by David Black
Varus nodded.
‘Good. Send your best man to command the patrol. I cannot overemphasise the importance of him finding the Cherusci and the rest of our auxiliary cavalry. We need them, you understand, we need them desperately?’
Numonias nodded and said.
‘You mentioned two missions sir?’
The General nodded.
‘Yes Vala I did....I want you to ride for the Rhine tonight and bring reinforcements.’
Beside the campaign map lay a sealed scroll. Varus picked it up and handed it to the Decurion.
‘See to it personally that you hand this message to Nonius Asprenas. He has two reserve Legions who can come to our assistance....Our situation is becoming worse by the day Vala...I plan to fight our way out of this cursed forest but we cannot last forever... Take the freshest horses you can find. Do you fully understand how vitally important it is that you get through to the Rhine?’
Decurion Numonias Vala understood perfectly. Although he hadn’t said so, the inference was that without help, the general’s army was finished. Lifting his head and looking above his General Numonias said.
’I won’t let you down sir; I’ll get through to the Rhine somehow.’
It was Varus’s turn to suppress a sigh. Beckoning Numonias forward Varus pointed to the map.
‘Good. Then let us now consider your best route out of the forest Decurion...’
* * * * *
Rufus and his men trudged wearily on through the forest looking for a suitable hiding place. They were fully alert, tensed and watching cautiously for rebel patrols. There were only six left; the fight with the Bructeri had been both brutal and deadly, but had probably saved the survivors’ lives. Their armour and helmets discarded, the fugitives still carried their weapons but uniforms were hidden as they were dressed in looted furs taken from the men they had recently killed. Rufus reasoned that their disguise wouldn’t stand up to close inspection, but from a distance it might give them a fighting chance.
When Rufus had run the last rebel through he had initially ordered his survivors back into the forest while he crept forward to divine the fate of the 18th. It had been ominously quiet and that boded badly to the experienced centurion’s instincts. Removing his helmet he smeared mud on his face and slithered through the undergrowth on his belly until his breasted a low rise. Gently pulling a low branch aside Rufus had felt his gorge rise as he silently surveyed the ghastly scene before him. His comrades bloodied bodies lay everywhere. The forest floor as far as he could see was carpeted with them.
There were barbarian rebels walking casually among the corpses, stooping to pick up weapons and helping themselves to trophies as they spied them. One of the rebels was crouched nearby with his back to Rufus, engrossed in cutting off the finger of a dead legionary to release a thin gold ring he had spotted during his search of the dead.
Rufus scanned for his Eagle, but he could see no sign of it anywhere. He imagined the barbarians would be displaying it proudly if they had taken it. Perhaps somehow it had been spirited away under their noses?
His heart heavy, Rufus had seen enough. His duty now was to the few men who had survived their deadly skirmish with the isolated band of rebels. He carefully replaced the branch and began to slither backwards. A branch cracked and abruptly Rufus froze. Not more than fifty paces from where he lay a small band of rebels suddenly burst from the forest. Yelling excitedly to the great multitude engaged in looting they triumphantly thrust the 18th’s glittering Eagle high in the air for all to see.
With a growing roar of excitement the warriors began to gather around the trophy, whooping and howling in their savage elation.
As the last of the Bructeri party emerged from the dense tree line, Rufus saw something which made his heart sink lower and his stomach churn even more.
His hands tied behind his back and a noose around his neck Tribune Crastus was led from the forest by a grinning Bructeri who yelled his delight at having a captive. The Tribune’s face was streaked with dirt and a trickle of blood, but beneath the grime he looked white with terror. Crastus cowered and whimpered as one of the surrounding Bructeri cuffed him hard on the side of his head. The surrounding warriors laughed as he staggered backwards.
Rufus’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. Crastus was a little shit but there was absolutely nothing Rufus could do against so many to save him. It was plain to see that the Eagle and the tribune were both lost, with no possible chance of rescue.
Standing hands on hips before Crastus, in his native tongue one of the older Bructeri growled.
‘How did you catch this little rabbit?’
The rebel holding the tether grinned.
‘I caught him hiding by a stream close by. There was blood on his sword but he didn’t put up much of a fight.’ Looking contemptuously at the prisoner he half drew his sword and said. ‘What shall I do with him, kill him?’
Eyes wide with terror, a single sob escaped from Crastus.
The older Bructeri shook his shaggy head as he stared at the shivering Tribune. He grabbed the young warrior’s forearm.
‘No! You must take him to the sacred grove of the Ravens.... Our High Priestess has decreed that all captured Roman officers’ lives are to be dedicated to the Gods.’ With a jerk of his thumb towards the prisoner, knowingly he added. ‘His death will bring us great favour with them, and honour the spirits of our ancestors.’
He sneered at the terrified Tribune as his eyes glittered with cruel anticipation. The old warrior knew what was going to happen to the prisoner, he had seen it done before.
‘Do not feel cheated Kurt, you have done well. The Roman’s death will be neither quick nor easy. He will die slowly locked in a wicker cage, as the priestesses roast him alive over a sacrificial fire.’
