‘Especially if that hunting dog sleeps by its master’s side,’ added another.
‘You speak true,’ said Arminius. ‘Auxiliaries – like us – who rebel against Rome are punished in the most severe ways. But if the Romans were to suffer a catastrophic defeat, if they were to lose thousands of soldiers at one stroke, I say that you will die of old age rather than at their hands, on a cross or in an arena. Why? Because afterwards, those Roman whoresons would be too scared to cross the damn river!’
His men liked that, but they still looked uneasy.
‘You’re talking about rebellion, Arminius,’ said the warrior who’d mentioned the hunting dog.
‘I am, plain and simple.’ He let them suck on the marrow of that, and was pleased to see increasing numbers of men nodding. He raised his voice again. ‘I have had enough of the Roman yoke around my neck. I say I am free, yet I have to do the Romans’ bidding, have to pay their damn tax. I am a leader of the Cherusci, but I serve alongside one of their legions, fighting peoples with whom I have no quarrel. It is time to change these things. Time to become my own master again. Time to stand up and fight.’ His eyes tracked over his men, slowly. ‘Are you with me?’
‘I am,’ said Maelo, punching a fist in the air.
‘And I!’ Arminius was delighted to hear the warrior who’d spoken about hunting dogs and their masters. The men around him voiced their accord. It took a few moments, but then, like the rocks that follow the first stone of a landslide, the rest of his warriors joined in.
Arminius raised his hands. ‘I am thankful that we are as one on this, but the Usipetes must not hear us, my brothers.’
‘Why in Donar’s name not? We should wake them so that we can all fight the Romans!’ declared one man.
A good number of voices called out in agreement, but they quieted as Arminius began to speak again.
‘It would give me great pleasure to act so, but the place to fall upon the Romans is not here. It’s not now. We are too few, and I wish to wipe out not two cohorts, but three legions! The attack today must go ahead. If possible, every Usipetes warrior must be slain.’ He continued as his men’s faces filled with dismay. ‘The truth of it is that the Usipetes’ chieftains have already agreed to join our cause. If they find out that we have murdered some of their kin, Roman orders or no, they will tell me to shove it up my arse. That’s if I’m lucky!’ He was pleased that some warriors laughed. ‘It’s not just about the Usipetes either. We need several tribes to join us. If the Usipetes pull out, my chances of winning anyone else over will sink into the marsh, never to be seen again.’
Silence.
‘I say this with a heavy heart, but we have to follow Varus’ orders today. We must go even further in fact, to ensure that word of our involvement never crosses the river. If possible, every last one of the raiding party must be slain.’ Arminius sat stiff-backed on his horse, his stomach twisting in knots. Ten heartbeats passed. A dozen more skipped by, and still no one spoke. Arminius held his peace, keeping his expression stern.
‘Swear that if we act as you ask, you will deliver thousands of the whoresons to us,’ demanded the ‘hunting dog’ warrior. ‘Swear that we will wash away the stain of our actions with Roman blood.’
The weight of hundreds of men’s stares bore down on Arminius. Donar, help me, he asked. The wrong word, or a slip of the tongue, and he would lose them.
‘With Donar as my witness, I, Arminius of the Cherusci, make a solemn oath. With you by my side, I will teach the Romans a lesson that they will never forget. Their blood will flow in rivers; their cries of anguish will rend the heavens. Thousands of them will die, among them Varus himself. We will take their eagle standards as our own, and afterwards sacrifice their senior officers to the thunder god. In Rome, the emperor will tremble at the news of what we have done. Never again will his legions march through our lands! Never again will they trample our people!’
‘I want to see that day,’ declared Maelo, loyal as ever. ‘I will follow you.’
‘So will I, by all the gods,’ said the ‘hunting dog’ warrior.
And like that, as if a god had passed his hand over them, his men’s mood changed from wary and unsure to fierce and blood-hungry. ‘I will do as you say, Arminius!’ ‘And I!’ ‘I’m with you!’
A moment later, the sound of trumpets rang out from the north.
Arminius smiled. He had won them over in the nick of time.
