Eagles at War

V

Evening had fallen over Aliso. The legionaries of Tullus’ cohort had been allocated quarters some time since. While the five other centurions ate with the camp’s officers, he and Tubero had been invited to dine with the camp prefect Caedicius and the fort’s usual commander, Granius Marcianus, in the rundown praetorium. Caedicius’ presence here was to ensure that the summer needs of Varus’ army, which would pass the camp on its outward and return marches, were met. Tubero’s behaviour thus far had been exemplary. After several cups of wine, Tullus was beginning to think that perhaps he was just another eager young officer keen to prove himself, and out to make an impression.

Their surroundings might have seen better days, but every part of the large building was still grander than Tullus’ set of rooms at Vetera. The mosaic floors throughout wouldn’t have been out of place in an equestrian’s house in Italy. A fountain pattered in the central courtyard, and the mythical scenes painted on the walls of the larger chambers were as fine as he’d seen in any camp on the Rhenus. Caedicius and Marcianus were men who didn’t stand on ceremony, however. The couches upon which the previous occupant’s guests would have reclined had been stacked at the far end of the dining room, and a plain but serviceable table and set of chairs set up in their place. Tubero’s face had registered surprise at the informal arrangement, but he’d had the wit to remain silent. The primus pilus, or chief centurion of the Eighteenth for many years, Caedicius was now a camp prefect. Technically, Tubero outranked him, but in reality it was a different thing. Not that Caedicius made a thing of that either. He had ushered them to the table as any host might and poured each man wine with his own hands, while Marcianus had passed round the cups.

The olives that they’d had to start hadn’t been the freshest, but this far from Italy that was unsurprising, thought Tullus. The local cheese – and the wine, which was excellent – had more than compensated for their lack of flavour. So too had the leg of wild boar, roasted whole and served with garlic and rosemary. Silence had fallen over the table as the four officers set upon it.

Caedicius mopped up some of the juices on his plate with a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth. After swallowing, he sighed. ‘Gods, but that tastes good.’ He reached out and pulled another strip of skin from the joint. ‘The crackling is always the best bit, eh?’

‘Indeed it is, sir,’ said Marcianus.

‘It’s my favourite too, sir,’ said Tullus, helping himself to a piece.

‘The meat’s delicious,’ added Tubero.

Caedicius chuckled. ‘Not to your taste, is it, tribune?’

Tubero squirmed. ‘It’s a little gamey,’ he admitted.

‘Better get used to it. You’ll find precious few dormice this side of the river.’

Marcianus laughed, and Tullus managed to bury his smile by swigging from his cup. ‘I’m not effete,’ said Tubero, the colour rising in his cheeks. ‘I don’t like dormice either.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Caedicius. ‘I’ve never been able to understand why people eat rodents. Snobbery is what it is, if you ask me. You might as well cook up a rat – there’d be more feeding in it.’ He eyed Tubero. ‘If not boar, what’s your choice of dish?’

‘I’m fond of fish. I haven’t tasted it yet, but I’m told that the salmon from the local rivers tastes wonderful.’

‘I’ll agree with you about that,’ said Caedicius, smiling. ‘The eels are good too. But enough of food. What news of Illyricum? Is it true that the war’s over?’ Everyone’s gaze switched at once to Tubero, most particularly that of Tullus, who had served there for more than a year.

‘It is, after three years. Word had just reached the capital as I was about to leave,’ said Tubero, pleased by the attention. ‘Tiberius and Germanicus vanquished the last rebels in Illyricum not two months since.’

‘Excellent news,’ declared Caedicius, raising his glass. ‘To the emperor!’

Tullus echoed the toast, feeling a little disappointed that he hadn’t been there to see victory. More of him was glad that he had survived, however. Recovering from the injury that had sent him back to Vetera and his legion had taken the best part of six months.

They all drank.

‘Augustus is said to be delighted,’ Tubero went on. ‘Rather than taking the customary title of Imperator, he is allowing Tiberius to use the honorific. Tiberius is also to celebrate a triumph upon his return to Rome.’

