'Cassia is a guest,' he told me softly. 'No more, but a guarded one. To blades and honor, and a large amount of wealth!' he saluted again. 'I am starving of coin.'
'Really?' I said, trying to stop him from refilling my cup, but he slapped my fingers painfully.
'Really. Gods, by Hercules, I do need this war. I need coin. A lot of coin, a large number in slaves! I have a wife and mistresses to pay for, men to reward, and bribes to pay, after all!' he laughed, and very soon, we were a bit drunk.
'Does Drusus's priests promise us wealth?' I wondered.
He waved his hands and spat. 'Not sure yet. He will seclude himself to the temple the night before we march. What he does there, gods know. But, I know he is not alone.'
'Oh?'
'He has a priest who reads the omens for him. They ask his ancestors for guidance. Those bastards better tell us how to get rich.' He looked slightly disgusted, and we drank more, happy to swap stories, and I remember having a mock fight with him, using nasty cudgels before I fell asleep on the corner of his tent, curled in a ball at my new lord's feet.
The next morning, Cassia threw water on us.
'Pigs! What in Hercules's name are you two doing? There is an army out there getting ready to war, and you two sleep and drink, and sleep again!' She kicked me painfully.
'Cassia, how nice to see you,' I told her and grinned, and she could not help but grin back, though she turned away in mock disgust.
I looked at Chariovalda, who was groaning. 'You hit me with a stool, Hraban.'
'Cudgel, lord, and you hit yourself, I remember it. How many men will I lead?' I asked.
Chariovalda was getting up, massaging his head. 'You are a trooper. You only become a decurion in an alae with knowledge, experience, savagery, if you are lucky enough to survive a few wars! In your case, and judging by the number of enemies you have made, I would not hold my breath!' he laughed more, and nearly choked on phlegm.
He gave me back my weapons and armor, and I gave him an oath to follow him, and to serve him and Rome. Him foremost, Rome second, I felt after the oath, but it did not matter. I signed papers, and so, too, did Ansbor and Fulcher, the next day, with awkward marks that made no sense. I abandoned my Roman gear, and Ansbor and Fulcher wore what the Batavi wore, trousers and the mail, with shoes and Roman helmets. We looked the part. We were mercenaries, being paid two hundred and fifty denarii, and I had a plan on how to kill Drusus.
Outside, I walked and talked with Cassia, happily hearing her stories of Batavorium, and I told her of our weeks of pain.
Men were following us, a constant reminder of what would soon take place.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Castra Vetera was situated in a lush, beautiful valley by the sparkling, swift waters of Rhenus River, defined by rolling pastures of emerald green grass swaying in the northern winds. We could see large deer, lazy moose, and swift foxes peering at us from the hazy birch woods surrounding it. At least this was how it used to look.
Now, it was all different.
The pastures were patchy and trampled, the deep emerald green turned to brown mud, as huge armies concentrated on Castra Vetera. A veritable town had sprung up around the fort and the native village, kept out of the walls by the camp prefect. It grew daily, bringing with it temporary inns, cheap wineries, opportunistic weapon vendors, busy smiths, many doctors, strangely attired fortunetellers, and, of course, whores. There was little peace to be had. Hundreds of men milled around, and temporary legionary camps sprung up, as if summoned by a vitka. I Germanica had arrived one night, and XIX had built their camp on a hill, the XVII in the woods.
I Germanica raised our curiosity. 'They don't look like our people,' Ansbor said, as he spied some of the men of the legion, hoisting bull emblem shields. We were waiting for Chariovalda to give us our orders.
A legionnaire of the V Alaudae grinned at us, apparently of a Germani origin. 'They are a Roman legion, from northern Italy. They were I Augusta, but lost the title after the Cantabrian War. They nearly left the old man in hot water during a battle, retreating like scared rabbits. His guard saved him, but the old man stripped them of the title.' The man enjoyed their disgrace, and smacked his lips. All in all, in the area was massed some sixteen thousand men, some legions and cohorts were, of course, understrength. Some had a lot of new recruits, but it was a massive number of men, nearly one in seven of all the troops in the empire milling in the formerly beautiful plateau.
