Victrix filled the countryside and its roads as they marched on, and finally Germanicus chuckled, trying to put behind the sour feelings.
“It will be a glorious victory,” he muttered. “And hopefully, we will put Maroboodus into a cage.”
“We will, but you shall not,” Drusus said simply, not letting him snivel his way back to our good side. “I didn’t want to mention it earlier, but Augustus said you shall observe, but he also said you will not cross the Danubius. Father will tell you this soon, so act surprised. You have no position in the army, and for a good damned reason.”
Germanicus squinted as he stared at Carnutum. “And what if Maroboodus crosses the river? He has before? I—”
“You will not see war, my lord,” I said simply. “Right or wrong, this is the way of it.”
He stared around sullenly, biting his lip like a boy about to throw a tantrum. “I could do well. I hear Tiberius won’t use ships on the rivers. Several might lead one to the heart of the enemy lands.”
Drusus shrugged. “He shares his plans with few. It is frustrating to Augustus as well. But it is a good plan Tiberius has, isn’t it Corvus?”
“An excellent one,” I agreed dutifully, though I knew no details at all. “And Postumus will have a part to play. It is how it will be. Postumus, I hear, is quite brave.”
He went silent and was fuming for the rest of the way.
We rode past a train of mules and the others followed me, the wagon drivers were yelling at the men pulling at the mules, and we watched them struggle to get the stubborn animals out of the way. Late that evening, we arrived in Carnutum. The city was obviously rich, well built for a border town, a sprawling junction of wealthy trade roads. Despite Father’s amber restrictions, the golden tears still rolled south, brought by traders who weren’t Romans. The city, despite its size, looked tiny amid the Roman legion camps, and those of the auxilia. Local forces, Gaulish auxilia, Cretan archers, and Germanic cavalry there made many dozen smaller camps. Huge granaries were built and full in the camps, water and necessities were secured from the locals and the merchants, hospitals were being erected and it all looked like the beginning of a new Rome.
We made our way to the camp of Legio XX Valeria Victrix where Tiberius stayed, and there, in our barracks I found Armin and Flavus. Adalwulf was guarding Postumus in a fine barracks next to ours, and I could hear his voice. Armin was sitting on a bed, and eyed us as we entered.
“Hraban,” he said, and nodded at Wandal.
I greeted him with a nod, and made my way to a rough table, listening to Postumus speaking with Adalwulf not that far away, cursing a scribe who was likely bringing him scrolls from Tiberius. Germanicus would be meeting with the great man himself.
I sat down and poured wine for myself. “Armin,” I told him, as I placed a sword within reach.
He smiled as he looked at the sword. “Had a good trip?”
“It was fine,” I said as Wandal crashed on a seat and Ulrich lounged by the doorway and stared at us. “It was a long way, and tiresome, with thousands of people cheering the young gods, but interesting. The past years have been fine, as well, thank you for asking.”
“You look gray,” he said, rubbing his face.
“I am growing old,” I retorted. “How are things here?”
Armin waved a hand. “The Roman forces are ready. I have been scouting the enemy. And we have been making sure our allies are all committed. Plenty of such allied forces have arrived.” He pointed a finger at Flavus. “He has been making sure all our tribes are in line. Lived with some for a while.”
Flavus shifted, his near-white hair spilling over his shoulders. He was letting it grow to pass as a local. The bastard probably spoke like the locals by then.
“Kings of many tribes are helping Tiberius,” Flavus explained. “The Breucians are the strong ones. Pinnes, their king, and his brother are here. Bato, their warlord arrived, and ten thousand of their men came, and Daestitiates from Dalmatia arrived, also lead by a man named Bato. The lot are unlikely allies with the Breucians, and there are smaller tribes who also hate each other as well. Dalmatae, Pirustae, a dozen others. Twenty thousand of them all together.”
They stared at each other.
I emptied the cup, and poured another. “Why do I feel there is some issue that I am unaware of? We are close to being released, are we not? War is starting, and Tiberius will be happy. We should be done with the service.” They were mulishly quiet. “Why should I care about some cow-humping local tribes?” I asked Flavus. “The more the merrier. Father will be finished.”
“Maroboodus finished?” Armin said. “He won’t. He won’t be finished.”
I leaned forward. “You think he will flee, then?”
Armin shrugged. “He might, but that would finish him. He beat the Hermanduri bloody these past years, so there is no threat from the North, but none like an exiled king in the North. But no. He won’t leave his land. The amber trade takes place up the rivers deep in his land, and Romans and locals are killing each other to pay the prices he asks. He won’t go.”
I nodded. “In that case, he shall die happy and rich. Good riddance.”
He gave Wandal a long look. He gave Ulrich a wary eye.
I shrugged. “He is a friend. So is the other one. Speak your mind.”
“Not my friends, are they?” he muttered.
“Is Flavus now your friend?” I asked as I saluted Flavus. “Odd.”
“He is a necessary evil,” Armin answered. “There is something happening, that concerns all of us.”
“Truly?” I asked him, confused.