‘How times have changed,’ commented Caedicius in an undertone, winking at Tullus and Marcianus.

Marcianus hid his mirth, but not well. Tullus was also amused, but he kept a neutral face before Tubero. He had no reason to think that the tribune was a spy sent by Rome, but when it came to the imperial family, it paid to watch one’s mouth. He wasn’t going to be the one who mentioned Augustus’ previous dislike of his adopted son Tiberius. In a memorable damning of his now heir, the emperor had once been heard to say, ‘Alas for the Roman people, to be ground by jaws that crunch so slowly.’ For his part, Tullus liked Tiberius. Although not the type he’d want to go drinking with, Tiberius was solid and reliable and, most important of all, a general who cared for his soldiers. ‘It’s excellent that Augustus is recognising him in that manner,’ said Tullus. ‘He is a most able commander.’ Tullus saw Tubero’s blank stare, and added, ‘Four years ago, not long after he’d been adopted by Augustus, he served as governor of Germania, and led our legions over the Rhenus for two campaigning seasons.’

Tubero looked embarrassed. ‘Of course, of course, I remember.’

‘We marched as far as the River Albis, and overwintered in Germania,’ Tullus explained. ‘The year after that we would have crushed Maroboduus, but the Pannonian revolt put paid to that plan.’

‘Tiberius assembled ten legions, didn’t he?’ asked Tubero, his eyes glinting.

‘He did, sir. Four of them from this province. It was a grand sight,’ said Tullus, glancing at Caedicius. ‘Remember, sir?’

‘It stirred the blood, aye,’ growled Caedicius. ‘A damn shame that the campaign never happened. It was only five days until it began too!’

‘What does Varus plan for the summer?’ Tubero enquired of Caedicius. ‘Will we go as far as the River Albis, do you think?’

‘I don’t think so. Porta Westfalica is where you’ll make camp. Tullus?’

‘That’s what I’ve heard, yes, sir.’

‘Are the tribes in that area restless?’ Tubero’s eyes swung from Caedicius to Tullus, Marcianus and back again. ‘Is there any chance of fighting?’

Caedicius laughed. ‘Quite the lion cub, aren’t you?’

‘This is what I’ve been hearing since we left camp, sir. He’s keen for action,’ said Tullus, adding for the sake of diplomacy, ‘which is a good sign in a new officer.’

‘It is,’ Caedicius concurred. Tubero looked pleased until he added, ‘You might be disappointed, however, tribune. As far as I’m aware, the tribes between here and the River Visurgis seem content. The army’s main duty will be to collect taxes, while Varus holds court sessions and settles petty disputes.’

Aided by the wine perhaps, Tubero’s restraint fell away. ‘I didn’t come to Germania to listen to court cases!’

Cheeky bastard, thought Tullus.

‘With respect, senior tribune, you’ll do as you’re ordered,’ barked Caedicius, all primus pilus once more. ‘Whatever the duty may be.’

‘Of course,’ said Tubero, flushing. ‘My apologies.’

Caedicius’ fierce expression eased. ‘If I’ve learned one thing in the army, Tubero, it’s to expect the unexpected. You must always be prepared to fight, even if it looks unlikely. That way, when it happens – and it will happen to you sometime – you’ll be ready.’

‘I’ll remember that. Thank you for your advice,’ said a chastened Tubero.

Caedicius saluted him with his cup. ‘Old I may be, but I know a thing or two about war. As do we all, eh, Tullus? Marcianus?’

‘We’d be poor soldiers if we didn’t, sir,’ said Tullus with a smile.

Marcianus chuckled before saying, ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you, sir. The tribune might find this interesting too. One of my officers mentioned a trader who passed the camp today. The man was talking about some trouble caused by the Tencteri.’

Tullus’ ears pricked up. Tencteri territory lay some distance to the south of Aliso, but was still close to the Rhenus.

Caedicius frowned. ‘What did he say, Marcianus?’

