by Ben Kane
Varus echoed Arminius’ words, and then set down his glass. ‘Something makes me doubt that you came here to discuss the intricacies of military paperwork.’
‘Ha! You know me well, governor. I was wondering if you had given any thought to punishing the Usipetes for the raiding party?’ He laughed. ‘I’ll rephrase that, because you will have done. Have you decided what the tribe’s punishment will be?’
‘After a fashion. The prisoners didn’t yield much information, but every last one maintained that they had left their villages without their chieftains’ knowledge.’
‘And you believe them?’
‘They were treated in a most unpleasant fashion. I do.’
‘I see.’
‘With this in mind, I concluded that the most punitive type of response – burning settlements and killing the inhabitants, you know the drill – would be counterproductive. We are trying to pacify Germania, not set it alight. The raid can’t go unanswered, however. The Usipetes’ leaders may not have known what those warriors would do, but they should have. They have a responsibility to Rome to prevent their people acting in such an unlawful and barbarous manner.’
‘Taxes, then?’
‘Indeed. A heavy tax. I haven’t decided the exact amount, but it will be determined by the number of dead in the settlement, as well as the number of soldiers, Roman and auxiliary, who were lost in the action.’ Varus cocked his head. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I wondered if you would allow me to be among those who delivered the message to the Usipetes – either with a sword, or a letter demanding more tax.’
‘You are ever the empire’s servant, Arminius,’ said Varus, looking pleased. ‘Very well. You shall be in charge of the patrol.’
‘I am grateful, governor. How strong a force will it be?’
‘Strong. Although their villages will be spared, the Usipetes need to see – and fear – Rome’s might. Take your entire command; I will also send three cohorts of legionaries. Tullus, whom you know, will be your second-in-command.’
‘Tullus is a fine centurion,’ said Arminius. ‘What about Tubero?’
Varus studied Arminius’ face for signs of sarcasm, but finding none, relaxed. ‘This is a delicate mission. I want veterans in charge.’
‘Understood. When shall we leave?’
‘The message should be delivered as soon as possible. Tomorrow, or the next day at the latest.’
XIII
THE FOLLOWING EVENING, the sun set in a blaze of glory, staining the western sky many beautiful shades of pinks and reds. Arminius and Maelo were sitting by Arminius’ tent, and at their feet, a small pile of burning logs glowed. Around them, their warriors crouched by their own fires – it had been cooler than normal that day – and to the right, beyond their unit’s position, hundreds of legionaries were doing the same. An earth bank to Arminius’ left marked the southern rampart of the marching camp.
‘Let me go in your stead.’ Even in the poor light, the unhappiness twisting Maelo’s face was clear.
‘This is something that only I can do,’ replied Arminius. ‘I am the chieftain, not you.’
‘Then I should also come.’
‘I go alone.’
The camp’s position, less than a quarter of a mile from the main Usipetes settlement, had been chosen by Tullus upon their arrival. No communication had been sent to the tribe’s leaders. That would happen in the morning. As Tullus had suggested, and Arminius agreed, they could stew overnight. The centurion was a clever man, thought Arminius. Short of sacking the place, he couldn’t think of a more intimidating measure. More importantly, however, it afforded him a chance to talk to the Usipetes’ leaders in secret – this very night.
‘What if the chieftains are aware of our involvement in the annihilation of the raiding party?’ asked Maelo.
‘They won’t have heard a word.’
‘How do you know? They didn’t seem too happy when they came out to look at us.’
‘Would you react well if two thousand Roman troops appeared outside your village a few days after some of your warriors had broken the imperial peace?’
‘I suppose not,’ admitted Maelo. ‘Yet they might still know what we did.’
Arminius kept his voice level. ‘Then, when I go in there, they’ll torture and kill me.’
‘All the more reason for me to come, as protection.’
‘Two spears wouldn’t be enough, Maelo, and you know it. You would also die, and there’s no point in that. I can’t take a decent-sized escort with me either, because I’ve got to get over the rampart unseen. The Romans must not find out that I’m leaving the camp. Even if I managed to sneak a few men out, it would make the Usipetes suspicious.’
