by David Black
Arminius breathed a silent sigh of relief. Grasping the hand of the elder he said.
‘Thank you Adalbert, as always you bring your sage council to our tribe when it is needed most.’
The crisis passed, Arminius addressed the assembly.
‘It is agreed then. We will detach two hundred men to guard the booty while the rest of us pursue the Romans. If they find any Romans still there,’ he shrugged ‘they can amuse themselves by killing any prisoners while they guard our treasure. The Romans believe they have tricked us by leaving before dawn but don’t let it concern you, they haven’t. We already know their only route, and I have positioned our Angrivarrii brothers along the difficult path that they must tread. The ground in front of the Romans is low-lying and filled with swamps. The Angrivarrii are fewer in number than us, or the Bructeri, but they have been following my orders and using the last two days wisely,’ he grinned. ‘They have been preparing some surprises for the Romans which will slow them down until we can get ahead of the column.’
* * * * *
In the belief that leaving camp two hours before dawn would give them the chance they needed to escape, the survivors of the three Legions marched on as light began to brighten the eastern horizon. Although sleep had eluded most, at least they had had the chance to rest their exhausted bodies.
The night had been filled with ugly and tragic scenes before the survivors had slipped quietly from the marching camp.
The wounded were attended to. Those with superficial injuries had their injuries stitched, sealed with hot irons or tightly bound. Those too grievously wounded, who could no longer walk were given a stark choice. The stricken men were offered a swift death at the hands of the Medicus, or the forbidding alternative, to take their chances of mercy from the barbarians when they arrived in the morning. Fearing hours or even days of terrible torture, most realised their situation was hopeless and chose to take a swift death and die by Roman hand. The Medicus placed an iron chisel against the nape of the wounded man’s neck. The brutal impact from a hammer on the butt end of the chisel severed the spinal column just below the skull, delivering instant and painless death.
Before the Medicus arrived, old comrades bid gravely wounded friends’ farewell, knowing the fate which awaited them. Tears of sorrow were shed by hard men tempered in the crucible of battle. They had shared their lives together; they had fought and bled beside these good friends, who now lay in pain and devoid of hope; these were friends they must gently say goodbye to for the very last time.
There had been much wailing among the civilians when they heard that they were to be abandoned. Those women who had men serving in the Legions’ ranks pleaded for the sake of their children to be spared the fate which all knew awaited them, but to no avail. Stern faced centurions ensured that the general’s orders were obeyed to the letter; civilians were herded from the camp in the middle of the night at the point of grim faced legionaries’ swords.
* * * * *
The artillery was burnt and the wagons were set on fire after they had been thoroughly searched for spare javelins. They were removed and issued to a waiting line of tired legionaries. Even the arrow like artillery bolts were removed just before the ammunition wagons went up in flames. The barbed iron darts were lashed to long poles and quickly issued. Every javelin would be needed when the next day dawned.
Although it had stopped raining during the night, the clouds remained hanging dismally in the dark skies above. They shielded the forest floor from moonlight; a welcome addition to the enveloping darkness as the Romans stole silently from the camp. Those sections which still had their pack mules stuffed leaves and grass into the bronze bells which hung around the animal’s necks, to deaden the sound normally used to find the beast if it strayed. Stumbling and cursing, the men marched through the inky darkness and tried their best to stay close to the man in front.
When the path through the forest became light enough to see, it began to rain again. At first, the marching men barely noticed. There was a new energy in them, galvanized not only by their dread of the forest, but also by a new emotion which few had really felt before during years of military service.
It was gnawing fear in the pit of their bellies which drove them on and fuelled tried muscles.
The rain increased with flashes of forked lightning and the rumble of distant thunder. The rain lashed down in ferocious torrents on the snaking column. The wind had picked up until it gusted ferociously. The trees around the column were whipped by it; they swayed, creaked and groaned all around the marching Legions. In the slippery mud it became difficult to stay upright as the marching men struggled against the wind’s awesome and unrelenting power.
Leading the column, General Varus had dispatched his engineers once again to reconnoitre their way ahead and clear obstacles which might delay their flight westwards.
Chapter 30
Despite the foul weather, the column made reasonable progress in the first hours after dawn, but once again the track deteriorated into a trail of slime and mud. Gallopers urged the units to stay closed up but inevitably gaps between units began to appear and widen, once again.
To replace the fallen from the previous day, Rufus and the forty men he still commanded had been attached to the 18th’s 1st Cohort. The General had given the highest priority to protecting the remaining Eagles.
The 18th’s first centurion Marius had been gravely wounded, but as a senior officer he had been granted dispensation and a place crammed uncomfortably onto one of the few carts the column had taken with them.
Severus marched silently among the century’s survivors. With Rufus’ permission, he had donned the armour and helmet of a legionnaire who had died of his wounds during the night. Rufus reasoned that under the circumstances, what with the drovers and civilian men being issued weapons and invited to join the column, the general staff up ahead needed every sword available, and he wasn’t prepared to waste the services of a fully trained and experienced man by retying his bonds.
