Eagles at War

XX

Arminius had slept little. Despite his best efforts, he had spent the night trying to come up with details he might have forgotten, and worrying that Varus would realise what was going on before he and his warriors rode away for the last time. His lack of rest should have left him feeling gritty-eyed and weary, and prone to losing his temper. This was an extraordinary day, however. When the first hint of light entered his tent, Arminius sprang from his bed, his spirits buoyant. Tomorrow, I will fulfil my oath, he thought.

Donar will have his blood offering.

Arminius made his way to the centre of the rectangular space formed by his men’s tents, shivering a little from the predawn chill and, if he were honest, nerves. A faint line of red marked the eastern horizon, an indication that sunrise was not long off. The sky, yet glittering with stars, was almost clear of cloud. There was no wind. It would be another glorious autumn day, he thought, like the previous seven days or more. These weren’t the best conditions for an ambush – fog or rain was preferable – but it might change later, or by the following day. If fine weather were all he had to complain about, however, he’d be a lucky man. Donar, be good to us, Arminius prayed. Let Varus and his men remain unsuspecting until it is too late.

He wasn’t surprised when Maelo appeared. They embraced. ‘Couldn’t sleep?’ asked Arminius.

‘Not much. You?’

‘The same.’

‘We can rest when it’s over,’ said Maelo with a smile. ‘Our plan remains the same?’

‘It does. We leave camp at the head of the column, following protocol. It’s important that we range far enough ahead that the other auxiliaries don’t see us. By mid-morning, having “heard” the “news” of unrest among the Angrivarii from a passing traveller, we ride back and inform Varus.’

‘What if he doesn’t believe you?’ asked Maelo, ever wary.

‘He won’t be able to resist,’ said Arminius with confidence. ‘The territory of the Angrivarii is so close, and if word reached Augustus that Varus had ridden past a tribal uprising without bothering to investigate, there’d be hell to pay.’

‘You’re a clever bastard.’

Most of the time, this would have made Arminius smile, but he was feeling a deal more superstitious than normal. ‘Call me that in a few days, when we have succeeded. Until then, pray as you’ve never done before.’

Maelo thumbed his hammer amulet. ‘And this afternoon, we find the other tribes?’

‘Aye. Varus won’t be alarmed that I want to scout a little of the route ahead. By this evening, gods willing, we will have met up with our allies. Varus’ legions will continue marching north, further from their roads. We’ll fall on them tomorrow.’

A trumpet called from the legions’ lines. A second joined it, and then a third. Within a few heartbeats, innumerable others had begun to blare, shredding the once peaceful air with their strident summons.

‘It begins,’ declared Arminius, squaring his shoulders. ‘Let’s rouse the men.’

Woolly-headed from the wine he had drunk with Fenestela, Tullus had traced his way to the principia before dawn, which was where he had the bad luck to run into Tubero yet again. The tribune looked as if he were about to go on parade: armour shining, boots buffed, fresh-dyed helmet crest. He frowned at Tullus. ‘Drinking last night, centurion?’

‘I had a drop, sir, same as you probably did,’ replied Tullus, cursing inside his inability to hold back. He and Fenestela were like twins in that respect, each as bad as the other.

‘I don’t touch wine before an important march,’ said Tubero, in a smug tone. ‘Whereas you look as if you tried to outdo Bacchus – and lost.’

A passing centurion threw Tullus a disapproving glance. Tullus didn’t have the energy to react, or to mention Tubero’s drinking when they had been in Aliso. ‘I’m fine, sir,’ he said, making to walk past.

Tubero blocked his path. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘To speak to Varus, sir.’

‘Do you know how busy the governor is at this moment?’

Tullus’ temper flared. ‘After a lifetime in the army, I’ve got more of an idea than you do, sir.’ He grated out the last word.

The sentries’ eyes almost fell out of their heads, and Tubero’s face turned crimson. ‘How dare you be so impertinent?’

‘My apologies, sir,’ said Tullus, cursing inside.

‘We’ll have words about this later. Back to your unit! Varus doesn’t wish to speak to you.’

