Eagles at War

XXXII

Tullus and his men spent four long, wet, tiring days on the march. For that entire time, they were each and every one soaked, chilled to the bone and hungrier than a tied-up dog with an empty food bowl. If it hadn’t been for the plentiful supply of blackberries and an occasional rabbit trapped by Degmar, they would have gone without any sustenance. The tough conditions were too much for two of the wounded, who died in their sleep. Tullus was left with fifteen soldiers, the woman, her girl and the pup. It was a pathetic total, but he kept telling himself it was better than none at all. Twelve swords – Vitellius and three others wouldn’t be able to fight for a month at least – would be an addition of some sort to Caedicius’ garrison.

Their chances of reaching Aliso rested on Degmar’s shoulders, and Tullus felt ever more grateful that they had chanced upon each other. Without the Marsi’s unerring sense of direction, they would have lost their way. Appearing not to need the sun, which for the most part was hidden behind dense banks of rainclouds, Degmar led them along winding, narrow tracks through the forest. When they came across boglands, he seemed able to find a path through that didn’t involve drowning. He skirted past the areas of farmland at dusk or dawn, when the local inhabitants were in bed, without the alarm being raised. His one slip-up came when he took the group on to a larger track that led southwest. A close call with a party of Angrivarii warriors – they were not seen – ended the attempt soon after it had started.

Late on the afternoon of the fourth day, Degmar brought them to the top of a low hill. It was perhaps a mile from Aliso, he told Tullus, pointing to the south. Tullus peered through the drizzle, and cursed. Fenestela spat. Across the tops of the trees, in the direction that Degmar was pointing, rose spirals of smoke. There were so many of them, spread out, that they could not all be coming from the camp. ‘It’s under attack.’

‘As I said it would be.’ There was an I-told-you-so look on Degmar’s face.

Tullus swore again, long and hard. So did Fenestela.

‘Do you want to skirt around it and head for the river, a few miles downstream?’ asked Degmar. ‘Arminius might have set warriors to watch the road to Vetera, but it’s possible that they’re just concentrating on Aliso.’

Tullus remembered the sick, guilty feeling he’d had when they had fled from the fallen tree. ‘No. If the garrison is still holding out, and it’s possible to find a way in, we do so.’

‘You’re sure?’ Degmar’s expression now showed he thought Tullus was insane.

‘Aye, I’m fucking sure.’

Degmar shrugged. ‘Stay here – I’ll take a look.’

‘Straight from the frying pan into the fire.’ Fenestela’s voice was resigned.

‘Maybe,’ said Tullus. ‘We can’t leave them there, though, can we?’

‘It’s damn tempting, but I suppose we can’t.’

‘No, we can’t.’ Tullus tried not to consider the fact that Vetera lay less than forty miles to the west. Dying here would seem even more pointless than in the forest. Remember the bull I promised you, Fortuna, he thought. A big bastard he’ll be, with fine horns and broad shoulders, and balls so big that they almost touch the ground. That beast is yours when I cross that bridge. Not a moment before.

Degmar returned with the news that the tribesmen’s encirclement of Aliso was incomplete. He had also spotted a small gate in the northern wall which appeared to be unwatched. The information was enough to cement Tullus’ decision to enter the fort. During the late afternoon, the group crept close to Aliso’s northern side and hid themselves in the woods. When it was almost dark, they moved to the edge of the trees. Dots of light marked the fires in the enemy camp, which sprawled in disorder as far as the eye could see. The sound of men talking, laughing, arguing carried through the crisp autumn air. So too did the hunger-accentuating smell of cooking meat.

Tullus would have wished for a good plan of action, but that was impossible. What they were about to do bordered on madness. Even if they sneaked past the enemy camp, they risked being taken for attackers by the garrison. He quelled his disquiet. Taking the road to Vetera instead wouldn’t guarantee them a safe passage either. For all he knew, Arminius’ warriors were guarding the entire route.

By the time several hours had passed, peace had fallen over the tribesmen’s encampment. Most of the fires had gone out. There appeared to be few, if any, sentries. Degmar appeared by Tullus’ side. ‘Ready?’ he whispered.