X
TULLUS WAS STANDING at the head of his cohort in a mixed field of emmer and millet. To the legionaries’ left, spelt was growing; to their right, lentils. The settlement lay to their north, about a quarter of a mile away. Dozens of thatched houses were visible past the crops. A fox trotted along the cart track which separated their field from the next, casting wary glances at the interlopers to its territory.
They had reached their position without incident, leading Tullus to think that the Usipetes had killed the inhabitants’ dogs. Even at this distance, it was normal for visitors to attract a hysterical chorus of barking, yet their only greeting had been the crowing of a solitary cock.
There were no spirals of smoke rising from the roofs, so no women were up, preparing barley porridge or baking flatbread. Small boys weren’t herding cattle to pasture, or sneaking in twos and threes to the river on fishing expeditions. Tullus felt even more certain that everyone was dead, and that the Usipetes were sleeping off the beer and mead they had drunk. He put the inhabitants’ fate from his mind. Their misfortune, and the Usipetes’ lack of foresight, would see the entire matter resolved fast.
His men had already spread out six centuries wide, with gaps of thirty paces between each unit. The other centurions were experienced men – but Tullus still made one last pass along the front of the cohort, checking that the legionaries were ready to advance, that they knew prisoners had to be taken. Some looked nervous. Many were praying. That was normal. Most wore fixed, determined expressions and the tense nods they gave Tullus was reassurance that they would do their job. He hadn’t long resumed his own place, at the very right of the front rank of his century, when the unmistakeable blare of trumpets carried from beyond the settlement to the north. Tubero and Bolanus, the other cohort commander, were ready. Arminius and his men would be too. Regardless of his ambivalence towards the Cheruscan, Tullus knew the man would play his part.
His stomach knotted now, as it always did before a fight. He offered up his usual prayer, a calming ritual. Great Mars, hold your shield over me and my men. I swear to offer a sacrifice in your honour if most of us make it through. He had learned long ago not to ask that all his soldiers survived. ‘Now,’ he said to the two musicians by his side. As their instruments added their noise to Bolanus’ trumpets, Tullus heard Arminius’ horns sound to the south. ‘Draw swords! Advance, at the double!’ he shouted.
The charge began. The half-grown crop of emmer and millet, never to be harvested, was trampled into the earth by hundreds of studded sandals. They crossed a narrow cart track and entered a field of bitter vetch, flattening that too. A lone pig, one that must have escaped the Usipetes, ran off, squealing. Still there was no movement from the settlement. Tullus kept an eye on the other centuries’ positions, but he made no attempt to keep his front rank parallel with the next unit along. There was no point.
This would not be a set-piece battle, when the legionaries halted a short distance from the enemy to hurl their javelins. Because of the village’s irregular but typical layout – a centre point of a raised, palisaded mound with buildings and workshops of varying size arranged in large, irregular rectangles around it – any sense of formation would be lost as they arrived. From that point, Tullus would lose control of all but the eight or ten nearest men. The trumpeters would provide him with the wherewithal to issue basic orders to the rest of the cohort if needs be.
A hundred paces out from the first buildings, they came across the first body, of a man, lying on his front. Judging by his muddied sandals and worn tunic, he’d be
en a farmer. As they ran by, a cloud of flies rose, disturbed, from the red stain between his shoulder blades. The corpses came thick and fast after that. Men, women, children. The old, the lame, even the animals had not been spared. Beside a dead boy of about four, Tullus saw a pup that had had its skull crushed. He turned away in disgust, but the dreadful sights were everywhere, too many to block out. What had been done to the village women was the hardest thing to stomach. It hadn’t mattered to the Usipetes whether they were toothless grandmothers or girls too young to have a monthly bleed. They had all been raped before being murdered. Upturned dresses hid the terror that must have distorted their faces, but the corpses’ terrible wounds and their blood-smeared thighs were enough to bring bile rushing up Tullus’ throat.
‘Kill!’ he shouted, unleashing the beast. ‘Kill!’
‘KILL!’ his soldiers roared back. ‘KILL!’
