Eagles at War

  ‘I have no idea, Vala,’ replied Varus, a little irritated by this, one of the favourite topics for gossip among officers. ‘I’m not in Rome. Even if I were, I wouldn’t be party to such information. Most of what we hear is gossip, remember, stories that have travelled all the way from the capital, being twisted and distorted with each telling. They’re about as reliable as the ramblings of a drunk who props up a bar. Interesting, often. Funny, sometimes. But not to be believed.’

  They had reached the outskirts of the settlement, which lay a short distance to the east of Porta Westfalica. The usual sprawl of premises lined each side of the dirt road. Carpenters and blacksmiths plied their trade alongside potters and cobblers. There were vendors selling olives and wine from Italy and Hispania, pottery and ceramics from Gaul, and furs taken from animals trapped locally. If the sellers of tinctures and potions were to be believed, there were cures on sale – at ‘the best prices’ – for blisters, aching muscles, sore backs, bladder infections and every venereal disease under the sun. The off-duty legionaries who were talking to a purveyor of the last were careful not to meet Varus’ eye as he rode by. Their efforts didn’t work with the soldiers accompanying Varus. A chorus of jeers and catcalls rained upon their comrades, who were too embarrassed to retaliate. Grinning, the officers in charge of Varus’ security detail did not intervene.

  Varus pretended not to notice what was going on. Prostitutes and the infections that they were prone to carry had been around since the dawn of time, and so too had their customers. Trying to stamp out the practice would be as pointless as pushing water up a hill. Besides, it was up to lower-ranking officers to ensure that their soldiers were healthy enough to complete their duties, not him.

  A little further on, his attention was drawn to the selection of amber laid out by a trader who was loudly declaiming that the woman bought such a gift would love her man for evermore. Varus admired the largest piece on the counter, an orange-gold lump the size of his clenched fist, and wondered whether his wife would like it. He rode on without stopping. It was beneath his station to haggle with a mere trader, never mind the fact that the man would quadruple the price the instant he realised who Varus was. Perhaps he’d send Aristides out to take a look, and see if he could purchase it for a reasonable sum. If it could be worked into a necklace, earrings and a set of bracelets, so much the better.

  Gift ideas for his wife receded as the settlement’s centre drew near. ‘They’ve been busy,’ he said, pointing at several fine, stone-built houses. With their open fronts, which were filled by a smarter class of trader, and their staircases at the side which ran up to the floor above, they stood in stark contrast to the wooden shacks used by the shopkeepers they had passed. ‘These weren’t here last summer, I don’t think.’

  ‘I believe you’re right, sir. Give it a few more years, and this will be a proper little garrison town.’

  ‘Have you visited Pons Laugona? It’s impressive.’ Official duties had taken Varus to the civilian settlement a number of times. It lay on the River Laugona, some fifty miles to the east of the camp at Confluentes.

  ‘I haven’t yet had the chance to, sir.’

  ‘It’s like a town anywhere in the empire, really. There are blocks of apartments, factories producing pottery, statues and metalwork. An aqueduct has been built. Only the centre of the settlement has piped water so far, but that will change. But it’s the forum and in particular the municipal building that are the most inspiring. It’s fifty paces by forty-five, with a central courtyard, and annexes that are respectable in size. There’s a massive gilt statue of Augustus too, which wouldn’t look out of place in Rome.’

  ‘The locals are trying hard then,’ said Vala.

  ‘Aye,’ replied Varus. They were nearing the open space that would form the proposed forum. Catching sight of a group of the town’s leaders whom he’d already met – among them the unctuous ones he had disliked – he told himself that their enthusiasm was to be embraced, not spurned. Their energy would see what had happened at Pons Laugona replicated here. It was for the good of the empire. Perhaps it was because of the wine he’d consumed, perhaps the ease with which he could become the politician, but Varus felt his annoyance fade. He raised a hand, pulling a broad smile. ‘Greetings!’

  The dignitaries, chieftains of one rank or another, approached together. Their salutations filled the air. ‘Governor, you honour us with your presence!’ ‘Welcome to our humble settlement, Governor Varus.’ ‘May Donar bless you, governor.’

