by David Black
Eagles of the Damned
By David Black
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Published on Amazon by David Black Books 2012
Published in Paperback by CreateSpace 2012
ISBN: - 13:978-1477500156
Cover design: David Black Books
Copyright © David Black 2012
Although based on historical fact, this book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead or actual events are entirely coincidental.
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Dedication:
‘To dear little Ellie; but never forgetting Tracy and Malcolm
who have been quite wonderful in challenging times.’
* * * * *
With grateful thanks to Trevor Hall and Keith McArdle for their
kind assistance in the proof-reading stage before publication
Other books by David Black:
The Great Satan
Shadow Squadron #1
Dark Empire
Shadow Squadron #2
Playing for England
Siege of Faith
Chronicles of Sir Richard Starkey #1
Inca Sun
Chronicles of Sir Richard Starkey #2
* * * * *
For more information see:
http://www.david-black.co.uk
Organisation of the Roman Legion –AD 9
Each Roman Legion was a self-contained battle group, with its own components of heavy infantry, cavalry and stone throwing and bolt firing artillery. Numbering five and a half thousand men, the Legions’ highly organised ranks also included organic units of engineers, signallers, medical personnel and clerks.
At the core of the legion was the basic infantry unit - the Century. It comprised eighty legionaries broken down into ten eight-man sections. Each century was led by a battle hardened and highly experienced Centurion, with an Optio serving as his second in command. Centurions were handpicked for their courage and willingness to die, fighting beside the men under their command.
The Centurion’s legionaries signed on for twenty-five years of military service. Only Roman citizens were permitted to serve within the Legion’s ranks in 9AD. If they survived their term a small army pension awaited, granted by the Senate.
At full strength, six centuries made up a cohort, and ten cohorts made up the legion. The first cohort was double sized. Under the command of the Legion’s chief Centurion, the first cohort was charged with the protection of the legion’s precious Eagle in battle and at all other times.
Each legion had a strong cavalry component of four squadrons totalling one hundred and twenty men. The cavalry squadrons’ horsemen often served in smaller groups as scouts and messengers, but their main task was to provide a highly mobile screen to protect the exposed flanks of their infantry comrades during both transit and battle. The squadrons were led by Decurions, who in turn were under the overall command of the Legion’s senior cavalry Decurion, equivalent to that of Cavalry Prefect. Many but not all squadrons were formed from locally recruited auxiliaries, drawn from the conquered provinces, as were many of the Legion’s attached light infantry cohorts.
* * * * *
A Legion was commanded by a Legate drawn from the Roman aristocracy. After serving for at least five years, some Legates looked towards a new political career in the Senate of Rome, having built a sound reputation during service with the Imperial army.
The Legate’s second in command was the Camp Prefect. He was a long serving veteran; a true professional soldier who had served previously as 1st cohort Centurion.
Among the headquarters element of each Legion were numerous administration and staff officers, including quartermasters, engineers and tribunes. Tribunes were young men drawn from rich or noble families. They would serve in the army for a relatively short time to gain valuable administrative experience before returning to civilian life, and a more prosperous and peaceful future.
FORWARD
Rome’s Legions appeared invincible. For hundreds of years in distant lands across countless battlefields, the fighting Legions won victory after victory, often against seemingly overwhelming odds. The armies of Rome conquered as they marched, gradually carving out a huge Empire. Few in the known world could stand against the superbly trained and equipped soldiers of the Legions. They were rightly feared and respected by any who dared stand against them.
* * * * *
During one dark chapter, however, the aura of Roman supremacy was shattered forever when three of its most powerful and experienced Legions, totalling over twenty thousand men were systematically and ruthlessly annihilated during seventy-two hours of unimaginable terror and unrelenting butchery. They were mercilessly slaughtered within a vast tract of dark and foreboding forest called the Teutoburg Wald on the northern rim of the Empire. Little could they have imagined that their fate had been irrevocably sealed by their own Roman system of provincial governance, and one man’s overwhelming thirst for vengeance, and his ruthless craving for his people’s freedom from the heartless tyranny of Imperial Rome.
When the massacre was over, the silent Teutoburg in Germania Inferior became a sombre graveyard filled with scattered bones. In the long months that followed, as thousands of legionaries’ remains bleached and weathered on lonely paths deep in the forest, the lost Legions became an enduring symbol of Roman arrogance, overconfidence and critically misplaced trust.
This is their story....
Chapter 1
Part One
8 BC – Germania
Freezing winds blew from the east, tightening winter’s icy grip on the shattered Cherusci settlement. Flurries of snow carried on howling winds spiralled and swirled through the charred frameworks and drifted slowly across the lonely heath which surrounded them. Icicles hung from jagged timbers; a mantle of shining ice glistened on the blackened remains.
