“Three legions,” he said calmly.
“Three legions, auxilia—”
He grinned. “Twenty thousand men. They will have that. For us, the Marsi. Sigambri, Bructeri. Families of Chauci, and many Chatti, if I am lucky.” He nodded grimly. “I will get perhaps twelve thousand men. More, if we do well on the first day of battle. People will happily jump in, since many are unhappy with the Romans, and with Segestes. We have men, and we have the woods.”
He got up, and went to the door. “Leave messages for me here. Spend the winter, and enjoy your life. Come spring, you will go to him. To Varus. He will be here for one more year. I have much to prepare. A spear at a time, one by one, I shall procure. Do not let me down, Hraban. I’ll not be pushed out of a ship again.”
Sigimer frowned. “What?”
He left, and I nodded, embraced Sigimer, and we spent the winter in peace in the depths of the Cherusci lands.
I was rarely there, but travelled the land, getting to know it. I did that to be ready.
I did that to avoid Cassia, and in the nights, I wept while I camped or slept as a visitor in a foreign hall, alone and still feeling like a fool, betrayed, and stupidly bitter.
CHAPTER 32 (Sigimer’s hall, May 1st, 9 A.D.)
The tales that came to the North spoke of the distant events in Illyricum. The war was all but over. The last Bato, I had no idea which, had fallen to Roman hands, and the remnants of his chiefs and men were being chased to the ends of their land. Impenetrable fortresses here and there were being starved out, but little else remained of the once terrible threat to Roman rule. Rome, they said, was in awe of the illustrious men who won the war, fascinated by the great victory as Pannonian, Breuci, Illyrian, and other slaves flooded the markets, and the great tales that were vastly exaggerated. The victories of Tiberius and, to a large extent of the young Germanicus, echoed even far in the North.
There were hundreds of thousands of dead.
The same could happen in Germania.
Would, in fact, I thought, and shook such thoughts away.
Tiberius was to celebrate a triumph, a rare honor after Augustus had banned the practice, fearing challengers to his power.
Germanicus? Possibly the Pup would be so honored as well.
Augustus, no doubt, was preparing to elevate a man of his own blood to the throne, after all.
The North was at peace.
It wasn’t happy, but it was at peace. And yet, Armin was right. Everywhere we rode, we found men going quiet, and the anger was there, simmering behind blue eyes. Just like the poor Breuci, the dignity had been stripped from the men. They watched the iron fisted legions marching through their lands, witnessed the growing arrogance, the smug pride, the terrible military might at its peak, and yet, the fear grew less with each passing season.
And so, Armin had met with the mysterious völva, many of the old vitka, and the great chiefs, that winter, and during the spring. More, he had men working in the North, preparing.
Spring passed, summer’s light conquered even the shadows of the great woods, and people sowed their crops, herded their horses, fattened their cows, and waited. In the east, the Semnones and Inguiomerus were not raiding each other. The Chatti attacked a few Cherusci halls from their hills and mountains, but otherwise, the only news was the movement of the Roman legions. They heaved to the lands of Segestes, as they did every spring. Legions XVII, XVIII, and XIX, most I had fought alongside with before, came back. The last time I had fought for them, I had been paraded before the victors, celebrated after the butchery where Drusus had nearly lost to Armin and his allies, and I had been one of the men who has saved his hide. They were back, men I once loved.
Still loved.
But I loved my family more.
Gervas. And of course, Cassia.
Cassia.
I hated my pride. I loathed myself for the anger that burned inside, still. Adalfuns had warned me, and I cursed him as well. I sat and ate with Cassia and Gervas when I could, but the silence between us was … deadly.
She needed something else than a brooding bastard, but I could only hear the words of Sasas.
Had there been more than duty?
I had not asked.
I was afraid to ask. Still.
Instead, I concentrated on the war that was to come. We watched the Romans as they marched for the River Albis, where Inguiomerus would give them a grand reception, the gaunt warlord grudgingly paying Roman taxes.
Twenty thousand of them.
