Eagles at War

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Tullus was standing at the head of his cohort in a mixed field of emmer and millet. To the legionaries’ left, spelt was growing; to their right, lentils. The settlement lay to their north, about a quarter of a mile away. Dozens of thatched houses were visible past the crops. A fox trotted along the cart track which separated their field from the next, casting wary glances at the interlopers to its territory.

They had reached their position without incident, leading Tullus to think that the Usipetes had killed the inhabitants’ dogs. Even at this distance, it was normal for visitors to attract a hysterical chorus of barking, yet their only greeting had been the crowing of a solitary cock.

There were no spirals of smoke rising from the roofs, so no women were up, preparing barley porridge or baking flatbread. Small boys weren’t herding cattle to pasture, or sneaking in twos and threes to the river on fishing expeditions. Tullus felt even more certain that everyone was dead, and that the Usipetes were sleeping off the beer and mead they had drunk. He put the inhabitants’ fate from his mind. Their misfortune, and the Usipetes’ lack of foresight, would see the entire matter resolved fast.

His men had already spread out six centuries wide, with gaps of thirty paces between each unit. The other centurions were experienced men – but Tullus still made one last pass along the front of the cohort, checking that the legionaries were ready to advance, that they knew prisoners had to be taken. Some looked nervous. Many were praying. That was normal. Most wore fixed, determined expressions and the tense nods they gave Tullus was reassurance that they would do their job. He hadn’t long resumed his own place, at the very right of the front rank of his century, when the unmistakeable blare of trumpets carried from beyond the settlement to the north. Tubero and Bolanus, the other cohort commander, were ready. Arminius and his men would be too. Regardless of his ambivalence towards the Cheruscan, Tullus knew the man would play his part.

His stomach knotted now, as it always did before a fight. He offered up his usual prayer, a calming ritual. Great Mars, hold your shield over me and my men. I swear to offer a sacrifice in your honour if most of us make it through. He had learned long ago not to ask that all his soldiers survived. ‘Now,’ he said to the two musicians by his side. As their instruments added their noise to Bolanus’ trumpets, Tullus heard Arminius’ horns sound to the south. ‘Draw swords! Advance, at the double!’ he shouted.

The charge began. The half-grown crop of emmer and millet, never to be harvested, was trampled into the earth by hundreds of studded sandals. They crossed a narrow cart track and entered a field of bitter vetch, flattening that too. A lone pig, one that must have escaped the Usipetes, ran off, squealing. Still there was no movement from the settlement. Tullus kept an eye on the other centuries’ positions, but he made no attempt to keep his front rank parallel with the next unit along. There was no point.

This would not be a set-piece battle, when the legionaries halted a short distance from the enemy to hurl their javelins. Because of the village’s irregular but typical layout – a centre point of a raised, palisaded mound with buildings and workshops of varying size arranged in large, irregular rectangles around it – any sense of formation would be lost as they arrived. From that point, Tullus would lose control of all but the eight or ten nearest men. The trumpeters would provide him with the wherewithal to issue basic orders to the rest of the cohort if needs be.

A hundred paces out from the first buildings, they came across the first body, of a man, lying on his front. Judging by his muddied sandals and worn tunic, he’d been a farmer. As they ran by, a cloud of flies rose, disturbed, from the red stain between his shoulder blades. The corpses came thick and fast after that. Men, women, children. The old, the lame, even the animals had not been spared. Beside a dead boy of about four, Tullus saw a pup that had had its skull crushed. He turned away in disgust, but the dreadful sights were everywhere, too many to block out. What had been done to the village women was the hardest thing to stomach. It hadn’t mattered to the Usipetes whether they were toothless grandmothers or girls too young to have a monthly bleed. They had all been raped before being murdered. Upturned dresses hid the terror that must have distorted their faces, but the corpses’ terrible wounds and their blood-smeared thighs were enough to bring bile rushing up Tullus’ throat.

