by David Black
‘Well then Herman, tell me, is it true that you have taken the girl as your woman?’
Arminius’s eyes danced suddenly with mischief. First staring at Thusnelda, then at his father he stayed smiling, but to his aging father annoyance remained stubbornly silent.
* * * * *
The feast was going well Varus decided. Beneath an array of flickering oil lamps the chieftains had listened intently as the General had reassured them of his soldiers’ protection throughout the rapidly approaching winter months. They had all played their part and growled appreciatively when they had eaten their fill, and he had finished his speech. Now they seemed intent on nothing more than talking loudly in their native tongue and drinking themselves into a profound stupor on his seemingly unending supply of wine. Slaves and servants dashed back and forth, nervously refilling goblets as the wild chieftains drunkenly pounded the table, belched loudly and demanded more. Now discarded by Varus’s guests, gnawed hunks of bread, boar and venison bones lay scattered across their table and one man was already asleep, head back and snoring loudly to the great amusement of his drunken companions.
Sitting beside Varus, wearing his dress uniform, his adjutant looked on at their uncivilised behaviour with thinly concealed disgust. Their noise and drunken laughter was growing steadily. Angrily he whispered into his General’s ear.
‘These are nothing but animals from the forest sir. I’ve seen better table manners when the servants feed my pigs at home.’
Varus’ smile was calm and kindly. Resting his hand gently on the Prefect’s forearm he replied quietly.
‘Yes, I know what you mean Dalious. We have a long way to go before we can consider any of them remotely civilised, but for now we must be grateful that they sit peacefully at our table without trying to kill each other, and freely accept our wine, and of course our troops’ protection.’
Dalious nodded reluctantly. ‘I suppose you’re right sir, but it sticks in my craw to break bread with any of them. The stink wafting across the room is enough to turn my stomach.’
Varus grinned, but before he could reply there was a loud disturbance at the banqueting tent’s entrance. The Centurion guard commander marched in and saluted smartly before his General. Varus inclined his head in acknowledgement, ignoring the growing shouts and raucous laughter which filled the tent. He said.
‘Yes Centurion, what is it?’
The guard commander made his report.
‘Sir, another chieftain has just arrived and is demanding to enter. He wouldn’t give me his name but insists he has the right to attend and asks to be allowed to speak before you.’
Varus looked at his adjutant in surprise.
‘I thought you said all the tribal leaders we invited had already been accounted for?’
Prefect Dalious looked confused.
‘They have sir... I checked the list personally after Arminius had confirmed their attendance.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps it is some minor chieftain one of their kings has deliberately slighted by not including?’
Varus nodded. ‘Yes, knowing how petty they can be that sounds highly likely.’ His face darkened. ‘But it may cause trouble.’ He stared at the drunken row of fierce looking bearded men opposite who showed no interest in the Centurion’s arrival. The General turned his gaze back to the waiting Centurion.
‘Show him in will you? Make sure he is disarmed and have some of your men provide a close escort to him. Place your entire guard on instant readiness outside in case one of our guests takes exception to his arrival.’ As an afterthought he added. ‘Bring in one of our interpreters; I want to understand what he says.’
The Centurion nodded, saluted again and strode quickly from the tent.
Varus sighed and shook his head slowly.
‘There’s always something...’
Moments later, the Centurion returned with the missing chieftain. Like the other guests the man wore his hair long, was heavily bearded and clad in furs. Led before Varus by the Centurion he was flanked by two burley legionaries who stayed close beside him. An auxiliary followed behind them.
Sitting further down Varus’s high table beside the 18th’s Prefect Arminius stiffened when he saw who it was that had entered. The noise in the room suddenly quelled to hushed murmurs of surprise, as one chieftain after another elbowed the man sitting beside them and focusing with difficulty pointed at the new arrival.
The man planted himself confidently in front of the General. Varus stared at the new arrival. There was something in the man’s bearing and a look in his eyes which unsettled the aging General. Was it madness he saw staring back at him?
With his hands on his hips the man spoke.
‘Greetings, Roman. I have come far to speak with you... My name is Segestes... I am lord of the Ampsivarii.’
Sudden Anger boiled in Varus’s veins. How dare this upstart barbarian stroll so casually into his Headquarters when there was such a heavy price on his head? Despite his age, the General was on his feet in a flash. Throwing his arm forward he snarled at the Centurion.
‘Seize him!’
The two guards grabbed Segestes arms and held him tightly. The Centurion drew his sword and held its edge to the Ampsivarii’s throat. Segestes didn’t struggle. To Varus’s surprise his prisoner simply threw back his head and roared with laughter. His barbarian guests, including Arminius’s father Segimer were also on their feet, but they were waving their arms, pointing at the rogue Ampsivarii in their midst and shouting to each other excitedly in their guttural tongue.
The General had had enough. He was in command here. He held his hands aloft and roared.
‘SILENCE!’
A hush fell, broken only by Segestes’s now muted chuckling. As Varus and his senior officers glared at him, the mirth on the man’s face changed to the darkest of scowls. Staring intently at Arminius, still with the centurion’s blade at his throat he licked his lips. Segestes turned his head slowly towards General Varus and began to speak.
