by David Black
Varus shook his head. Had he not also given the highest priority to mediating in the constant inter-tribal disputes? Although to a man they didn’t like compromise, under his obligations within the Pax Romana to act as arbitrator he had managed to keep the peace among the simple minded tribal chiefs, having found solutions to their sometimes petty and often ridiculous disputes. Ultimately, his wise judgements had proved acceptable to all parties in every single case laid before him in recent months.
His adjutant, Prefect Dalious suddenly entered his private quarters, saluted and broke the General’s train of thought.
‘Sorry to interrupt your breakfast General, but a patrol has just returned from the border fort we lost contact with a week ago.’
Varus sighed. ‘Surely it can wait Dalious?’
The Prefect’s face was grave.
‘Err....No Sir. I think you had better hear the commander’s report immediately. He’s waiting outside.’
There was something hidden in the tone of the Prefect’s voice that alerted Varus. It sounded like more trouble and the adjutant’s expression concerned him. Reluctantly, with a sigh he nodded.
‘Very well then Dalious, you’d better send him in.’
On a signal from Dalious through the open flap the 17th Legion’s Senior Decurion marched in and saluted. His dusty uniform and the dark circles under his eyes bore the marks of a man who had ridden hard through the night without rest. Concern within Varus’s chest increased as he eyed the Roman officer.
‘Well?’
The Decurion remained at attention.
‘Sir, I have just returned from our fort close to the Alara River on the north-eastern border.... It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that we found the fort had been overrun. The entire garrison has been massacred.’
The General’s mouth dropped open with surprise. His tone was incredulous.
‘What!...The whole garrison, all of them?’
The exhausted Decurion nodded. In a sombre voice he continued his report.
‘I’m afraid so Sir. The entire Century was gone; cut to pieces. When we arrived two days ago it was a scene of utter carnage. The fort had been burned to the ground and our men’s bodies were scattered everywhere. Their weapons were missing and all had been stripped and horribly mutilated. The heads were gone too, but there was no immediate sign of who had attacked them. My men searched the surrounding area thoroughly. The settlement nearby was burned and looted as well. There were plenty of civilian dead but we found no obvious enemy corpses until a dead Ampsivarii warrior was found under a pile of fallen thatch. I believe there was absolutely no doubt it was them that launched the attack and butchered our men.’
Wiping his hand across his tired face he concluded his report by saying.
‘I ordered my men to throw out a mounted screen to guard against further attacks and the rest started rebuilding immediately. My men will hold there until relieved....’ As an afterthought he added.
‘Before I left I recorded the number of our own men’s bodies and on my return this morning I checked with our clerks before I came to headquarters to make my report sir. It seems that only three of the garrison are missing and unaccounted for.’
Varus sat stunned for a moment. His surprise was turning quickly to rage. He barked at his adjutant.
‘I want every senior officer here for an emergency staff meeting in thirty minutes Dalious.’
He had faced this same grim prospect before in Syria. Rebellion was in the air, and Varus knew he must act quickly to mercilessly crush it before it flared out of control and spread across the border into the pacified lands under his control. The General stood up and walked across to the beautifully crafted marble bust of the Emperor. Mounted on an ornate wooden plinth, it held pride of place in the tented room. A gift from the Emperor himself, the bust had arrived from Rome in time for his recent birthday. Its cold unblinking stare held Varus for a moment. As if making a solemn pledge to the glistening white image of Augustus, the aging General suddenly snarled.
‘I will discuss this situation with my officers in detail and decide on a suitable response to what is a most serious threat to the stability of the province.’
Anger flared again inside him at a situation which if left unchecked might unravel months of subtle diplomacy and the rewards which had begun to flow. General Varus spun on his heals. Spittle sprayed from his mouth as he roared at his adjutant.
‘I will teach these Ampsivarii animals a lesson they will never forget!’
Chapter 19
Both the engineer and the young Centurion looked up with surprise when they heard jingling bridles and horses whinnying. A column of mounted horsemen was slowly approaching through a cloud of dust on the newly constructed road behind them. As the column neared, both men instantly recognised the oval shields and plumed helmets of the auxiliary cavalry and relaxed. To their collective relief, it was nothing more than a friendly mounted patrol approaching. As the horsemen entered the clearing the Centurion stepped forward and raised his hand in welcome. The gesture changed to a smart salute when he saw a Senior Decurion was riding at the head of the column.
Arminius nodded his acknowledgement as he walked his horse into the middle of the construction site, towards the waiting Roman officers. He was in no hurry; his men split into two separate files and surrounded the outer boundaries of the site. The Centurion walked forward and smiling said.
‘Welcome sir. I was not expecting to see you. I had no idea you were patrolling the area.’
Arminius stared coldly at the young officer for a moment, and then looked around at the sweating legionaries who had taken the squadron’s arrival to snatch a momentary break from unloading the last heavy rocks from the cart. Remaining in his saddle Arminius looked down and said.
‘You don’t seem to have many men here Centurion. Where exactly is the rest of your Century?’
The Centurion blanched. There would be trouble if the Decurion reported him for ignoring regulations and weakening the guard.