The knot in Tullus’ stomach twisted a little tighter. There was no good time, no right time, he thought. ‘Aye.’

Out they slunk, Degmar leading the file with Tullus next and the legionaries after. The woman and child with the pup followed, and Fenestela took up the rear. Tullus was relying on his soldiers’ cloaks to disguise their armour; he’d ordered each man to sling his helmet around his neck, removing another tell-tale sign that they were Roman. More than that he could not do.

They reached the enemy position without difficulty, but from there, things became problematic. Finding the gap between the groupings of warriors’ tents and lean-tos that Degmar had spied proved close to impossible in the darkness. Unable to stop for long – that would attract attention – they had to walk through part of the camp, aiming for the black shape that was Aliso. It was beyond fortunate that any tribesmen in the vicinity who were still up had congregated around a large bonfire, allowing Tullus’ party not just to pass by, but to orientate themselves again.

Respect for the defenders’ ballistae meant that more than three hundred paces of empty ground lay between the last enemy tents and the fort’s walls. Tullus felt relieved to reach it, but too exposed. Any warrior who saw them from this point onward would be suspicious. An alert Roman sentry might raise the alarm, trapping them in no-man’s land. When Degmar glanced at him, therefore, he indicated that they should keep moving. ‘Quiet as you can,’ he hissed in the ear of the first soldier. ‘Pass it on.’

Dry-mouthed, with a thumping heart, Tullus stole after Degmar. Two hundred paces later, he began to dream that they might make it. After another twenty steps, though, a muffled curse from the rear gave the lie to that hope. Tullus halted Degmar, and the lead soldier, and paced down the line, asking, ‘Anything wrong?’

Every soldier said he was all right until he reached Fenestela. ‘What is it?’ demanded Tullus.

‘The woman’s gone.’

Tullus’ head jerked around to the final legionary – he hadn’t noticed she was absent. ‘Where is she?’

‘Her brat let go of the pup, and it ran off. The woman told her to forget the damn thing, but she went after it. The mother took off too,’ Fenestela muttered. ‘To Hades with both of them.’

Peering back at the enemy camp, Tullus could see nothing. He clenched his jaw. To go after the woman would put all of his men at risk. Bad as he felt, he couldn’t do it. ‘To the wall,’ he ordered.

The last eighty paces felt to Tullus like the final steps of a condemned man walking down the tunnel and into the arena. Yet there was no outcry from atop the rampart, and they were able to cross the defensive ditch over a section that the warriors had filled with turves. It didn’t take Degmar long to find the door. Throwing up a prayer, Tullus rapped on it with his fist.

There was no response, so he struck it with the hilt of his sword. The hollow thumping noise was loud, loud enough to carry. Tullus’ nerves were stretched as tight as wire as he waited but, to his huge relief, a sentry within responded before any of the enemy. Tullus met his suspicious challenge with a reply – in Latin. Quickly, Tullus said who he was, and to prove that he had to be Roman, gave Caedicius’ nickname, ‘Twenty-miler’, after his habit of doling out long punishment marches to soldiers. The dutiful sentry insisted on getting his officer, but the door was opened soon after, and in Tullus’ soldiers went.

Tullus hung back, unable to put the woman and child from his mind. Without being asked, Degmar stayed by his side.

Fenestela’s teeth flashed in the gloom as he reached the entrance. ‘We did it,’ he whispered.

‘Aye. Stay by the door.’

Fenestela sensed Tullus’ purpose at once. ‘Leave her!’

‘I can’t. Imagine what they’ll do to her when she’s found.’

‘That’s not your problem.’

Ignoring Fenestela, Tullus stalked back into the darkness with Degmar.

‘We’ll be lucky to find her,’ muttered Degmar.

‘Go back if you wish,’ retorted Tullus, wondering why he was risking his life yet again.

But Degmar stayed where he was, and together they sneaked back towards the enemy positions. They reached it without incident, madly enough, yet trying to decide where to search was futile. The woman could have been anywhere in the disorganised and ramshackle camp, and her child somewhere else altogether. Tullus wasn’t prepared to return without trying, however. Conscious that each passing moment increased the risk of discovery, he crept up and down several rows of tents – without success. Degmar roved around some distance away, returning now and then to report that he’d found no sign of her either.