  ‘Governor, what a delight.’ Aelwird, the portly man who’d got up Varus’ nose the most, stepped to the front and bowed. His long, greasy hair fell around the sides of his face. A whiff of ripe body odour reached Varus’ nostrils a moment later, and he had to work hard not to recoil in disgust. Aelwird might have taken to wearing a Roman tunic and sandals, but he didn’t yet appreciate that regular bathing was both good for the soul and one’s social interactions.

  ‘Aelwird. Have you met Legate Vala, my second-in-command?’

  ‘I have not yet had that pleasure.’ Aelwird bent at the waist again, as much as a fat man could. ‘I am overjoyed to make your acquaintance, Legate Vala.’

  ‘Greetings, Aelwird,’ replied Vala, inclining his head. His eyes flickered to Varus, who muttered under his breath:

  ‘A sycophant of the first order.’

  Vala’s lips quirked.

  ‘These are my fellow council members.’ Aelwird, who hadn’t noticed the exchange, indicated his companions, and reeled off a list of Germanic names. As he said each one, a man bowed.

  Varus made little effort to remember who the tribesmen were. They recognised him and Vala, and that’s what mattered.

  With Aelwird by his right side, and Vala on his left, and the remainder of the council behind, they walked to where most of the activity was taking place.

  ‘I’ve been telling Vala about Pons Laugona,’ said Varus. ‘No doubt you want to emulate what’s been erected there, or even better it.’

  Aelwird grinned like an urchin who’d been handed a coin. ‘I haven’t seen the forum at Pons Laugona, but two of my colleagues have. Of course we want to outdo what their council has had built, governor.’

  Mutters rose from the others, and Varus was sure he heard the words ‘Filthy Tencteri’. He’d forgotten. These men were Bructeri, with a smattering of Cherusci, if he remembered aright. ‘Would tribal rivalry have anything to do with it?’ he asked, smiling.

  Aelwird chuckled. ‘Perhaps a little, governor, but do not fear. Our primary desire comes from wishing our home to become the easternmost Roman town in Germania. When it is built, we want news to reach the emperor’s ears of his loyal subjects here, so far from the capital.’

  Varus and Vala were walking back to where they had left their horses when Varus’ gaze chanced upon a group of men standing off to his left, close to the workers digging the municipal building’s foundation. The newcomers – they hadn’t been there a few moments before, Varus was sure of it – stood in sharp contrast to Aelwird and his fellows in their Roman clothing. Every last one was clad in traditional tribal dress. Some were bare-chested, but what alarmed Varus was that they were all armed. The dwellings near Porta Westfalica didn’t quite constitute a town yet, and therefore didn’t have the law that prohibited weapons inside the settlement limits, yet few residents carried more than a knife. No doubt they had spears and so on in their houses, but they weren’t evident on the street, like this. ‘D’you see that lot?’ he asked Vala.

  ‘Just spotted them, sir,’ Vala replied, his eyes narrowed. ‘I was wondering whether to summon your escort.’

  ‘Don’t. It would give the wrong impression. We get to our horses, and then pretend to take our time adjusting saddlecloths and reins.’ Varus glanced back at the council. ‘Aelwird? Another word.’

  Aelwird hurried over. ‘Yes, governor?’

  ‘Those tribesmen. The ones staring at us,’ said Varus, without looking. ‘Do you know them?’

&n
bsp; Aelwird’s eyes moved to the group. ‘They’re Cherusci. I know a few of them, governor, yes.’ He scowled, hesitated, but said nothing more.

  ‘What is it?’ demanded Varus.

  ‘It’s idle gossip, governor, nothing for you to be concerned with.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that. Tell me.’

  ‘The group is visiting the town to trade. They’ve been camping nearby, and drinking in the taverns each night. A few of them have been boasting about how …’ There was a slight pause before Aelwird went on. ‘… how they’re going to ambush your legions.’ He cast an unhappy look at Varus and then Vala. ‘I would have mentioned it, except I didn’t think it worth troubling you with, governor. Their boasts are nothing more than what you might hear in any inn, or around a campfire, on any night of the year. You know how it is when men have drunk too much.’

  Could anyone fawn so much and not be genuine? Varus wondered. He threw another glance at the tribesmen. ‘Are any of them of rank?’