‘Err...I’ve sent them to the quarry sir.’ He pointed to the heavily rutted track which quickly disappeared off into the dense surrounding forest. Almost apologetically he added. ‘Our engineer here requested more rock, so I sent more men to quarry the stones....It’s not far.’
Arminius shrugged and wiped his hand over his dry lips. His tone was relaxed and friendly.
‘It has been a long ride and a dry thirsty morning Centurion. Do you have any water to hand?’
The Centurion nodded. He relaxed slightly as he turned and picked up a half full water skin; perhaps the Decurion, being a brother officer would overlook such a minor infraction. Passing up the skin the young Centurion said with an ingratiating smile.
‘Yes sir, here you are. Please use mine. Take all you want.’
Arminius nodded his gratitude and casually raised the spout to his lips. His thirst slaked, he passed it back. It was an innocent act to the watching Romans but hid a deadly signal to the heavily armed German auxiliaries who watched silently and now surrounded them all.
Arminius’s breathing became shallow and the beat of his heart quickened. After so many years of bitter torment, the moment of truth was finally upon him. Now!
Arminius’s hand moved in a blur towards the handle of his sword. As it hissed from its scabbard the blade flashed momentarily in the bright sunlight. Before he could react, Arminius lent forward and rammed it hard and deep into the unsuspecting Centurion’s throat.
‘Now men!’ He snarled as the Roman fell. ‘Kill them all!’
‘But General sir, there simply isn’t enough time to launch a full-scale invasion into Ampsivarii territory.’
Varus glared at the 19th Legion’s Prefect. This wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
Like the other senior officers around him, the veteran Prefect had served on too many fronts, and fought in too many battles to soften what he knew to be true. It was his duty to advise his commander, and he had no intention of shirking his r
esponsibilities. Ignoring the scowl on the General’s face he continued his tactical appreciation.
‘The logistics alone of taking two full Legions of over nine thousand men into the field, and keeping them supplied in hostile territory is a huge task to arrange sir. If we rush our preparations, we could end up with a disaster on our hands.’
Both the 17th and 18th’s Prefects nodded their agreement. One of them added.
‘I’m afraid he’s right sir. Look what happened to the 5th Alaudae Legion years ago.’
Varus nodded reluctantly. The stain of the 5th’s disgrace was still a livid scar in the minds of every military man throughout the Empire. The Alaudae Legion had fought the same Germanic barbarians 25 years earlier in an early and ill-fated campaign, which had ended in a catastrophe for both the legion, and for Rome.
In one battle during months of fierce and bloody fighting, the Legion had suffered the ultimate humiliation. The 5th’s Eagle was captured and taken by the savage tribesmen. The circumstances of the loss were irrelevant. There was no greater shame in the eyes of Rome’s military machine.
When marched into foreign lands, the Eagle was Rome. Its very culture and civilisation were symbolised by the golden Eagle. Losing it to wild and uncivilised barbarians meant defeat for the very essence of everything mighty Rome stood for. The dark stain of dishonour had never left the disgraced Legion, they remained haunted by it. The Alaudae survived as a fighting unit, but losing its Eagle left the 5th’s reputation, and that of its commander Marcos Lollius damaged beyond repair.
The aging General Varus knew the catastrophe of the 5th’s disgrace as well as any of his officers; he shuddered inwardly. The damage to his reputation and the subsequent political fallout of losing just one of the precious Eagles under his command was too awful to contemplate. A rash decision now could be his undoing. Closely linked to the Emperor, having such a permanent blemish imprinted on the noble House of Varus was simply unthinkable.
No, Varus decided. His original plan to invade Ampsivarii territory in strength had perhaps been a little hasty. His initial wrath had overwhelmed cold political logic. There must be a better way to act decisively and save face in the eyes of his subordinates, and of course the Emperor himself. Varus pondered as the Prefect continued his appreciation.
‘Our campaigning season this year is nearly at an end. As you know sir, the snows will come soon and the winters here bring cold beyond belief. We must march back to winter quarters in just a few weeks or be trapped here until the spring without sufficient supplies.’
Varus nodded. Although he had allowed his three Legion’s Legates to go home to Rome early, he was in a way relieved that he had the benefit of these three Camp Prefects to advise him. They were highly experienced veterans and true professional soldiers. Between them, they had no name or family connections to speak of and no future political ambitions that Varus was aware of. He was confident they lacked any hidden agenda to further themselves at his expense if things went wrong.
There was silence in the briefing room. Varus looked up from his contemplation with a start. All three Prefects were staring at him intently, each of them waiting for his final decision. It was time to firmly grasp the nettle of command he thought, and be their General.
‘Gentlemen, thank you for your sound advice. Your points concerning supply and closeness of winter are well made. Clearly, now is not the time to invade Ampsivarii territory in force, and punish those responsible for the massacre at the Alara River.’ General Varus stood up. Grasping his hands behind his back, he continued.