The bile welling up at the back of Tullus’ throat wasn’t because of the wine he’d drunk. Like as not, Varus wouldn’t have paid his warning any heed, but now he would never know – and it was all because of his big mouth. He longed to enter the principia regardless, but that would give the tribune permission to have him arrested. ‘Yes, sir.’

If Tubero hadn’t been there, Tullus would have regarded Varus’ sallying from the entrance at that very moment as nothing short of divine intervention. As it was, it only added to the shit he was in. Despite the gaggle of staff officers around him, Varus caught sight of Tullus and smiled.

Tullus stepped forward, called out, ‘Governor!’ but Tubero intervened.

‘I’m just getting rid of this centurion, sir! He accosted me with a wild tale of wanting to speak to you, but as you can see, he’s much the worse for wear. I’ve ordered him back to his cohort.’

Varus studied Tullus, frowning. His staff officers did the same. ‘You do look seedy, centurion,’ said Varus. ‘That’s poor behaviour from a veteran of your standing – particularly today of all days.’

‘I’m fine, sir,’ protested Tullus.

‘You had better be.’ Varus’ tone was acidic. ‘Why are you here?’

Tullus did his best to ignore the line of disapproving faces. This was his final chance. ‘It’s about Arminius, sir.’

‘Not that, again!’ snapped Varus. ‘You’ve given me your opinion of him. I do not wish to hear it yet another time. Arminius is a tried and trusted Roman ally, and that’s an end to it. If I hear of you spreading sedition about him, you can expect to end your career in the ranks. Understand?’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Tullus, staring at the ground.

‘Get out of my sight,’ ordered Varus.

As Tullus walked away, defeated, he could see Tubero smiling from the corner of his eye. His ears were full of the other officers’ muttered comments. Cynicism filled him. Why had he even bothered? The army’s route was set and, if his hunch was correct, it was a path to Hades.

Arminius and his men had ridden almost eight miles towards Vetera before they reached a crossroads, where a cattle-droving track crossed the road, running in a north-south direction. Arminius reined in, and gazed at the northward-leading section with a pensive eye. This was the spot he had chosen, and which he had visited several times over the previous year. It felt unreal – and exhilarating – to be here with Varus’ legions only a couple of hours behind.

There had been no sign of the other auxiliary cavalry, a unit of Gauls, for some time, which was just as he’d wished. The Gauls had shown no inclination to increase their leisurely pace as Arminius’ riders left them behind. ‘What’s the hurry?’ some had shouted in poor Latin. ‘Vetera isn’t going anywhere.’ The same relaxed air had been apparent in the whole army before the legions had set out from Porta Westfalica, filling Arminius with a dark joy. Why wouldn’t it? he thought. The summer was over, the harvest in, the taxes collected. There had been no trouble among the tribes. It was time to return to their bases on the western bank of the Rhenus, and there enjoy the quieter period of winter.

The same unperturbed attitude was evident among the contubernium – eight legionaries – whose job it was to guard the crossroads. Three were sitting by a fire outside their tent, while the rest stood at the junction, looking bored. They called out greetings to Arminius’ men, who responded with friendly salutes. The most senior, a veteran who looked similar in age to Tullus, sauntered over and saluted Arminius. ‘Scouting, sir?’

‘Aye. I’ve a mind to head that way.’ Arminius pointed north.

The legionary shrugged. ‘Few people use that route, sir, just some of the local farmers. I doubt you’ll find much of interest.’

‘Probably not,’ agreed Arminius with a resigned-looking smile. ‘But even when there’s naught to see, a scout has to keep looking, eh? Just as a sentry has to stand watch, regardless of the fact that nothing will happen.’

‘I ain’t complaining, sir,’ said the legionary, chuckling.

‘Nor I,’ said Arminius, smiling and thinking: If only you knew the reason I am here. ‘See you upon our return.’ Aiming his horse towards the track, he signalled that his men should follow.

He reached another junction after two miles, where an even tinier path crossed the one they were on. A band of Marsi warriors was waiting there, which Arminius had been expecting. The Marsi were the last tribe he had won over, not a month since. It was a feat he was proud of, because his people and theirs had a history of bitter feuding. The price had been high: one of the three legions’ eagles would go to the Marsi when the slaughter was over. Even this glittering prize had not persuaded all the Marsi, however. From the guarded looks on the waiting warriors’ faces, they fell into this undecided category.