‘It seems that a band of Tencteri has been cattle raiding among the Usipetes in the last ten days or so. According to the merchant, they started off on the fringes of the Usipetes’ lands, but they’ve grown bolder. A couple of men were killed during their latest raid, and there’s been talk of retaliatory attacks.’

Tubero looked confused, so Tullus explained, ‘Cattle rustling is a perennial problem in Germania, tribune. It’s a badge of honour for young warriors to steal beasts from another tribe. In recent years, the chieftains have been quick to step in before things get out of hand, but that doesn’t always work. Sometimes our troops are needed to restore order.’

Tubero looked like a small child who’d been handed a pastry. He glanced at Caedicius. ‘How far away is this happening?’

‘Too great a distance for us to consider investigating without permission,’ said Caedicius. ‘I will advise Varus of this development, and if the governor sees fit, a detachment of troops will be sent to investigate.’

‘Perhaps I could lead that unit,’ Tubero suggested.

‘Varus will be the man who decides what action will be taken, if any,’ answered Caedicius.

Disappointment filled Tubero’s eyes again. Tullus felt for him. Officers with initiative were a valuable asset to a legion. ‘If Varus decides to send a patrol out, and you were to petition him for its command, he might grant your request, sir,’ he offered.

‘Let us hope so,’ said Tubero. He lifted his cup. ‘Fortuna grant that it is I who is sent to settle the dispute.’

By the following morning, Tullus was regretting the late night he’d had. True to form, Caedicius had insisted that they keep drinking after the food had been cleared away. Marcianus, a pisshead of the first order, had been happy to obey, and Tubero had still been keen to impress, so Tullus’ protests had been in vain. His memory of the end of proceedings was hazy, but he was certain that the third watch had sounded as he fell into bed. The dawn trumpet, which sounded what seemed like moments later, had been most unwelcome.

Dry-mouthed and sweating, he’d gone straight to the baths and jumped into the cold pool. After a short spell, he had moved to the hot room, and then back to the frigidarium. Somewhat revived, he had forced down a few mouthfuls of water and pulled on his armour before inspecting the cohort. Prompted by Fenestela and the other centurions, it had already formed up in the wide space between the walls and the barracks, ready to march back to Vetera. As he stalked the formation, three centuries wide and two deep, Tullus noted that some men looked worse for wear, but most seemed fit and ready. Given his own state, he decided to say nothing. The soldiers could be assessed as they marched. As long as everyone kept up, he could overlook a few hangovers.

It was some consolation that when Tubero appeared – late – he was red-eyed and pale-faced. Tullus affected not to notice.

Caedicius came to bid them farewell. To Tullus’ chagrin, he looked as spry as a man half his age who hadn’t touched a drop. ‘I’ll see you in the summer,’ he declared. ‘May the gods guide all of our paths until then. Good luck, tribune.’

Tubero’s response was more scowl than smile. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Ready, sir?’ asked Tullus of Tubero.

There was a grim nod.

‘You have Caedicius’ letters for Varus?’

‘My staff officer has them.’

‘Very good, sir. With your permission, then?’

A weak gesture from Tubero indicated that he should continue.

Satisfaction filled Tullus. He’ll be as quiet as a mouse on the way back, he thought. He gave the order to turn about face, and to move out in turn after the tribune had led off. Tubero and his followers rode past the front ranks of the cohort, towards the gate. In neat ranks, the centuries began to march after, each falling into line behind the next, standard-bearers at the front, and their centurions riding alongside. Tullus’ soldiers were in first position, as before, but he did not join them yet. When the entire unit was moving, he saluted Caedicius. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, sir.’

Caedicius chuckled. ‘You look as if a couple more hours under the blankets would have helped. As for Tubero, well, they don’t make them like they used to, do they?’

‘I’ll be fine, sir. Tubero too. The fresh air will clear our heads.’

Caedicius inclined his head. ‘Farewell until next we meet, Tullus.’

‘Farewell, sir.’ Tullus urged his horse after the cohort, grateful once more that he did not have to walk.

