by David Black
‘Our own people were first to come. I think we have about eight thousand Cherusci in total. There are about the same number of Bructeri and perhaps five thousand Angrivarrii.’
In the darkness, Rolf couldn’t see the concern that clouded Arminius’s face.
‘What of the other tribes Rolf. Have none of them come?’
Rolf shook his head. ‘No cousin, I saw no others. So far, just three tribes have risen and answered your call.’
Arminius sighed. He had expected the others to hesitate in openly rebelling against the Romans. They had all heard the stories told at clan gatherings of the Roman’s past cruelty to those who had opposed them. All the tribes had promised support, but even so...
‘Will they come to our aid cousin?’
Arminius pondered the question for a moment before replying.
‘Yes, I believe they will, but they are waiting to see how tomorrow goes. We have at best twenty-one thousand warriors in the field against about the same number of Romans, but we will have one great advantage.’
Rolf turned his head and stared inquisitively at his cousin.
‘How so Herman, if the numbers are so dangerously close?’
‘It’s simple really Rolf. I can best explain by asking you a question. What happens when you hit a log with a hammer?’
Confused Rolf replied.
‘Err...It bounces off?’
Arminius smiled. ‘Exactly, it bounces off. But what happens if you hit the same log just as hard with a sharp axe?’
Still unsure, Rolf answered hesitatingly.
‘Why, the axe will split the log.’
‘Yes precisely, that’s exactly what happens. Now Rolf, imagine the Roman column is a long narrow winding worm. What happens if you hit it with the same axe, again and again?’
There was more than a hint of excitement in Rolf’s hushed voice as realisation dawned.
‘Why, you chop it into smaller and smaller pieces!’
There was silence for a moment between the two men before worried, Rolf voiced a new concern.
‘But how do we attack the Romans before they close ranks and get into their battle formations. You said long ago we cannot defeat them in formal pitched battle.’
Arminius smiled again. It was time to explain the coming day in detail to his cousin.
‘I will shortly move out to the clan rendezvous Rolf. Moves are being made throughout the province tonight to attack the Romans who have stayed behind. Tonight, they will all die. At daybreak tomorrow I will explain my plan to our kin and allies then lead the tribes to their ambush positions. If they follow my orders we are assured of victory. But before I leave this place you should know that you have a vital part to play in the coming battle and our ultimate victory...Now listen very carefully cousin, this is what I want you to do at dawn tomorrow...’
Hours later in the darkest part of the night, one of the new fortresses nestled silently beside a sleeping barbarian settlement deep in the Germanic interior. It was freshly built and many days march from the safely encamped and resting Legions.
A young Roman sentry stamped his feet to ward off the numbing cold within the fort. To his earlier dismay, he had pulled the midnight guard duty and now, despite his thick woollen cloak he shivered in the chill night air as he hefted his javelin and patrolled one lonely corner of the newly constructed fort. Three hours, he thought. Three more miserable hours, patrolling up and down in a pacified area where every man and his dog were wrapped up warm and fast asleep. It seemed to be such a waste of time, but when he had asked his Optio what was the point, he had received nothing more than a casual shrug in reply.
The pungent smell of fresh cut pine assailed his nostrils. The tree trunks chopped down from the surrounding forest only days earlier were still green and heavy with rich amber sap which oozed from each of the trunks sharpened ends. In a neat vertical wall they disappeared into the darkness before him pointing silently at the blackened sky. He reached out and touched the sticky ooze of the nearest one. Its tacky residue clung to his fingertips as he withdrew his hand. He smiled. The smell reminded him of being a boy at home; the forested valley far to the south of Rome where his father had been a freeman woodcutter. He idly remembered the valley where he had played so happily among the shadows and fallen leaves with his band of friends as a small child.
A muffled noise abruptly disturbed his reverie from long past memories; it was not a usual sound of the night which he had heard so many times before on countless guard duties around the Empire, more like a small pebble bouncing off the platform close behind him. Curious rather than alarmed he wandered further from the comforting light of the burning torches, seeking the source of the disturbance. He stared into the gloom but failed to find what had caused the odd sound; he also missed the two wraithlike figures that rose silently from the darkness behind him. One broad hand closed over his mouth as the legionnaire’s helmet was savagely wrenched backwards with the other. A pitted iron blade flashed in the starlight.
With a look of shock and horror on his ashen face the sentry gurgled and struggled under the assassin’s vicelike grip as blood pumped in powerful rhythmic spurts from the gaping wound in his neck. In moments his struggles became weaker until with a final jerk and gargled sigh his eyes closed as the blackness around him became absolute. Powerful arms lowered his body quietly onto the platform.
One of the bare-chested killers lent over the palisade. His long hair fell over his heavily tattooed face as he motioned to his companions, waving them forward out of the darkness. They carried roughly honed ladders. The waiting warriors negotiated the deserted spike filled ditch as they quietly drew swords and began to climb into the darkness above. In just moments, they were assembling in numbers on the ground inside the darkened fort. A savage grin and nod from their leader sent them scurrying silently towards neat rows of tents filled with peacefully sleeping legionaries whose centurion, just weeks earlier had been unlucky enough to draw a black token from his Prefect’s brimming bag.