Tullus had given up hope when, of all things, he heard a dog whine.

He pricked his ears. A dozen heartbeats later, there was a stifled cry – that of a woman – and then a slap as someone struck her. A man cursed, and Tullus thought, it has to be them. He’d gone perhaps a dozen steps towards the sound when Degmar appeared, knife already in hand. ‘You heard that?’ he whispered.

‘Aye.’ Tullus drew his sword.

The scene they came upon was pathetic. A three-sided lean-to, with a dying fire before it. The girl, crouched down, the pup in her arms. Her mother, on her back, with a warrior’s bare arse thrusting up and down between her open legs. Two other warriors watching with smirks on their faces.

The standing men were the greater danger, Tullus reasoned. A quick command to Degmar and they fell on the pair like vengeful ghosts. The two died before they could utter more than short, surprised cries. What Tullus hadn’t taken into consideration was that the warrior raping the woman might be holding a blade to her neck. The instant he realised his companions were under attack, he ran the iron across her throat. He died not three heartbeats later, Tullus’ sword slicing deep into his back, but it was too late. Tullus could only hope that the woman heard him say, ‘Your daughter is safe.’ He watched the light fade from her eyes with Degmar hissing in his ear that they had to go.

‘Come with me.’ Grabbing the sobbing girl’s arm, Tullus ran for the fort.

Once again the darkness and the late hour combined to help them reach the walls without harm. Fenestela was waiting as ordered, and the door opened before Tullus had time to knock again. ‘The woman?’ he asked as they barged in.

Tullus gave a savage shake of his head.

You saved the girl, he thought. That’s better than nothing.

The knowledge did little to ease his bitterness.

Late that evening, Tullus was once more a guest of Caedicius in Aliso’s rundown praetorium. He had seen his men to their quarters, and delegated Fenestela to look after the traumatised girl. A warm bath had followed, and then he’d donned the clean clothes he’d been given. Now he was in civilised surroundings, being served tasty food and drink. The luxuries, although welcome, did little for his mood. The woman was dead, despite his best efforts, and the thousands of warriors whom they had sneaked past to enter the fort were still outside.

Tullus’ disquiet wasn’t helped by the presence, alongside Caedicius’ two cohort commanders, of Tubero. Wounded, dazed-looking and with a black eye, but Tubero nonetheless. He hadn’t as much as acknowledged Tullus’ existence thus far, other than to grunt when Caedicius had announced him. That suited Tullus to the ground. It was bad enough seeing the prick alive when so many better men were not, without having to talk to him. If what Tullus had heard was true, Tubero had survived because he’d fallen in with a seasoned optio of the Seventeenth, who had somehow managed to drag him and seven ordinary soldiers to Aliso. Rather than seem grateful for his luck, Tubero kept mentioning the fine helmet he’d lost. At length, Caedicius told him to shut up.

The talk was all of what they should do, and when the next enemy attack would be. Bone-weary, grieving, worried, Tullus took no part in it. Caedicius was watching him, however, and saw his long face. Ordering a servant to top up Tullus’ wine, he said, ‘Aliso hasn’t fallen yet, centurion, nor is it likely to anytime soon. We’ve thrown back the savages three times now, with heavy losses on each occasion. Our ballistae reaped them like wheat, and will continue to do so. Apart from filling in the ditches with cut turves, the stupid bastards have no idea how to take a fortress, and that won’t change.’

‘Aye, sir.’ Tullus pulled a smile. Caedicius was soon drawn back into conversation by Tubero, and Tullus was content to fall silent again. He threw back a mouthful of wine. It was tasty, reminding him of the night he’d got drunk with the two men a few months back. Yet his pleasure soured as he fell to brooding about the brutal events of the previous few days.

Other stragglers from the battle were still coming in – the tribesmen’s cordon around the camp was incomplete in many places, allowing men to approach the walls under the cover of darkness, as they had – but the total stood at fewer than two hundred legionaries, and a couple of score civilians. Two hundred left out of fourteen and a half thousand, Tullus brooded. His legion hadn’t been the only one to suffer the dishonour of losing its eagle. All three standards had been taken by the enemy.

