Eagles at War

by Ben Kane

  Tubero wasn’t used to being the butt of ordinary soldiers’ jokes, however. Some time later, Tullus was riding along, eyes closed, imagining one of his favourite whores doing what she did best, when the senior tribune’s outraged voice dragged him from his reverie.

  ‘Tullus! TULLUS!’

  ‘Yes, sir?’ Fully awake, whore forgotten, he regarded a puce-faced, sweating Tubero from no more than ten paces. ‘What’s wrong, sir?’

  Tubero’s cheeks went a shade rosier. He cleared his throat and pulled his horse’s head around so that it faced forward again. When Tullus was alongside, he leaned in with a conspiratorial look. ‘I’m not feeling well this morning.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that, sir,’ replied Tullus.

  ‘I was feeling nauseous just now. I climbed off my mount by the side of the road, and was sick. I vomited.’

  ‘My sympathies, sir. These things happen. Has it passed?’ asked Tullus, holding in his amusement. He knew what was coming.

  ‘I don’t need sympathy, centurion.’ Tubero glared at the passing legionaries, one of whom had snickered.

  ‘No, sir,’ said Tullus, adopting the blank, uncomprehending expression favoured by low-rankers pretending not to understand an officer.

  ‘Your men mocked me! There I was, retching, feeling terrible, and all they could say was, “Too much wine last night, tribune?” or, “Typical. An officer who can’t hold his drink!”’

  Tullus put on a solicitous face. ‘That’s terrible, sir.’

  ‘One even said, “I’d like to see you in combat, tribune,”’ cried Tubero. ‘It’s insufferable. Outrageous!’

  ‘Did you spot the soldiers who made the comments, sir?’ asked Tullus, knowing full well what the answer would be.

  ‘Do you think I have eyes in the back of my head?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘You must do something,’ hissed Tubero. ‘Such contempt cannot be tolerated.’

  ‘I didn’t like it the first time it happened to me either, sir.’ He smiled at Tubero’s shock. ‘It happens to all of us, sir, even Varus.’

  ‘It’s indiscipline of the worst kind!’

  ‘Different rules apply on the march, sir. Stupid jokes don’t harm anyone, and they pass the time.’ Tubero did not look convinced, and Tullus added, ‘The dogs have been ribbing me all morning because of the frequency with which I’ve had to piss. “Look! The centurion’s at it again.” “His bladder must be the size of an apple.” “Keep out of the way, brothers. Tullus is about to flood the place again!” I tolerate it, sir, because it makes me human in their eyes. Let’s be clear: they still have to follow orders – I don’t give them a pubic hair’s leeway on that – but it’s part of the marching ritual.’

  There was silence for a moment, and then Tubero nodded. ‘So be it, centurion. I will overlook the men’s attempts at humour – this once. Let it be known that if it occurs again, I will have the whole damn cohort on latrine duties, and worse, for a month. Do I make myself clear?’ Despite the sweat coating his forehead, Tubero’s stare was unwavering.

  ‘You do, sir.’

  ‘As you were, then.’ Tubero gave his horse its head, and trotted off to the front of the column.

  Tullus watched him go, thinking that perhaps his initial dislike of the tribune had been well founded after all. Despite this, what had just taken place wasn’t entirely bad. It took considerable spine for a freshly commissioned senior officer to disagree with a veteran centurion. Tubero might yet develop into a fine leader. Marshalling what was left of his goodwill, Tullus told himself that that would be the case. It felt better to think that rather than the other things Tubero could turn out to be.

  Patrol routine took over once more. Several miles down the road, Tullus judged that it was time to halt for a meal break. The front and rear centuries had to remain on duty on the road and eat where they stood. Meanwhile, the four from the column’s middle spread out into a fresh tilled field, unslung their shields and devoured bread and olives. Tubero, who had returned, watched with clear annoyance, but did not intervene. ‘I’m not hungry,’ he snapped when Tullus offered him some food. It wasn’t long before he took off again with his entourage in tow, shouting over his shoulder that he would keep scouting out the road ahead. ‘Good fucking riddance,’ Tullus heard one soldier say. Fenestela, who was sitting beside Tullus, chuckled. Tullus couldn’t argue with the sentiments of either man, so acted as if he hadn’t noticed a thing.