‘A full invasion will take careful planning and preparation, which should be carried out during the coming winter months while we are safely in our permanent quarters west of the Rhine. There is however a case for launching a punitive raid beyond the border now. I want the Ampsivarii to feel our wrath. Settlements which are discovered are to be burned and barbarian foodstuffs confiscated or destroyed. Many Ampsivarii will starve during the coming months; perhaps winter’s cold and empty bellies will teach them an early lesson. The Cohorts I send in can also map the territory, in preparation for an early invasion and proper spring campaign against them next year.’
The Prefects nodded their agreement. It was a good compromise and sound plan. One of them raised a finger and asked.
‘What of the massacred garrison on the Alara sir? We need to replace them urgently.’
Varus stared at his adjutant for a moment. Pursing his lips he said.
‘Good point Dalious. We had better send...half a Cohort as replacements. Three Centuries should be more than enough to hold the new fort when it is completed. That’s triple the men that were there before, but one thing...they will have to remain there throughout the winter.
Each of the Prefects winced. They knew it would not be a popular duty.
‘The men won’t be too happy staying out there on the rim sir.’ One of them said.
Varus replied irritably.
‘Of course they won’t like it, but we must maintain a strong and permanent presence from now on, or these raids might continue, even in the depths of winter.’ He shrugged and stroked his chin. ‘As far as I know, there are no units currently under collective field punishment, so to be reasonable to our men; we’ll get the Centurions to draw lots.’
The 17th’s Prefect pounced. ‘From which Legion will we take them sir?’
Varus grinned. Ignoring his adjutant, he stared at the three Legion’s Prefects in turn.
‘Gentlemen; I think it fair if not just lowly Centurions put their future in the hands of fate.... You can decide which Legion provides our winter guard on the Alara. It is my order that you three Prefects will draw lots first.’
A deathly hush had fallen over the construction site after the screaming had stopped. Most of the Romans died where they stood under the heavy hissing blades of the auxiliaries. The sudden charge had caught the legionaries by complete surprise. Few even had time to understand what was happening, let alone defend themselves. Confusion turned to horror on their sunburnt faces as the legionaries were ridden down and slaughtered by those they considered comrades-in-arms. A few of the outer guard had tried to make a run for it, but Arminius’s archers placed silently before the ambush was sprung, found them easy targets.
Arminius swung down from his horse and wiped his sword on the dead Centurion’s tunic. The dark wound in his throat still oozed where Arminius’s sword had pierced it. The dead officer’s armoured chest and the ground around him were covered in a dark stain of blood. Arminius watched the blood drip and puddle as he searched his feelings. He had killed men before in battle. In Pannonia they were his enemies and were trying to kill him; it had never occurred to him to strike down a fellow officer who wore the same uniform.
Arminius suddenly snorted at his weakness. Angrily, he cast aside his stinging conscience. These weren’t thoughts worthy of a man sworn to rid his lands of the hated invaders, he angrily told himself. This was the first time he had directly raised his hand against Rome, but he wondered how many more would die under his blade before the fighting was over.
Rolf suddenly appeared beside him. He stared down at the lifeless corpse at his cousin’s feet and spat contemptuously at it. His eyes still shining with the light of battle, Rolf’s voice was a sneer as he said.
‘They squealed like pigs as we killed them Herman.’
Arminius nodded in silence. Clearly, Rolf wasn’t troubled by a single shred of guilt or the slightest prick to his conscience. Arminius was relieved. He looked up sharply.
‘None escaped then?’
With a wolfish grin and rapid shake of his head Rolf replied.
‘Not one got away cousin, all are dead.’
Arminius nodded. ‘That is very good Rolf.’ As if swabbing away the last vestige of regret, he wiped his hand across his face. It was time to move on to the next stage.
‘We must strip the bodies of armour and weapons quickly.’ He pointed to the deserted wooden cart. Still in its har
ness, the mule which had spent the morning patiently hauling stones from the quarry was now resting with its head down, using its powerful yellow teeth to crop a tasty patch of grass between its broad hooves.
‘See to it that two of the men gather all the weapons and armour onto that cart. Have them safely deliver it to our own people when we are finished here.’ Arminius swept his arm across the silent glade of the dead.
‘Take the heads but make sure they are discarded and hidden in the woods.’ His face clouding with sudden concern he added. ‘Ensure our men take no personal trinkets or booty. Our greatest strength in the next weeks will be surprise. If even the smallest trophy is discovered by the Romans on any of our men we will be undone.’ Arminius stared hard at his cousin. ‘You understand Rolf, we had the advantage of total surprise on our side today... and we must keep it that way.’ He nodded towards the rutted track leading into the trees. ‘Tell the men with the cart to follow after they are done here.’
Arminius sheathed his sword and grasped the pommel of his saddle. Before remounting he stared coldly again at his cousin.
‘The squadron will ride to the quarry Rolf. I want the rest of them slaughtered before we return to camp.’ His dark eyes narrowed. ‘You understand don’t you? Not a single Roman is to be left alive!’
Chapter 20
In the cramped prison cell, Centurion Rufus’s eyes narrowed in the semi-darkness.
‘Well Severus. Is what they say true?’
Huddled on the floor at the back of the cell, filled with utter despair the legionary sighed and nodded silently. Stripped of the right to wear his uniform, he now wore just a stained loincloth and tunic, and heavy iron chains manacled around his wrists and ankles