‘Without my permission, a band of my young warriors have launched raids into your lands Roman.’ He lied. ‘I have only just learned of their attacks and wish no quarrel with you. I intend to punish those responsible and have come here freely to speak with you, as I desire only friendship between my tribe and the people of Rome.’
Arminius sat silently, his face impassive, but with each serpentine word uttered by the lying Ampsivarii the knot growing in the pit of his stomach tightened.
Varus stared at Segestes in silence for a moment. Was this man simply mad, or was he telling the truth he wondered? He had certainly placed himself at the General’s mercy, apparently in good faith. Curious, Varus decided there could be no harm in hearing him out. With an imperious flick of his hand he snapped an order to the guards.
‘Release him.’
Segestes shook his shoulders to shrug off the last touch of the Romans. As the centurion sheathed his sword, the silence in the tented chamber was absolute. The chieftain’s heads were clearing quickly; they were on their guard now and sobering fast. The stench of betrayal filled their nostrils; each of them realised the danger which had suddenly enveloped them as conspirators to the rebellion, since the Ampsivarii king had arrived.
Varus was pleased that he had regained control and that his guests had obeyed him so quickly. He mistook their sullen obedience; it was fear which had begun to beat in their hearts. Roman justice was cruel and swift. If their deceit was exposed they would be lucky to survive the night.
Varus looked at the Ampsivarii lord and simply said.
‘Pray continue.’
The feral grin returned to Segestes face. If the Roman couldn’t, he could smell the fear in the room. His eyes glittered as he gazed at each silent chieftain in turn, and then fixed his stare on Arminius. Segestes continued.
‘Despite the action of a few young hotheads, my desire is not for war but only peaceful co-existence and trade with you Romans. It has come to my ears that tribes have prospered when they deal with yo
ur merchants.’
Varus nodded in silence.
‘I wish true friendship, and believe only without secrets between us can we achieve this harmony.’ His eyes narrowed and glittered dangerously. ‘To cement that future I bring warning of rebellion to you by all the men in here....’
Segestes thrust out his arm and pointed straight at Arminius. He bellowed
‘The rebellion will be led by HIM!’
Suddenly, there was uproar in the room. A table crashed to the ground as every guest Varus had invited was back on his feet, red-faced and roaring with anger. The Roman officers sitting on either side of their general also leapt to their feet and drew their blades. Prefect Dalious yelled out to the guard commander. Almost instantly, armoured legionaries rushed in with their swords drawn and placed themselves in a tight line between their General’s high table and the howling mob of Germans.
Arminius looked on open mouthed. Segestes’s betrayal was damning and absolute. He knew he had only one chance of survival...he must deny and refute every single word uttered by the Ampsivarii lord. Around him, with swords still in hand, unsure what to do, the Romans backed away from Arminius, surprise and confusion on their faces. Could this possibly be true? Was Arminius, a citizen and Roman nobleman truly be a viper in their midst? It was impossible...and yet?
On a nod from General Varus, Prefect Dalious hammered the pommel of his sword on the wooden table to regain order in the bedlam and noise which flowed around him.
As his banging continued, the noise began to subside. Varus held out his arms and called for calm. Arminius too was on his feet and took up the call for silence. It was vital he was seen by the Romans to be one of them, trying to quell the tempers which had flared out of control. In his native tongue he called on the chieftains to calm themselves and not be afraid. To Arminius’s relief, they heard him and reluctantly obeyed. Still muttering darkly in turn, scowling they fell silent.
Arminius ordered them to sit down and remain quiet. Daring a glance at Varus, Arminius nodded towards him respectfully.
His face still betraying his deep shock, Varus returned the nod. He waited until silence had fully returned. Prefect Dalious lent across to his General and whispered.
‘Shall I arrest Arminius sir?’
Ashen faced, Varus shook his head. This was perhaps the most critical moment in his work within the province, perhaps even in his long career. A mistake now would unravel everything. There had been no hint or warning of betrayal in any reading of the runes, and Arminius had proved over and over his loyalty to Rome and to Varus himself. The Cherusci prince was also trusted by the assembled chieftains. If he placed Arminius and the others in chains and put them to the torture to search out the truth behind the Ampsivarii’s accusations, all trust and good faith would evaporate immediately between the tribal leaders and Rome, and might well spark a real rebellion.
Varus looked at his adjutant with tired sad eyes.
‘No Dalious, I will not arrest a Roman officer who I trust implicitly, on the word of one renegade who I have no reason to trust at all. There are always rumours of rebellion, but I see no evidence whatsoever to support this man’s word, or that of his ridiculous claims.’
He stood up as all heads turned towards him. Varus would find out the real reason behind the wild accusations. He suspected he knew the answer already and relaxed a little; he had spies of his own who sometimes whispered secrets. He stared at Segestes, who remained standing defiantly before him. Varus addressed him.
‘Segestes, is it not true that my officer here stole your daughter away from you recently?’