  The food helped Tullus’ hangover to recede, leaving torpidity in its place. He roused himself with an effort a while later. There would be time to sleep when they reached the marching camp. He ordered the legionaries back to the road. ‘Eight more miles,’ he remarked to Fenestela.

  ‘We’ve broken the back of it, sir,’ replied Fenestela. It was his stock phrase after the midday break.

  As Tullus rode along, he began to daydream again about the whore in the vicus, but he did not entirely relax. Every so often, he studied the land to both sides, and the road in front and behind. He kept half an ear on his soldiers’ banter too, and was content that they seemed in good humour.

  An hour or more passed in this fashion.

  Then, in the distance, towards Vetera, a man shouted. The panicked tone roused Tullus at once. ‘Tell the optio to be ready for trouble. Pass the word back, all the way to the rear,’ he barked at the nearest legionary. Ordering the trumpeter to follow, he drummed his heels into his horse’s sides and rode forward at a steady canter.

  It wasn’t long before Tullus could see three riders hammering along the road towards them. Tubero was out in the lead, and it was he who was yelling.

  ‘To arms! To arms!’

  Although he could see no one behind Tubero, Tullus’ stomach did a neat roll. What in Hades has happened? he wondered, reining in. ‘Sound the halt,’ he ordered the trumpeter.

  The trumpet’s blare had not finished before the ranks of soldiers had come to a stop.

  ‘Front century, yokes on the ground, by your feet. Javelins ready!’ shouted Tullus over his shoulder. ‘Wait for my command.’ He waited as Tubero galloped towards them. The tribune seemed uninjured; so too did his companions, which was one good thing.

  Tubero sawed on his horse’s reins as he drew near to Tullus. ‘Ready the cohort for battle.’

  ‘What’s going on, sir?’

  ‘Half a mile up the road, I came across a group of the tribesmen who’ve been cattle rustling. The Tencteri, was it?’

  ‘That’s right, sir,’ replied Tullus, feeling the first traces of concern. ‘Can I ask how you recognised them as Tencteri?’

  A withering look. ‘It was a group of young warriors, about twenty strong. They were driving cattle south. They didn’t seem to like the sight of me, and shouted insults when I demanded to know who they were, and what they were doing. That was enough for me.’

  Tullus’ disquiet grew. Plenty of tribesmen disliked Romans, even more so if they were an arrogant young officer. ‘How do you know what they said, sir?’

  Irritation flared in Tubero’s eyes. ‘I don’t. Now, I want two centuries to advance at the double. The tribesmen are still quite near the road. There’s plenty of room for our men to deploy before we envelop them.’

  Cattle rustlers didn’t swan about in broad daylight, thought Tullus, but it wasn’t for him to question the tribune too much. ‘Front two centuries, prepare to advance,’ he barked. To Tubero, he said, ‘Will you ride alongside me, sir?’

  ‘I will.’ Tubero half drew his sword, allowing Tullus to note with horror that the blade was red with blood. Tubero laughed. ‘You seem surprised, centurion.’

  ‘Did they attack you, sir?’

  ‘No. I rode down the nearest – the one that was shouting insults. I don’t think he believed that I meant business until I cut him from neck to waist. By then it was too late.’ A snicker.

  Tullus’ anger flared, but he swallowed it down. ‘Did you kill anyone else, sir?’

  ‘Sadly, no. Two of them lobbed s
pears at me. I judged it best to return to the patrol, and gather the men.’

  Tullus offered up a quick prayer that the warriors were indeed Tencteri cattle rustlers. If they weren’t, well, the gods only knew the repercussions that would result. Roman law lay lightly on many of the surrounding tribes … He quelled his concern. ‘That was prudent, sir. Varus would not be happy if I came back without a tribune.’

  Tubero sniffed. ‘But he will be happy that the rustlers who have been troubling the Usipetes have been dealt with.’

  ‘If they are the men responsible, sir’ – Tullus ignored Tubero’s indignant look – ‘Varus will be the first to congratulate you.’ If they’re not, he thought, he’ll be sending you back to Rome in disgrace, and serving me my own balls on a silver platter.