The morning passed without event. Practised at dealing with hangovers, Tullus drank often from the two water skins he was in the habit of carrying. When the inevitable piss stops started to become necessary, he slipped from his horse’s back and ignored the chorus of ribald comments that accompanied him down the bank off the road. In his mind, for soldiers to make fun of their commanding officer was acceptable in certain circumstances. If Julius Caesar had tolerated his soldiers chanting that the men of Rome should ‘watch their wives, the bald adulterer’s back home’, who was he to care if his troops were amused by the small size of his bladder? What mattered was that they respected him, and that they obeyed his orders – both of which they did.

Tubero wasn’t used to being the butt of ordinary soldiers’ jokes, however. Some time later, Tullus was riding along, eyes closed, imagining one of his favourite whores doing what she did best, when the senior tribune’s outraged voice dragged him from his reverie.

‘Tullus! TULLUS!’

‘Yes, sir?’ Fully awake, whore forgotten, he regarded a puce-faced, sweating Tubero from no more than ten paces. ‘What’s wrong, sir?’

Tubero’s cheeks went a shade rosier. He cleared his throat and pulled his horse’s head around so that it faced forward again. When Tullus was alongside, he leaned in with a conspiratorial look. ‘I’m not feeling well this morning.’

‘Sorry to hear that, sir,’ replied Tullus.

‘I was feeling nauseous just now. I climbed off my mount by the side of the road, and was sick. I vomited.’

‘My sympathies, sir. These things happen. Has it passed?’ asked Tullus, holding in his amusement. He knew what was coming.

‘I don’t need sympathy, centurion.’ Tubero glared at the passing legionaries, one of whom had snickered.

‘No, sir,’ said Tullus, adopting the blank, uncomprehending expression favoured by low-rankers pretending not to understand an officer.

‘Your men mocked me! There I was, retching, feeling terrible, and all they could say was, “Too much wine last night, tribune?” or, “Typical. An officer who can’t hold his drink!”’

Tullus put on a solicitous face. ‘That’s terrible, sir.’

‘One even said, “I’d like to see you in combat, tribune,”’ cried Tubero. ‘It’s insufferable. Outrageous!’

‘Did you spot the soldiers who made the comments, sir?’ asked Tullus, knowing full well what the answer would be.

‘Do you think I have eyes in the back of my head?’

‘No, sir.’

‘You must do something,’ hissed Tubero. ‘Such contempt cannot be tolerated.’

‘I didn’t like it the first time it happened to me either, sir.’ He smiled at Tubero’s shock. ‘It happens to all of us, sir, even Varus.’

‘It’s indiscipline of the worst kind!’

‘Different rules apply on the march, sir. Stupid jokes don’t harm anyone, and they pass the time.’ Tubero did not look convinced, and Tullus added, ‘The dogs have been ribbing me all morning because of the frequency with which I’ve had to piss. “Look! The centurion’s at it again.” “His bladder must be the size of an apple.” “Keep out of the way, brothers. Tullus is about to flood the place again!” I tolerate it, sir, because it makes me human in their eyes. Let’s be clear: they still have to follow orders – I don’t give them a pubic hair’s leeway on that – but it’s part of the marching ritual.’

There was silence for a moment, and then Tubero nodded. ‘So be it, centurion. I will overlook the men’s attempts at humour – this once. Let it be known that if it occurs again, I will have the whole damn cohort on latrine duties, and worse, for a month. Do I make myself clear?’ Despite the sweat coating his forehead, Tubero’s stare was unwavering.

‘You do, sir.’

‘As you were, then.’ Tubero gave his horse its head, and trotted off to the front of the column.

Tullus watched him go, thinking that perhaps his initial dislike of the tribune had been well founded after all. Despite this, what had just taken place wasn’t entirely bad. It took considerable spine for a freshly commissioned senior officer to disagree with a veteran centurion. Tubero might yet develop into a fine leader. Marshalling what was left of his goodwill, Tullus told himself that that would be the case. It felt better to think that rather than the other things Tubero could turn out to be.