* * * * *
The Romans sent ahead by Varus to reconnoitre approached the silent swamp with caution. Their auxiliary scouts had vanished the day before; now they were on their own.
There was clearly a path of sorts running into the marshlands, but it looked narrow and treacherous. The tall trees in front of the engineering party began to thin in number, making the constant half-light brighter and visibility just a touch easier. The gnarled trees scattered in the vast swamp were surrounded and partly submerged by deep pools of dark stagnant water swollen to higher levels by the recent rains. They went on as far as anyone in the detachment could see. A bird screeched unseen from somewhere deep inside the swamp’s fetid interior; a piercing shriek picked up by other waterfowl startled by something unseen and lurking in its forbidding depths. The pungent smell of rotting vegetation wafted towards them though the heavy rain-filled atmosphere; the air was filled with the putrid stench of stomach-heaving marsh gas.
The engineering centurion’s Optio stared at the sombre wetlands with dismay. Beneath his rusting armour he turned to his commander. After the tumult of the previous day there was more than a hint of apprehension and despite his best efforts to hide it, even a trace of fear in his voice.
‘Surely there’s time to find a way around sir? The journey so far has been bloody awful, but this looks...much worse.’
The centurion shook his head. His face was grave and resigned to what must be.
‘No. Our orders are clear. We are to find a way straight through this cursed forest.’ He cast a quick glance over his shoulder and then turned back to his Optio. ‘The barbarians are hunting us. They’re sure to come back and attack again at any moment. Without cavalry support we’ve simply no time to scout out an alternative route and go around whatever lies ahead.’
With silent foreboding he stared at the point where the track disappeared into the ancient primordial swamp. Trying to suppress a shudder, he shook his head and muttered reluctantly.
/> ‘There’s no choice I’m afraid, our duty is clear. We have to go in.’ Grim faced he added. ‘Order the detachment forward, will you?’
Like a ravenous spider concealed in the centre of a vast fetid web, the Angrivarrii watched and waited for the unsuspecting Romans to enter their dank and menacing trap.
* * * * *
As the vanguard of the 18th Legion’s 1st cohort, Rufus and his legionaries trudged wearily on.
Among his men, personal loads were much lighter now. Their equipment was long gone and few carried shields. Most had discarded them as they ran for their lives after the previous day’s attack. Rufus was concerned about the loss, but there was nothing he could do about it. His men were trained to fight with sword and shield but now they would have to make the best of it. He had thought about charges, but decided against it because slowed by the extra weight of rain sodden shields he doubted he would have had more than a handful of men to command, given that the fleet footed barbarians pursued them carrying little more than a sword or spear. To stand and fight would have been suicide, even with a shield.
Suddenly, gallopers approached. There were four of them. With dismay, Rufus instantly recognised the man who led them.
Tribune Crastus raised one arm to signal a halt to his bodyguard. Then, like the other mounted legionaries he hauled hard on his reins. The horses slithered to a stop in a spray of mud, liberally splattering Rufus and the front of the vanguard with fat gobbets of slime.
Eyeing him coldly, Crastus watched as Rufus saluted. Lazily returning the salute the young Tribune said self-importantly.
‘Ah yes, Rufus. 1st centurion Marius died of his wounds less than an hour ago and I have been ordered by Prefect Marcos to take command of the 1st Cohort, until we reach the other side of the forest.’
Rufus watched as the Tribune and his men rode further back along the column towards the standard bearer and his party. His darkest suspicions were confirmed. Things were obviously more desperate than the senior officers were letting on. To put a raw inexperienced Tribune, who was considered by the 18th’s tough centurions as little more than a spoilt and spiteful boy in charge of protecting their precious Eagle sent a cold shiver down Rufus’s spine. He shrugged to himself. The chain of command didn’t always work he thought morosely, as he set his jaw and trudged wearily on.
* * * * *
Having sorted out their differences over booty, Arminius and his men were making good time. They used hidden tracks running through the deepest forest to bypass the Romans. Moving silently, the lightly equipped Cherusci and Bructeri horde passed by unobserved, beyond sight of the slow moving Roman column as it approached the swamp. Using men who had spent their lives hunting the marshlands as guides, the barbarian army quickly outflanked the Romans. Their guides led them on through the depths of the gloomy swamp, using ancient pontiff longii; wooden bridleways laid on the fetid surface. The network had been built by local tribesmen over centuries. Using stout timbers secured with thick rope, the floating walkways provided a hidden highway for the rebels to cross deep bogs and seemingly impassable marshland with ease. In places they had to be cautious however; sliding from the sopping timbers into the marsh could only mean quickly disappearing beneath the dark surface of the surrounding waters and without rescue, drowning quickly in the sucking ooze of the deep mud just below the water’s surface.
The attacks the previous day had been piece-meal. Today however, on the other side of the swamp Arminius planned to launch all-out attacks in huge and overwhelming numbers. Even weakened as Varus’ army was, it remained potent. Arminius harboured serious doubts that he could inflict a total rout on the Romans before nightfall. He was certain however his men would inflict critically heavy casualties on the fleeing column.