  ‘Come on,’ demanded Tubero. ‘We need to move fast, or they might abandon the cattle and get away.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’ Tullus regarded the trumpeter. ‘Find the centurion in charge of the third century. Tell him that the rest of the unit is to follow us at a fast pace.’ To the legionaries behind him, he bellowed, ‘First two centuries, with me – at the double!’

  If the warriors hadn’t realised that Tubero and his companions were part of a larger group, they soon would, thought Tullus. A hundred and fifty men in full armour, running, made a lot of noise.

  It was no surprise, therefore, that when they reached the spot where the confrontation had taken place, the tribesmen were herding their cattle to the south at speed. Tullus’ heart quickened. Whatever the right and wrong of it, they were quarry now. ‘If one century moves to the left, sir, it should cut them off from those trees by the river. The other century goes to the right. Some might get away, but we’ll soon run them down. If any are foolish enough to come back in this direction, they’ll meet the rest of the cohort.’

  ‘Fine,’ replied Tubero. ‘Try and keep a couple alive at least. They can be interrogated before I have them crucified.’ Beckoning to his staff officers, he galloped off, straight after the warriors.

  ‘Sir!’ But the tribune paid him no heed. Impulsive fool, thought Tullus. It’d be just my luck for one of the tribesmen to fell him with a lucky spear. Despite his dislike of Tubero, he had no wish for that to happen, nor to suffer one of Varus’ thunderous – and famous – dressing-downs. He issued his orders, deciding to take his century to the right while the other centurion and his men went to the left.

  They charged down on to the pasture upon which the cattle had been grazing when Tubero arrived. The corpse of the man slain by the tribune stood out, a slumped figure on the green grass, surrounded by a circle of crimson. Tullus passed close enough to see that Tubero had almost cut him in two. He felt a little respect. The boy was no slouch with a sword. Within a short distance the grass gave way to a large swathe of barley, beyond which stood a couple of longhouses. Tullus cursed at the sight of them. The cattle had trampled much of the crop flat, and the passage made by his men would make things worse. Whatever the reason, the local farmers – Usipetes – would blame the Romans for the destruction of their precious barley.

  He hadn’t expected to be confronted the moment that he and his soldiers neared the longhouses. Two red-faced tribesmen stamped out to block their path. Bearded, dressed in dark homespun tunics and trousers, and unarmed, they shouted and waved their arms in evident fury, not at the disappearing warriors, but at Tullus and his men.

  He sensed the legionaries behind him growing tense. ‘Halt! Stay calm, brothers. They’re farmers, just angry farmers. No one is to lift a hand unless I say so.’ Although Tullus’ fingers wanted to grip the hilt of his sword, he raised his right hand, palm showing, as he walked his horse towards the pair. Their ranting checked a little, but it did not stop, nor did they retreat. Tullus’ understanding of the local tongues was decent enough, and what was being said was not complimentary. ‘Calm yourselves,’ he shouted. ‘Tell me what has happened. Slowly.’

  The older of the two, a greybeard with a weeping eye, batted at his companion, who reluctantly fell silent. At once a new tirade began. ‘Ruined crops … starvation in the winter … cattle being chased … a man murdered … and for what?’ Tullus heard. ‘For what?’ repeated the greybeard, spittle flying from his lips.

  Tullus felt even unhappier. ‘The cattle. They were stolen by those warriors. Tencteri rustlers.’

  He received a contemptuous stare. ‘Tencteri? Those are Usipetes, same as I am! They were driving the herd to new grazing when a lunatic Roman attacked them for no reason. Killed one of them dead. He was sixteen summers old. His body’s over yonder.’

  ‘You’re certain that they’re Usipetes?’ asked Tullus, feeling foolish.

  Another scornful look. ‘Several are kin of mine. Or of his.’ He jabbed his companion. ‘Is that enough proof for you, Roman?’

  Tullus clenched his jaw. Jupiter, I ask you to help this situation not to go all the way to Hades, he prayed. ‘For the moment, it is, yes.’

  ‘The Usipetes are at peace with Rome! Did the fool who attacked those boys not know that?’ screeched the greybeard.

  Tullus did not answer, but he was thinking that the reckless imbecile didn’t bother to check. Someone had to ride after Tubero and stop him from killing more innocents – if he hadn’t done so already. ‘Damn you, Tubero,’ Tullus whispered. He would have to do this. ‘Did you catch any of that?’ he demanded of the other centurion, a solid type called Valens, who had ridden up alongside.