Chapter 24
As dawn broke, light and activity grew within the Roman’s marching camp. Centurions rushed about their lines banging on the side of tents and shouting for their men to get up quickly.
Centurion Rufus had roused his century early and was barking orders at his men to begin dismantling their tents and get them stowed away on the waiting mules.
Before he had roused the first man however, Rufus had checked on Severus. Army regulations dictated that when on the march his prisoner should spend the night tied to one of the century’s wagons. He had found the ex-slave stiff and cramped, lying uncomfortably on the damp ground behind the century’s tents. Staring down at Severus in the half-light Rufus sniffed and said quietly.
‘I’m probably breaking Jupiter knows how many regulations just being here, but this might make you feel a bit better.’
Making sure he wasn’t being overlooked, Rufus slipped his prisoner a large chunk of bread he had acquired during the previous evening. As Severus bit hungrily into his breakfast Rufus added.
‘We’ll be moving out in an hour or two and something in your belly should make you feel a bit better.’
Still chewing Severus looked gratefully at the bread and said.
‘Thank you sir. I really appreciate this.’
Before Rufus could reply, a booming blast came from the guard horn on the main gate.
Startled by the sudden echoing note Severus asked.
‘Trouble sir?’
Rufus shrugged. ‘I don’t know lad, but that was an alert. Get that bread down you quick before anyone sees you eating it.’ The centurion rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. ‘I’d better go and see what’s up.’
As Rufus turned to walk away, one of the auxiliary cavalry detachments thundered inside the palisade at a full gallop just after the camp’s main gate had swung fully open.
As most of the horsemen slowed their snorting mounts, their officer and two riders continued to gallop across the v
ast encampment, until they reached General Varus’s headquarters area. Reining in hard and almost sliding to a halt the riders dismounted and rushed inside.
Rufus looked darkly back at Severus.
‘I don’t like the look of this...Something’s definitely up...I think I’d better go and wake the lads up, smartish.’
The tension in the room was tangible as General Varus addressed his hastily convened staff officers briefing.
‘Gentlemen. The recent rumours of uprising among some of the tribes have been confirmed.’
Shock and surprise registered on the senior officers’ faces. Surely not now, when the season’s campaigning was at an end?
Deeply concerned at such unexpected news they began to murmur together but Varus held up his hand to quell them.
‘A patrol came in this morning and reported they have discovered a large concentration of Ampsivarii warriors camped deep inside the forest....Here, let me show you.’
Varus turned and uncovered a stretched animal hide which hung on one tented wall. It was a map showing their route through Germania as far as the floating bridge across the distant River Wasser. Their marching path over the next ten days was marked clearly. Heavily inked in, it showed the Legion’s planned direction followed the main supply route the quartermasters had been using for resupply during the summer campaigning season. The supply route was shaped like a huge horseshoe, circumnavigating a heavily wooded region shown in the map’s centre. Varus thumped his fist into the middle of the hide.
‘The enemy are concentrated in here gentlemen. I suspect their advance guard has been using this region as a base to launch their recent hit and run attacks; that’s why we have failed to find them. Clearly, they have been moving at night and as a result we have been searching in entirely the wrong areas for them.’
Heads nodded before him. The unexpected news explained a great deal. The Ampsivarii had been far too adept at avoiding the numerous foot and mounted patrols which had searched unsuccessfully for them since the raiding had begun.
The General continued his appreciation.
‘The report I received stated that as of yesterday they appear to have built up their forces in secret and can now be counted to approximately five thousand.’ The General’s face was grave. ‘We still of course outnumber them heavily but if we are to take them by surprise we must move decisively gentlemen; if we act promptly, we can nip this rebellion in the bud, and as a bonus save perhaps a full week of marching.’
Concerned, one of the Prefects asked.
‘Sir, how can we find them in that tangle of forest? It’s difficult terrain as I remember.’
Hiding his annoyance at having to state the blindingly obvious Varus smiled.
‘That’s quite simple really. The scouts will lead us in. Their commander reports they have found an excellent route which should suit our needs with very little work by our engineers.’
Varus turned from the map and resting his fists on the table before him, he stared at the assembled officers.
This was the perfect opportunity to retire on a triumphant note. After two years bringing peace and consolidation to his province, Varus had received a message among dispatches from Rome the previous month under the Emperor’s own private seal. It granted him permission to finally retire at the end of this campaign season. Bone tired after so many decades of service, he read the dispatch in private with mixed feelings. Even to mark his retirement from public duties, Varus doubted Augustus would grant him the honour of a full Triumph, with the opportunity to parade himself and his victorious Legions through the streets of Rome. Even so, his social standing as a victorious Roman General would be greatly enhanced, and his reputation in the eyes of the Emperor and members of the Senate immeasurably consolidated. Haunted by his experiences in Syria and the political fallout that followed, nobody would dare to plot against him again.
‘My plan is, if I may say so quite simple in its execution. We march to the enemy encampment and immediately launch a sudden and devastating assault in overwhelming numbers. The Ampsivarii won’t know what hit them when they feel the combined power of three concentrated Legions attacking them.’
