‘That’s the spirit.’ Vitellius threw a brotherly arm around his shoulders. ‘Let’s head home, eh?’
Watched by a sour-faced Sirona, they weaved their way between the packed tables to the door. They were half a dozen steps away when it burst open, framing a legionary on the threshold. Spying his comrades – a party of soldiers in the middle of the room – he roared, ‘We’re heading over the Rhenus, brothers!’
Conversations ground to a halt. Men stared. A little abashed, the legionary repeated his words. An expectant silence fell. Inspired by the opportunity hitherto denied them, the musicians struck up a merry tune, but they were soon cowed by a barrage of abuse.
‘Tell us all!’ Piso demanded of the new arrival. ‘What news do you bring?’
‘The clement weather is too good an opportunity to miss, Germanicus says. We are to attack the enemy at once.’ Surprised reactions erupted throughout the room – it was unheard of to wage war after the harvest. ‘Most units from the four …’ Here the soldier hesitated, unwilling to say the word ‘rebellious’, eventually opting for: ‘… local legions are to take part, as well as a similar number of auxiliaries. We march out when the troops from Ara Ubiorum get here, in three to four days.’
‘Kill the German filth! KILL!’
Piso didn’t see who began the cry, which was taken up with the fervour of men who need a cause to support. In the blink of an eye, every customer in the place was chanting. ‘KILL! KILL! KILL!’
The sound followed them outside. It was still audible at the end of the alleyway, and for some distance along the vicus’ main street. Similar sounds echoed from other drinking holes. A gang of soldiers staggering along in front of them were singing, ‘Ger-man-i-cus! Ger-man-i-cus!’
Piso felt his foul humour slipping away with each step. After a time, he said, ‘D’you feel it?’
Vitellius cast him a questioning look.
‘I don’t know how to say it, but the air – it feels lighter.’
Vitellius glanced up and down the street. All the legionaries within sight were cheering, or belting out endless repetitions of ‘Ger-man-i-cus’, ‘KILL!’ and ‘Revenge for Varus!’ Some were even praying out loud, thanking the gods for sending Germanicus to be their leader. ‘Aye,’ said Vitellius, a smile sneaking on to his face. ‘I see what you mean.’
‘A common enemy is exactly what we need,’ said Piso, thumping his friend on the back.
Life had just regained some of its purpose.
Chapter XVI
TEN DAYS HAD passed since Germanicus’ announcement, and night had fallen over the temporary camp that housed his vast force, thirty miles east of the Rhenus. Tullus was in his tent, Degmar and Fenestela by his side. Facing him were Piso, Vitellius and two other old soldiers of his from the Eighteenth, Saxa and Metilius.
Both Piso and Vitellius had expectant looks on their faces. Saxa and Metilius seemed more bemused. Since their move from Tullus’ command, they had seen him and their other former comrades on but a few occasions. Army life didn’t lend itself to reunions. Saxa was a bear of a man with shaggy brown hair. Metilius’ slight build, dimpled cheeks and cheerful expression gave the impression that he would be a poor fighter. In fact, the truth was quite the opposite.
Tullus’ promotion and newfound regard among his fellow officers had allowed him of recent days to secure the transfer of Saxa and Metilius into his own century once more. He hoped that the bond they had shared in the Eighteenth was still strong, because what he was about to ask them ran contrary to everything they stood for. Fenestela, who knew already, was in, and Tullus had little doubt that Piso and Vitellius would volunteer, but the other two were still an unknown quantity.
‘You must be wondering why I asked you here,’ he said to the legionaries. All four nodded their heads in agreement. ‘I will tell you, but you must swear never to speak of this meeting, except to one another. I mean it. If you won’t make such a pledge, leave now.’
The legionaries exchanged perplexed looks, but none protested. It took a few moments to make their oaths.
Feeling a little less worried, Tullus began. ‘You remember Degmar?’ This was more aimed at Saxa and Metilius – Piso and Vitellius saw him every day.
‘Aye, sir,’ replied Saxa, giving Degmar a civil nod. ‘He’s the one as got us to Aliso.’
