Caecina looked unhappy. He spat, bravely. “Child’s dreams, lord. This is war and not personal—”
Germanicus smiled at him coldly. “I shall remember your words when we find ourselves in need of a brave general for a desperate mission. I shall remember. Now, gather the legates and the tribunes and get us out of there. We shall march back through the Bructeri lands, through the woods, for Armin is out here and is just hastening back. We will take a surprising route we must teach the other tribes some lessons in fear, eh? Tiberius was too timid here.”
He rode to the castra, and Caecina stared at his back, full of hate.
Germanicus stopped and hesitated. He looked around and then down.
He stared at the corpses below, and I begged to gods he would fall amid us, that his horse would throw him.
Then he left.
I struggled wildly, and Gunda helped me, and suddenly, I was free. I crawled out of the ditch, higher and dragged Gunda with me. I saw that to the south, there was an easier spot to climb, a dead horse having crashed part of the fossa. I massaged the leg to get the blood flowing and looked up and around me. Then we crawled along the ditch to the side, and then, slipping, cursing, pushing and pulling each other, we managed to get up from the ditch over the dead horse. There were riders coming and going, and I clutched Gunda around me, half carrying her.
I saw a Parthian riding past, his eyes on the castra, ignoring me, apparently thinking I was a Roman, and I jumped forward and stabbed Nightbright up. The blade penetrated the side of the man, Gunda grabbed the bridle, and I pushed the man off. I pulled myself on the saddle and then Gunda up to me.
Shouts of alarm echoed, and I rode like the wind to the woods.
We rode for a long while, dodging branches, and I headed up to a hillside, where I hid for a while when men were riding past.
I looked below at the burning castra and at the destroyed hillside, under which the legions were gathering, having killed thousands of drunken or weak opponents.
I looked at some of them starting to march west.
Germanicus was not wasting any time.
He was in a hurry to escape Armin and to put fear in the hearts of Bructeri and Tencteri.
I looked at the west and rode that way. God’s Brow would be waiting, and we rode to delay the enemy.
I begged Gervas was alive and cursed my stupidity.
CHAPTER 11
The morning found most of the men of the Luppia Valley woods already awake. The rumor of war had spread fast.
Sunna’s rays lit the land, but it was already filled with specs of light as Roman torches shone in the forest paths that led through the dozens of valleys filled with villages, pastures, and heavy woods. A train of loot, and captured cows and horses were in their midst and they left flames behind.
The troops were making good time.
They had scouts, speculatores who knew the land ranging left and right, and heavily armored cohorts of auxilia were flanking the army. Many were horsemen. They were there, looking for trouble, expecting it, and it would not be like it had been with Varus.
These men wanted a fight, they begged for it, and they would get it.
A Bructeri we had found guided us past such scouts. I rode with Gunda, until we saw the border of the Bructeri up ahead, behind a low set of hills. The man was pointing a finger at two very steep ones, and the land seemed to squeeze between them, and below, it was wet and marshy. He spoke. “God’s Brow. That’s where Tubantes from the north, Bructeri and Tencteri and Usipetes from the west, and Marsi and Sigambri from the east meet and trade. It is a ragged ridge, with a pasture of gold and white flowers on the slopes. Below, a morass for miles and hillsides.”
“The Romans will go through it?” Gunda asked.
He nodded. “May they all die there. May the gods spit on their wounds.”
“Perfect,” I said. “Take us up there.”
He spurred forward and there we traveled, begging it wouldn’t be empty. While I rode, I watched the gleaming columns of enemy not too far to the southeast and wondered at the swarms of cavalry that ranged all around it.
Germanicus was moving fast. Villages would burn in the Bructeri lands.
Germanicus.
His words made me flinch with anger. They made me grit my teeth and lose composure, and I would, if he came close to me.
I would murder him. I felt Gunda squeezing me hard, reading my moods. “He has to die,” she whispered. “But how? It need not be you. It should be but need not be.”
I should kill Germanicus. He feared me.