“Yes,” he snarled, and hung his head. “Flavus and I are careful these days. While riding the land, Flavus and I got to know men who … occasionally raid Roman caravans. We don’t mind a bit of news, so we paid so that the mail of Tiberius doesn’t always make it to Rome. Highway robbery happens plenty in these parts. And this is what his men found last week.” He pulled out a scroll, and tossed it to me. “We got very lucky. All of us.”
I picked it up, squinted at it, and opened it up to read it in the light of an oil-lamp.
I read it many times, and tried to keep my face straight. I
smoothed the scroll, played with it, and then sat back, eyeing Armin.
Armin, finally losing his patience, slammed a hand on the table, scattering mugs. “He is trying to take power. He aims to kill both Postumus and Germanicus in an ambush executed by his men. That’s why he requested them here. He is going to claim Maroboodus did it. He is betraying the lot of us.” He eyed me, and I looked back at him. “Did you read it all?”
“It is for Livia,” I said emotionlessly.
“He has no intention of letting you get your revenge,” he said simply, “and he intends for the lot of us to die with the boys.” He stared at me. “Well, Hraban? Years of service, only to be fooled!”
I nodded and drank wine, eyeing the scroll. I tossed the mug on the table, and held my head. “I will talk to him. He—”
“Is a shit liar,” Armin snarled. “I listened to him, and he repays me like this? And now? He intends to be rid of the lot of us. All of you, and us. Everyone who knows something.”
“Shit,” Ulrich muttered.
Armin kicked his bench so hard it broke. “I do not think so, no.”
Wandal pulled the scroll to himself, and read it. He had learnt to read well in Rome. He tapped the scroll. “Years? Years wasted on lies?”
Armin shook his head. “Wandal is right. We have all wasted years here in this damned service. Years. You rescued your family, so did Adalwulf, and that is the only blessing you can boast of. You have been duped. One way or the other, we are all damned fools. He is throwing away his toys.”
The silence was deafening.
I felt tired, and pulled my sword to me, playing with the hilt. We sat and stood around that table, looking like statues forgotten in the darkness. Fear was gnawing on each of us, all of us terrified and suddenly exposed amongst the …enemy. I heard Postumus speaking, Adalwulf explaining something to him.
Finally, I put down the cup.
“We must fight him.”
“We must,” Armin said.
“And I suppose, since you are talking to me about it,” I said dryly, “you have a solution that might allow us to survive.”
“Yes,” he said simply. “I do. We must work together to escape this. Nay. We shall do more than escape.”
“More?” I laughed. “Shall we go and piss on the legion’s grain? Or shall we perhaps ask the gods to burn the castra? We—”
He smiled. “We have no obligations to them after this. We shall finally become Germani again.” He walked next to me, and looked down at me. I didn’t like him so close, so I got up, and stared back into his eyes, as he spoke on. “Since I won’t be going home with Roman blessings, let it be as a Roman enemy. Let it be so that I shall go home a hero. We shall teach them a brutal lesson, one that will make us all immortal. Flavus and I have a plan. We have been braiding it together for days, and now it is ready.”
Flavus nodded. “I came up with it.”
Armin looked fey, much like he had on the days he had challenged Drusus. Danger lurked around us, and like a wolf, he prowled around the enemy that could slay him easily, but he was still seeking an opening. His eyes were feverish, his face quivered with bloodlust. “He was supposed to give Postumus to your father, but he won’t. He is going to kill us all, instead. I say we take Postumus, and Germanicus, and take them all to your father. We shall deliver on his broken promises.”
I smiled. Flavus nodded.
“To my father?” I asked. “I like it not. I am his enemy. But—"
Armin leaned close. “I have already agreed with him. I visited his camp the other day. We will give Postumus and Germanicus to him, and he will wage war with Rome. And he will not touch you. Truce, for now.”
I laughed bitterly and stalked away, holding my head. “Oh, truce? How nice. He is already at war with Rome. What will change? How will this change the fact Rome is powerful enough to trample him to the mud, eh?”
“Because we can give Maroboodus more than the two great men. We can give him victory,” he answered. “We can.”
“How?” I snarled. “I don’t really understand—”
Flavus shifted and spoke softly, as if voicing a crime. “We shall set Illyricum on fire.”
Wandal held his head. “On fire, eh? All it takes is a torch?”
Flavus ignored him. “We shall butcher the brother of the King of the Breuci, while he is in the town. I know where he spends his time, what he does there, and we will butcher the pig, and we’ll make it so the Romans look guilty. We do this, and there will be a revolt here. That means there are tens of thousands of wrathful, suddenly former auxilia seeking vengeance, and the rage shall spread to entire nations. Soon, it will be the entire damned land, and several others going at Tiberius. A hundred thousand, most men who know the land, will rebel. Tiberius and his legions will sit in the midst of a land unwilling to help them, and with Maroboodus coming to the aid of the Breuci? It will be terrible for Tiberius.”
