Eagles at War

by Ben Kane

  Tullus was still about fifteen paces from the spinning mass of flesh, but Varus had closed right in. He drove at the boar with his spear. Whether it was accuracy or blind luck, Tullus couldn’t tell, but Varus’ blade sank into the beast’s neck rather than into one of the dogs. The weapon was almost ripped from his hands as the boar bucked and tossed in an effort to free itself, but Varus hung on. Tullus reached the maul and took a position several steps away. When his chance came, he too stuck his spear into the boar, taking him in the belly. Spitted on two shafts, the boar shrieked his distress, but he was far from done. With a vicious swipe of his tusks, he eviscerated one of the hounds, which fell away, yelping. At once the boar focused its attention on another of the dogs. Shouting encouragement at Tullus, Varus ran his spear even deeper into the beast’s neck. Tullus emulated the governor, shoving his weapon so far in that he wondered if it would emerge on the other side. He was now far closer to the boar and its gore-tipped tusks than he would have wished. Its rank odour clawed at the back of his throat. If it broke either of their spear shafts, he thought, they could be injured or killed.

  There was a heavy impact as another spear was plunged into the boar. Tullus wasn’t ashamed to feel relief that Arminius had arrived. Even with three spears in its body, and two dogs hanging off it, the boar would not die. It wasn’t until Varus’ blade slid right into its chest cavity that that happened. Gouts of bright red blood poured from its mouth as it shuddered its way to oblivion.

  Its dead weight was far too great to hold up. Tullus and the others released their spears as one, letting the boar collapse to the ground. Fierce grins split their faces as the reality sank in. ‘Fine work, sir,’ said Tullus.

  ‘Yours was the first strike?’ Arminius saluted Varus. ‘You did well, governor. He must weigh as much as three men.’

  ‘I didn’t stop him. It was that poor creature.’ Varus gestured at the gutted dog, which was being dispatched by Maelo.

  ‘Nonetheless, it takes balls to charge a boar of that size, and to stay with him until another hunter can get to you,’ said Arminius. He spoke a couple of sentences in his own tongue – Tullus heard the words ‘first to blood his spear’ – and the gathering warriors called out in appreciation. When Arminius pulled free his hunting blade and raised it, crimson-coated, to the sky, they joined in his shout. ‘Varus! Varus! Varus!’

  His concerns about the Usipetes set aside, so too did Tullus. Varus had a name for being a brave man, an individual who got things done, and this was proof of it. The governor was a man to follow, which made Arminius’ continuous stream of compliments more likely to be genuine.

  Tullus’ disquiet about Arminius lingered, however. Life had taught him that people who worked hard to win others over always had an ulterior purpose.

  What was Arminius’ motive?

  The sun was falling in the sky and the muggy heat had abated by the time that the party neared the Rhenus. Small boys clutching poles and strings of fish stood by the roadside, watching as the soldiers passed by. Scrawny pups by their feet yapped futile challenges. An old woman sat by a little stall covered with vegetables, crying in bad Latin that her produce was the best in all of Germania.

  Tullus was riding at the front as before, with Varus, Arminius and Maelo. They had been sharing skins of wine since reaching the wagon, and Tullus was half pissed. It wasn’t surprising. He’d had nothing to eat since dawn except a strip of Arminius’ dried bear meat, and he had shed a bucketload of sweat during the long hunt through the forest. If he had been one of the unfortunate legionaries who had accompanied them, Tullus decided, or one of the warriors who had lugged the boar’s gutted carcase back to the road, he wouldn’t have made it to the end of the day. He was getting old, that was the problem. Stop it, you fool, he ordered himself. Some of your new recruits wouldn’t have kept up today.

  ‘Tullus.’

  With an effort, he focused on Varus. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You’ll dine with me tonight,’ Varus repeated. ‘Arminius and Maelo will be there too.’

  ‘I’d be honoured, sir.’

  ‘I will need the company. Arminius is saying that because mine was the first spear into the boar, I must eat one of its balls.’