I felt Gunda stroking my hand.
But perhaps…it was enough he died.
Then I thought of Gervas.
I feared so hard, I was shaking. I feared like I had feared when I had seen Cassia’s dead body, hoping she was alive, but knowing she wasn’t.
I would know soon.
We rode through the light woods up the God’s Brow, and there, up on that hillside, to my relief, I saw Gochan. The hulking brute was seated on a horse with Helm, near the ledge affording a view down to the valleys and the opposing hillsides, and they were conversing softly. Adalwulf stood with many of his men and a hundred or so ragged Sarmatians.
There, Tencteri sat in rows, many wounded.
I couldn’t see Gray Wolf.
I spied men I thought were Tubantes, with their braided hair and unusually short spears with wide blades. A man, perhaps their Thiuda Sigvaldi, was riding before them, wearing chain and shield, some war-lords looking at him as he spoke.
And beyond them, Helm’s men were moving for us.
Bructeri, massive columns of them, flanked horses with supplies, and women were snaking up the ridge from the opposing side. I saw, to my surprise, Mallovendus walking from the woods. Hundreds of Marsi followed him, each one with wide eyes of men who had seen horrors.
I stopped the horse and let Gunda down. Our scout smiled and rode off. She smiled nervously, as I jumped down and walked up for Helm.
My eyes were seeking Gervas.
He wouldn’t be there. He would be wounded, hurt, in some village. I didn’t see Wulf. Wulf would be with him, holding his hand.
Then I saw Wulf amid Adalwulf’s men.
I felt sick and walked forth.
I tried to gather my thoughts. I watched Helm’s powerful face, his hugely long hair.
The man was hard, harsh, and a great warrior. I had seen his father, Wodenspear, die, and I respected their valiant blood. He stopped as he saw me coming, and many Germani turned to watch me. They looked at me with shock, and I realized they had thought I was dead.
Gochan roared and rode for me. He vaulted from his saddle, and he crushed me in a hug. Adalwulf appeared and pulled Gunda with him, giving me a terse nod and looking away.
I grasped my half-brother’s arm. I opened my mouth. “Where is he?”
He closed his mouth. “Alde and Borena are missing.”
I closed my eyes. “Where is he?”
“Borena led him away,” he said. “In the chaos…” He was quiet. “I have men seeking. But—”
I shook my head, weak on my feet, and fought the rage, the tears. So easy it had been to trust them, once they had appeared to repent trying to capture me. I had wanted it to be true. I was sorry for what had happened with Alde, and I liked Borena. I had trapped her with Gervas, but perhaps she had trapped me with the fact I felt sorry for killing her husband. I had wanted a sister. Surely the wily wolf-sister knew it. And Alde? All that time, she had wanted to kill me. Perhaps she had wanted to punish me. Perhaps she had loved me enough to spare me from Germanicus and Maroboodus, while still having her revenge. She forfeited a bag of gold for it.
“Come,” Gochan said. “It is not all hopeless. I have a plan. But first, we have to discuss Germanicus.”
I nodded and walked with him for Helm.
The handsome man stiffened as he saw me coming, and I knew he wasn’t pleased.
“He is not happy?” I asked.
; “He is not,” he answered. “He is also careful.”
“We have a war to win,” I said.
He nodded at Helm. “He is a brave bastard, by all accounts,” he said, “but not mad.”
“How many men did they manage to find?” I asked, looking at the hundreds I could see.
He grimaced. “How many? Not many. They spread to celebrate, like the Marsi did, and most are still in stupor in their villages, snoozing around bonfire ashes. Many will start drinking again when they wake up. We have three to four thousand men. Not more.”
I shook my head. “Gray Wolf?”
“He hasn’t been seen,” he said. “Not since the castra. His men follow us, you and I, but Gray Wolf is not here, still.” He glowered. “My little brother has a lot to answer for. As do the others.”
I nodded. “Armin will think otherwise. He shall blame me.”