‘Kill!’ he shouted, unleashing the beast. ‘Kill!’

‘KILL!’ his soldiers roared back. ‘KILL!’

They were almost on top of the houses before the first Usipetes warrior emerged, tousle-headed and bleary-eyed, from a doorway. With an animal roar, Tullus outstripped his men. The warrior was still gaping in disbelief when Tullus’ gladius rammed into his belly so hard that its tip emerged from his back. Tullus’ ears filled with his victim’s screams and he wrenched the sword free. Thrusts that powerful often caused a blade to wedge in a man’s backbone, he thought. That could have meant a stupid death for him. It was fortunate, therefore, that the three other Usipetes inside the house were as drink-fuddled as their dying friend.

Tullus stormed through the doorway, kicking one warrior in the face and smashing the iron rim of his shield on the head of another even as he tried to rise. One of Tullus’ legionaries was hot on his heels; he dispatched the third warrior as Tullus spun back to kill the men he’d stunned with precise thrusts to the chest. In-out. Blood everywhere. In-out. More crimson sprayed. Tullus was about to dispatch his first moaning victim when he caught sight, through the door, of the boy and the dead pup. With a curl of his lip, he stepped over the wounded man. ‘Leave the filth to die,’ he ordered.

Eight soldiers were waiting outside; the others had splintered off as he’d expected. Around them, chaos reigned. By a bonfire that yet smouldered, a score or more of dazed-looking Usipetes had been surrounded by several times their number of legionaries. They died still reaching for their spears. Others who had fallen asleep nearby met the same fate. Wood splintered as door after door was kicked in. Screams of panic followed as warriors woke to the sharp end of Roman swords.

A number of the houses were raised off the ground, standing on four thick wooden legs. When some of the legionaries discovered axes in a workshop, they sought out a building with Usipetes inside and instructed their laughing comrades to prevent any from leaving. As the structure began to wobble beneath their blades, the warriors within tried to climb down the ladder by the door. Two died before the rest retreated inside. Ten heartbeats later, the chosen leg collapsed. The entire structure followed, and as the warriors who yet lived tried to extricate themselves from the wreckage, they were finished off by the cheering legionaries.

The tactic was such a success that it was copied on other raised houses. It was a cruel way to die, but Tullus didn’t intervene. What he’d seen had so revolted him that he didn’t care how the Usipetes were slain. What counted was that their own casualties were few, and that they captured a number of prisoners. How many, Tullus hadn’t yet decided. His men could bathe their swords in Usipetes blood for a time longer.

Not all the raiders proved so easy to kill, however. When spirals of smoke rising from the direction of the river announced the destruction of the Usipetes’ boats, groups of warriors began to band together, even to try and break out of the settlement. While their desperate efforts were contained, it didn’t end there. A short while later, Tullus’ optio Fenestela came pounding over. There was blood spattered all over his face, which made him uglier than ever. He was unhurt, though, which relieved Tullus more than he liked to admit. ‘What is it?’

‘Tubero ordered us to herd as many of the Usipetes into the palisaded compound as we could, sir. It was a good place to trap them, he said. Trouble is, they weren’t all as panicked as we might have liked. Some of them shut the gate. We’ve already lost five or six men trying to get inside.’

Tullus cursed. ‘How many are in there, do you think?’

‘Fifty, maybe more, sir.’

‘Have you seen Bolanus or Arminius?’

‘Bolanus’ men are clearing out the rectangle to our left, sir. Arminius was talking to Tubero, last I saw.’

He should have told Tubero they’d turn the palisade into a defensive position, thought Tullus angrily. ‘How many men have you gathered up?’

‘Fifteen from our century, sir. They’re watching the gate.’

‘Take these legionaries, and one of the trumpeters. Encircle the palisade as best you can. I’ll assemble a couple of centuries and come to join you.’

Fenestela’s face grew concerned. ‘Will you be all right with only a trumpeter, sir?’

Tullus threw Fenestela a sour glance. ‘Piss off.’