Segestes growled as his eyes blazed with anger at this public shaming before the others. Romans had no honour he thought savagely. As faces startled by the news looked on from the high table, rage boiled from him under the mocking smiles of the others. He snarled his reply.
‘Damn you! When I discovered she was gone I sent search parties to bring her back. Next morning my men found her knife laying on the same track this man.’ He glared at Arminius. ‘Had used to leave my land.... It is proof. He is guilty of kidnapping my daughter, and I will kill him for the insult.’
Varus nodded sagely. He turned towards Arminius.
‘Well, is this true Decurion? Did you steal this man’s daughter?’
Arminius stood tall, hoping his beating heart would not burst from his chest as he locked eyes with the general. Perhaps a mixture of lies and truth would help save him?
‘It is true sir; I did help Thusnelda to escape...’ Arminius needed to be bold; perhaps there was still a chance to save the rebellion, and all their lives. ‘She was under sentence of death by her father’s order and under the code of honour I know you live by; I believed it was the right thing to do.’ Arminius switched his gaze to Segestes. He could see the flames of madness beginning to burn in the man’s eyes. Momentarily, savage memories of the bear pit flashed through the Decurion’s mind. All that was needed Arminius thought, was another push, another small twist of the knife.
‘Since we left, Thusnelda and I have become very close...So close in fact that a few nights ago sir...I made her my woman.’
It was too much and something snapped. With a feral roar, Segestes launched himself towards Arminius, but the guards beside him were ready. They wrestled him to the ground and then dragged him snarling and spitting back onto his knees. In a flash, the centurion’s blade was against his throat again.
Varus signalled to the centurion to remove the wild-eyed Segestes from his presence. Swearing and shouting in his native tongue, the Ampsivarii leader was unceremoniously dragged away.
In the sudden peace that followed within the tented banqueting room Varus lent on the table and smiled smugly towards the Roman officers standing tensely to his left and right.
‘There gentlemen; there is the real truth behind the slanderous accusations you have heard tonight.’ He shook his head. ‘There is no rebellion. As military Governor, having judged so many tribal disputes over the last months I have come to know and understand how these barbarians think.’ He looked towards Arminius with a knowing and reassuring smile.
‘This was not about rebellion gentlemen; it is absolutely clear to me that the Ampsivarii wanted nothing more than cold blooded revenge...’
Chapter 22
Part Three
As first light came slowly to the distant horizon, everywhere within the huge stockade of the 18th’s summer encampment, centurions and optios barked out new orders to their men. As burning torches were snuffed out, sections of legionaries were already in their third hour of work, doubling to new tasks or busy packing away equipment and collapsing the tents, which had given them welcome shelter during the dark nights of the past six months. Others who had earned the wrath of their officer over some minor infraction were busy filling in stinking latrine trenches, while outside the stockades high walls, sections of legionaries walked the perimeter in line, gathering up the sharpened stakes and scattered caltrops which would soon be used again to protect the Legion in its’ temporary marching camps, during the two weeks it would take them to reach the Rhine.
‘Get that buckle tightened properly. Come on you idle pair, you’re the last two to finish.’
Centurion Rufus glared at the two legionaries who were trying to secure fat wicker panniers on either side of a loudly braying mule. One of the men was hopping in a circle, energetically rubbing his shin.
‘Sorry sir. The bloody thing just kicked me.’
Rufus scowled. Pointing his vine cane at the injured legionary he snapped angrily.
‘Stop making excuses laddie, or I’ll get you a swift transfer to one of the cohorts guarding the new forts this winter.’
The legionnaire palled. He’d been as pleased as the rest of the lads when he heard the news that his centurion hadn’t drawn a black token from their Prefects bag, when it came time to choose who was going to remain behind. It was pay parade in an hour, and the last thing he wanted was to stay out in this dangerous wi
lderness on guard duty for the next long and very cold six months. There was wine, baths and clean women aplenty in the brothels at their winter quarters over the Rhine, and he had no intention of missing the pleasures offered by any of them. Ignoring the pain in his leg, with a muttered curse he quickly snatched at the dangling buckle and threaded the leather securing strop into it. With the aid of his comrade, the injured legionary pulled the retaining strap tight under the animal’s belly. Securing the buckle he said.
‘There we are sir, all done.’
Tight lipped and still scowling Rufus looked over the mule and its panniers. Each of his eight-man sections had their own load carrying mule, and after pay parade they would begin filling the wicker containers with their sections heavier gear and tentage before forming up and beginning the long march home.
Rufus swept his cane towards their century’s tented lines when he was satisfied that the panniers were properly secured.
‘Right then.... Both of you get away and report to Optio Praxus. I’m sure he’ll want to use you in helping the others taking down the tents.’
The legionaries saluted and doubled away before their officer found a worse job for them, like sorting out the century’s overflowing latrines.
Rufus grinned to himself as he watched the two men running towards their lines. One was limping, but they were both making an effort. How could anyone not adore this life he wondered? Good food and pay, plenty of fresh air and the common bond of family and comradeship which every member of the 18th shared.