He agreed. “We failed, indeed,” I said. “But they didn’t take the fast way on Luppia’s shores. We managed to scare them enough to take a route through here. Germanicus is coming through there, and he has scouts who know the land.”
Helm was nodding as he heard me. “I only have some men, Raven. I assume you want to spend them on madness?”
I shook my head. “Armin is turning about. His men are coming. I heard Germanicus himself say that, when I lay under a horse in the castra.”
He blinked. “You did hear him, eh?”
“I heard him,” I said. “As for the madness? We have to fight them. Do you agree?” He said nothing. I looked at Mallovendus, who was shaking with rage. He agreed as I knew he would.
“What is there to decide, Helm?” he snarled. “It will be our duty to the gods and the dead to strike at the Roman. We must! He cannot just leave. Not after this!”
“I agree,” I said.
Helm snarled. “But you don’t have to look at crying women and children in the eye and explain why their relatives died and achieved nothing. We cannot destroy his army,” Helm said impatiently. “We cannot delay it enough. We cannot make a surprise out of it, because he has scouts left, right and ahead. He is no fool. He is Drusus all over again, and we must fight another day.”
“No.”
He flashed me an unkind eye.
“We cannot let him go,” Mallovendus said desperately. “He must be stopped, punished. We can surprise them if we attack. They don’t expect it. They cannot be everywhere at the same time. We strike at them—”
“The Bructeri shall stand away and see them march,” he told us. “We are—”
“Cowards,” I said.
He looked at me with surprise, and surprising calm at that. He lifted an eyebrow and shook his head. “Truly, Hraban. This is the way of it? We fought Varus together. I marched my men into the middle of a legion and held them down for half a day. We killed dozens of their tribunes and centurions, and I have an eagle in my hall to show for it.”
“I am not calling you a coward,” I said simply. “Rome shall. They shall mock you to the end of history for looking at them marching past while they go and burn your towns. Do not stop them and see if I am right. I am, you know. I know Rome.”
He spat.
“Sting them so hard, they have to stop to fight,” I said. “We cannot do much, but we can get some of them, and then we can drag down their march to a crawl. Take one of the eagles, perhaps, and when Armin comes, harry the hungry shits all the way to Rhenus.”
“Butchery!” Mallovendus howled. “Nothing short of it! That is what we need.”
“Nothing short of butchery, by a butcher of Romans. That is what you are, Helm,” I told Helm. “We have to face him. He will stop to fight, if we spring on the last legion, and put it to flight. If he is scouting left and right, and before, then perhaps he is weak in the arse. Let us hump that arse. We do it long enough for Armin to catch up.”
Helm frowned and rubbed his face. “I suppose we get more men as the day goes by. Another day, even more.”
“We’ll lose many,” I told him bluntly. “But there are ten thousand men of ours out there in the woods, coming this way. Cherusci, Chatti. They will be here. More will come, as you say. What will you tell Armin, if you are here pissing on the wind?”
Helm laughed and turned his horse.
He rode past me. “I suppose we find a place to fight in. There is one they must pass, just below us. They will hear of us, but perhaps, indeed, they don’t expect us to attack.
He rode away, and I moved to the Sarmatians, who smacked their lips and raised their bloodied weapons.
Wulf looked pale, Adalwulf was looking up to the sky. Gunda was with them.
Adalwulf looked at me. “How,” he asked, “will you find them? And what are they doing?”
Fear gnawed in my belly. “They were not helping Ourbazo.”
Adalwulf spat. “They might have been pretending to betray him, to pry you out of the house.”
Wulf grunted.
Gochan shook his head. “I have grown up with them. Ourbazo is a rogue. Always was. Borena is different. Alde has always loved her best. They have honor. They had one thing in common. Hate for me. If Ourbazo broke the deal with Maroboodus—”
“Then they are keeping it,” I said. “How will we find them?”
Gochan smiled. “We send men around to find them.”
I shook my head. “Gervas was hurt. They cannot be too far.”
Unless they let him die. I shook the thought away.