These were the most severe losses that Rome had suffered for generations – perhaps since the battle of Carrhae, more than sixty years before. The shame of the defeat – no, massacre – was beginning to sink in at last. And the woman – why couldn’t she have survived? Another swallow of wine, and his cup was empty. He raised it in the air, but took scant relief from the way a servant filled it at once. Tullus drank the cup back in two gulps, and held out his arm again.

‘Don’t get too pissed, centurion.’

He looked up. Tubero was regarding him with clear disapproval. ‘I’m not drunk, sir.’

‘You’re heading that way,’ said Tubero, his lip curling. ‘We need our wits about us, eh, Caedicius?’

Here we go, thought Tullus. I’ve survived a visit to fucking Hades, only to be dressed down by this prick.

‘Leave him alone,’ ordered Caedicius. ‘You heard what Tullus has been through. It is beyond belief.’

‘I was there too,’ cried Tubero.

‘Maybe so, but you weren’t in charge of a cohort that was wiped off the face of the earth. Many of Tullus’ men had served under him for years, and you had been with the Eighteenth for – how many months?’

Tubero coloured. ‘Three.’

‘Need I say more? Let the man drink,’ ordered Caedicius. ‘He has many shades to honour. You have the loss of a helm to mourn.’

Tubero looked furious. Despite his technical seniority over Caedicius, he didn’t have the confidence to challenge the veteran officer.

Tullus saluted Caedicius, uncaring – pleased, even – that this further embarrassed Tubero. ‘May each and every one have a swift passage to Elysium, sir.’

‘I’ll raise my cup to that,’ said Caedicius, glancing at his senior centurions, who were quick to emulate him. Tubero, glowering, followed suit last.

When they had drunk, Caedicius eyed Tullus with clear intent. ‘The camp’s walls are strong. There are good stores of ammunition for the ballistae, and our provisions are plentiful, yet we cannot stay here. I suspect that Arminius will appear before long, or another army sent by him. When that happens, Aliso must fall. You know him better than many, Tullus. What do you say?’

‘Arminius is a clever bastard, sir,’ said Tullus, regretting yet again his failure to persuade Varus of the Cheruscan’s treachery, and that he hadn’t been given a chance to slay Arminius during the ambush. ‘I think you’re right. My servant – the warrior who led us here – heard enemy tribesmen talking about burning the camps east of the Rhenus.’

Everyone looked unhappy at this, but unsurprised. Caedicius nodded. ‘In that case, our decision has already been made. We must break out of here and flee to Vetera, as soon as possible. Gods grant that we have rain, or even a storm, in the next few nights. That would provide a diversion.’

‘What about the civilians, sir?’ asked one of the senior centurions.

Tullus had seen the barracks that had been given over to the inhabitants of the nearby settlement, but he had no idea how many of them had taken refuge in the camp.

‘I’m not leaving them to be butchered, or enslaved,’ said Caedicius, frowning. ‘They come with us.’

Doing this would make their escape that much harder, but no one protested, least of all Tullus, picturing the nameless woman dying before him … and her child, who yet lived. They listened to Caedicius’ plan, which involved departing in the middle of the night, using the same gate through which Tullus had entered Aliso. The two turmae of cavalry would lead the way, acting as scouts and vanguard both. One cohort would come next, then the injured and the civilians, guarded by the survivors of the battle, with Caedicius and the second cohort taking up the rear. It was a simple plan, and risky in the extreme. A single enemy sentry could be their undoing, and every man knew it. Yet their other option – to remain behind the camp’s walls, awaiting further attacks – had an even more inevitable feel to it. They had to try.

‘If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d like to march with you, at the back,’ said Tullus.

Caedicius studied him for a moment. ‘You and your men are exhausted. There’s no shame-’

‘We need to do this, sir,’ said Tullus. ‘Please.’

Caedicius sighed. ‘Very well.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ This way, thought Tullus, he and his men might be able to salvage a little pride. Dying was yet a distinct possibility. If it were to happen, he would be facing the enemy.

He would run no longer.