‘I don’t like this plan, Arminius.’
‘I must meet the Usipetes’ chieftains, and before tomorrow, when Tullus reveals the penalty for their warriors’ crimes. They are more liable to accept the punishment taxes if they understand that Varus still trusts me, that everything is in place for the ambush to work. They won’t have to wait long for revenge, in other words.’ Maelo continued to look unhappy, and Arminius said, ‘What would you have me do? When we ride east with Varus, opportunities to win over other tribes could be few and far between. This is a perfect opportunity to cement the Usipetes into our alliance. If not now, then when?’
‘You’re right,’ replied Maelo, using a branch to give the fire a savage poke.
They watched the resulting stream of sparks rise, pinpricks of light that winked out one by one.
‘The Romans’ lives will be snuffed out like those sparks,’ said Arminius, thinking of his aunt and cousins. ‘Think on that while I’m gone.’
‘Donar protect you.’
‘It is in his name that I do this.’ Arminius remembered the sacrifices he’d seen as a boy, and took strength from the memories. ‘Got the rope?’
‘I have it here.’
‘It’s dark enough. Time to move.’
They had already discussed where Arminius should go over the earthen rampart of the rectangular marching camp, which had been thrown up when they’d arrived. The four gateways – in the middle of each side – and the corners were manned at all times. At regular intervals, sentries patrolled the ramparts between these points. Arminius, Maelo and three warriors crept into position midway between a corner and a gate. Arminius could feel his heart thumping a protest. It was one thing to talk about getting out of the camp unseen, and another to do it. If he were caught, there would be hell to pay. No, he thought, it would be worse than that. Tullus would suspect him – correctly – of treachery.
Move, he told himself, before your courage leaves you.
‘Ready?’ he asked the trio of warriors.
‘Aye,’ they whispered back. ‘The gods guide you, Arminius,’ said one.
‘You must play your part too. Be convincing. Go.’
He and Maelo watched as the three staggered out from the shadows cast by the rampart. Talking in loud voices, they wove their way towards the nearest corner of the defences, from where the sentry that guarded this section would soon appear. It wasn’t long before a voice challenged them. Arminius waited until their conversation with the sentry was well under way before he gave Maelo the nod. His friend gave him a lift at once, up on to the walkway. Guts wrenching with nerves in case he should be seen, Arminius knelt and heaved Maelo up beside him. There was no cry of alarm then, nor was there as Maelo unravelled the rope tied around his waist and threw it over the rampart.
‘It will be too risky to try and get back in,’ hissed Arminius. ‘Send out a turma at dawn, when the gates open. I’ll meet them half a mile away, among the trees that border the road west. If Tullus asks where I am, tell him I had to pray to our gods.’ Arminius had to believe that that would be enough to allay Tullus’ suspicion of him, which had been made more evident by his comment to Varus about the killing of the raiding party.
Maelo nodded to show he’d understood, and braced a foot against th
e battlement. Without hesitation, Arminius climbed over the edge. Once he’d worked his way between the spiked branches, he lowered himself hand over hand into the ditch beyond. At the bottom, he gave the rope a sharp tug. Without waiting for Maelo to pull it back up – they were both on their own now – he clambered out of the trench and crawled on his hands and knees for some distance. Hidden in the blackness, he listened for the count of a score of heartbeats and more. To his intense relief, he heard nothing. Neither he nor Maelo had been spotted.
The first part of his mission had been successful.
That meant the real danger was about to begin.
Asking Donar for his continuing protection, Arminius strode towards the Usipetes’ settlement. A challenge rang out some distance from the first longhouse, and fresh sweat slicked down his back. ‘I am a friend,’ he called out in a low tone. ‘Arminius of the Cherusci is my name.’
‘It’s an odd fucking hour to come calling,’ said the sentry, looming out of the darkness with a levelled spear. He peered at Arminius’ face, took in his well-cut clothing and grunted. ‘Especially considering the company you keep. I saw you earlier, with your warriors, among the damn Romans.’
‘I am a friend of the Usipetes.’