Paraded in a square around the remains of the settlement, their warm breath turning instantly to clouds of steam, four cohorts of Roman infantry stood at attention. Protected within the vast hollow square by the 1st Cohort was the physical and spiritual heart of the 19th Legion. Their golden Eagle; touched by the Emperor’s divine hand was proudly displayed before them by the standard bearer. It was the unique symbol of the Legion, representing the honour, courage and character of the 19th. The Eagle was adored and revered by the men who had sworn to protect it with their lives. Where the Imperial talisman went, the Legion followed.
Beneath leaded skies inside the ring of Roman steel, fresh snowflakes settled silently on the charred huts, fired when the settlement had been overrun seven weeks earlier. Not all were destroyed in the chaos and killing which ensued, but many had felt the burning k
iss of the pillaging legionaries’ torches as the Cherusci community was sacked.
Inside the settlement’s blackened remains the helmets and cloaks of the General’s mounted escort, arranged into a wide arc around their commander were also turning white under the fresh fall of snow. The menace of the spears gripped by the armoured horsemen was stark; their deadly threat clear in the hooded eyes of the prisoners who stood shivering before them.
Separated and shoved roughly to his knees by grinning auxiliaries, the defeated leader of the Cherusci people hung his head in resignation and despair. Scowling armoured soldiers flanked him; long cavalry swords gripped firmly in their hands.
Fighting against the bitter cold the chieftain tried desperately not to shiver. What little pride remained demanded that the Romans not think him afraid when the end came. Like his face, the animal skins he wore were soiled with grime and filth. His long hair hung lank and matted around his cold pinched face. He closed his eyes and mumbled a short prayer; begging forgiveness from the cruel Gods of the forest for his failure in battle against the Romans.
Vanquished by the invaders, the Cherusci king had lost everything; position, lands and his most treasured prize of all, the freedom of his people. Many of his bravest warriors were dead; their corpses already picked clean where they fell weeks earlier by hungry bears and wolves. Others were Roman prisoners, torn from the land of their ancestors, driven far away into a life of slavery.
Surrounded by the same freezing winds, his wife and children huddled miserably behind him, manacled in cold iron chains like their humbled chieftain.
Now it was time to pay for his failure. It was time for him to die.
It had taken two long and bloody years of brutal campaigning to bring the wild Cherusci tribe to heel. Roman casualties had been heavy during their guerrilla warfare of hit and run fighting. Each new encounter had been more savage and deadly than the last.
In the beginning when defiance burned bright, the chieftain’s warriors had been successful. Once, tactics of mass attack and unexpected ambush had thrust them to the cusp of final victory. The ferocious Cherusci warriors had wrong footed the invading army as they marched through a narrow and heavily wooded defile in their thousands. Unprepared for the sudden onslaught the Romans couldn’t manoeuvre into battle formation. There was panic in the tightly packed ranks and heavy casualties as the screaming Cherusci crashed into the Roman’s extended line and cut them down. At the last moment, through brilliant leadership General Drusus managed to extricate his trapped army, but the Roman war machine had been badly mauled.
Fearing further catastrophe, the wily Roman General withdrew his men from the Cherusci homelands until reinforcements arrived.
Smarting from near disaster, Drusus planned his next move more carefully. Having chosen his killing ground well, the General returned and lured Segimer and his barbarian horde into a well bated trap. During the savage fighting that ensued Segimer their king was captured and the highly trained and disciplined Roman legionaries, now with the opportunity to deploy properly, annihilated his fighting elite. The tribe’s rout in open battle had been final and decisive. Wounded Cherusci were executed where they lay on the blood-soaked battlefield. Captured warriors and their families became Roman spoils of war.
In the gruelling weeks that followed, the prisoners were taken by land and sea to the Imperial capital, where they were herded through the streets manacled in chains, to the delight of the cheering crowds of Rome.
All uncivilised tribes lacking a written language were regarded by Rome as barbarians. As a result of their lowly status, the captives were classified within Imperial circles not as human, but simply a valuable commodity like cattle; and absolute property of the State. Once humiliated by public display the prisoners were stripped of their last vestiges of dignity. They were sold off to the highest bidder in the slave markets.
Profits to the Imperial Treasury swelled as barbarian warriors and their wretched families were torn apart forever. A few of the strongest were bought by the feared gladiator schools, where they would be trained to fight for the entertainment of the common people. Violent death awaited on the bloody sands of gladiatorial arenas scattered throughout the vast Roman Imperium.