  ‘The important bit, sir, I think,’ replied Valens, looking troubled. ‘They’re Usipetes, not Tencteri.’

  ‘That’s right. Follow as fast as you can. I’m going to try and prevent Tubero from starting a tribal uprising all on his own.’ Tullus cracked his reins over his horse’s neck and set off in pursuit.

  His worst imaginings had come true by the time he’d caught up. Tubero and his companions had cut down three more men, killing one and wounding the others so badly that Tullus doubted they would live. He had no doubt that if the remaining tribesmen – a group of fifteen or so fearful-looking youths, wielding spears – hadn’t banded together in a loose circle, Tubero would have done for even more. While his staff officers watched, he was riding his horse to and fro, just beyond spear-throwing distance, hurling insults. ‘You dogs! Scared of facing me, are you? Wait here, then, until the soldiers arrive. You’ll all die soon enough. You’re cowards and thieves, the lot of you!’

  ‘Sir!’ Although the staff officers saluted, Tubero didn’t appear to hear his first shout. Tullus rode closer. ‘SIR!’

  Tubero’s head turned. He smiled, like a wolf. ‘Tullus. You can’t wait to start shedding the enemy’s blood either, eh? Never fear, I’ve left a few for you.’

  Tullus rode in until his thigh touched Tubero’s. He ignored the tribune’s annoyed reaction. ‘Sir,’ he said in a low tone. ‘These are not the cattle rustlers.’

  ‘Of course they are, centurion!’

  Tullus leaned even closer. ‘No, sir, they are not. They’re Usipetes, who were herding cattle to new pasture.’ As you’d have discovered if you had bothered to ask, you stupid bastard, he wanted to add.

  Uncertainty mixed with the anger in Tubero’s eyes. ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘I spoke to the farmers in the houses back there. They’re kin to these youngsters.’

  ‘There must be some mistake. They shouted at me; they fled when I rode towards them.’

  Tullus ground his teeth. ‘They must have panicked, sir, having an armed Roman charging them, shouting in a tongue they didn’t understand.’

  Tubero digested this in silence. After a moment, his face cleared. ‘Oh well. A few less tribesmen in the world is no bad thing, eh?’

  ‘The Usipetes are not at war with Rome, sir. The tribe’s leaders will count this as an unprovoked attack. They’ll say that the youths were murdered. Varus won’t be best pleased either.’

  Tubero’s eyes glittered like those of a snake watching its prey. ‘What will you tell him?’

 
I can’t trust this one as far as I can throw him, Tullus realised. ‘What happened, sir. Nothing more.’

  ‘See that that’s all you do, centurion.’ Wheeling his horse, Tubero rode away, leaving Tullus to clear up the mess.

  VI

  IT WAS A baking hot day, with few clouds in the sky. Arminius was sitting cross-kneed on the ground outside his tent, scratching patterns in the dirt with the tip of a dagger. Maelo squatted beside him. A third warrior stood over them, waiting. Around them, Arminius’ troops’ tents formed the long sides of an open-ended rectangle, with pens containing their horses taking up the short side. The ‘open end’ faced on to one of the many avenues in the sprawling temporary camp that had sprung up outside Vetera as Varus’ summons was answered by the troops along the Rhenus. Despite the number of tents, it was quiet. Most of the men had headed for the inns and brothels the instant that they had been given permission.

  ‘I want to hear every word of what you just told me again,’ Arminius ordered.

  ‘Some young Tencteri have been rustling cattle from the Usipetes over the last moon or so,’ said the warrior. ‘The Usipetes had begun to think about reprisals, but the Romans at Aliso heard about the latest raid before they had a chance to act. A patrol that was making its way back from there chanced on a group of Usipetes youngsters who were herding some cattle to fresh pasture. One of them – it sounds as if it might have been Tubero, a new senior tribune – assumed that the boys were the rustlers. He attacked them, killing several. A bloodbath was prevented only by the intervention of a centurion who’d discovered that the youngsters were not Tencteri.’

  ‘Was any apology made?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘This is how they treat men from a tribe who are at peace with Rome?’ spat Maelo. ‘The dirty Roman bastards.’