They had siege trains, thousands of mules, hundreds of standards, three brilliant Aquila, and a sea of ironclad men with bright shields, and all were carrying a furca with their precious gear packed on it. They stretched for miles and miles, with auxilia alae riding around them, mainly Gauls. Each evening, they built forts, and each morning, they packed up the fort, and went on.
How any undisciplined Germani force could ever beat them, was impossible to guess.
Later, after a month had passed, the Romans came back, and settled in their usual summer camp, on the east bank of the Visurgis River. There they fixed their half-permanent camp and bridges over the river, made sure the roads were clear, and Varus and his commanders were met by hundreds of local Germani chiefs, and there too, would be Segestes. His huge body would be draped in a toga as he made sure Rome loved him best of the other chiefs.
That day I was going to meet Armin. The enormity of the task was heavy on my shoulders, and I felt lost, and tired. While leaving the hall, deep in the woods where we all had been hiding in, Cassia stepped out after me, carrying a pail. She avoided my eyes.
Wandal was seated on a horse, and watched me. I felt like scum, as I walked for him. When I got to the horse, he placed a foot on my chest, and pushed me back. He looked down at me, as I stared at him in astonishment. “Speak to her, you fucking dog-faced shit. Remember Julia? And you have slept with others, for years. And she? She has suffered for you.” He spat at my feet, and turned away from me.
I froze, considered violence, looked away in shame, and walked to her. I stood there, behind her, unsure what to say, terrified, angry, and she turned, blowing hair off her face. She sat on the stone by the well, and stared at me.
“I am …” I told her, and went silent.
“Cruel.” She shivered and looked down, miserable. “I don’t know who you are.”
I nodded, and held my face. “I am cruel. I am sorry. I am not. I must ask …”
“Then ask!” she yelled, silencing the birds.
I took a small step forward. “Did you … have feeling for him?”
She considered me, then her hands.
“Yes,” she answered honestly. “He was a friend. I was lonely. I waited for years, listening to silence, and he filled the silence. He was not very smart, nor charming, but neither was he an evil man. He wanted more, and I tried to …” She took a shuddering breath. “He was going to leave. Was there love? No, I think not. Just trust. Friendship. And then, because of Gervas, I stopped him from leaving.” Her eyes went to the long sword on my side. “Your plan called for his death. I knew it. I accepted it. I dreaded it. That day? The day he spoke of?”
I took as shuddering breath. “Yes.”
“As he said, he had told me he would ask to be removed,” she whispered. “That he could no longer bear to be …” She shrugged. “So, I had to do something.”
“You had to do that much?” I asked her, rage bubbling from my lips.
“As much as you had to do,” she said miserably. “Julia? Others? You have done it all. I also had to do something. I didn’t know how far it could go, but I couldn’t flee, or let him leave. I let it go far. He asked me to give him hope, and I did. He needed proof. He took the proof. I let him. I obeyed him, and did what he asked, more than he spoke of, and finally, let him do what he wished for.”
“Did you enjoy it?” I snarled.
She cursed and tossed the pail at me, missing but barely. “Did you, with Julia?”
I
gnashed my teeth. “I …”
She snarled and slapped me. “I did what you asked me to do. I have been so lonely for so many years. I imagined it was you, and decided I would have to enjoy it, just enough to make it believable. I pleasured him with my hands, and my mouth, and then let him do it, and he was gentle. I enjoyed it more than I should have. For a moment, I forgot about honor, and duty, and took warmth, and love, and just for some minutes, I let someone else care for me, because he needed it, and perhaps I too, needed it. You left me alone with your enemy, and asked me to seduce my guard, and little did you ask me if I could bear it. I was Livia’s prisoner for so long, and then, your father’s. I was afraid. I needed you, not yet another quest, but I tried my best. I needed warmth, and friendship to get through it.”
The words stung me, but perhaps also shame did.