‘Very good, sir.’ Fenestela eyed Tullus’ nine soldiers. ‘You heard the centurion, you foot-dragging pieces of shit! Follow!’ He ran back the way he’d come, the men hard on his heels.

Tullus had his trumpeter sound the recall once, and not too loud. He didn’t want panic to spread among the soldiers further away. It wasn’t long before he had two centurions, several junior officers and more than a hundred legionaries standing before him in rough order. Tullus bawled out the reason that he’d ordered them to his side, and they replied with gusto.

Perhaps two centuries were with Tubero at the palisade. Success had eluded him thus far, Tullus saw. A decent number of legionaries lay in and around the gate, and Tullus asked that none of his men be among the dead. The Usipetes were giving no sign that they were ready to surrender.

Ordering his soldiers to form up beside Tubero’s, Tullus went to see what was going on.

Tubero was lecturing Bolanus – who seemed most unhappy. There was no sign of Arminius. ‘You’ve brought more troops,’ said Tubero. ‘Good.’

‘Aye, sir, nearly two centuries.’

‘We’ll take the gate with the next attack, then. There are five ladders on the ground up there. If we fetch another half-dozen, that will be enough.’

‘You had the men attack already, sir?’ Tullus let his eyes wander to the bodies by the entrance.

‘I ordered an immediate charge when I arrived, yes,’ replied Tubero, bridling.

The number of dead had already told Tullus that the assault had been a resounding failure, and Bolanus’ expression confirmed it. ‘It didn’t succeed, sir?’

Tubero’s lips thinned further. ‘No.’

‘The Usipetes defended the palisade savagely,’ said Bolanus. ‘Eight legionaries were killed and a good number wounded. I mentioned sending to the camp for the bolt-throwers-’

‘To Hades with the bolt-throwers!’ cried Tubero. ‘It would take half the day to transport them here. The men will attack again now. We outnumber the dogs four, five to one. They’ll never hold.’

Tullus took a deep breath and said, ‘It could be that you’re right, sir, but they’ve seen the smoke from the boats, and our greater numbers. Every one of them knows he’s going to die, which is why they’re screaming blue murder, rousing themselves into battle frenzy. We’ll lose a lot of men.’

‘Your point is, centurion?’ Tubero laid heavy emphasis on the last word.

‘There’s no need to suffer so many casualties, sir.’

‘I am in charge here! I-’

Tullus’ frustration bubbled over. ‘Governor Varus sent me on this mission because of my experience, sir. A frontal assault isn’t our only option.’

‘Are you trying to tell me how to do my job, centurion?’ cried Tubero.

‘No, sir,’ said Tullus, clenching his jaw.

‘Good.’

‘Maybe we should do as-’ began Bolanus, but Tubero cut him off.

‘The Usipetes haven’t got enough men to defend the entire perimeter,’ he said, as if no one else would have seen this. ‘Take a group of soldiers around to the far side, Tullus. Scale the palisade, hit the bastards in the rear, and open the gate.’

He’s seen sense, thought Tullus, guessing from what Bolanus had started to say that the original idea had belonged to Arminius. ‘Very good, sir.’

Then came the sting in the tail. ‘You can have twenty men.’

Twenty? thought Tullus in alarm. Arminius wouldn’t have said to use that few. Would he? ‘Forty would be better, sir.’

‘Are your men are not up to the task?’ needled Tubero.

‘I’m not saying that, sir,’ Tullus began to protest.

‘Fine. Twenty it is then.’

‘That’s not enough, sir,’ said Bolanus.

‘If I want your opinion, Bolanus, I will ask for it.’ Tubero’s eyes were like chips of flint as he regarded Tullus. ‘Be quick, centurion. I don’t want to wait around all day.’

‘Sir.’ You spoilt, arrogant brat. Fuck you, Tullus thought, saluting. ‘You’ll attack when you hear the fighting begin?’

‘Of course.’