When bidding was done and coin was paid, flesh was seared with hot iron to display the brand of their new owners. Those deemed unworthy of the schools were taken in chains to a life of exhaustion and thirst, toiling from dawn to dusk in the hot shimmering fields of the Roman countryside. Others were bought to replace unfortunates killed while labouring as beasts of burden, beneath the whips of heartless guards in the hell hole of the stone quarries. The unluckiest of all went to a soulless existence of claustrophobic backbreaking work, digging by flickering torchlight in the deepest bowels of the many mines which honeycombed Rome’s seven hills.
Some of the young and more attractive Cherusci women were bought and marked by rich masters as playthings or body slaves. Older women were bought for a life of drudgery and menial servitude in large and noble houses. Others were even less fortunate. The women’s path would take them to a life of servitude of another kind, in the disease ridden brothels which abounded every litter strewn street corner, often nestling beside rowdy taverns in the poorer quarters of Rome. The children were sold off piece-meal to those who wanted them...
* * * * *
Huddled against the freezing wind, commander of auxiliary cavalry Decurion Vitellius settled himself firmly in his saddle beside General Drusus. Staring down at the shackled prisoner with thinly veiled contempt, he reached inside his thick winter cloak, removing the sealed parchment scroll concealed beneath it.
The moaning of the wind eased slightly as Decurion Vitellius turned and nodded to one of his armoured troopers. Holding his oval shield tightly at his side, the auxiliary trooper tapped sandaled heals against his horses’ flanks. The trooper broke ranks with his comrades and walked his horse forward until he was positioned between his General and the Decurion.
Recruited as an auxiliary from a neighbouring German tribe, whose king had seen the wisdom against war and thrown in his lot with Rome several years earlier, the mounted trooper acknowledged his role with a curt salute to his commanders. His tribe were sworn enemies of the Cherusci. He had lost many of his own kin to the never-ending raids and blood feuding between the two warring tribes, and now, like the rest of the mounted escort he was savouring the bitterness of the Cherusci defeat and their abject and hopeless misery.
Vitellius handed the scroll to his General who broke the hard wax of the Imperial seal. He slowly began to unroll it. His cold face betrayed the arrogance of the victor. Why not General Drusus thought to himself? These filthy animals were not citizens but mere chattels of Rome, beaten and subjugated to the will of his Emperor and the Imperial Senate.
The cavalry officer stared for a moment at his trooper then he said.
‘You will translate the words of the General.’
The auxiliary nodded.
General Drusus flicked his eyes at the kneeling king before returning his gaze to the opened parchment. Raising his voice above the wind, he cleared his throat and began to read.
‘On behalf of the Imperial Empire, hear now the illustrious words of our beloved Emperor Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus.’
Running his tongue over chapped lips he continued.
‘We are always deeply saddened by the strife of war, and in particular the recent necessity of crushing the resistance of the Cherusci people. We want only peace within our Empire and desire to build strong bonds of friendship with the peoples of our northern lands. We wish to demonstrate the truth of it on this occasion by showing generosity and mercy to those of you who have foolishly raised your hand against us in the past.’
The General waited as the trooper translated then continued with the Emperor’s message.
‘We have decided that the Cherusci chieftain known as Segimer is to be spared the disgrace of public execution. We grant him his life and return to his hom
eland where we wish him to become a loyal and trusted friend of Rome... and continue as client king of his people.’
As the trooper translated, Segimer’s head snapped up in surprise. He had awaited his end after languishing in a Roman jail for almost two moons. The last thing he expected when he was dragged from his stinking cell that morning was to be pardoned by the Emperor and returned to his people as their king.
The mounted escort muttered amongst themselves in incredulous disbelief. How could this be? They had all expected that the Cherusci rebel would be executed by their hands. A growing murmur of outrage and disgust rippled through the surrounding cavalrymen.
Decurion Vitellius scowled and stared them all to silence. The Roman General noted with pleasure the confusion on the Cherusci chieftain’s face. He also saw the bitter disappointment on the faces of the translator and the Bructeri auxiliaries’. After a few moments he continued.
‘Naturally, there are terms attached to this generous and merciful offer of treaty with the Emperor and Rome.’
Waiting again for the translator to finish, he continued.
‘Firstly, you will give your sacred covenant that you will never again raise an army against Rome, on pain of immediate forfeiture of your life and lands and the enslavement of your entire tribe.’
As the wind moaned anew, blowing fresh swirls of snow around him Segimer listened intently to the trooper’s translation. With a deep sigh of relief he locked eyes with Rome’s most senior officer in the northern provinces. His prayer had been answered. The Gods’ favour had returned.