Patrol routine took over once more. Several miles down the road, Tullus judged that it was time to halt for a meal break. The front and rear centuries had to remain on duty on the road and eat where they stood. Meanwhile, the four from the column’s middle spread out into a fresh tilled field, unslung their shields and devoured bread and olives. Tubero, who had returned, watched with clear annoyance, but did not intervene. ‘I’m not hungry,’ he snapped when Tullus offered him some food. It wasn’t long before he took off again with his entourage in tow, shouting over his shoulder that he would keep scouting out the road ahead. ‘Good fucking riddance,’ Tullus heard one soldier say. Fenestela, who was sitting beside Tullus, chuckled. Tullus couldn’t argue with the sentiments of either man, so acted as if he hadn’t noticed a thing.

The food helped Tullus’ hangover to recede, leaving torpidity in its place. He roused himself with an effort a while later. There would be time to sleep when they reached the marching camp. He ordered the legionaries back to the road. ‘Eight more miles,’ he remarked to Fenestela.

‘We’ve broken the back of it, sir,’ replied Fenestela. It was his stock phrase after the midday break.

As Tullus rode along, he began to daydream again about the whore in the vicus, but he did not entirely relax. Every so often, he studied the land to both sides, and the road in front and behind. He kept half an ear on his soldiers’ banter too, and was content that they seemed in good humour.

An hour or more passed in this fashion.

Then, in the distance, towards Vetera, a man shouted. The panicked tone roused Tullus at once. ‘Tell the optio to be ready for trouble. Pass the word back, all the way to the rear,’ he barked at the nearest legionary. Ordering the trumpeter to follow, he drummed his heels into his horse’s sides and rode forward at a steady canter.

It wasn’t long before Tullus could see three riders hammering along the road towards them. Tubero was out in the lead, and it was he who was yelling.

‘To arms! To arms!’

Although he could see no one behind Tubero, Tullus’ stomach did a neat roll. What in Hades has happened? he wondered, reining in. ‘Sound the halt,’ he ordered the trumpeter.

The trumpet’s blare had not finished before the ranks of soldiers had come to a stop.

‘Front century, yokes on the ground, by your feet. Javelins ready!’ shouted Tullus over his shoulder. ‘Wait for my command.’ He waited as Tubero galloped towards them. The tribune seemed uninjured; so too did his companions, which was one good thing.

Tubero sawed on his horse’s reins as he drew near to Tullus. ‘Ready the cohort for battle.’

‘What’s going on, sir?’

‘Half a mile up the road, I came across a group of the tribesmen who’ve been cattle rustling. The Tencteri, was it?’

‘That’s right, sir,’ replied Tullus, feeling the first traces of concern. ‘Can I ask how you recognised them as Tencteri?’

A withering look. ‘It was a group of young warriors, about twenty strong. They were driving cattle south. They didn’t seem to like the sight of me, and shouted insults when I demanded to know who they were, and what they were doing. That was enough for me.’

Tullus’ disquiet grew. Plenty of tribesmen disliked Romans, even more so if they were an arrogant young officer. ‘How do you know what they said, sir?’

Irritation flared in Tubero’s eyes. ‘I don’t. Now, I want two centuries to advance at the double. The tribesmen are still quite near the road. There’s plenty of room for our men to deploy before we envelop them.’

Cattle rustlers didn’t swan about in broad daylight, thought Tullus, but it wasn’t for him to question the tribune too much. ‘Front two centuries, prepare to advance,’ he barked. To Tubero, he said, ‘Will you ride alongside me, sir?’

‘I will.’ Tubero half drew his sword, allowing Tullus to note with horror that the blade was red with blood. Tubero laughed. ‘You seem surprised, centurion.’

‘Did they attack you, sir?’

‘No. I rode down the nearest – the one that was shouting insults. I don’t think he believed that I meant business until I cut him from neck to waist. By then it was too late.’ A snicker.