Then, there were the auxilia. Like in Moganticum, some legionary cohorts and few units of the Alps auxilia would be holding the Castra Vetera, tall men who rarely smiled. The Ubii were not to join, nor the Vangiones, but there was a vast array of other auxilia cohorts, many from Aquitane, Gauls all, strange archers from Syria and Crete, skillful slingers, and even a cohort of Thracian horsemen, forever jealous of the Batavi for the preferential treatment.
The Batavians who were to act as horsemen guards of the legions, exploratores, riding the vulnerable flanks, scouting ahead, seeking out the enemy, preventing them from finding us. These men trained hard. They ran daily, rode after, and fought with arms so wide in range, I didn't even recognize some of them. We trained with them now, Fulcher, Ansbor, and I, serving under a decurion of the second turma in the 1st Batavorium. Junius was halfway gone, the campaign season already far. Then, Sabinus came to see us, waving his wine stick at me while I rode through a set of obstacles, sharp stakes on the ground. He distracted me, and I fell off the horse in full armor, and landed near him. He smiled and walked over. 'You can't ride for shit,' he informed me.
I got up, bristling, and dusted my armor off. 'You are really a pain in the ass, you know that, Sabinus?'
'I am not Sabinus; I am a centurion to you. No, you cannot ride for shit. But, if you become a Roman citizen one day, you are welcome to join my troop. I will give you a letter of recommendation. You and your friends are good lads, even if the one fool will never learn how to swim,' he spat, embarrassed, and shook my arm. 'Now, get on your horsy, and ride to Chariovalda. He has been summoned. The war starts.' He grinned and left, leaving me standing there.
I looked at him going, smiling wistfully at his words. He had beaten me many times with his damnable stick, but now, I would fight for him ferociously. I cleared my head, for Armin would not let me enjoy the trust of Rome. I excused myself from the training, rode by some huge granaries where thousands and thousands of tons of grain were secured, and from where other thousands were consumed each day. The army had to march soon.
As I rode near the castrum, I saw some Batavians riding by in light gear. One had a huge gash in his arm, and he sat in his saddle, ashen-faced. Others were dirty, bloody, and grim. They were scouts. They had already started the war.
A bridge had been built over the river nearly overnight, the skilled legionnaires planting sturdy stakes in the river at angles, men swarming like ants to make the thing hold together. A river was nothing more than a minor obstacle for them. For Germani, going over one was a major undertaking.
On the other side, I saw teams of archers and a cohort of infantry on guard duty. There, under the shade of sparse trees, nothing moved. The woods looked uninviting, dangerous, and deadly. The free Germani were there. They were still silent. Waiting.
Men who wait have plans.
I could imagine Varnis and Maelo, Wodenspear, the lords of Tencteri and Usipetes, all of them preparing. Tudrus, and his sons as well. They would be waiting for us.
Perhaps others. Like the Cherusci.
They knew how many men there were coming over. They knew very well. The Luppia River was the arrow aimed at their heart, ending in hills and mountains that separated the Rhenus tribes from the Cherusci. They must have feared, their Things filled with angry voices, with chiefs arguing how to counter us, and ending up with no other plan than to amass their troops and give a few good battles, asking poor Woden for help.
Or someone had mastered them, and they were waiting with devious plans, as a seemingly unbeatable army
would march against them, one that nonetheless was predictable. Armin would be doing just that, planning and inspiring the Germani. And Drusus thought he was a pup. Perhaps he was, I allowed. We would see, soon.
My chest tightened. I asked Woden, Donor, and Tiw for help, but I could not be sure they were on my side. I had my sword, Nightbright. In the end, by obeying Armin, I would be free of Father. Armin would not stand Maroboodus. I would be a father again, holding Lif. These things would have to do, even if I had no honor or friends left under the skies of Midgard. I left my horse outside the castrum, the guards checked my orders, and I walked through the wide streets, passing barracks, and turned for the principia, where the standards were held, where the leaders gathered.