“They won’t move fast,” Wulf agreed. “We will send our men around, and—”
Gochan put a finger over his mouth and leaned over to me. He whispered, and I nodded.
I agreed. It would be costly.
“The fire god spared you,” he said. “He will spare your son.”
I nodded. “He did. He spared me.”
Helm was moving, and I turned to look at him.
I had to win a battle for Armin. I would have to deal with my half-sister later. It would be costly indeed.
I hesitated and pulled Gochan to me and spoke. He nodded and smiled and set up a group of men with a very special mission.
***
We rode slowly on a slope of a very steep hillside. Below us, rode Gauls of some auxilia cohort, unaware of our presence. Their heavy, larger horses were unhappy in the hillside, but the unhappiest of all were the thousands of legionnaires marching in ankle-deep morass below. The rains had turned the valley, fifteen miles long and more, into a stinking pit of weeds, trees, mold, and misery, and even birds looked ominous on the boughs as the silver snake slithered below. We stared at the Roman men, the Gauls, who could only barely see us. We had waited out of sight, killing enemy scouts when they ventured close, and when most of the enemy had moved off, we had marched down. The enemy had lost men on the slopes, scouts who had been careless, but soon, they would see us. I watched the hundreds of standards swinging on top of strong Roman shoulders, the best men of each unit carrying their honor forward. Furcae filled with legionnaire gear tied in with pila were swinging on most others, thousands of shields with boar, Gemini, and others proud symbols painted swung on their sides. No shield was covered with protective leather, no helmet was swinging on their chests. They were ready for battle. Centurions with their vine sticks were marching on their sides, encouraging them with words or violence.
The legion below was perhaps four thousand strong. Their cohorts were spread out, stretched out.
It was the accursed XX again.
The last of the legions was exhausted, and its cohorts depleted. Victims to the columns on a march, the last ones always ran, while the first ones walked, and the XX and its four thousand men were scrambling to keep up. Ahead of them was the loot in a caravan guarded by auxilia and not far ahead, Germanicus, overseeing the march.
There was no sight of Armin.
No sound or rumor of him either.
He was coming. He was near.
I watched Helm.
Helm watched the Tubantes’ chief, a young man called Sigvaldi.
He looked pale and determined, an over-large legionnaire chain around his body. His men, braided hair swinging, were chanting softly. Helm was looking at the Marsi and nodded. He watched Adalwulf and me, and our men and the Tencteri.
He was nodding to himself.
We all watched the enemy below and thought of Varus.
How he had feared.
The tribunes, their shiny helmets splendid with feathers and horsehair, the legate, a small irascible man with the mauled first cohort, looked nothing like Varus.
They exuded bravery.
“Varus,” I said.
“Varus!” Adalwulf called out.
“Varus,” came from some other throats.
Helm lifted his sword, crude and heavy, and screamed, “Varus! Varus! Remember Varus!”
And at that, the thousands of throats screamed, and the men shifted like a wave.
“Varus! Varus!” the men called, horns brayed, the enemy stopped and staggered, the riders below us whirled as their horses stumbled and some even galloped away in panic.
We charged.
We cut through the woods like a wave around rocks. The Sarmatians and Tencteri rode first, fast at the Gaul riders, javelins falling on the enemy. Here and there, a Gaul horse stumbled to its knees, fell to its side. Many Gauls were slumping over their horses, dying or wounded. The rest yelled warnings, they screamed in pain as more missiles landed amid them, and then our cavalry tore to the Gauls in a furious melee.
We were just behind.
We ran at the milling brawl, and spears stabbed up at the riders who had managed to keep on their saddles. It was like a wall of sand trying to stop a tide, and no matter how terrifying, how terrible the armored Gauls were, their long moustaches swinging over their armored chests, they crashed down on root and stone and were torn apart. It stopped us for a moment, the surprised ala of Gauls. Their prefect was riding away from our Sarmatians. Some of the men riding with him headed for the distant, next legions, and for Germanicus.
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