‘Correct. If it hadn’t been for Degmar, our bones would be strewn across the forest floor, like those of so many former comrades.’
‘Marsi, aren’t you?’ Metilius directed this at Degmar.
‘I am,’ came the proud reply.
‘That’d be part of the reason we’re here, sir, I’d wager,’ said Metilius with a knowing look.
‘I’d forgotten how shrewd you are, Metilius,’ said Tullus, chuckling. ‘We all know what’s going to happen tomorrow.’ Degmar’s face twitched, and Tullus felt grateful that he had ordered two men to guard the warrior since they had left Vetera.
Their target, a cluster of Marsi villages scattered over a five-mile radius on the other side of an expanse of forest, lay within easy striking distance. Caecina’s scouts, two cohorts of light-armed auxiliaries, had been sent into the woods at sunset, their task to find a path through. The entire force would mobilise at dawn, and make straight for the settlements. No quarter was to be given, not to man, woman or child. When the slaughter was over, fire and sword was to be taken to the entire area. If possible, Germanicus had ordered, the entire Marsi tribe was to be slain.
‘Our debt to Degmar can never be repaid in full,’ said Tullus. ‘Tonight, however, I will redress the balance somewhat. The three of us’ – and he indicated the Marsi warrior and Fenestela – ‘are going to find Degmar’s family. We’ll help them to escape, and return to our allotted positions before dawn.’
The four legionaries’ expressions varied from incredulous to aghast.
Piso was first to regain control. ‘How will you get out of camp, sir?’
Tullus winked. ‘You can’t always trust the auxiliaries, I told one of the tribunes. He gave me permission to check the lie of the land.’ His eyes moved from face to face. ‘For once, I cannot order you to follow me. I ask instead that you remember what Degmar did for each of us five years ago, and make your decision based on that.’
‘Degmar has helped me since too, sir. I’ll come,’ said Piso at once, giving the warrior a friendly glance.
‘And I,’ added Vitellius.
Tullus gave them both a nod of appreciation, before looking at Saxa and Metilius. ‘Well?’
‘Your pardon, sir, but you’re mad,’ exclaimed Saxa. He paused, making Tullus’ heart skip a beat, and then he added, ‘I’m not fond of tribal types, not after what happened with Varus, but Degmar saved us, and a debt’s a debt. I’ll help.’
Metilius snorted. ‘I’m not going to miss the fun, sir. I’ll string along too.’
Just like that, they were all part of it. Tullus couldn’t quite believe his luck.
His zeal soon cooled. They were seven men against an entire tribe. Seven men who somehow had to keep their mission secret from their own kind, or face the most severe consequences.
In reality, their chances of success were slim to none.
It was a cold, bright night, and the Marsi settlements lay directly ahead, to the east of the forest. That didn’t mean it was easy to keep a straight line under the trees’ shadowy canopy, and Tullus was content to give Degmar the lead. If Tullus had taken it, they would have gone wrong within a few hundred paces. With the Marsi warrior in charge, however, they picked their way past vast patches of brambles, around towering beeches and sessile oaks, and through streams. They travelled in single file, Degmar first, followed by Tullus and the legionaries, with Fenestela taking his customary place at the rear. In the larger glades, moonlight turned their shadows into great black figures, ghosts going about their silent business.
On several occasions, they encountered groups of auxiliaries, but each time the hissed challenge to identify themselves came, Tullus
was at Degmar’s shoulder, ready with the password. Although they received a few odd looks, their presence in the forest wasn’t challenged. Step by step, quarter-mile by quarter-mile, they made their way along the narrow paths found by Degmar. Checking the moon’s passage across the starlit expanse above was the only way of judging time. By Tullus’ reckoning, they had been travelling for perhaps two hours when Degmar came to an abrupt halt.
Tullus peered into the gloom ahead, but could see nothing. ‘What is it?’
‘The village is near. You had best shed your armour here.’
‘How will we find it again?’ asked Tullus, concern gnawing his guts. If there was pursuit from the settlement, it could be the least of their worries that night, but having to explain why he and his men were without their kit the next morning would also be his undoing.