‘I don’t know many who would agree with that statement.’ His lip curled. ‘You’re unarmed. Did you think that would stop me from gutting you right here?’
‘I left my sword behind because I didn’t want it tripping me up as I climbed out of the Roman camp. They don’t know I’m here,’ said Arminius. ‘I must speak with your chiefs. At once.’
The sentry, who stood an impressive two hands taller than Arminius, grunted again, but his spear remained where it was. ‘They’ll all be abed.’
‘Wake them up then.’
‘You’re not Usipetes. You don’t get to order me about,’ snapped the guard, but Arminius had noted the faint tone of uncertainty in his voice.
‘Would you rather be the warrior who wakes his leaders for a night-time meeting, unwelcome as that might be, or someone who killed a visitor come with an important message?’ he demanded. ‘Make your choice, but do it fast.’
With a curse, the guard directed a companion who’d been dozing against the wall of the nearest house to take his place. ‘Know that I’ll cut your balls off if you’re lying,’ he said to Arminius.
‘Just take me to your chieftain.’
Grumbling under his breath, the guard led Arminius deep into the settlement, a jumble of longhouses and workshops interspersed with vegetable patches. Dogs barked warnings as they passed, and Arminius saw armed warriors standing by the entrance to more than one longhouse. This alone revealed the depth of the Usipetes’ unhappiness at the Romans’ presence. Much good it would do them if an attack proved necessary. His force outnumbered the tribesmen by some margin.
They came to a halt by a longhouse which faced on to a square area of beaten earth. A meeting place, so the dwelling of a leader. It seemed that Arminius had convinced the sentry, who took no nonsense from the warrior outside the door. A muttered conversation and some choice curses saw the sentry disappear inside. A few moments later, the building’s owner emerged, clutching a new-kindled torch. Arminius gave silent thanks as he recognised the red-haired chieftain who had translated for his fellows at Vetera. This one was no rash fool.
Red Head lifted his torch towards Arminius and the tall guard. Surprise filled his face. ‘It is you, Arminius. I thought the sentry was raving.’
‘He was not.’ Arminius took a step forward into the arc of light.
‘You have a nerve showing up here, after what has happened.’
Uncertainty stole up on Arminius. Did Red Head know of his involvement in the killing of the raiders? ‘I am a friend to the Usipetes, and hope always to be,’ he said, raising his hands, palms showing.
‘Tell that to the warriors who lie dead on the other side of the river,’ spat Red Head. ‘Seize him.’
Gods, he does know, thought Arminius, fighting panic. He did not resist as the two guards grabbed him by the arms, but he wasn’t ready for Red Head’s quick punch, straight into his solar plexus. The air shot from his lungs, and a ball of pain exploded in his middle. Arminius’ legs buckled, and if it hadn’t been for the hands holding him, he would have dropped to his knees. Stars floated across his vision, and nausea tickled the back of his throat.
‘Four hundred of our warriors, dead. The cream of the tribe, our future, gone.’ Red Head lifted Arminius’ head by the hair. ‘I’m going to enjoy listening to you scream your way to hell. We’ll make your journey there slow.’
Arminius tried to speak, but retched instead. The pain in his belly was as severe as that he’d felt when he took the falx blow to his head.
‘Take him inside,’ ordered Red Head. ‘Bind him. Gag him as well. The less poison that comes from his snake’s tongue, the better.’
Arminius retched again and again, until dribbles of spit hung from his lips. When he looked up, Red Head was gone. The tall guard, who had released his arm, was eyeing him with a disappointed expression. ‘I knew you were trouble.’
Arminius opened his mouth to protest, but the guard stepped in and wrapped a strip of dirty cloth around his face, knotting it at the back and preventing him from speaking. Next his hands were bound behind his back, so tight that he groaned. Without further ceremony, he was bundled inside the longhouse and thrown to the floor by the central fireplace. At once the blackness which had threatened to take Arminius loomed.
It was a relief to let it take him.
A foot nudged Arminius in the belly, where the punch had landed. The pain brought him to his senses again. He opened weary eyes to find the tall guard stooped over him.