There was a nervous energy in the legionnaires streaming back and forth from the various barracks. Some were writing, and many gossiping indecently. They had mostly taken on some extra pounds, as experienced soldiers did. Better to carry your extra nourishment on your waist, for there were days ahead when they would eat air and drink tears. There was a throng of men running around the general area of the principalia. Many were centurions, given orders. I spotted my lord, Chariovalda, who was on his tunic, stroking his beard when he saw me, and grinned. 'Chaos, total chaos, as always. One day, it's peaceful, the next, all hell breaks loose. They practically dragged me out of a toilet for this.' He laughed, and I looked embarrassed.
‘I hate the toilets,’ I told him morosely.
He stared at me. 'They have not told you how to use a toilet building? The guards tell me they have seen your ass in the woods when you have to go.'
'Yes, we do it in the woods still,' I said with discomfort. The idea of shitting with a bunch of strangers, and using a common sponge to wipe one’s ass did not appeal to me. He scowled at me, and I waved my hand towards a toilet building. 'Ansbor tried it, but he couldn't use the sponge; it was disgusting,' I said, and shivered. Chariovalda burst into a huge laugh, and evidently disrupted the anxiety prevalent in the other commanders. We collected stares.
'Come. Drusus wanted to see me quickly.' We pushed through to the principia, where legates and camp prefects were doling out orders for chiefs, centurions, commanders of all kinds, and even supply officers were getting theirs. Medical personnel were packing, and being told their places.
Saturninus was talking to Drusus, pulling at his sleeve. 'The XVII will leave three cohorts here, one on the other side. The rest will march with us, as ordered. Will they take their Aquila, or march under vexillation?' he asked tiredly.
Drusus grunted. 'All the legions take their eagle; they need to be seen to become famous.'
'It is not customary to take them, if only a part of the legions marches …' Saturninus started to argue, but Drusus waved him down.
'My army. The damned eagles follow me. See you in a bit.' He waved his hand briskly, and Saturninus left, glancing at me, and sighing as he went.
'Lord Drusus,' bowed Chariovalda to the commander.
'You were there yesterday; you know the plan. Here, your orders,' he said, giving a scroll that fell, and I picked it up. Drusus glanced at me, and gave me a quick smile. 'Serve him well, and you serve me,' he told me, then centurions, and a military tribune pushed near, and he concentrated on them.
'As ordered, the XIX shall deploy first …' he was saying, when Chariovalda took me out.
'So you have your plan already?' I asked.
He nodded. 'Drusus held a meeting last night. He will give the army a speech in half an hour. I have sixteen decurions in the first Batavorium, fifteen in the 2nd. If you perform your duties well, who knows how many will be vacant after this war,' he said evasively.
'Any my posting, lord?' I asked him.
He pointed across to the east. 'You are inexperienced. You and your boys will stay with two turmae in the small fort on the other side of the river, and help guard it.'
I smirked. 'Drusus said he would keep me out of danger, but out of war entirely? And there is no fort on the other side.'
He looked stern, but failed. 'The fort will be there in a few hours' time.'
'And they will march tomorrow morning?' I asked, dreading the night.
'Some will go today, many Batavi are already out there,' he said, looking at his dirty fingernails. 'I know you would like to join us, but if I put you on a trained horse, set you and your boys amongst a trained alae, you will risk their lives. I would like to have you there, but I lead an army, not a collection of shepherds with spears. So, help the alae guard our way home. And our food stocks. Then, we think of your father and your wife. And child.'
'I am to guard grain and cattle?' I asked, my honor insulted, and Chariovalda nodded. I followed him out of the gate.
He placed his hands on my shoulders. 'You have your orders now, Hraban. I am not sure we will meet again, but I just wanted to tell you I am happy I took you prisoner. You are a shifty man, but I think there is an honest streak in you. At least you seem to suffer, when you contemplate on breaking the oaths forced on you. I almost think of you as a son.’
‘You don’t speak too kindly of your daughters,’ I noted.
He grinned and shrugged. ‘Farewell, and let us hope there will be happy news when this war is over.' He left, and I walked off, and found Cassia, who was binding a foot of a Batavi. She noticed me and finished her work, running after me with her guards.
We stopped near the river, our guards hovering nearby. Cassia leaned on me. 'What is wrong?'