Tullus strode off, lamenting his inability to keep his temper under control. Thanks to Tubero, it was possible that he had just opened a swift route to Hades for himself and twenty men.

Despite his fury, Tullus did not rush his soldiers into position. They were veterans, whose lives were too valuable to waste because of a new tribune’s pique. If they had to die, he would ensure that they did so armed with everything that might help their cause. To scale the palisade fast, without men injuring themselves, ladders would be vital. Tullus gave thanks for the locals’ raised houses. It was a simple matter to remove four ladders from buildings that hadn’t been hacked down. Thus equipped, he, Fenestela and twenty legionaries from his century took a circuitous route out of the settlement – now also lined with Usipetes’ corpses – and back through the fields they’d traversed a short time before. He could but hope that the warriors within the compound weren’t keeping watch, or that his party was far enough away to remain unseen.

Fenestela hadn’t queried their orders before Tubero or the men, but he’d served with Tullus long enough to do so in private. In low tones, Tullus explained what had happened. ‘I was trying to stop lives being thrown away without need. The prick wouldn’t listen. No doubt his head’s full of the glory that this “stunning” victory will earn him. The quicker it’s done, the better it will sound in his report to Varus.’ He sighed. ‘I lost it for a moment, Fenestela. I made it clear that it wasn’t he who was in charge, but I. That’s why we’re on this fucking suicide mission.’

‘I would have done the same, sir,’ said Fenestela, spitting. ‘He’s a cunning bastard. Even if we fail, those tribesmen won’t be able to hold out for long, so whatever happens, Tubero comes out smelling of roses. We’ll just have to do the job without getting killed, eh? That’s the best way of pissing him off.’

‘You’re incorrigible, Fenestela,’ said Tullus, taking heart.

‘I’ve no idea what that means, sir, but I’ll take it as a compliment.’

Tullus laughed. ‘It means, Fenestela, that there’s no one else I’d rather have with me.’

Fenestela’s grin made him uglier than ever. ‘Likewise, sir.’

Tullus was pleased to find a small copse of beech and hornbeam northwest of the settlement. Whether it held a sacred purpose, he wasn’t sure, but it ran quite close to part of the palisaded compound. He couldn’t have asked for a better way to conceal his men. Leaving them in the depths of the trees, he and Fenestela crept to the copse’s edge, where they took refuge behind a towering beech. They waited in silence, scanning the top of the palisade. There was still a considerable clamour going on, but it appeared to be coming from over by the gate.

‘If there are any sentries, they’re not doing a good job,’ Tullus said after a time.

‘Why don’t I have a look, sir?’ Fenestela indicated the branches above. ‘I was a dab hand at climbing trees when I was a lad.’

‘That was neither today nor yesterday,’ said Tullus, watching with some amusement as Fenestela shed his belts and shucked off his mail shirt and the padded subarmalis below.

‘Gods, but that feels good,’ said Fenestela, raising and lowering his arms to let air waft under his sweat-sodden wool tunic.

‘Get up there,’ growled Tullus, linking his two hands.

Boosted to the first branch, Fenestela had soon scrambled above that to the second and then the third. Tullus’ nerves jangled as he watched. If any of the Usipetes spied Fenestela, any chance of a surprise attack would vanish. To his relief, no shouts rose from within – close by at least – but he didn’t relax until Fenestela leaped down to rejoin him. ‘Well?’ he demanded.

‘There are a couple of warriors patrolling the walkway. They’ll pass by soon.’

‘We wait, then, until after they’ve gone.’ Tullus clapped Fenestela on the arm. ‘Keep an eye out as you get your kit on. I’ll fetch the men.’

When Tullus returned, Fenestela reported that the sentries had gone by, oblivious to his presence. ‘Fifty heartbeats ago, sir.’

‘We move now.’ Tullus didn’t waste any time encouraging his soldiers. They knew what needed to be done – he’d already made that clear. Urging the men with the ladders out of the trees first, Tullus felt his pulse racing as if he were facing an enemy charge. Fortuna, give me two sixes now, he prayed.