Another Prefect stared at the General in uncomfortable surprise and some confusion.
‘But General, Sir. Who will guard the baggage train and civilians while we destroy the enemy?’
Varus returned the stare, but at best it was patronising. How could a mere Prefect possibly understand the grander stratagems and tactics of one of the most admired living Patricians and Generals of Rome, he wondered. Struggling to hide his growing anger at such obvious military ineptitude, he momentarily wished his Legates were with him instead of just their lowly subordinates. The Legates he was convinced would certainly have seen the audacious brilliance of his masterly and decisive plan.
‘The baggage train will follow us of course.’ He shrugged at the minor distraction. ‘We can leave a small infantry detachment to protect it.’ The reassuring smile returned. ‘They will be in no danger of course with the added advantage of the cavalry screen.’ Varus pushed himself off the table.
‘When the operation is over we mop up then simply continue straight on to the other side of the forest, pick up the supply route on the far side and march on until we reach the Wasser. We can afford to rest for a few days then, before pushing on for the Rhine....’ Varus held his reassuring smile.
‘There is one other important point which you should know gentlemen. I have sent orders via our scouts for Arminius to raise his tribe and come to our support. There is no love lost between the two tribes and we can expect between five and seven thousand Cherusci warriors to assist us. We may well not need them, but they will make a valuable reserve if we do.’
The briefing was at an end. Summing up, General Varus added.
‘Now gentlemen, you have your orders. The 17th will lead, followed by the 18th and 19th. See to it that your centurions are fully briefed on the change of plan; I want to begin the march in one hour, and hit them at first light tomorrow.... Thank you gentlemen, you are dismissed.’
As the Prefects and staff officers saluted and filed from the command tent, Varus called to his adjutant.
‘Send in the Decurion who brought me the report, will you, Dalious?’
Minutes later the junior Decurion arrived. Having been announced, he marched in smartly and saluted.
‘You sent for me sir?’
Still considering the implications of his future in Rome, Varus looked up.
‘Ah yes, indeed I did.’
He walked over to the stretched hide which hung on the wall. He pointed to the map.
‘Show me exactly where this track you have discovered cuts into the forest.’
The Decurion smiled as he stepped forward to stand close to the General
‘Of course sir, it is easily found.’
As the general turned to inspect the map, he failed to notice a fleeting flash of pure malevolence on the scout’s face. It registered only for a split second and then was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
The auxiliary officer pointed to a spot a little further along the supply route from where they were currently camped. He tapped his finger beside the supply route’s heavily inked track.
‘Just here, sir. It’s only about six miles ahead. This is where we can enter the Teutoburg forest.’
Rolf’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly.
‘And surprise our enemies.’
Chapter 25
The skies began to darken as the head of the great marching column turned away from the main supply route and entered the edge of the vast Teutoburg forest.
General Varus had forbidden the Conicens from using their circular horns to pass signals. Surprise he reasoned was the key to success, and announcing their arrival would lose a critical advantage. Instead, he ordered that only mounted horsemen should pass his messages and orders down the long line of marching men.
As the leading 1st cohort of the 17th legion left the ope
n plain and marched their Eagle into the forest, they were immediately cocooned on both sides by dense stands of birch, spruce and ancient gnarled oaks, which seemed to twist and climb almost to the grey skies above. The path was firm but surrounding visibility was badly restricted by tall tree trunks and a dense layer of vegetation as tall as a man which carpeted the surrounding forest floor.
From the dark clouds overhead a light drizzle began to fall onto the Romans as they marched deeper into the eerily silent forest in tight column. It felt cool and refreshing to the marching men of the column. Autumn was upon them and only gentle hiss of the drizzle and the soft rustle of the slowly changing green and russet canopy above overcame the deathly hush which filled the immense and primordial Teutoburg.
Riding just ahead of the Romans as scouts, sitting firmly in his saddle Rolf walked his horse forward in company with one of his most trusted auxiliary kinsmen. Their winding route ahead was clear and easy to follow.
Rolf’s companion looked over his shoulder at the Romans behind him, then back at his commander. He whispered softly in his native tongue.
‘When will Herman spring the trap Rolf?’
Rolf looked around before replying equally slyly.
‘Not yet. We are ordered to draw the entire column deep into the forest so none may escape. Herman has placed strong forces here and there all along the trail ahead, but none may attack until the Romans are fully committed, and all have entered.’
His companion smiled as he touched the hilt of his long cavalry sword, which hung sheathed on his hip.
‘Then we kill them?’
Rolf turned and stared into the eager glittering eyes of his second cousin.
‘Yes Helmut. Then... we kill them.’
Guided ever deeper by two of Rolf’s best men, and little more than a mile ahead a mixed party of the 17th and 18th’s engineers were busy clearing the path of obstacles for the approaching column. It was proving to be surprisingly light work. The engineers and their labouring legionaries were making good progress. Despite the close proximity of the surrounding vegetation, the ground beneath their feet was acceptably dry and flat.