‘You’re still with us. Good.’ The guard levered him up into a sitting position. A half-circle of men stood around Arminius, keeping him close to the fire. He recognised most of them as chieftains who had come to petition Varus after Tubero’s misguided attack on the cattle-herding youths. Every face was angry, closed, hard. They were the faces of men who knew of his treachery. Fresh, cold fear uncoiled itself in Arminius’ bruised stomach; it caressed his spine and chilled his heart. No one looked inclined to let him speak. If they didn’t, he would die. All his efforts would have been in vain. It was that last realisation which galled him the most.
‘Let me speak, please,’ he tried to say, but it came out as ‘Ehhh gneee eeeek, heeeese’.
A rumble of laughter spread around the assembled chieftains.
‘The viper cannot hiss when its mouth is sealed shut,’ said Red Head.
‘He’ll try again when this is buried in his flesh,’ one man declared, lifting a poker and placing it in the embers of the fire.
‘A fine idea,’ said another. ‘I’ll cut him a new arsehole after that.’
‘Not here,’ said Red Head. ‘My family is asleep a few paces away. The priest says we can take him to the forest.’
‘Aye, the sacred grove.’ ‘Good idea.’ ‘That’s the place to send him to hell.’
Once he was in the trees, with a priest at hand, Arminius knew he would have even less chance. The devotees of Donar liked their blood sacrifices too much to worry about talking to their victims. The chieftains’ level of fury meant that they thought Tullus was going to attack in the morning, Arminius decided. They had nothing to lose by killing him. He stared at Red Head, willing the man to glance his way. I came to offer you a chance for revenge, he said with his eyes. Remove the gag.
Red Head didn’t look at him.
I am your faithful servant, Donar, as I always have been, Arminius prayed. Allow me to do you great honour by ambushing the Romans in your forest.
His hopes fell as the tall guard and another warrior began to steer him towards the door.
‘Wait,’ ordered Red Head.
The two men holding Arminius stopped, and he prayed even harder.
‘Perhaps things aren’t as simple as they seem,’ said Red Head.
There wer
e scornful cries at this. ‘It’s as plain as day!’ snapped one man. ‘Arminius promised us revenge on the Romans, but he did nothing to stop them massacring our warriors. Then he rides up with the troops who’ve been sent to do Donar knows what to us. The man’s a liar, and as rotten as a badly cured ham.’
Did nothing to stop the Romans, Arminius repeated to himself, feeling hope for the first time. They don’t know that I took part in the killing!
‘I’m more than prepared to kill Arminius still,’ said Red Head, ‘but there’s no harm in talking to him first.’
‘Why waste our time?’ snarled one chieftain. ‘The whoreson has always had a silver tongue. He’ll just try and convince us that there was nothing he could do.’
‘You may be right,’ said Red Head. ‘But answer me this. Why would he bother coming unarmed into our settlement, in the dead of night, if not to tell us something important? He’s no fool.’
There was no immediate answer.
‘Aye, let him speak then,’ said a chieftain with thick bushy eyebrows. ‘We can replace the gag quick enough if we don’t like what he says.’
Arminius’ fear eased a little as Red Head stepped in and untied the strip of cloth that had bound his mouth. ‘My thanks,’ he muttered through dry lips.
Red Head made no acknowledgement. ‘What is it you wish to tell us?’
‘First, the Romans are not here to attack the settlement.’ Arminius heard instant sighs of relief, and knew that that had been the right thing to say first. ‘They come with word of punitive taxes imposed by Varus.’
‘You swear this?’ demanded Bushy Eyebrows.
‘On my life, and that of my father, and his father before him. As Donar is my witness, the Romans are only here in numbers to intimidate you. Varus does not wish to inflame the situation any more than it already is.’ This seemed to satisfy, so he went on, ‘But the taxes he is to impose are heavy indeed. Some of your people may not be able to pay.’
‘And if they cannot?’ demanded Red Head.
‘The Romans are practical if nothing else. They will settle for things other than silver. Cattle, grain, slaves: they do not care.’ Angry comments rained down on Arminius, but he raised his voice. ‘Know also that the annual taxes due in three months will still be payable.’