  Tullus glanced at the Cheruscans in disbelief. ‘It’s our tradition,’ said Arminius, grinning. ‘The most courageous hunter has to savour the bravest part of the boar.’

  ‘You’ll both have a mouthful too,’ warned Varus, also smiling. ‘But the other bollock belongs to Tullus.’

  Tullus, who had been drinking from the skin, spluttered wine everywhere. Arminius threw back his head and laughed. ‘Sir …’ Tullus managed.

  ‘There’ll be plenty of good wine to wash it down, you have my word,’ said Varus.

  ‘As our host today, you must have at least one mouthful of mine as well,’ Tullus shot at Arminius.

  Arminius grinned in acceptance. ‘So be it.’

  Tullus winked, glad to have paid Arminius back a little. In truth, he wasn’t that bothered about eating a few mouthfuls of rubbery testicle. It was a small price to pay for the vintages that Varus had at his disposal.

  Tullus’ good humour faded soon after, however, when he spotted a horse and rider galloping towards them from the direction of Vetera. No one rode that fast unless there was an urgent reason, and in Tullus’ long experience, it was seldom a good one. ‘Messenger approaching, sir,’ he said.

  Varus’ mouth turned down as he too spied the horseman. ‘We’re not even over the river, and already duty calls.’ He urged his mount in front of the rest and, with an imperious wave, gestured that the rider should halt.

  The man was a messenger, thought Tullus, spotting the ‘SPQR’ brand on the horse’s withers. Augustus might be the first emperor, but the mark, a vestige of how things had been in the Republic, remained in use. Men such as these carried official news the length and breadth of the empire, renewing their mounts at the regular way stations. It was possible that whatever Varus was about to hear had come all the way from Augustus, in Rome.

  The messenger looked none too happy at being stopped. ‘I seek Publius Quinctilius Varus,’ he cried.

  ‘And you have found him,’ replied Varus in a sardonic voice.

  The messenger’s face could not have fallen any further. ‘My apologies, sir. I did not recognise you.’

  Varus made an impatient gesture. ‘Who sent you, and what news do you carry?’

  ‘Vala said I should find you with all speed, sir. Reports are coming in of a band of Usipetes that have crossed the river, some distance between here and Asciburgium. They have sacked numerous farms, and are moving westward.’

  Varus let out a ripe oath. ‘How many?’

  ‘It’s not clear, sir. Several hundred at least.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Vala said that it was too late to send out any troops, sir. He knew that you were returning from a hunt, and would want to decide on the best response.’

  Dismissing the messenger with orders for Vala to organise a meeting of his senior officers, Varus regarded Tullus with a faint smile. ‘The Usipetes were unhappy with my ruling after all. They will have to be taught the error of their ways.’

  ‘Aye, sir,’ replied Tullus with a grim nod.

  ‘Refrain from drinking any more wine. You too, Arminius.’

  ‘You’d like me to be part of the retaliatory force, governor?’ asked Arminius. Tullus glanced at him, wondering if he had sensed a tinge of reluctance in his voice. The Cheruscan’s face was bland, however.

  ‘I would. Tullus too,’ answered Varus. ‘Tubero will lead you. It’ll be an opportunity for him to learn from both of you how things are done.’

  IX

  WHEN ARMINIUS HEARD about the Usipetes’ raiding party, he was furious. Varus could respond in but one manner. Retaliation. Why did Varus have to pick him to be part of it? The Usipetes were his allies, secret or no. If their chieftains heard that their warriors had been slain by Cheruscans and, worse still, that
he had been involved, any chance of their cooperation would vanish forever.

  If Arminius could have, he would have seen that the raiding party was wiped out. Thanks to Varus’ desire for prisoners, though, the raiders’ fate had been taken out of his hands. Varus’ legionaries would follow their orders. The best Arminius could do was to order his men to slay as many of the raiders as they could, and hope that the ones who were captured and interrogated didn’t give anything away. Everything felt risky and uncertain, but he had to remain confident that the Usipetes’ chieftains would not find out about his involvement.