Arminius pulled a broad smile and dismounted. ‘Well met, brothers!’

Most of the warriors ignored him, or just grunted. Arminius’ riders muttered angrily, and one spat. Arminius threw them a furious glare, and they subsided.

A tall, spindly man with twin braids of hair falling on his shoulders stood forth from the grouped Marsi. ‘You’re Arminius.’

‘I am. And you are …?’

‘Ecco.’ He stared at Arminius’ hand for a moment before he shook it. ‘We’ve been here for hours.’

It was pointless for Ecco to be annoyed, thought Arminius, fighting irritation. He’d had no way of predicting the exact timing of his arrival, and the Marsi warrior would have known that. ‘I am grateful that you came,’ he said, dipping his head. ‘Your chieftains knew the path I had chosen, but I wanted there to be no chance for error when the time came. Many thousands of warriors have answered my call, but your spears will still be needed.’

Ecco made a non-committal noise. He glanced up and down the narrow track, then gave Arminius a disbelieving look. ‘You’re going to lead the legions down this?’

Arminius could feel Ecco’s companions’ eyes on him, as heavy as the lead weights that drag a fishing net into the depths. He struck a confident pose, and threw his voice so that all could hear. ‘I am. This very day.’

Ecco curled his lip. ‘Why would they even consider it?’

‘Your misgivings are understandable, my friend.’ Arminius waved at the beech and hornbeam trees that pressed in on each side. ‘This is not a good route for an army to take. There’s no space for the legionaries to march in their normal formation. Their cavalry won’t be able to deploy – they’ll even have to dismount in places. The wagons and the artillery – well, you can imagine how difficult travelling through here will be. And as for what will happen when we reach the first stream …!’

‘There’s marsh up ahead too,’ said Ecco.

‘Indeed there is,’ agreed Arminius, grinning. ‘The track winds around a hill after that.’

‘These are things that Varus will hear from his scouts. Each one is a good reason for him to keep his army on the road to Vetera. Taken together, well, only a madman or a fool would set out on this path,’ declared Ecco, glancing at his companions and receiving their approval.

‘Varus is not mad. Nor is he a fool,’ declared Arminius. ‘Better than either of those, he’s my friend. The man trusts me as he would his own flesh and blood. I have built a relationship with him these many months; I have taken him hunting, and shared enough wine with him to launch a warship. In his mind, I am a Roman, a nobleman such as he. Which, to all intents and purposes, I am! Did not Augustus himself, the emperor’ – Arminius spat the last word – ‘grant me equestrian status some years past? The notion that I could be a traitor is anathema to Varus.’

‘Even so, why would he agree to leave the main road?’

Arminius threw a friendly arm around Ecco’s shoulders, and was pleased when the other did not pull away. ‘Because I – his chief scout – will ride back from here with urgent news. I’ll mention little about the track. Instead I will tell Varus that the Angrivarii have risen against Rome, in protest against the new tax. The temptation for Varus to crush a small tribe – whose territory lies so close to his army’s route – will be as irresistible as an overripe plum to a wasp.’

Doubt lingered in Ecco’s eyes. ‘Why go to all this trouble? We could just attack Varus’ legions on the main road. Rumour has it that almost twenty thousand spears have rallied to your cause. With those numbers, victory is certain.’

‘Not certain. Underestimate the Romans at your own peril.’ Arminius’ tone was light, to avoid giving offence. ‘Let the legions take this narrow path, however, where they will have to march out of formation, their cavalry and artillery useless, with no way of turning back or striking out to either side, and victory becomes ever more likely.’ He gave Ecco a conspiratorial wink. ‘Have you seen the earthworks?’

Ecco shook his head.

‘Some miles further on, the other tribes have been constructing fortifications along one side of the track. They’re hundreds of paces in length, taller than a man, and hidden by the trees. Thousands of warriors can conceal themselves behind them. When the signal’s given, they will fall upon the unsuspecting Romans with the speed and force of a landslide.’ Arminius glanced at Maelo for confirmation.