  ‘Not a one, from what I’ve been told. They’re young warriors, out to impress. Full of piss and wind, if you’ll excuse the expression.’

  Varus stared for longer than he had before, seeing that most of the warriors were smooth-cheeked. He glanced at Vala, who shrugged. ‘They don’t seem dangerous, sir,’ he muttered.

  The warriors were the exception rather than the rule, thought Varus. The majority of the locals were content with being Romanised – he only had to look at the construction going on to see that. ‘It’s the way of all youths,’ he said to Aelwird. ‘I was no different, on a day. No doubt you were the same, Vala?’

  Vala grinned. ‘I won’t argue with you there, sir.’

  Aelwird looked relieved. ‘If I had drink taken, I was known to exaggerate when I was younger, yes – even to lie about what I had done.’ He leaned a little closer to Varus. ‘If you wish, I could have a few of them rounded up and questioned. A thorough beating and we’d know one way or another if there was any truth to their story.’

  Varus toyed with the option before he shook his head. ‘That won’t be necessary. Arminius – you know him?’ Aelwird nodded, and Varus went on, ‘He’s an ally of Rome, but he’s also Cheruscan. According to him, there hasn’t been as much as a whisper of discontent among his people towards the empire these past months.’

  ‘I’ve heard much the same from other auxiliaries,’ said Vala.

  Aelwird beamed. ‘That’s certainly the feeling amongst my tribe. With Augustus’ rule comes peace and prosperity. Yes, we will all have to pay taxes to the imperial treasury, but the benefits of becoming part of the empire far outweigh those costs.’

  If there had been any doubt left in Varus’ mind about the need to question the group of warriors, Aelwird’s last comment saw it vanish. Those who said that the Germans were complete savages had closed minds, he thought. Within a generation, the whole region would be but another prosperous part of the empire, like Hispania or Gallia. He swung himself up on to his horse. ‘My thanks again for the tour, and commendations on your plans for the town. Submit your application to form a council before the harvest is taken in, and I’ll see that it’s approved in the shortest time possible.’

  ‘You have my undying gratitude, governor.’ Aelwird all but kissed Varus’ boot.

  Varus waved a benevolent farewell as he rode away. By the time they had reached his escort, the group of tribesmen had disappeared down a side street. It was proof to Varus that there was no cause for concern. If one century puts the fear of the gods into them, what would three legions do? he wondered.

  XVI

  ‘WHERE IN DONAR’S name are they?’

  It was the morning after Varus’ trip to see the site of the new forum in Porta Westfalica, and Arminius was in a foul mood. He had just returned to the camp after two days away. Was that too long to expect that things might proceed as planned? He paced the small sun-dappled clearing, over and back, around its perimeter, across it again. A dozen of his men stood well back among the beech trees, out of his way, watching in silence. It wasn’t far to the town, but the group was deep enough in the woods to mean they couldn’t be spotted from the road that led southwest, towards Pons Laugona and other Roman settlements. Their horses were tethered nearby, also out of sight.

  He glared at Osbert, who was nearest.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Osbert in a calm voice.

  ‘It’s been too long. Go and look for them,’ ordered Arminius. ‘No! Stay where you are,’ he snapped a heartbeat later. ‘I don’t want a Roman officer wondering what one auxiliary is doing on the road on his own.’

  Osbert hadn’t moved. ‘Aye. The less reason to arouse suspicion, the better.’

  ‘Something forgotten by the young Cheruscan fools who’ve been flapping their lips in Porta Westfalica’s inns. Word of what they’ve been saying reached Varus’ ears, you know that?’

  ‘Aye, you said.’ Again Osbert kept his voice level.

  ‘It was pure luck that Varus chose to regard them as loud-mouthed drunkards and nothing more. If he’d taken them in and interrogated them – if my prick of a brother Flavus had heard anything of this—’

  ‘Except Varus didn’t. And Flavus is none the wiser,’ said Osbert. ‘Calm down.’

  Arminius took a step towards him. ‘What did you say?’

  The air grew tense, yet none of the others interfered. It was a warrior’s right to challenge his chieftain at any time, but few lived who dared to cross Arminius.