Degmar pointed to a sessile oak a short distance off the track. Halfway up its height gaped a great split in its trunk. ‘That was struck by lightning when I was a boy. It’s where my friends and I used to meet. I can find it with my eyes closed, in the dark, the fog or the snow.’
Tullus was already directing his men to the base of the tree. ‘Off with your armour, quiet as you can.’ There had been no sign of any auxiliaries for some time, but this was one of the riskiest parts of their mission. To be found divesting themselves of their kit by their own kind would rouse the suspicions of an idiot.
To his relief, they stripped down to their tunics without interruption. The only equipment left to each man was his belt, sword and dagger. Degmar took them to a nearby boggy patch, where everyone applied a generous covering of mud to a comrade’s arms, legs and face. That done, they dogged his footsteps once more. He walked a great deal slower now, stopping often to listen and stare into the darkness.
A pleasant smell of wood smoke hung in the still air, an indication that they were drawing nearer to the village. Tullus had just made out the outline of a building when Degmar halted again. He whispered into Tullus’ ear, ‘I’ve guided us to the closest point to my parents’ house, but we will have to enter the settlement now. Everyone has a dog. One is sure to bark when it hears us, and that could rouse the rest.’
‘And if the villagers wake?’ Tullus was picturing the scores of warriors they would face if the place came to life.
The gloom couldn’t conceal Degmar’s smile. ‘I have a trick up my sleeve. Games will have been held here yesterday to honour a local goddess, and there was a feast last night. Everyone will have been pissed out of their heads by the time it finished. Donar willing, they’re all unconscious. If they do wake, they’re more likely to give their dog a kick than to look around.’
Tullus’ tension eased a fraction, and he twisted around to pass the information on to Piso, who was next in line. He gave the order for each man to unsheathe his dagger. ‘Ready,’ he said to Degmar, who also had a knife in his fist. What an ugly reality that was, thought Tullus. He’s prepared to kill his own kind to save his family.
Taking a parallel course to the length of the first longhouse, Degmar led off. They had gone halfway when a surprised ruffff went up. Another followed, and soon the dog was barking fit to burst. A dog in the next house joined in. Degmar froze; so did everyone. Fixing his gaze on the house’s door, Tullus waited, dry-mouthed. Ten heartbeats thumped by, then twenty. A muffled voice growled something; the dog’s barking lessened a little, but continued. Heavy footsteps echoed within; there was a thud and a curse as a person’s shin collided with something solid. Another, meatier thud was followed at once by a chorus of yelps. Muttering to himself, the dog’s owner tramped back to bed, farted loudly and fell silent.
Relieved and amused, Tullus waited until the second dog calmed down before signalling Degmar to continue. They padded onward, their hobs picking up clods of mud in the frequent vegetable patches. The group skirted around two more houses without disturbing their inhabitants, animal or human. Degmar revealed to Tullus that the next longhouse belonged to his parents, and the one after that to his older sister. He had just finished speaking when a dog inside his parents’ home began to yap. ‘Wait here,’ Degmar hissed. ‘I won’t be long.’
You’d better not be, thought Tullus, his stomach knotting. He ordered Piso and the rest up against the wall – the better not to be seen – and to keep a sharp eye out. He did the same. The darkness didn’t stop him from feeling as exposed as a naked bather who walks through the wrong door to find himself on the street outside the bathhouse.
His alarm grew at the sight, fifty paces away in an open space, of tables and benches with the figures of sleeping men sprawled everywhere between them. Hoping that Degmar had been right about the amount of drinking that would have gone on, Tullus watched the slumbering men with bated breath. No one stirred, and after a few moments, the dog quietened inside the house. It knew Degmar, Tullus presumed, but he didn’t let down his guard even a little. Eyes roving from side to side, his dagger ready, Tullus watched the feasting area, and the two nearby longhouses. He waited. Counted his heartbeat so that he knew how long Degmar had been gone.
Twenty beats went by. Tullus had almost reached fifty when a stifled exclamation came from within. He tensed, but instead of an outcry, muted voices began a conversation. Degmar had found his parents, it seemed. Fresh worry consumed Tullus. What if Degmar’s mother or father decided to warn the entire village? A few cries for help would rouse their neighbours, drunk or not. ‘Be ready to retreat on my order,’ he hissed to Piso.
