Hunting the Eagles

Chapter XVIII

Arminius had been woken by the dawn chorus yet again. Although used to sleeping until later, he didn’t mind. Each winter, the dark, the cold, the lack of sunlight and the drab brown of the countryside ground him down, month by dragging month. Spring’s arrival – and with it, the birds’ sounding of joy – was to be welcomed. He had slipped from under the bearskin and blankets, taking care not to wake Thusnelda. After a fond look down at her sleeping, pregnant form, he had dressed and gone alone to the sacred grove.

Some hours later, belly rumbling with hunger, right thigh aching, he came striding back into the settlement. A word with the guards outside Segestes’ quarters – a daily habit – told him that the old man was up and about, and as irritable as ever. During Segestes’ prolonged recovery from his beating, he had complained little, but things had changed of recent days. Arminius took a sour pleasure from hearing how pissed off he was.

Arminius’ own wound from the arrow had healed well – the priest had seen to that. It had taken months to return to full health and, truth be told, his right leg wasn’t as strong as before. It might never be, the priest had said. Keen to do all he could, Arminius was careful to do the exercises he’d been shown, and to have frequent massages. His efforts had paid off in part – training sessions with Maelo and other warriors were easier now. No one said it, but he knew he was no longer as dangerous a fighter.

I will be, one day, he told himself. Shoving away the bad mood that threatened, he returned the numerous greetings thrown his way, stopped to talk to an old friend of his father, and praised two boys driving a flock of sheep to pasture. By the time Arminius had reached his own longhouse, he was in good spirits again, and the rich smell of frying pork and mushrooms emanating from within made him smile. Thusnelda was preparing his breakfast.

He stole inside, putting a finger to his lips to silence the slaves working at the animals’ end of the building, and stroking his dog’s head to quieten it. Thusnelda had her back to him. She was busy, alternately stirring a pan on the fire and kneading dough on the large stone slab that served as a work surface. Arminius padded to within half a dozen paces of her before she realised. She let out a little gasp.

‘I’ve told you not to do that! It’s bad for the baby,’ she scolded. Her happy expression contradicted her words, however, and she didn’t resist as he wrapped his arms around her middle, caressing her belly.

‘My son is a warrior! He won’t be so easily scared,’ Arminius said.

‘You know it’s a boy?’ Her hands reached up to stroke his hair.

‘Of course,’ he replied, nuzzling her neck. ‘He’s my first-born. What else could he be?’

‘Ha! The midwife says it will be a girl.’

‘How can she know?’ With gentle hands, Arminius turned her around. They locked eyes, and kissed. Thusnelda pulled away after a moment and Arminius cried, ‘Hey!’

‘The pork is about to burn,’ she retorted, laughing and flipping the meat in the pan. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘Starving.’

‘I thought you would be. You went to the grove?’

‘Aye.’

She studied his face, searching for a clue.

‘I saw nothing,’ he said with a dismissive flick of his wrist. ‘It doesn’t matter. The god isn’t going to offer me something every time I’m there, is he?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘Inguiomerus is with us, and his people. After the Roman attacks last autumn, so are the Marsi. The Angrivarii won’t take much persuading, nor will the rest. I’ll have to visit the chieftains, but by spring’s end, I will have an army large enough to tackle Germanicus.’

She frowned. ‘You’ll have to leave soon.’

‘There’s no way around it, my love. But I shall return inside a month.’

‘Not for long, though, and then you will be away all summer, fighting.’

‘You knew the type of man I was when you married me,’ he said, his voice hardening. ‘Rome has to be taught another lesson if we are to free ourselves from its yoke – and its taxes.’

‘And if you succeed, will that be the end of it? What’s to say the legions won’t cross the river again? Will you have to go to war every summer, until one year you do not return? I’ll be left a widow, and your children fatherless.’ She was crying now, and smoke was rising unnoticed from the frying meat.

He took a step towards her, but she motioned him away. ‘Don’t!’

His own anger rising, Arminius turned.

‘Wait. Your pork is ready.’