They were almost on top of the houses before the first Usipetes warrior emerged, tousle-headed and bleary-eyed, from a doorway. With an animal roar, Tullus outstripped his men. The warrior was still gaping in disbelief when Tullus’ gladius rammed into his belly so hard that its tip emerged from his back. Tullus’ ears filled with his victim’s screams and he wrenched the sword free. Thrusts that powerful often caused a blade to wedge in a man’s backbone, he thought. That could have meant a stupid death for him. It was fortunate, therefore, that the three other Usipetes inside the house were as drink-fuddled as their dying friend.
Tullus stormed through the doorway, kicking one warrior in the face and smashing the iron rim of his shield on the head of another even as he tried to rise. One of Tullus’ legionaries was hot on his heels; he dispatched the third warrior as Tullus spun back to kill the men he’d stunned with precise thrusts to the chest. In-out. Blood everywhere. In-out. More crimson sprayed. Tullus was about to dispatch his first moaning victim when he caught sight, through the door, of the boy and the dead pup. With a curl of his lip, he stepped over the wounded man. ‘Leave the filth to die,’ he ordered.
Eight soldiers were waiting outside; the others had splintered off as he’d expected. Around them, chaos reigned. By a bonfire that yet smouldered, a score or more of dazed-looking Usipetes had been surrounded by several times their number of legionaries. They died still reaching for their spears. Others who had fallen asleep nearby met the same fate. Wood splintered as door after door was kicked in. Screams of panic followed as warriors woke to the sharp end of Roman swords.
A number of the houses were raised off the ground, standing on four thick wooden legs. When some of the legionaries discovered axes in a workshop, they sought out a building with Usipetes inside and instructed their laughing comrades to prevent any from leaving. As the structure began to wobble beneath their blades, the warriors within tried to climb down the ladder by the door. Two died before the rest retreated inside. Ten heartbeats later, the chosen leg collapsed. The entire structure followed, and as the warriors who yet lived tried to extricate themselves from the wreckage, they were finished off by the cheering legionaries.
The tactic was such a success that it was copied on other raised houses. It was a cruel way to die, but Tullus didn’t intervene. What he’d seen had so revolted him that he didn’t care how the Usipetes were slain. What counted was that their own casualties were few, and that they captured a number of prisoners. How many, Tullus hadn’t yet decided. His men could bathe their swords in Usipetes blood for a time longer.
Not all the raiders proved so easy to kill, however. When spirals of smoke rising from the direction of the river announced the destruction of the Usipetes’ boats, groups of warriors began to band together, even to try and break out of the settlement. While their desperate efforts were contained, it didn’t end there. A short while later, Tullus’ optio Fenestela came pounding over. There was blood spattered all over his face, which made him uglier than ever. He was unhurt, though, which relieved Tullus more than he liked to admit. ‘What is it?’
‘Tubero ordered us to herd as many of the Usipetes into the palisaded compound as we could, sir. It was a good place to trap them, he said. Trouble is, they weren’t all as panicked as we might have liked. Some of them shut the gate. We’ve already lost five or six men trying to get inside.’
Tullus cursed. ‘How many are in there, do you think?’
‘Fifty, maybe more, sir.’
‘Have you seen Bolanus or Arminius?’
‘Bolanus’ men are clearing out the rectangle to our left, sir. Arminius was talking to Tubero, last I saw.’
He should have told Tubero they’d turn the palisade into a defensive position, thought Tullus angrily. ‘How many men have you gathered up?’
‘Fifteen from our century, sir. They’re watching the gate.’
‘Take these legionaries, and one of the trumpeters. Encircle the palisade as best you can. I’ll assemble a couple of centuries and come to join you.’
Fenestela’s face grew concerned. ‘Will you be all right with only a trumpeter, sir?’
Tullus threw Fenestela a sour glance. ‘Piss off.’
‘Very good, sir.’ Fenestela eyed Tullus’ nine soldiers. ‘You heard the centurion, you foot-dragging pieces of shit! Follow!’ He ran back the way he’d come, the men hard on his heels.
Tullus had his trumpeter sound the recall once, and not too loud. He didn’t want panic to spread among the soldiers further away. It wasn’t long before he had two centurions, several junior officers and more than a hundred legionaries standing before him in rough order. Tullus bawled out the reason that he’d ordered them to his side, and they replied with gusto.