Arminius would need the following day to finish the Romans but if he was right, the disintegrating army of General Varus would have its back broken in the hours of daylight which remained, before darkness once again shrouded the vast depths of the great Teutoburg forest.
Although fewer in numbers the Angrivarrii positioned inside the swamp had a part to play in Arminius’ strategy. They would buy him time to get his main force into place and add to the growing Roman casualties, and the exhaustion and growing fear he knew must by now be gripping theirs guts like an iron fist.
* * * * *
The forward engineering party pushed on through the swamp. Only the sound of the swirling water at their knees, or the cry of a distant bird broke the heavy silence which surrounded them. The track in places had disappeared completely after several days of torrential rain. The centurion and his men had sometimes been forced to wade up to their waists through miles of black foul smelling water, before eventually finding the first patch of higher ground where the going would at last become easier.
Free at last of the fetid water, the centurion gratefully called a halt to his fatigued party.
‘Looks like we’re close to getting out of this filthy swamp lads. We’ll rest here for ten minutes, and then push on and find our way out.’
His men were all lying exhausted on the ground when the first arrow struck the ground at the centurion’s feet. From a nearby stand of trees, a small group of Angrivarrii boys fired a ragged volley of arrows and stones at the resting Romans. Laughing loudly, they followed the volley with loud cat-calls and rude insulting gestures, pulling up their cloaks and displaying their naked genitals and backsides at the Romans.
After the past days of unrelenting pressure and uncertainty the centurion’s frayed nerves suddenly snapped. How dare these barbarian brats attack their rightful masters? Frustrated rage boiled over the Roman as he lost all sense of reason. They would pay for their insults. His eyes blazing with fury he turned and roared.
‘By the Gods! I’ve had enough of this. On your feet men and follow me!’
Snatching out his sword, the centurion ran the short distance across the open ground towards the laughing gesturing boys. His men were close behind. Flecks of spittle sprayed from his lips as he snarled over his shoulder.
‘Fan out! I want every one of these little bastards’ heads.’
Blinded by his rage, he and his men failed to notice that the boys didn’t attempt to run but instead stopped laughing and uncertainly stood their ground. The small Roman party didn’t notice as they charged forward, the ground just in front of them had been recently disturbed.
Only a dozen paces from the nearest boy, the centurion unexpectedly pitched forward with a cry of alarm. He disappeared through the thin lattice of sticks and leaves concealing the dark pit below. Suddenly gone from view, his startled cry was abruptly choked off.
Unable to check their forward momentum three more legionnaires fell forward into other concealed pits. Their screams of terror stopped as suddenly as they plunged forward; impaled a heartbeat later on beds of needle sharp stakes the Angrivarrii had fashioned the previous day.
Shocked and leaderless the remaining legionaries looked at each other in momentary confusion, then in stark horror at the screaming band of Angrivarrii warriors who broke cover and charged from the stand of trees in front of them. Uncertain what to do the Romans turned in blind panic from the sword wielding barbarians who outnumbered them by at least twenty to one.
The engineering party suddenly disintegrated into a starburst of fleeing men running in blind terror for their lives. The firm ground around them was blocked by howling warriors and deadly pits. The only chance they had was to flee back into the swamp. As the first Romans launched themselves with a loud splash into the black fetid water, the slowest were caught by the Angrivarrii and savagely hacked and cut down.
The screams behind them added urgency to the terrified men who had already reached the water. None dared look back. Hampered by their heavy armour and the clinging effects of the water, without the slightest regard to where they were going they frantically waded deeper and deeper into the swamp. Bubbles of stinking marsh gas foamed around them as they plunged on through tangles of rotting
vegetation and submerged roots.
Half the small party lay dead behind him as the Angrivarrii’s leader roared for his howling men to stop at the water’s edge. Breathing heavily, he turned and waved the young boys to his side. He gestured towards the struggling Romans, several of whom had already disappeared up to their shoulders in the clinging ooze.
The Angrivarrii chieftain felt cheated. Since the rebellion began, these were the first Romans he had seen but they were so few in number. Disappointed, he wondered angrily where the honour and glory was in killing cowards who wouldn’t stand their ground and fight like men.
In the cold water, a fleeing Roman lurched forward as one of his sandaled feet became trapped in a hidden knot of tangled roots. His ankle broken, with an agonised cry the legionary’s head plunged beneath the dark surface. Seconds later he re-emerged coughing and whimpering in pain and abject terror. The Angrivarrii chieftain’s heart was cold towards his enemy’s suffering. Where was their all conquering arrogance now, he wondered? His face filled with hatred and contempt the Angrivarrii stabbed his sword towards the wildly splashing figure who was now trying desperately to stay above the surface. The Angrivarrii eyes narrowed as he hawked and spat towards the helpless fugitive. Looking down at the expectant faces of the boys around him, with a savage grin he swept his hand towards the fleeing Romans struggling in the water. With the nodding approval of his men he snarled.
‘Use your bows and slings young warriors... Leave none alive...Kill them all!’