  At least the situation wasn’t all bad. Varus’ heavy-handed response would fan the flames of resentment towards Rome among other tribes. Those who might have wavered before would now be eager to throw in their lot when he called on them to do so.

  The Usipetes would remain unaware, Arminius told himself. His ambitious alliance would come together. His plan would bear fruit.

  A day had passed, and Arminius was riding south on the road that led towards Asciburgium. He had been astride his mount long enough for his arse to start aching. Most of his men were ranging ahead of the patrol, but he was at its front, with two turmae; Tullus and the legionaries were marching behind. Arminius had been counting the stone markers at the side of the paved road since they’d left Vetera, but his bad mood meant he’d forgotten how far they had come. The dull pain in his backside, he decided, meant it had to be about ten miles. The countryside was almost flat, as it was throughout the area. The river flowed along to his left, a constant feature, and there were open fields and occasional farmhouses to his right. From this point on, his scouts would be of vital importance, because no one knew where the Usipetes were.

  Once they were found, victory was certain. The Roman force – two cohorts and half of Arminius’ cavalry unit – would have no difficulty in dealing with the tribal war band. Ensuring that the Usipetes remained ignorant of their allies’ participation in the Roman response to their raid was another matter altogether.

  Not long after, Tullus rode forward from his position. Arminius had been impressed by Tullus’ soldiers, who seemed well drilled, disciplined and responsive to their officers. This was a solid centurion, who like as not led by example. His men would follow him anywhere. In short, he was someone worth befriending – and also keeping a close eye on. Tullus had not understood Maelo’s muttered comment during the early stages of the boar hunt, but he hadn’t missed the look Arminius and Maelo had shared after the comment about the smell of blood. At some level, Tullus was suspicious of him, thought Arminius, pulling a hearty smile.

  ‘Seen anything?’ Tullus asked in a friendly enough tone.

  ‘Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time before my men find them. I suggested to the senior tribune that they scour the countryside ahead of us, in individual turmae, to cover more ground.’ Arminius was pleased to see Tullus nodding in approval. ‘They have orders to withdraw, unseen, at the first sighting of the Usipetes.’

  ‘Where’s the tribune?’

  ‘He insisted on going with my men.’ It was clear that Tullus didn’t much care for Tubero. After what had happened on the patrol to Aliso, Arminius wasn’t surprised. He filed the detail away for future use.

  They rode on for a time, and then Tullus asked, ‘Did the Usipetes’ chieftains sanction this raid, d’you think?’

  ‘If they did, they’re damn fools,’ said Arminius with feeling. ‘Such acts will always be answered, in force.’

  ‘Their entire people will suffer because of this.’

  ‘They will.’ But if my alliance remains unaffected, I don’t care, thought Arminius harshly.

  During the silence that fell after, Arminius caught Tullus rubbing at a puckered scar on the fleshy part of his left calf.

  ‘That an old injury?’

  ‘Aye. Nothing’s ever the same once it’s been thrust through by a blade. If I have regular massages, and remember to stretch it every morning, it doesn’t cause me too much trouble. I can’t march like I used to, worse luck. After a few miles, it begins to feel as if someone’s tightening a vice inside the muscle.’

  ‘Scar tissue,’ pronounced Arminius.

  ‘That’s what the surgeon said. There’s nothing to be done with it, other than keeping it as supple as possible.’ Tullus threw him a glance. ‘You must have had an injury or two.’

  Arminius rapped his ornate helmet. ‘I have a nice scar on the top of my head, courtesy of a warrior with a falx in Illyricum. Lucky for me, his blade was poor quality, and broke as it smashed my helm.’

  ‘They are fearsome weapons. I’ve seen soldiers’ brains dribbling from their cracked skulls after a strike from one. Your gods must have been smiling on you that day.’

  ‘Donar was,’ replied Arminius, thumbing his hammer amulet. ‘I was careful afterwards to buy the most expensive helmet that I could afford. Under the braided hair and silverwork, this thing is half a finger of bronze thick.’

  ‘It must be heavy.’

  ‘At the end of a long day, my neck and shoulders know about it,’ Arminius admitted. ‘But you get used to it.’