Tullus’ anger flared, but he swallowed it down. ‘Did you kill anyone else, sir?’

‘Sadly, no. Two of them lobbed spears at me. I judged it best to return to the patrol, and gather the men.’

Tullus offered up a quick prayer that the warriors were indeed Tencteri cattle rustlers. If they weren’t, well, the gods only knew the repercussions that would result. Roman law lay lightly on many of the surrounding tribes … He quelled his concern. ‘That was prudent, sir. Varus would not be happy if I came back without a tribune.’

Tubero sniffed. ‘But he will be happy that the rustlers who have been troubling the Usipetes have been dealt with.’

‘If they are the men responsible, sir’ – Tullus ignored Tubero’s indignant look – ‘Varus will be the first to congratulate you.’ If they’re not, he thought, he’ll be sending you back to Rome in disgrace, and serving me my own balls on a silver platter.

‘Come on,’ demanded Tubero. ‘We need to move fast, or they might abandon the cattle and get away.’

‘Aye, sir.’ Tullus regarded the trumpeter. ‘Find the centurion in charge of the third century. Tell him that the rest of the unit is to follow us at a fast pace.’ To the legionaries behind him, he bellowed, ‘First two centuries, with me – at the double!’

If the warriors hadn’t realised that Tubero and his companions were part of a larger group, they soon would, thought Tullus. A hundred and fifty men in full armour, running, made a lot of noise.

It was no surprise, therefore, that when they reached the spot where the confrontation had taken place, the tribesmen were herding their cattle to the south at speed. Tullus’ heart quickened. Whatever the right and wrong of it, they were quarry now. ‘If one century moves to the left, sir, it should cut them off from those trees by the river. The other century goes to the right. Some might get away, but we’ll soon run them down. If any are foolish enough to come back in this direction, they’ll meet the rest of the cohort.’

‘Fine,’ replied Tubero. ‘Try and keep a couple alive at least. They can be interrogated before I have them crucified.’ Beckoning to his staff officers, he galloped off, straight after the warriors.

‘Sir!’ But the tribune paid him no heed. Impulsive fool, thought Tullus. It’d be just my luck for one of the tribesmen to fell him with a lucky spear. Despite his dislike of Tubero, he had no wish for that to happen, nor to suffer one of Varus’ thunderous – and famous – dressing-downs. He issued his orders, deciding to take his century to the right while the other centurion and his men went to the left.

They charged down on to the pasture upon which the cattle had been grazing when Tubero arrived. The corpse of the man slain by the tribune stood out, a slumped figure on the green grass, surrounded by a circle of crimson. Tullus passed close enough to see that Tubero had almost cut him in two. He felt a little respect. The boy was no slouch with a sword. Within a short distance the grass gave way to a large swathe of barley, beyond which stood a couple of longhouses. Tullus cursed at the sight of them. The cattle had trampled much of the crop flat, and the passage made by his men would make things worse. Whatever the reason, the local farmers – Usipetes – would blame the Romans for the destruction of their precious barley.

He hadn’t expected to be confronted the moment that he and his soldiers neared the longhouses. Two red-faced tribesmen stamped out to block their path. Bearded, dressed in dark homespun tunics and trousers, and unarmed, they shouted and waved their arms in evident fury, not at the disappearing warriors, but at Tullus and his men.

He sensed the legionaries behind him growing tense. ‘Halt! Stay calm, brothers. They’re farmers, just angry farmers. No one is to lift a hand unless I say so.’ Although Tullus’ fingers wanted to grip the hilt of his sword, he raised his right hand, palm showing, as he walked his horse towards the pair. Their ranting checked a little, but it did not stop, nor did they retreat. Tullus’ understanding of the local tongues was decent enough, and what was being said was not complimentary. ‘Calm yourselves,’ he shouted. ‘Tell me what has happened. Slowly.’

The older of the two, a greybeard with a weeping eye, batted at his companion, who reluctantly fell silent. At once a new tirade began. ‘Ruined crops … starvation in the winter … cattle being chased … a man murdered … and for what?’ Tullus heard. ‘For what?’ repeated the greybeard, spittle flying from his lips.

