Hunting the Eagles

Chapter X

‘Gods, how I hate this shithole!’ Segestes’ voice carried, as it was meant to, some distance from the longhouse he’d been confined to since his arrival. ‘Donar take Arminius, the flea-ridden mongrel!’ Arminius, standing on the grass close by, laughed. So did Maelo and the score of his warriors who were there, stretching their muscles. It was their habit each morning to exercise and train with their spears and swords – not something most men did, but they were the cream of Arminius’ followers.

‘Do you want me to shut him up?’ called one of the men standing watch by Segestes’ door.

‘Leave him be. I like hearing his complaints,’ Arminius replied, causing more amusement. ‘They’re a constant reminder that I did the right thing. If I’d let him go to Inguiomerus, we would have four thousand fewer spears to call on in the spring.’

‘I’m sick of the sound of him.’ Thusnelda came bustling from the direction of the woods, a basket of fresh-picked mushrooms balanced on her hip. ‘You can hear his voice half a mile away.’

‘How can you say such things about your father?’ asked Arminius with mock seriousness. He dodged away from the clout she swung at him.

‘I respect my father, but I cannot abide him whingeing from dawn till dusk. Couldn’t you keep him further away?’

Arminius had been keen from the outset to have Segestes close to hand, the better to monitor the guards he’d set upon his prisoner. Despite his jokes, several days of Segestes’ unrelenting, high-volume complaints meant that he too was growing weary of his prisoner. ‘I suppose we could put him in one of the houses near the edge of the settlement. Just for you,’ he said, trying to slip an arm around Thusnelda’s waist.

She dodged away from him with surprising agility. ‘Get off! Don’t expect to lay a hand on me until it’s done.’

Arminius scowled after her, as Maelo chortled. The others were amused too, but they hid it a little better. Arminius pretended not to hear any of them. Allowing himself to be the butt of an occasional joke – thereby proving he was as human as the next man – was no bad thing. ‘How about a plate of fried mushrooms instead?’ he called out.

‘Move him first,’ came the sharp retort. A moment later, the door of their longhouse slammed.

Fresh laughter erupted from Maelo and his men, and Arminius said, ‘You heard the woman. I’m going to starve and suffer from a constant erection if we don’t move Segestes.’

‘Best get it done soon then,’ declared Maelo. ‘I can see the bulge in your trousers from here.’

As his men’s mirth increased further, Arminius let himself chuckle. ‘We’ll move him after we’ve trained.’

They had been exercising for some time – running circuits of the settlement, lifting great sections of tree trunk, sparring with swords – when Arminius’ attention was drawn to the path that led westward, towards the Rhenus. Small boys and girls, and the pups that followed them, were dancing about what had to be a party of visitors. How was it, he wondered, that children were always drawn to the newcomer?

It was beneath his station to go and see who had arrived. There was no need anyway, for people tended to converge on the open central area where he and his warriors were gathered. Nonetheless, Arminius’ attention strayed from the task at hand, allowing Maelo to land a couple of painful blows on him with the flat of his blade. ‘Enough!’ Arminius cried.

‘Take your eye off an enemy, and he’ll have you,’ warned Maelo with a leer.

‘Piss off,’ retorted Arminius, grimacing back. ‘I can take you any time.’ Wiping his brow with the arm of his tunic, he waited for the party to reach them. Instead of sheathing his sword, he let it dangle by his side. Innocent enough, given the training men around him, but also a veiled threat if needs be. Fifty paces off, Arminius recognised an unruly mop of blond hair that could only belong to one man he knew. Cupping a hand to his mouth, he yelled, ‘Segimundus!’

A hand was raised in acknowledgement, and Arminius grinned. ‘I haven’t seen him in years, maybe since the ambush even.’

‘A little odd that he appears so soon after we’ve imprisoned his father, don’t you think?’ muttered Maelo.

‘Don’t be so suspicious,’ chided Arminius. ‘Segimundus stands with us. Rallying the tribes would have been much harder without his support. Remember too what he did to Varus.’ Arminius wasn’t sure if that last detail was true – no one had seen who had mutilated the Roman general’s body – but rumour then and since had Segimundus as the perpetrator.