  ‘There’s no point complaining, because everyone’s in the same shitty boat.’

  They both chuckled, and Arminius thought: He’s starting to like me. Good.

  Several hours later, Tubero returned at the head of one of Arminius’ turmae. He was in buoyant mood, because they had been first to sight the Usipetes, in a settlement some four miles away. ‘I was quick to pull the men back,’ he said, ‘although I wanted to ride in there and let the savages have it.’

  ‘It was wise not to do so, tribune,’ said Arminius.

  ‘We could still attack them today,’ cried Tubero, his face alight.

  If we do that, thought Arminius, eyeing the sinking sun, some of them are bound to get away in the poor light. And if they’ve noticed that we Cherusci are involved … ‘Your eagerness is infectious, tribune.’

  Tubero grinned. ‘You want to take them too!’

  ‘I do, of course.’ Arminius hesitated, and then added, ‘I wonder if your plan might work better tomorrow, tribune, at dawn.’

  Tubero frowned. ‘How so?’

  ‘Some of the Usipetes might still have their wits about them today. Give them a night of drinking whatever beer they find, however, and hit them first thing in the morning, and they won’t know what has happened until it’s too late. The whole thing will be done inside an hour.’

  Tubero rubbed a finger across his lips, thinking. ‘What about the villagers?’

  ‘Most of them will already be dead, so the timing of our intervention won’t make that much difference. Leaving the assault until tomorrow will also reduce the possibility of casualties. Imagine how pleased Varus would be not just that you succeeded in your mission, but that you lost only a handful of men.’

  Tubero nodded.

  ‘Another thing struck me, tribune. The Usipetes must have crossed the river by boat. Taking those craft would remove any chance of the raiding party escaping. If you were to send a century or two along the bank, say …’

  ‘I could order them fired at dawn,’ cried Tubero. ‘When our trumpets sound the attack.’

  ‘An excellent plan, tribune,’ declared Arminius.

  Tubero smiled, as if the entire idea had been his all along.

  Arminius had ridden his horse a short distance off the road, into the middle of a field of young barley. As ever, Maelo was by his right side. Around them in a loose semicircle were all of his mounted warriors. The men’s faces were fierce, eager, expectant.

  The night-time cool was with them yet, but the sky was cloudless again, auguring the high temperatures of the previous few days. They had ridden from the marching camp with great care, passing the settlement by leading their horses, to reach their position in good time. It wouldn’t be long before the trumpeters with Tubero sounded, however. The sun was peeking over the tops of the hazel and crab-apple trees that dotted the riverbank to their right.
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  Arminius was about to give his men their final orders. And more.

  He chewed his lip. This moment had come sooner than he had wished. Even these, the men of his own tribe, might give the game away after he spoke to them – not here, but later. All his work, all his plans, everything he had dreamed of since he was a boy, could be undone by a subsequent unguarded remark to a Roman in Vetera.

  Maelo sensed his unease. He leaned forward, rubbing his horse’s neck. ‘Arminius, they’re loyal to you, heart and soul,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You don’t have to tell them everything, just enough so that they understand why the raiders have to die. They won’t flinch from the job. It’s not as if there’s any love lost between we Cherusci and the Usipetes.’

  ‘True.’ Arminius straightened his back, throwing back his shoulders. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

  Silence fell.

  ‘We Cherusci may serve Rome, but in our hearts, we’re free men. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘Aye!’ came a responsive roar.

  Arminius tapped his silvered helmet. ‘Despite all the trappings, I have never liked serving Rome. Never liked having to do what its emperor said, most of all when it had anything to do with our own tribe, or others. I don’t want to pay this new tax either. What am I – a faceless labourer in a workshop?’

  More voices of agreement.

  ‘There comes a time in a man’s life when servitude can no longer be borne.’

  They watched him, naked curiosity – and wariness – filling their faces. ‘Not every hunting dog loves its master, Arminius, but it still does his bidding,’ called one warrior. ‘The dog that bites its master can expect to have a knife drawn across its neck.’