Perhaps two centuries were with Tubero at the palisade. Success had eluded him thus far, Tullus saw. A decent number of legionaries lay in and around the gate, and Tullus asked that none of his men be among the dead. The Usipetes were giving no sign that they were ready to surrender.
Ordering his soldiers to form up beside Tubero’s, Tullus went to see what was going on.
Tubero was lecturing Bolanus – who seemed most unhappy. There was no sign of Arminius. ‘You’ve brought more troops,’ said Tubero. ‘Good.’
‘Aye, sir, nearly two centuries.’
‘We’ll take the gate with the next attack, then. There are five ladders on the ground up there. If we fetch another half-dozen, that will be enough.’
‘You had the men attack already, sir?’ Tullus let his eyes wander to the bodies by the entrance.
‘I ordered an immediate charge when I arrived, yes,’ replied Tubero, bridling.
The number of dead had already told Tullus that the assault had been a resounding failure, and Bolanus’ expression confirmed it. ‘It didn’t succeed, sir?’
Tubero’s lips thinned further. ‘No.’
‘The Usipetes defended the palisade savagely,’ said Bolanus. ‘Eight legionaries were killed and a good number wounded. I mentioned sending to the camp for the bolt-throwers—’
‘To Hades with the bolt-throwers!’ cried Tubero. ‘It would take half the day to transport them here. The men will attack again now. We outnumber the dogs four, five to one. They’ll never hold.’
Tullus took a deep breath and said, ‘It could be that you’re right, sir, but they’ve seen the smoke from the boats, and our greater numbers. Every one of them knows he’s going to die, which is why they’re screaming blue murder, rousing themselves into battle frenzy. We’ll lose a lot of men.’
‘Your point is, centurion?’ Tubero laid heavy emphasis on the last word.
‘There’s no need to suffer so many casualties, sir.’
‘I am in charge here! I—’
Tullus’ frustration bubbled over. ‘Governor Varus sent me on this mission because of my experience, sir. A frontal assault isn’t our only option.’
‘Are you trying to tell me how to do my job, centurion?’ cried Tubero.
‘No, sir,’ said Tullus, clenching his jaw.
‘Good.’
‘Maybe we should do as—’ began Bolanus, but Tu
bero cut him off.
‘The Usipetes haven’t got enough men to defend the entire perimeter,’ he said, as if no one else would have seen this. ‘Take a group of soldiers around to the far side, Tullus. Scale the palisade, hit the bastards in the rear, and open the gate.’
He’s seen sense, thought Tullus, guessing from what Bolanus had started to say that the original idea had belonged to Arminius. ‘Very good, sir.’
Then came the sting in the tail. ‘You can have twenty men.’
Twenty? thought Tullus in alarm. Arminius wouldn’t have said to use that few. Would he? ‘Forty would be better, sir.’
‘Are your men are not up to the task?’ needled Tubero.
‘I’m not saying that, sir,’ Tullus began to protest.
‘Fine. Twenty it is then.’
‘That’s not enough, sir,’ said Bolanus.
‘If I want your opinion, Bolanus, I will ask for it.’ Tubero’s eyes were like chips of flint as he regarded Tullus. ‘Be quick, centurion. I don’t want to wait around all day.’
‘Sir.’ You spoilt, arrogant brat. Fuck you, Tullus thought, saluting. ‘You’ll attack when you hear the fighting begin?’
‘Of course.’
Tullus strode off, lamenting his inability to keep his temper under control. Thanks to Tubero, it was possible that he had just opened a swift route to Hades for himself and twenty men.
Despite his fury, Tullus did not rush his soldiers into position. They were veterans, whose lives were too valuable to waste because of a new tribune’s pique. If they had to die, he would ensure that they did so armed with everything that might help their cause. To scale the palisade fast, without men injuring themselves, ladders would be vital. Tullus gave thanks for the locals’ raised houses. It was a simple matter to remove four ladders from buildings that hadn’t been hacked down. Thus equipped, he, Fenestela and twenty legionaries from his century took a circuitous route out of the settlement – now also lined with Usipetes’ corpses – and back through the fields they’d traversed a short time before. He could but hope that the warriors within the compound weren’t keeping watch, or that his party was far enough away to remain unseen.