Tullus felt even unhappier. ‘The cattle. They were stolen by those warriors. Tencteri rustlers.’

He received a contemptuous stare. ‘Tencteri? Those are Usipetes, same as I am! They were driving the herd to new grazing when a lunatic Roman attacked them for no reason. Killed one of them dead. He was sixteen summers old. His body’s over yonder.’

‘You’re certain that they’re Usipetes?’ asked Tullus, feeling foolish.

Another scornful look. ‘Several are kin of mine. Or of his.’ He jabbed his companion. ‘Is that enough proof for you, Roman?’

Tullus clenched his jaw. Jupiter, I ask you to help this situation not to go all the way to Hades, he prayed. ‘For the moment, it is, yes.’

‘The Usipetes are at peace with Rome! Did the fool who attacked those boys not know that?’ screeched the greybeard.

Tullus did not answer, but he was thinking that the reckless imbecile didn’t bother to check. Someone had to ride after Tubero and stop him from killing more innocents – if he hadn’t done so already. ‘Damn you, Tubero,’ Tullus whispered. He would have to do this. ‘Did you catch any of that?’ he demanded of the other centurion, a solid type called Valens, who had ridden up alongside.

‘The important bit, sir, I think,’ replied Valens, looking troubled. ‘They’re Usipetes, not Tencteri.’

‘That’s right. Follow as fast as you can. I’m going to try and prevent Tubero from starting a tribal uprising all on his own.’ Tullus cracked his reins over his horse’s neck and set off in pursuit.

His worst imaginings had come true by the time he’d caught up. Tubero and his companions had cut down three more men, killing one and wounding the others so badly that Tullus doubted they would live. He had no doubt that if the remaining tribesmen – a group of fifteen or so fearful-looking youths, wielding spears – hadn’t banded together in a loose circle, Tubero would have done for even more. While his staff officers watched, he was riding his horse to and fro, just beyond spear-throwing distance, hurling insults. ‘You dogs! Scared of facing me, are you? Wait here, then, until the soldiers arrive. You’ll all die soon enough. You’re cowards and thieves, the lot of you!’

‘Sir!’ Although the staff officers saluted, Tubero didn’t appear to hear his first shout. Tullus rode closer. ‘SIR!’

Tubero’s head turned. He smiled, like a wolf. ‘Tullus. You can’t wait to start shedding the enemy’s blood either, eh? Never fear, I’ve left a few for you.’

Tullus rode in until his thigh touched Tubero’s. He ignored the tribune’s annoyed reaction. ‘Sir,’ he said in a low tone. ‘These are not the cattle rustlers.’

‘Of course they are, centurion!’

Tullus leaned even closer. ‘No, sir, they are not. They’re Usipetes, who were herding cattle to new pasture.’ As you’d have discovered if you had bothered to ask, you stupid bastard, he wanted to add.

Uncertainty mixed with the anger in Tubero’s eyes. ‘How can you be sure?’

‘I spoke to the farmers in the houses back there. They’re kin to these youngsters.’

‘There must be some mistake. They shouted at me; they fled when I rode towards them.’

Tullus ground his teeth. ‘They must have panicked, sir, having an armed Roman charging them, shouting in a tongue they didn’t understand.’

Tubero digested this in silence. After a moment, his face cleared. ‘Oh well. A few less tribesmen in the world is no bad thing, eh?’

‘The Usipetes are not at war with Rome, sir. The tribe’s leaders will count this as an unprovoked attack. They’ll say that the youths were murdered. Varus won’t be best pleased either.’

Tubero’s eyes glittered like those of a snake watching its prey. ‘What will you tell him?’

I can’t trust this one as far as I can throw him, Tullus realised. ‘What happened, sir. Nothing more.’

‘See that that’s all you do, centurion.’ Wheeling his horse, Tubero rode away, leaving Tullus to clear up the mess.