She settled to sit on the well. She spoke miserably. “You asked me to seduce the guard Marcus chose for us. Did you not think it might go far? Too far? I did all that, for us. As much for you, as for Gervas. There was no love on my part, just his. It was just duty, and what little joy I could take of it, I will not apologize for.” She slapped a hand on my chest. “You have ever been … selfish. Ever arrogant. Ever foolish. Forever you have claimed to love us, and then disappeared with the pretension that something better awaits at the end of the road. A haven, a powerful position, honor, fame, and the riches we deserve shall all come to us, if we but wait for a while. All we needed, Hraban, is to be together. Will you ever be happy with me again?” Her voice cracked with the need to know.
I twitched, and covered my face.
“I am numb,” I said. “I wish to—”
“Go to war, Hraban, and if you die, perhaps I can finally start my life anew,” she said. “I do not know if I shall remain here with Gervas. I deserve better.” She left.
I went to Wandal, he spat with anger, and turned away as I grabbed my horse’s bridle. “You will die alone, Hraban. I can see it. You have so much, and still can’t see it. She is the most precious thing you have ever had. She watched you kill a man she had led to your blade, and perhaps that man was her only friend for a long time. Be angry, but not at her.”
Ulrich rode up with Adalwulf, both embarrassed by the discussion they had clearly heard, and we rode off to meet Armin.
***
Armin gave me a curious glance, as we sat on top of a grassy hill, overlooking.
“Are you prepared?” he asked.
I waved the scroll of Tiberius at him. “I am traveling to find you, and seek news of you. Are you ready?”
He nodded. “Almost. Gods, let us succeed,” he muttered, nervously kneading his knee. “Great Woden, just Tiw, and mighty Donor, give us all a blooded weapon at the end of the road, and a brilliant autumn of freedom.” He turned to grasp my hand. I reluctantly shook his. “For a kingdom, let us succeed, or we shall all perish.”
“For victory and family, Armin,” I said. “And I shall do my best.”
He leaned closer. “Remember, I have not forgotten our past. I will not forget. I might forgive.”
***
The gigantic camp spread over the pristine fields like a bloated spider. Legions, grown complacent in their idleness, were training, but many men were also visiting the makeshift villages that had sprung around the fortress. The immunes of the legions were hunting, and fixing and building whatever the army needed. In temporary villages that likely sprung up every year, the local traders grew rich off Roman coin, and in these villages the soldiers found peace with their lovers and wives and families. Some had come all the way from the River Rhenus. Also, whores, sweet wine, and other amusement were easy to find. For a taciturn Germani, bred on honor and the pursuit of oaths, the sight was an abomination. The veteran legions would have little to do, until the summer would be over, and they would march back, bored, fat, tired, and they would take the Roman ways with them. Many would not miss them. The ones who grew to love Rome, would go with them.
I rode forward on a stretch of muddy road, and found some auxilia. They were Gauls with their checkered pants and chainmail, and were riding towards us. The leader was an uncouth lout with a short beard and toothless grin, and I waited.
He frowned, and spoke heavy Latin. “You wish to visit the Castra Varus?” he asked. “Then you pay to be guided there.”
I spat, adjusted my helmet, and they flinched, their eyes taking in Wandal’s cold eyes, and Tudrus, the gaunt man holding his spear over his shoulder, eyeing the lot of them as if trying to decide which to kill first. Ulrich was behind us, holding a bow, and there was an arrow in his hand. Adalwulf spat loudly, and that made them all nervous.
“Well?” the man asked with a worried tone.
“Where exactly is Varus in the camp named after him?” I asked him simply in Latin, and with a voice that brooked no argument or discussion. “I need him. Now.”
“Varus? The Governor himself?” he asked, having apparently hoped to bully some local fool. “And you want him? Why—”
“I am here for Tiberius,” I said icily. “And through him; for Augustus. The Princeps.” I waved a scroll at him, and it was enough to dissuade any doubts they might have had. An official looking scroll would turn anyone familiar with Roman justice into a meek, beaten child.
He nodded to the north, where the camp and the villages spread out. “The great man is at the harbor, speaking with King Segestes.”
“King, eh?” I asked. “I shall see them. Show me there.” He turned to go. I stopped him with an outstretched hand. “And you will pay me. For the honor of showing me there.”
Cold silence. Finally, he pulled out a bag of coins, and I nodded at Wandal. He threw it to my friend, who caught it with flick of his wrist.