‘He speaks the truth, as Donar is my witness,’ said Maelo. ‘They’re an impressive sight, Ecco. The Romans won’t realise a thing until it’s far too late.’

‘The weather is changing too.’ Arminius lifted his gaze. The section of sky visible above the trees was a threatening shade of grey-black. ‘There’s rain on the way. It won’t take the legions long to turn the place into a complete quagmire. Have I convinced you yet, Ecco?’

Morning was passing by the time Arminius and his men had returned to the vanguard, comprised that day of the Nineteenth Legion. Ordering his followers to travel at the army’s head as before, he went on, accompanied by Maelo. The marching legionaries took up the entire width of the road, meaning the pair had to ride on the narrow strip of ground on one side. Moving against the general flow attracted curious glances aplenty from the tramping soldiers, and shouted questions from centurions and optiones. Continuing to play his affable role despite his rising desire to do the opposite, Arminius bestowed broad smiles aplenty and repeated, ‘My news is for the governor, and he alone.’

He was encouraged by the large numbers of civilians throughout the column. Mobile vendors of food and drink, who’d been supplying the army through the summer months, walked up and down alongside the files of legionaries, selling watered-down wine, bread and sausages. There were women too – soldiers’ common-law wives, or whores – carrying bundles of clothing and pots, and packs of shrieking children running along, playing chase. Here and there, in the breaks between cohorts, were wagons laden down with baggage, injured men and what looked like more than one officer’s personal belongings. Arminius even spotted a soothsayer, promising anyone who’d listen that he could read the future from the way a scatter of crows was flying overhead, or the pattern of clouds in the sky. His spirits rose further. Everything he was seeing was against military regulations. Non-combatants – women, children, merchants and the rest of the raggletaggle that followed an army – were banned from walking with the legionaries, in particular the vanguard. All vehicles were supposed to travel with the baggage train, much further down the column.

By rights, the next section of troops in the column should have been ten soldiers from every century in the three legions, eighteen hundred men, carrying the tools necessary to dig out a marching camp. There was no sign of them. Their absence was understandable, thought Arminius with grim satisfaction, because Varus and his legates were expecting the army to utilise the temporary earthworks built close to the road in previous years, and later on, parts of the permanent camps such as Aliso. Once he had delivered his calamitous ‘news’, and the legions began travelling in a different direction, a marching camp would be required that night. Work parties would have to be separated out from each legion, and sent forward. Even if this were done the moment he’d spoken to Varus, the site would not be ready when the main body of the army arrived. It was a small thing, thought Arminius, but it would begin to unsettle the Roman troops.

The engineers, who should have come after the camp-builders, were nowhere to be seen either. This was not unreasonable: the army was travelling along a paved road, straight back to Vetera. Once the column headed off this route, however, things would change. The first deep stream would bring the army’s progress to a standstill until the engineers and their equipment had been brought forward.

The ox-drawn wagons carrying Varus’ and the most senior officers’ baggage were in the correct place at least. Escorted front and back by half a cohort of legionaries, they were a score or more of heavy-laden vehicles with creaking axles, sweating drivers and passengers who’d cadged a free ride. Arminius spotted Aristides in the back of one wagon, his face screwed up with discontent. He had a rolled-up document in each hand, and was vainly attempting to keep away the clouds of flies that hung overhead.

‘Enjoying the ride?’ Arminius called out. Surprised to see him, Aristides shook his head in vehement denial.

‘I’m being eaten alive.’

‘The biting flies are attracted by the cattle. Get out and march with the legionaries,’ Arminius suggested, knowing full well that the scribe wouldn’t be up to walking twenty miles a day.

Aristides gave him a dark look. ‘I’ll stay where I am.’

‘As you please,’ said Arminius as Maelo chortled.

They rode on, soon catching sight of the First Cohort of the Nineteenth Legion, Varus’ designated protection for the march back to Vetera. Everything about these troops stood in contrast to the soldiers who’d gone before. Sunlight flashed off their standards, polished armour and helmets, and their ranks were as neat and straight as if drawn by a carpenter’s rule. The measured tread of their hobnailed sandals added a deep cadence to the general clamour. They were an impressive sight, and reminded Arminius again why he would always try to avoid direct confrontation with the legions. German warriors were stout-hearted fighters and unafraid of dying, but standing toe-to-toe with legionaries in battle was a poor idea.