“It shall never work,” Wandal said, eyeing the scroll. “What if they do not think it was the Romans—”
Armin slapped his fist. “They will all want to believe it. It shall work. It will be a rebellion, and the rebellion will grow as if a god farted wild fire over a dry forest! It will spread like damned oil on flames! From the Italian borders, perhaps over them, all the way to Greece? The people here are fed up with Rome. Have been for ages. And Maroboodus will come as well. He shall join the war, if he but regains his son. We will destroy every one of these legions, and send their scattered remains to the sea. And we will be free men.” He eyed me. “We will join the Breuci. We will be their link to Maroboodus. I shall lead their troops, and you will help me, you lot. Make me a hero here, and I shall be the King of the Cherusci, a true king like your father, the King East of the Rhenus. We have little choice.” He poked the scroll in Wandal's hands. “We have been betrayed. We hate each other, but you shall be with me on this war, because you have no home left.”
I rubbed my face, and shook my head. “Abandon Rome? All the long years. I don’t—”
He clasped my shoulders. “You must. I know you hate Maroboodus, but for now, for a time before we can all have our families and peace, we must work together. Is your family safe?”
“Yes,” I told him. “They are with friends in the North.”
“Batavi?” he asked. “Fine. For this, for the common cause and purpose, and, because your boy and wife need a new home, we shall work together. I have not forgotten, Hraban, but I will forgive. Now, I have some men who can help. My former command is here, and fine auxilia they are. And ready to rebel, as well. We are not alone.”
I agreed with a nod, and Wandal groaned.
We had men to kill, and nations to rise to arms.
My time in Rome was over, for Tiberius had betrayed us.
CHAPTER 26
“Marcus Vinicius took Sirmium some twenty years ago. It has come far since,” Tiberius said to Germanicus, who was subdued and unhappy about his inability to pursue even a small military role. Instead, he would be sent to Sirmium, to the South, and he was not unlike a brooding statue.
We all stood outside the castra on a hillside, and the vast army camps spread around us.
Tiberius’s eyes slithered over the five legions and training troops who were spread across the banks of the River Danubius. Tiberius nodded, pleased. “Five legions here, two from Moganticum in Germania with Marcus Messallinus, Moesian and Macedonian legions and Thracian auxilia will join with Rhoemetalces. How many auxilia are here?”
A wide-stripe tribune of the XV shrugged. “Near twenty-five thousand. Starving dogs, as far as I can tell. Daestitiates, Breuci, Dalmatae, Pannonians, Liburnians. All ugly as mules to boot. Light infantry. Suitable for raping and looting. Bato of Daestitiates and, gods laugh, another Bato of the Breuci, whose King Pinnes is here with his family as well, are the powerful buggers amongst them. None truly matter, as they are useless as a bent cock. The legions and the Thracians will do the job, and,” he said, and looked at the Germani auxilia in
disciplined ranks, practicing on the field, Ubii, some Vangione, and possibly Tungri, “these men.”
Tiberius was smiling, an odd look on his face. “Any word of Maroboodus?”
“He has twenty to thirty thousand men, they say,” the tribune said with a disbelieving voice, as if reluctant to give the great man bad news. “But I hear you have a plan, so we are in safe hands. Mars helps as well, I am sure.”
“Mars helps those who help themselves, man. I shall want to see the Marcomanni and the Quadi chiefs, soon,” Tiberius said. “Final parley, eh? Just so the historians can say I tried to avoid bleeding them dry. Set it up.”
The tribune saluted, and left.
I watched Armin whose eyes were turned to the vast, sprawling city with Roman temples and villas and local style halls.
There, the brother of Pinnes was living in a brothel.
Tiberius gave me a quick look, and I bowed my head to avoid letting him know I knew of his betrayal. He moved off with his officia, Germanicus, Postumus, and Drusus, and a complement of Germani Guards. I was left with Armin, who rode towards a waiting auxilia ala. I followed him, eyeing the two hundred strong contingents of Germanic auxilia. “II Mattiacorum,” Armin said. “Good lads,” he added. “They love me like they love their honor. I led them in Gaul for year or two. They were twice as many back then. And there were men amongst them who didn’t like me much, of course, but they are most all gone now. It is an adventure worth telling, one day. But not today.”
“Was their prefect one of the men?” I asked as we rode past the men. Matticati, Roman-minded Germani on the east side of the river, and well known to Marcomanni would still be led by a Roman prefect, and I spotted the man, riding back and forth before them.
He smiled coldly. “Oh, he doesn’t like me much, no. He’ll have to explain to Tiberius why half his men disobeyed him,” Armin said calmly. “Tiberius will cook his balls for it.”
Armin had seen plenty of war during the years I had served Julia, and the admiration in the eyes of the tall, well mounted auxilia was easy to see. They didn’t show it in front of the prefect, but Armin had not lied. He had men. “King Pinnes,” he said. “And his prince brother of fat arse. This night. And then, we shall act in the chaos that follows. Postumus must be taken away. Germanicus must be dealt with as well. I have a plan for that as well.” He winked. “He shall make a splendid hostage. Perhaps they should just cook the shit and send him back to Tiberius.”
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