They tramped through the greenery to the base of the palisade, which was about one and a half times a man’s height. Muttered curses rose from the soldiers in the lead as brambles tore at their hands. Tullus glanced to the left and right, along the top of the palisade, but could see nothing. ‘Up, up as fast as you can,’ he said to the assembled legionaries. ‘We’ll regroup on the other side, and then head for the gate as if Cerberus was about to tear chunks out of our arses. Clear?’

‘Aye, sir.’ It was pleasing that, despite the danger, most of his men grinned.

Four ladders. Four men to lead the way. Four men to risk their lives first. Tullus was one, Fenestela another. The two others were legionaries who’d volunteered before Tullus had asked. The rest took their places behind the climbers, in little lines. Tullus’ guts churned. They were few, so few. Fucking Tubero, he thought, you’d better order the attack when the fighting starts. He began to ascend. Beside him, the others did the same. One rung. Two. Three, and Tullus’ head was almost over the spiked edge of the wooden rampart. It was then he realised that the red horsehair crest of his helmet would already be visible. Other than shouting, there was no better way to advertise his presence. Heart pounding like a smith’s hammer on a white-hot blade, he placed his feet on the last rung, gripped the timbers with both hands and threw himself over the top of the palisade without checking if there were any warriors close by.

The air drove from his lungs as he landed on a narrow walkway; his nostrils filled with the tang of untreated timber. Tullus’ flesh crawled; he was as helpless as a newborn that had fallen from the cot. He struggled to his knees and stood, finding to his relief that he could see no tribesmen, nearby at least. The compound was dominated by a large, grassy mound. Past it, he made out the gate and, around it, scores of warriors. They were too far away – three hundred paces or more – for him to estimate their exact number, but they outnumbered his force several times over. Loud thuds announced the arrival of Fenestela and the two legionaries. Tullus leaned out over the edge and beckoned at the rest. ‘Move it! Move!’

By the time that the last of his men were atop the palisade, Tullus, Fenestela and the others had clambered down to the inside of the compound.Crazy though it was, they had still not been seen. Unslinging their shields, they waited for the final soldiers to join them. To calm his jangling nerves, Tullus studied the large space. It was typical of local villages, a gathering point for the entire community, where religious ceremonies, weddings and festivals could be held. The only structure was a large stone altar that stood in front of the earth mound. Tullus’ jaw clenched. They would have no shelter as they made for the gate.

‘Gather round,’ he ordered. ‘Our task is simple. We sprint to the gate like runners at an Olympic games. They’ll notice us long before we get there, but we keep moving at all costs. Once we reach the gate, we open the bastard and let our brothers in.’ They wouldn’t get that far of course, but sounding confident was vital.

‘Will our boys attack when they hear the fighting, sir?’ asked a soldier.

‘They will,’ replied Tullus, thinking: I wouldn’t trust Tubero as far as I could throw him, the miserable whoreson. ‘But we don’t need any help, do we?’

‘No, sir!’ said Fenestela. ‘We’ll shit on those Usipetes bastards from a height!’

Not every soldier’s face registered the same certainty as Fenestela’s. Some looked plain scared, but Tullus had no time to indulge them. ‘Form up. Five wide, four deep. I’ll take my usual place. Optio, stand in the rear rank, on the left.’ The unspoken part of Fenestela’s job would be to ensure that no one tried to retreat. Cynicism filled Tullus. Not that there was any point, here. ‘Draw swords. Follow!’

He broke into a run, and twenty-one soldiers chased after. Tullus counted his steps, as he had since his first battle. It made the stomach-churning job of charging towards men who would kill him if they could a little easier.

A little.