The more vigilant manner of Varus’ escort was borne out when a challenge rang out as the pair drew near. ‘Halt! Identify yourselves,’ bellowed a centurion from the front rank.

Arminius raised a hand in a peaceful gesture. ‘I am Arminius of the Cherusci, commander of the ala attached to the Seventeenth. I bring urgent news for Governor Varus.’

A few words saw Arminius and Maelo waved on, past the marching legionaries. A large party of horsemen followed on the soldiers’ heels. Despite his confidence, Arminius’ stomach did a neat roll as he spotted Varus in the midst of his staff officers. If his story was in any way unconvincing, his entire plan could unravel.

He glanced at Maelo, and alarm filled him. Sweat was rolling down his second-in-command’s face. There was a wild look to his eyes too, such as a sheep has, seized by the slaughterman, a moment before its throat is slit.

‘What in Donar’s name is wrong with you?’ hissed Arminius.

‘He’ll know. Varus will know what we’re up to.’

‘He fucking won’t!’ Arminius smiled and waved at Varus, who had seen him. ‘In his mind, we are trusted and proven allies. For us to commit treachery would be unthinkable.’ Maelo swallowed, nodded, but looked no less panicked. Twenty paces away, Varus was beckoning. ‘Control yourself, Maelo, or I swear I’ll cut your balls off, and shove them down your damn throat.’

Maelo swept an arm across his face and forced a grin.

‘Arminius!’ called Varus.

‘Greetings, governor,’ said Arminius, adopting a sombre tone.

Varus’ smile vanished. ‘Is something wrong?’

Donar, help me now, Arminius asked, turning his horse so that he was on Varus’ right side and moving in the direction of travel. Head down, Maelo copied him. The army stopped for no man. ‘In a manner of speaking, yes,’ said Arminius. ‘We encountered a merchant fleeing south while scouting. He reported that the Angrivarii have risen in numbers against Rome.’

Varus scowled. ‘In Jupiter’s name, why?’

‘The new tax, it seems.’

‘Taxes are sent to plague us all! One might as well fight the rain as resist them,’ said Varus in a weary voice.

‘If everyone realised that, the world would be a simpler place,’ agreed Arminius.

‘The Angrivarii live to the north of here – not far, is it?’

‘Some thirty to forty miles, no more.’ Heart thumping, Arminius kept his mind fixed on the image of an iron fish hook, decorated with a fat worm, sinking delicately below the surface of a river. A short distance below, a fine trout watched it with beady eyes. Take it, thought Arminius. It’s there just for you.

‘Your second-in-command – Maelo, isn’t it – is he all right?’ asked Varus. ‘He seems unwell.’

Arminius threw a casual glance over his shoulder at Maelo. It was a small consolation that his face was no longer running with sweat, but his complexion was a pasty shade of grey. Arminius made a dismissive gesture. ‘The fool ate some fish last night, governor. Fish that was reputed to have come from the sea! He’s been paying for his thoughtlessness since dawn. Coming out both ends, it is, regular as anything.’

‘Enough, Arminius,’ ordered Varus, looking pained. ‘I have more to be concerned about than Maelo’s insides. Tell me every word that this traveller said.’

Relief flooded through Arminius. He was careful not to add many specifics to his fictitious report. An innocent bystander would not be someone to note warrior numbers and suchlike. ‘The man was terrified,’ he concluded. ‘He lingered long enough only to tell me his tale before riding south.’

‘How strong a tribe are the Angrivarii?’ asked Varus.

‘They’re not numerous. If every stripling and greybeard among them took up a spear, I’d wager they could field three and a half thousand warriors. Maybe four,’ replied Arminius.

‘Did the traveller say anything about neighbouring tribes?’

Varus was no fool, thought Arminius. He didn’t want to lead his soldiers towards a widespread uprising. ‘No, nothing.’