Arminius hesitated. Leaving without a word, letting her cooking go to waste, would be satisfying. To do so, however, would deepen the rift that had just opened between them. The resulting argument might last for days, or even longer. Their fiery relationship had seen that happen before. Better to stay, he decided. ‘Thank you,’ he said in a conciliatory tone. ‘It smells delicious.’

‘I’ve gone and burned it,’ she replied, scowling.

‘You haven’t, my love. Come, have some with me. You’re eating for two now.’

She shook her head: no.

‘Feeling sick?’

‘It will pass.’ She motioned him to the table. ‘Sit. I’ll join you.’

‘I’m a lucky man,’ said Arminius as she piled his plate high and placed it before him. ‘Not only are you a skilled cook, and beautiful – you’re bearing my son.’

His flattery worked, and she took the stool beside his. ‘You’re not the only fortunate one. My husband is a fine, honourable man, and the greatest chieftain in the land. The man who united the tribes.’

They kissed again. Thusnelda pulled away at length. ‘Eat. It will go cold.’

‘You’ve put in some wild garlic,’ Arminius said halfway through the first mouthful. ‘It’s delicious.’

Thusnelda smiled. ‘I do my best.’

‘You do far more than that.’ He squeezed her hand.

An easy conversation, the kind held between two people who know each other inside and out, followed. Arminius had just cleared his plate when excited shouting broke out some distance from the longhouse.

Using his tunic to wipe his lips, and ignoring the disapproving look that Thusnelda gave him for it, he kissed the top of her head and made for the door. ‘My thanks for the food.’

Osbert, one of Arminius’ best warriors, hove into sight as he emerged. Squat, barrel-chested and a lover of drinking and fighting, Osbert had seized one of the Roman eagles during their ambush on Varus’ legions. His thunderous expression revealed much, and Arminius cursed. Life had a way of souring things just when they were going well, yet it didn’t pay to let on that he could be so easily upset. He raised a hand. ‘Ho, Osbert! Looking for me?’

‘Aye. Two Chatti warriors have just ridden in.’

The Chatti lands lay some distance to the south and southwest. Dealings with them weren’t uncommon. Nor were they everyday, thought Arminius with a trace of unease. ‘Their tidings?’

‘Not good. Germanicus has taken advantage of the lack of rain, and crossed the river early, in strength.’

‘I’ll see them at once.’ Ignoring his twinging thigh, Arminius strode the way Osbert had come.

A large crowd – men, women and children – had gathered in the central meeting area, but they made way for Arminius and Osbert. Pressing through the throng, Arminius found Maelo sitting with two warriors, one of whom was wounded. Both men were spattered with mud and had haggard, grey expressions. Arminius had never seen either before, but wasn’t surprised that they seemed to recognise him. He was well known among the tribes.

‘Arminius,’ croaked the uninjured warrior, a yellow-bearded, short man in the prime of life.

‘Well met,’ said Yellow Beard’s companion, who had a wide face and drooping moustache. His clothes were so crusty and red-stained that Arminius judged some of the blood had to be Roman.

‘And the same to you. You are welcome in my village,’ said Arminius, inclining his head. ‘Has the priest been called for, to see to this man?’

‘Aye,’ replied Maelo.

‘I’ve ridden day and night to get here,’ said Drooping Moustache. ‘The priest can look at me after we’ve told you our news.’

‘Germanicus has attacked your people,’ said Arminius.

Yellow Beard grimaced. ‘Aye. He divided his forces so that they could attack us from two directions. There were five legions, or the equivalent, in each “prong”.’ Arminius exchanged a dismayed look with Maelo as Yellow Beard continued, ‘We had no scouts out. The first warning we had of their arrival was a few hours before their host began surrounding our settlements.’

‘No one expects to go to war this early in the year,’ said Arminius, grateful that his people’s territory lay so much further from the Rhenus. ‘Scheming Roman bastards.’

‘Every warrior who could fight marched out to face them.’ A deep sadness filled Yellow Beard’s eyes. ‘We left our homes undefended.’