‘Blood runs thicker than water,’ rumbled Maelo with a frown.

‘Yet my brother Flavus and I cannot abide each other. I’d save your life before his a thousand times,’ retorted Arminius, challenge in his tone. ‘And Segimundus was with us in the forest when Segestes was nowhere to be seen, wasn’t he?’

‘Aye.’

‘Well, then. Set aside your distrust. He’ll want to visit his father, I wager, but I’m the person he’s come to speak with.’ Sliding his sword into the scabbard, Arminius took a few steps towards the approaching party. ‘Welcome, Segimundus! It has been too long.’

‘The years pass swiftly, do they not?’ Segimundus, an imposing figure in a priest’s dark green hooded robe, dismounted and came to meet Arminius, arms outstretched. They embraced.

‘It’s good to see you,’ said Arminius, pulling back to stare at Segimundus.

‘And you. Are those grey hairs I see in your beard?’

Arminius gave his chin a rueful stroke. ‘There are a few, perhaps. You’ve got the same, I see.’

‘None of us can stop the march of time.’ Segimundus made a solemn face. ‘They add to my authority, don’t you think?’

‘As if you ever needed that. Men always listen to a priest.’

‘Not so. It takes more than a green robe or, for that matter, a chieftainship to win men’s hearts and minds. You know that as well as I do.’

‘Aye, perhaps.’ Arminius smiled. ‘The timing of your visit couldn’t be better. I will need your help again in the coming months.’

‘I thought it would be useful for us to take counsel together. Is it true what they say – that Germanicus is going to wage a new campaign against us?’

‘It’s all that the legionaries talk about in the taverns and whorehouses of Vetera. Eight legions and a similar number of auxiliaries he’ll lead over the river, or so they say. What’s heartening is that there’s been a mutiny in two of the camps of recent days. Germanicus will have sorted it out before the spring, but he might not be able to rely on some of his soldiers – and that will help us.’

Segimundus’ expression remained dark. ‘Even if some of his troops are untrustworthy, he’ll have upwards of fifty thousand soldiers.’

‘I know,’ said Arminius with a grim nod. ‘If they are not to lay waste to the entire land, every tribe between here and the river will be needed for the fight. Will you help?’

‘Of course! Anything to keep Rome’s hobnailed boot from our necks.’

Arminius noticed for the first time the lines of weariness streaking Segimundus’ face. ‘Forgive me – you must be weary from your journey. Come. You will lodge with me and Thusnelda. Maelo will see to accommodation for your followers.’

‘Gratitude.’ Segimundus’ eyes cast about the settlement before returning to Arminius. ‘Word reached me that my father is also here.’

Arminius remembered Maelo’s suspicions, but could spy no trace of guile in Segimundus’ face. ‘That is true. He came a few days since, pretending he had come to see Thusnelda. In fact his purpose was to visit Inguiomerus, and to turn him against me.’

‘I’d heard that Inguiomerus had joined your cause – fine work on your part. What makes you so certain that my father planned to bring him back into Rome’s fold?’

‘He told me as much,’ Arminius replied with a snort. ‘As you know, Inguiomerus is a tricky customer. It’s taken years for him to shift allegiances. I am not about to let my hard work be undone by your father. Segestes has been my captive since, but every comfort has been provided for him, never fear.’

A faint line marked Segimundus’ brow. ‘How long do you plan to hold him prisoner?’

‘Until the end of next year’s campaigning season.’

‘By which time his counsel to Inguiomerus will be useless.’

‘Aye.’ Arminius searched Segimundus’ face again for an indication of his feelings, but could detect nothing that indicated his visitor was angry with him.

After a long moment, Segimundus said, ‘What you’ve done is for the best.’

Despite himself, Arminius’ breath came out long and slow. ‘I’m glad you see it that way.’

‘How else could I take it?’ Segimundus’ grip on his arm was solid. He added, ‘You won’t hold it against me if I visit him?’

‘Please – you don’t have to ask. Spend as long with your father as you wish,’ said Arminius with an expansive gesture. It might keep the old dog quiet for a time, he thought, which would be a gods-sent blessing for everyone.