Ten paces. Twenty. Thirty, forty, fifty. There had been no cries of alarm yet, no shouts from the Usipetes by the gate, or from the sentries on the walkway. Where in Hades were they anyway? Tullus didn’t look, didn’t move his eyes even a fraction from the main body of warriors. His mouth was dry, but sweat was running from under his felt arming cap. He swept it away with his right arm. Sixty paces. Seventy. Gods, are they blind and deaf? he wondered. Despite himself, he began to hope. Maybe the racket from without the palisade was concealing the noise of their approach?

At ninety-one paces, Tullus heard a cracked shout, then another. They’d been seen. He risked a look to the left, and to the right. One of the sentries was dancing up and down like a cat thrown on to still-hot embers, and yelling at the top of his voice. Tullus’ eyes slid back to the gate, and the men defending it. Heads were turning, incredulity was registering, but no one had moved yet.

‘DO NOT SLOW DOWN!’ he ordered.

Content that a good number of the Usipetes were holed up in the palisade, Arminius had taken Maelo and a dozen of his best warriors to ride through the settlement and see how the rest of the raiders were faring. The one-sided nature of most of the fighting was most gratifying. So too was the lack of prisoners. The red mist of combat was affecting the legionaries as well as his own men, thought Arminius with satisfaction, which was just what he’d hoped for. Apart from at the palisade, it wouldn’t be long before the battle ended. With luck, there would be almost no captives. It was time to seek out Tubero once more, to see that the same happened there.

Bolanus saw him approaching, and gave him a friendly look, but when Tubero noticed, he got only a haughty nod. What a prick, thought Arminius. But a useful one, potentially.

‘Arminius,’ said Bolanus. ‘Is all well?’

‘It is. Any remaining resistance will soon be crushed.’

Tubero glanced at the warriors atop the palisade. ‘These ones won’t hold out for long either.’

Arminius noted legionaries’ bodies before the entrance that had not been there when he’d left. It seemed the boy still wasn’t using his brain. ‘Have you sent for the bolt-throwers, tribune?’

‘For the love of Jupiter! You asked before. Tullus said the same thing,’ Tubero snapped. ‘No, I have not. I want to finish this before sundown. Tullus and twenty legionaries are going to scale the other side of the palisade and open the gate.’

‘That’s not very many men, tribune.’

‘It is if I order an attack the moment fighting begins within,’ retorted Tubero with a sniff.

Arminius set aside Tubero’s annoying self-importance and the fact that Tullus and his men stood a good chance of being killed. The palisade would be taken soon, one way or another. Hundreds of legionaries were on hand now, and he could do nothing about the prisoners who might be taken from this point on. What concerned him as much was the chance of raiders escaping over the palisade’s unguarded back wall. He had to intervene, because success was within his grasp. Arminius lowered his voice so that the others present couldn’t hear – the better to protect Tubero’s fragile ego. ‘It’s clear that the gate must be taken, tribune, but I wonder if a multi-pronged attack would work better.’

Tubero scowled, but he didn’t protest as Arminius explained how his men could split up and stand on their horses’ backs to climb the palisade – in different places. ‘The mission will be an unqualified success whatever happens, tribune, but fewer legionaries might die if you thought my advice worthwhile. The loss of a senior centurion would be a grievous loss. Varus-’

‘All right, I see what you’re driving at,’ Tubero admitted, his colour rising. ‘Order your men into position. They’re to attack when the trumpets sound.’

‘A fine plan, tribune.’ Arminius inclined his head, feigning respect. ‘You heard, Maelo. See that it’s done.’ Maelo muttered his agreement and Arminius added, in German, ‘I want none of the Usipetes to escape, d’you understand?’

‘Aye.’ Maelo dragged his horse’s head around and rode off.

‘What did you just say?’ demanded Tubero.

‘I told him that you were relying on our men, that they must not fail,’ he lied.

Even with an approving nod, Tubero could convey disdain.

Arminius didn’t care. It wouldn’t be long before almost every Usipetes warrior was dead. What few captives were taken could be dealt with back at Vetera. His secret would be safe. If Tubero’s arrogance was the price he had to suffer to achieve that end, so be it.