I grunted, as the troops were moving around near the bridge. Horsemen rode over, on the other side some cohorts were glinting in the sun, as dolobara were hacking into the muddy ground, digging the moat, and heaping the mud to build the agger, where the walls were being built of felled trees.
'What the hell happened? Can I come with you?' she insisted.
I shrugged as I saw that on the Germani side, nothing moved, still no enemy was seen. It was as silent as a grave mound. Birds were likely singing, and there was a doe staring the camp builders. I took a deep breath. I had to trust my friends, and try to keep them alive at the same time. Impossible, but I had to give them a chance.
'I have to speak with you. This evening. And Ansbor and Fulcher,' I told her evenly.
'Is it serious?' she asked, trying to read some subtle sign of what I was planning.
I massaged at my temples. 'Are you happy here, Cassia?'
'Yes, I am. Despite the trouble you are in. We are in,' she added with a smile. 'There is order here. Things are clear-cut. At least someone is on our side. No matter the threats in the shadows.'
'Ah, but the Romans on our side are as treacherous as the ones against us,' I said with a shudder. 'Drusus had Chariovalda find men to keep an eye on you. To keep me in line. We are still being watched. And they are no idle threats, Cassia. Your life is in danger.'
'We are watched, yes,' she agreed. 'I’m no fool. I know. But, it is a small price to pay for such a splendid army on our side.' She wiped her hand across the horizon, where the Roman army was mustered, and silvery lines of men were amassing on a wide patch of land. 'What will you speak to us about? How to lose all this?' she asked sweetly, yet nervously.
'Yes,' I agreed, and we settled into silence as Ansbor and Fulcher joined us, the former brooding and staying a bit off, watching Cassia listlessly.
In half an hour, most of the army was drawn up on a field opposite of the bridge, men stretching from one end to another, armored men on splendid horses, infantry on foot, panoply of shields making them look like field of silver red flowers, and an army of glittering spear points. Near twenty thousand men. An incredible number of men. I smiled grimly, trying to detach myself from them, the men I had grown to respect and love. I could not help but think on how the shepherds and farmers in Germania were leaving their mud-caked halls, sad huts, and squat houses, grabbing a bunch of sturdy spears and a trusty shield, ready to follow their lords against this killing machine. I felt a tug of regret in my heart, for I was planning on joining them. For Lif.<
br />
Drusus arrived in his war splendor, the man I was to slay. He wore a brilliant golden, incredibly sculpted torso, a thorax sadios, a crested Attic helmet, with a purple horsehair, a cingulum belt, with bronze and golden medals, the splendor hanging around his knees, and a commander’s purple cloak, a paludemanetum was billowing round him as he rode slowly so all the men could see him. He rode from one end of the field to the other, taking his time, and not a man twitched, save for the unruly auxilia, which was growing nervous. His handsome face was smiling, his keen eyes penetrated men's souls, and many stood taller, others avoided his gaze, as if he was a young god who could burn them where they stood. When he stopped in the middle of the field, his officers joined him. There stood Saturninus with the XIX, Sextus Vistilius with the XVII, and other legates in their expensive armor. I smirked. A week from now, all of them would be mud-spattered, bearded, and smell of piss. If Armin got his way, they would never come home. Drusus had the familiar questor, a nervous young man in silvery armor, next to him, and a military tribune, with a red stripe under his chest, a stern looking man with a scar, serving his tenure before moving on to greater things. All were sitting on great horses under Drusus's standard, a purple flag with his name on it, gilded on top.
There, too, strode the Legion standards, all five eagles with wreaths, decorated with legion birth signs, glittering with many phalarae for merits, and men always noted the V Alaudae eagle that had been a Sigambrian possession a few years past, when the fool Marcus Lollius had been surprised. I suddenly wondered if Adalwulf was facing these men today, or in the coming weeks. I had not thought of my grandfather's former champion since he left Maroboodus, but hoped he was well. Drusus guided his horse in small circles near the first Cohort of the XIX, and then rode next to the eagles, his purple cloak billowing in a gust of wind, the reins on his horse jingling with bells. The field was silent, as men let their eyes follow him.
Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2) Page 42