  ‘You heard me, Arminius,’ said Osbert. ‘Losing your head now won’t achieve anything.’

  ‘I wouldn’t take that from most men.’ Arminius’ voice was light, but there was an ice-cold timbre to it.

  ‘I’m not most men,’ replied Osbert, sticking out his chest.

  A heartbeat, two heartbeats’ pause, and then Arminius said, ‘You’re not, and in this case, you happen to be right. If there was ever a time for self-control, it’s now. I want to cut the fools’ balls off when they arrive, and make them eat the whole bloody lot, but I won’t.’

  Men laughed, and the atmosphere eased. ‘Maybe they’re not coming,’ Arminius continued. ‘It’ll be obvious enough that I know – or suspect – that they let their mouths run away with them, and that that’s the reason I’ve summoned them to a meeting.’

  ‘If they go to the Romans—’ Osbert began.

  ‘If that happens, we might have to leave the camp in a hurry. But I doubt that it will. They’re youngsters, less steady than you or I. Maelo will have put the fear of the gods into them. Knowing that you’ll be hunted down and put to death with a wicker hurdle convinces most men to obey.’ Arminius cocked his head. ‘Listen! They’re here.’ As silence fell, he put a hand to his ear. The unmistakeable sound of riders and horses reverberated from the direction of the road. Although they could not be seen, everyone tensed, laying a hand to his weapon.

  When Maelo emerged alone into the clearing, there was a uniform exhalation of breath. He raised a hand in salute to Arminius, who was already stalking to his side. ‘Well?’

  ‘They’re with me,’ said Maelo. ‘I had to lay it down in no uncertain terms, but they came.’

  ‘All of them?’

  ‘No.’ Maelo pursed his lips and spat. ‘Three were on the piss in the settlement. We searched the inns and brothels, but had no luck finding them. Useless pieces of shit.’

  ‘Have they run to the Romans?’ demanded Arminius.

  ‘The ringleader thinks not. He reckons they’re in some shithole we didn’t find, sleeping off a drunk.’

  Arminius buried his anger. ‘Fetch the rest.’

  Maelo vanished the way he’d come, returning soon after with another dozen of Arminius’ men and, in their midst, five dishevelled-looking, unarmed warriors. Red-eyed, hair standing on end, wearing stained tunics, they were obviously hungover. Their flushed complexions paled, however, as they recognised Arminius. They did not resist as Maelo and his companions herded them across the clearing with brandished spears
.

  ‘Greetings,’ said Arminius in a pleasant tone.

  There was a muttered chorus of replies, but no one met his eye.

  ‘Any idea why you’re here?’ he asked.

  ‘Aye,’ replied one warrior, a young man of perhaps twenty with shaggy brown hair. ‘Because our mouths ran away with us in Porta Westfalica.’

  ‘That’s a good start,’ said Arminius. ‘I like a man who’s honest. Tell me what it was that you said. What your comrades said. Do not leave out a single detail.’

  ‘We had come to the settlement to see the size of the Roman camp,’ the warrior started. ‘Everyone in the villages is talking about your ambush, of what a war leader you are, and of the glory that will be won by those who take part in it.’

  It was good that expectations were running high, thought Arminius. The priest Segimundus was playing his part. ‘So you want to be there at the ambush?’ he probed.

  ‘Upon my life, I do! I can think of nothing better.’

  Arminius studied the warrior’s companions’ faces as they echoed his fervent vow. It was hard to tell if they were telling the truth – all that was plain was their fear – but it wasn’t surprising that such a group would come to spy out the forces that they might soon be fighting. ‘Once you had seen the camp, why didn’t you leave?’

  The warrior’s flush returned. ‘We had come this far. We thought that a few drinks wouldn’t do us any harm. To toast what we would do, when it – the ambush – happened.’

  ‘I can picture the scene. One cup of wine was followed by a second, and a third, and before you knew it, you’d had more than you can remember. Am I right?’ Arminius’ question was laden with sarcasm.

  ‘Aye, it was something like that. I can’t remember who mentioned the ambush first. It seemed funny at the time, to be talking about such a thing so close to a Roman camp.’

  ‘Were there any legionaries in the tavern?’

  ‘No. I made sure of that much before we started drinking.’