Segimundus’ visit to his father was brief, pleasing Arminius. He turned out to be a pleasant house guest as well, charming Thusnelda with his compliments by day, and content by night to listen to, and comment on, Arminius’ plans. The warriors also took to Segimundus, relishing the unusual company of a priest who wrestled and drank.

On the second night, Arminius took Segimundus to the sacred grove. Barley beer and blankets kept the worst of the chill away during the long, unnerving hours of darkness. Arminius saw nothing, and dreamed less during the fitful periods of sleep that came to him. Creaking branches, wind rustling the last leaves on the trees, the hooting of an owl, mice skittering about in the undergrowth – these and Segimundus’ pacing were the only sounds he heard, and could not be assigned to Donar. Hugely frustrated by the time dawn had come, Arminius had given up hope that a sign would be revealed to them. Red-eyed, belly rumbling and muscles stiff from inaction, he motioned to Segimundus that they should go.

Segimundus shook his head – no.

Arminius was about to ask why, but Segimundus motioned for him to remain silent.

Krrruk.

The hair on the back of Arminius’ neck prickled. Only one bird made that sound.

Krrruk. Krrruk.

He turned his head to see not one but two ravens alighting in the largest of the oak trees that ringed the sacred space. The birds were common enough in the area, but he had never seen one in this place. When first one and then the other raven flew down to the rough-hewn stone altars that sat in the centre of the circle, Arminius thought his heart would stop.

The birds began tapping to and fro on the stone with their powerful beaks. Of course, thought Arminius. The sacrifices practised here meant that there would be congealed blood, and perhaps more, on the altars – appealing food. Nonetheless, it felt god-sent for the ravens to arrive when he and Segimundus were present. It seemed that Segimundus had drawn the same conclusion, for his lips were moving in fervent prayer.

Arminius squeezed his eyes shut and did the same. Great Donar, I thank you for this sign of your favour. I will have a fine ram killed here in your honour before the sun sets. In return, I ask for your help in uniting the tribes. If the Romans are to be defeated once and for all, they must follow me to battle. Let my words, and those of Segimundus, fall on the chieftains’ ears as spring rain on young barley, and when the time comes, let us reap Roman legionaries as we did for you in the forest.

Krrruk. Krrruk.

Startled, Arminius looked up. The nearest raven had cocked its head to the side; a red string of ichor trailed from its beak on to the altar. One beady black eye regarded him, as if to say, ‘This is my price.’ With a flick of its neck, the blood clot was thrown up in the air. It flashed, crimson red, for a heartbeat, before disappearing down the raven’s throat.

Krrruk. The satisfied note in the bird’s voice was distinct. Krrruk.

Krrruk. Its partner replied in kind from the other altar.

Donar did regard his mission as worthy, thought Arminius. Surely he could take that meaning from what had just transpired? He glanced at Segimundus, whose eyes were still closed, whose lips yet moved in reverential prayer. Eager that he should be seen in the same light by the god, Arminius bent his head and did likewise. He remained in this humble position for some time. Even when his knees began to ache, and his lower back to complain, he did not stir.

The dull flap of wing beats signalled the ravens’ departure.

‘They have gone,’ said Segimundus a moment later.

Arminius studied the priest’s face. ‘Were they sent by Donar?’

‘Aye.’ Conviction throbbed in Segimundus’ voice.

‘And the meaning of their presence?’

‘I cannot yet be certain.’

‘They must have been a good omen.’

‘Perhaps. I will have to think on it.’

To show his disappointment would appear weak. Although he wanted to shake Segimundus and demand an immediate interpretation, Arminius did nothing more than nod solemnly. ‘I understand.’

‘It’s time to return. I would rest, and afterwards visit my father.’

‘Of course.’ Irritated as well now, Arminius made a show of collecting up the vessels that had contained their beer, and folding his blanket. In his eyes, Donar had shown approval for his plans, and so, during their silent walk back to the settlement, Segimundus’ refusal to comment niggled away at him, like an itch that cannot be scratched.

Did the priest have another motive?