They turned, eyeing me with shock, but none uttered a word of protest.
We rode through light woods of beech that were swaying gently in a wind, while birds shrieked happily in the sky. Soon, we came to the villages, turned left and saw the harbor. There we found a great gathering of Germani nobles, right next to a harbor where locals and Romans were toiling. I saw great local boats, clinker-built, a large, gaudy one for Segestes to use, and remembered my suffering in the hands of Helmut, his man. I had been a slave, living in pig-shit for a winter, lost to my friends and family, but I had taken vengeance.
Segestes would not easily forget his missing finger. Nor his burned hall.
I rode up, slowly, and saw Varus, his gray and white hair was plastered to his head, and he sat wearing only a simple tunic. He was facing the great, fat lord of the North, who was explaining something with spittle flying. Varus was taciturn, wide, and had grown a bit of a belly, but looked as keen and ruthless as he had in Rome and Jerusalem. Riches were hard to come by in Germania, but he could likely find enough to make a good profit robbing the Cherusci.
There was no limit to his greed.
I saw a hundred people huddling to the side. They were Germani. All were tied with rope and chain. Many were young women, quite a few beautiful, but there were also sturdy men and frightened children amongst them. Slavers were walking amongst them, assessing the stock, some being pulled out of the group by burly, brutish guards.
Slaves.
Segestes gave him slaves.
Cows would not interest anyone of Varus’s stature. Especially the scrawny Germani cows would be an unimpressive bounty. Slaves would fetch a lot of coin. The very best slaves would be useful for concubines, and the powerful, best suited ones for the gladiator schools, or for work in mines, shops, or fields. Some, no doubt, were even Cherusci that had displeased Segestes, and not prisoners from the other tribes. Segestes would sell his left nut to make such riches for Varus. His lofty position depended totally on the governor.
I rode to them. Some legionnaires noticed me, and turned to walk between us. Their shields held the wild Capricorn of Legio XIX, and the men looked implacable.
Varus turned his eyes to me.
So did Segestes.
Their reacti
ons couldn’t have been more different. And to my luck, in the right order.
“You!” Segestes said with a quivering voice. “Hraban? No! You … dog! Take that man! Take that man, and throw him at my feet! But disarm him first!” he screamed. As he did, Segestes also tried to pull a sword, but couldn’t reach the hilt due to his massive girth. His blonde locks flew as he tried, and his ruddy, fat face glistened with sweat.
The soldiers stepped forward uncertainly.
I smiled at Varus and gestured at the legionnaires. “Lord, if you would …”
Varus smiled. “Let the man be. He is a fine Roman soldier.”
Segestes drew a sharp breath. “He is a … what? No! He is a vagabond! A thief, and a murderer! He—”
Varus, like any Roman noble could, hardly changed his tone. He did so only just enough to silence Segestes. “This was a man of Drusus, and saved the lives of Augustus and Tiberius both, and helped me personally in Jerusalem.” Varus turned his face to Sunna, and then to me. “What is it? Corvus? You still prefer to be called that? How come you are here, at the edge of the world?”
“Evil, murderous bird,” Segestes muttered, and I guided my horse forward, past the two guards who gave reluctant way. I handed Varus my scroll, which he opened, his eyes open wide as he read the words.
“For Tiberius?” he muttered, and handed it back. “This place is far from home, so it must be special duty you are performing.”
“I am seeking Armin,” I said simply. “Armin the Cherusci plotted against Tiberius, and they say he is here.”
Varus snorted. “Armin. Oh, we know of the rogue! We have been looking for Armin for ages. And we know he has been here, then there, and all over the place. He is one of Segestes’s great failures.”
“Lord, I—” Segestes began, but Varus lifted a finger.
“Have failed in finding this minor rebel, have you not? Yes, you have,” Varus said as if to a child.
“He has no power,” Segestes snarled, gathering what dignity he had left. “He is a wounded, shamed wolf prowling in the woods. If you would, can I capture Sigimer, my brother and make him speak—”
The Bane of Gods Page 42