At a hundred heartbeats, Tullus began to wonder whether Degmar had any chance of persuading his parents to leave. Tullus’ men’s nerves were jangling too: they were shifting about, and jumping at the slightest sound. The longer they stood here, the more chance there was of being seen.
Off to Tullus’ right, a door banged open. He spun, knife at the ready. A tall figure staggered out from the longhouse opposite – not the one belonging to Degmar’s sister. A loud belch broke the silence, and the figure – a man – weaved a few steps towards Tullus and the rest. Muttering to himself the way only the drunk can, the man tugged at his garments. A moment later, a stream of urine arched into the air; there was a simultaneous sigh of relief. The man pissed for so long – sixty heartbeats at least – that Tullus wondered if he’d ever stop. In the end his bladder had been emptied, however, and he shrugged himself back into his trousers.
Degmar, unknowing, chose that moment to walk outside, leading several others.
Inebriated or not, the man saw them at once. He called out in German. Degmar tensed and hissed something back. His answer wasn’t satisfactory, because the man asked another question, and took several steps towards Degmar, who told him – Tullus thought – to piss off. The man ignored this advice, and repeated what he’d said. Degmar flicked his hand in a clear gesture for the man to leave. The only response he got was another, louder demand.
Tullus’ mind raced. If he did nothing, the man would raise the alarm. That was, if others hadn’t been woken already. Or he could kill him, and hope that that didn’t set Degmar’s parents to screaming. The second option was best, he decided, indicating that Piso should follow him.
In ten steps Tullus was close enough to see that the man was much younger than he, and more heavyset. The man was more plastered than a drunkard on the feast of Bacchus, however, and he did nothing but gape as Tullus swept towards him like a vengeful spirit. His last words – another question of some kind – were muffled as Tullus’ fingers wrapped around his mouth and his throat was sliced open. Trying to avoid the gouts of blood, Piso stabbed him twice in the chest for good measure.
Even as he lowered the man’s corpse to the ground, Tullus’ eyes were sweeping over the house he’d come out of, and across the sleeping revellers. There was no sign of anyone else emerging, and no one stirred by the tables and benches. How long could their luck hold? Tullus wondered. He hurried to Degmar, who had one man and two women with him – his parents and one of his sisters, Tullus presumed.
‘He’s no loss,’ re
vealed Degmar before Tullus had to explain himself. ‘The prick was forever trying to steal my mother’s hens. If he wasn’t at that, he was propositioning my youngest sister.’
The filthy looks that Degmar’s family were giving Tullus showed they didn’t feel the same way about what he’d done.
‘My father,’ whispered Degmar, pointing at a shorter, older version of himself, who glowered even more, and muttered a curse. ‘My mother.’ A fine-boned woman with long hair met Tullus’ glance with icy disdain. ‘My youngest sister.’ The last of the three, an attractive woman in a dark cloak, sniffed and turned away.
‘I am glad to meet you,’ Tullus said in careful German. ‘We must hurry from here.’
Degmar’s father spat on the ground.
‘I would be the same,’ Tullus said as Degmar’s mouth opened. ‘Fetch your other sister.’
Degmar sped off, leaving Tullus and his men to guard his resentful family. To everyone’s relief, he returned soon after with a man and a woman, both of whom looked surprised, angry and resentful. A sleeping baby strapped to the woman’s chest remained oblivious to its parents’ unhappiness.
Degmar’s father chose this moment to begin arguing with his son. The older sister’s husband leaped in too. Degmar’s demands for them to be quiet were in vain. Tullus watched with increasing anxiousness. Every heartbeat that thudded by, every angry exclamation, increased the danger they were in. Two horrifying thoughts soon struck him. Had the argument been staged by Degmar, to make fleeing Tullus’ only option? Perhaps the Marsi warrior even intended that he and his men should die here?
A solid smack rang out, and Tullus’ eyes shot to Degmar’s father, who was reeling back, clutching his cheek. Degmar bristled before him, his hand raised to strike again. ‘We leave now,’ he hissed. ‘All of us.’