Varus rode on without replying, and Arminius’ stomach churned. In the bright sunlight, his story seemed as thin as old gruel. He wanted to keep talking, to ensure that Varus was persuaded to act, but feared to say too much. Remaining silent was as hard, however.

His heart beat out an unhappy score. To his rear, he heard Maelo retch. Arminius clutched at the sound like an ill-fed beggar seizes a thrown crust. ‘I told you not to eat that fish,’ he said. ‘The sea lies more than a hundred miles to the north. That should be enough to put any man off.’

‘I know,’ Maelo replied, groaning.

‘The timing of this uprising is inauspicious,’ declared Varus. ‘What do they hope to achieve this late in the season?’

Arminius felt a line of sweat trickle down his back. The usual time to go raiding, or to start a war, was at the end of spring, or in early summer, when there were months of campaigning available. ‘If I know the Angrivarii aright, reason will have had little to do with it,’ he said in a confiding tone. ‘Hot hearts are wont to overpower cold minds, they say among the tribes. Even now, it would be my instinct to react in the manner the Angrivarii have. It’s my Roman training that allows me to hold back, to think before I act.’

Varus regarded him with a smile. ‘Whatever the reason, their treachery cannot be overlooked. It’s fortunate that word reached us so soon, before they have had a chance to rally other tribes to their cause. Imagine also how difficult – and unpopular – it would have been to turn the army around close to Vetera. All we have to do now is, what – take a route to the north?’

It took a mighty effort for Arminius not to cheer. Instead, he said in a calm voice, ‘Correct, governor. We can follow the track upon which my men and I met the traveller.’

‘Good.’ Varus was already calling for his staff officers, and ordering that the engineers, and as much of their equipment as was feasible, be brought forward to their usual position. His legates were to be summoned, that they might discuss the best strategies to take against the Angrivarii. Word was to be passed along the entire column of the change in route, and the reasons why. Although contact with the enemy was not anticipated for a day or more, security was to be raised. ‘I want every man on the alert,’ commanded Varus. He turned back to Arminius. ‘Once again, I am in your debt.’

Arminius made an awkward gesture. ‘I was only doing my duty.’

‘As ever, you did it well. Now, though, you’d best return to your men. Leave some to ensure that the vanguard chooses the right path north, but I must ask you to take the rest ranging ahead – to see what you can find. For all we know, the Angrivarii could have sent raiding parties south.’

‘A wise decision,’ said Arminius. ‘I will also need to send riders to fetch the few men who missed our departure this morning.’

‘Do what you must, Arminius,’ replied Varus, waving him away. ‘Send any urgent news to me at once. Otherwise, report to me tonight, in camp.’

‘Very good,’ said Arminius. The next time I see you, I’ll plant a blade in your throat, he thought. ‘Come on, Maelo.’

‘Arminius!’ called Varus when they had ridden only a dozen paces.

Beside him, Arminius sensed Maelo stiffen. He turned, pulling a confident smile. ‘Yes?’

Varus raised a hand. ‘You didn’t say farewell.’

‘Pardon my haste. I wished only to begin my patrol. Farewell.’ Thank you, great Donar, Arminius thought, feeling a tide of relief as they rode on. ‘Gods above, I’m glad that’s over.’

‘You’re not the only one,’ muttered Maelo.

‘I should have left you with the men. You’re a warrior, not a spy.’ Arminius’ grin was half serious, half joking. ‘I still would have cut your balls off if you’d given the game away, mind.’

‘I’d have deserved it,’ Maelo admitted.

Easing their horses into a trot, they made their way towards the vanguard. Although no one questioned their passage, Arminius did not relax. It was yet possible that things could go wrong. Varus could develop doubts, and send a messenger to recall him. He had no idea where Tullus was, but if the centurion saw them, he might do something. So might that prick Tubero, if he appeared. It wasn’t likely that Flavus would catch sight of him either, riding as he was at the rear of the column, but Arminius kept a wary eye out for his brother too.

At length, they had left the legionaries of the vanguard behind, and the Gaulish cavalry too, and reached the safety of the open road. Only then did the events of the previous hour begin to seem real.

After so many years, the time for retribution was at hand.