‘In the face of an overwhelming attack, that is sometimes the best tactic,’ said Arminius.

‘Except we were driven back, over the Adrana River,’ came the bitter reply. ‘The Romans fell upon our villages like wolves on a flock abandoned by the shepherd. Thousands of our women and children were slaughtered or enslaved.’ Yellow Beard’s voice caught, and he had to compose himself. ‘Our counter-attack made some ground at first, but we were forced to retreat a second time when they brought their archers and bolt-throwers into action.’

A silence fell, and Arminius waited. Tragedies of this magnitude hit a man hard.

After a time, Yellow Beard began again. ‘Some warriors thought Germanicus might negotiate. We argued for hours, but in the end an embassy was sent to the Roman camp.’ A heavy sigh. ‘It was foolish even to think he might deal with us. The dog rejected our offer out of hand. Germanicus said that he had not come to make peace, but war. The news made many give up hope. Perhaps half the tribe surrendered without conditions, while the rest fled into the forests and hid.’

‘This is terrible,’ Arminius said. ‘May the gods succour your people in their time of need.’

‘There wasn’t any sign of the gods when the Romans attacked, I can tell you,’ said Yellow Beard, his face twisting with anger. ‘When the killing was done, they destroyed what grain supplies remained, and burned every settlement to the ground, including our capital, Mattium. My people are destitute.’

‘The Cherusci will send as much aid as we can spare: food, blankets, weapons, medicines,’ said Arminius at once. ‘A hundred of my warriors will accompany you back to your lands, and stay until shelters have been built for all.’

‘You are generous indeed. We thank you.’ Yellow Beard bent his head. So did Drooping Moustache.

‘Let me guess Germanicus’ next move,’ Arminius continued. ‘He is going to strike north at us, the Cherusci.’

‘That would be my guess,’ replied Yellow Beard. ‘You know the old camp built by Drusus’ legions?’

‘I do.’ Built a generation before on one of the sources of the River Visurgis, the fortress had been deserted for many years. A strong hill position made it almost impregnable, thought Arminius, but of far greater concern was its proximity to his tribe’s territory.

‘Roman scouts occupy it already.’

Arminius absorbed this news with real alarm. If the rest of the Roman host was heading to Drusus’ old camp, which now seemed possible, Germanicus was intent on attacking his people next. ‘This is what you rode here to tell me?’

‘Aye,’ said Yellow Beard. ‘No man would wish what befell the Chatti on his worst enemy.’

‘Then it is my turn to thank you,’ said Arminius. He turned to Maelo. ‘Send a summons to all the settlements. Every whole-bodied warrior must be ready to fight within two days. I want every senior chieftain here by tomorrow.’

Maelo was up and moving before he’d finished talking. Arminius eyed the Chatti warriors again. ‘You are exhausted, and grieving for your loved ones. Take rest now. We can talk again later.’

Yellow Beard and Drooping Moustache gave him grateful nods as they were ushered away. Arminius raised his hands, silencing the unhappy muttering that had broken out among those listening. ‘Do not let fear enter your hearts!’ he shouted. ‘Remember what I did to the Romans the last time they were in our lands!’

Faces lit up. ‘Those were blessed days.’ ‘The gods were smiling on us.’

‘It seems the bastards weren’t taught enough of a lesson five and a half years ago. They will learn it anew! The ground will be soaked in their blood, and the forest carpeted with their dead. Our warriors will return laden with booty. Victory will be ours!’ Arminius raised a fist and they cheered him – not as loud as he would have liked, but enough to show their courage hadn’t been destroyed by the Chatti warriors’ bloodcurdling tale.

Arminius felt little of his proclaimed confidence. With the Romans so close, there wouldn’t be time to rally more than the warriors of his Cherusci faction, as well as those of Inguiomerus. Their total strength would be perhaps nine thousand spears, nowhere near what was needed to defeat Germanicus’ entire host – or even half of it.

Fear, real fear such as Arminius had not felt in many a year, raked at his guts.