The disappointment evaporated from the younger warriors face. Satisfied both with the respect he had earned, and his prisoner’s ultimate fate a savage grin spread over the young Bructeri’s face. With a respectful nod to the elder he tugged hard on the tether and dragged Crastus away to meet his fate at the sacred Place of the Ravens.
* * * * *
Knowing it was hopeless, Rufus crept silently back to what little was left of his command.
He found them where he had left them, huddled together hiding in a thicket. He could see the fear in their eyes. They too had listened to the ominous silence coming from the ambush site since their centurion had left them, and the sudden unexplained roar of celebration. Expecting the worst, Severus looked up at his commander and whispered hopefully.
‘Did we beat off the attack sir?’
Stone faced, Rufus shook his head.
‘No lad, none of the first cohort survived. I don’t know how many more were lost along the line but there are droves of rebels everywhere....’ Almost ashamed, he added sadly.
‘And they have our Eagle.’
All five men drew breath sharply at the impossible news. Rufus held up his hand to calm them. Keeping his voice firm but to a minimum he said quietly.
‘There’s nothing we can do about it. There are thousands of barbarians just a little way over there.’
Rufus nodded in the direction of the ambush site, but decided against mentioning Crastus. His men were frightened enough. If they were going to survive the hours to come, he needed them sharp, not paralyzed with fear at the horrors which might befall them.
‘We can achieve nothing by staying here lads. We must move away from the track into deeper cover and hide until nightfall. Once it’s fully dark we’ll try and slip through the enemy patrols and rejoin whatever’s left of the column at tonight’s marching camp.’
His men’s grim frightened faces brightened a fraction at the chance of rejoining their comrades. As their heads began to nod with new purpose Rufus glanced about the silent forest and then added softly.
‘That’s if we can find it?’
Chapter 33
The small patrol sent by Varus discovered Arminius just a few miles
away an hour before the sun began to set. They had no reason to suspect anything was amiss. They rode into the auxiliary cavalry’s encampment with a sense of profound and overwhelming relief. Their comrades lay chatting around camp fires, eating and laughing together. A few stood up as the Roman officer and his five-man Gaul escort arrived in their midst, but nothing was out of place or raised any alarm in the minds of the new arrivals.
Bringing his horse to a halt, the junior Decurion stared down at a group of Arminius’ men who were closest to him.
‘You there! Where is your Decurion?’
Grinning, the auxiliary pointed to the other side of the camp.
‘He’s over there....Sir.’
Irritated by the lack of respect in the tone of the man’s voice, but too tired to remonstrate with him the junior Decurion turned his horse and walked it over to where Arminius stood watching him.
The Roman saluted. Still in his saddle he said.
‘Thank the Gods I’ve found you. I bear desperate news sir.’
Arminius eyed him coldly. His entire squadron was on its feet now. They watched in silence, but edged closer.
‘Well Decurion, make your report.’
Clearing his throat, the Roman said.
‘I am commanded to tell you that General Varus orders you to bring your cavalry and the entire Cherusci to the urgent assistance of the Legions sir.’
As one officer to another, almost in confidence he added.
‘We have sustained repeated attacks over the last two days and taken very heavy casualties.’
Arminius nodded in silence. He turned to his men who had now begun to gather in growing numbers around the patrol. Raising his arms above him Arminius roared to them.
‘Did you hear that men? General Varus has been attacked and requests our assistance!’
There were roars of laughter and scattered cheers from the auxiliaries who now crowded closely around the mounted patrol. Bewildered by the look of triumph on their grinning faces and the odd reaction to his dire news, the Decurion turned back and stared at Arminius. Confused, he said.
‘I don’t understand Sir. You must come immediately; we are in a most serious situation.’
Arminius nodded.
‘Yes it is a very serious situation, but you will understand very shortly my friend....Seize them!’
His men had been waiting. Like coiled springs they leapt at the surprised Decurion, dragging him and his escort from their horses. Disarmed and roughly thrown to the ground, the Roman’s expression changed abruptly from confusion to one of shock and sudden fear.
Arminius turned to his cousin who stood beside him. The look on his face was merciless. With a voice as cold as ice Arminius hissed.
‘I need information on the state of Varus and what’s left of his army. Put this fool to the torture...I want everything he knows...’
* * * * *
Every man has his breaking point. Helplessly tied to a tree the Roman tried bravely to resist the questioning and terrible pain they inflicted on him before he broke. Bleeding and delirious with pain, when his eye was gouged out with the point of a dagger the end came and he could resist no more.
Before Rolf slit the Roman’s throat, Arminius had everything. He knew exactly what was happening inside the Roman encampment, but more importantly Rolf and his ruthless torturers had discovered Varus’s desperate plan to send his remaining cavalry on a frantic dash for the Rhine.
Time was short; to thwart any chance of the last ditch rescue attempt succeeding Arminius must act quickly. Issuing a flurry of orders, he commanded his cavalry’s camp broken, and his men into their saddles.
* * * * *
Only when it was fully dark did Rufus order his men to their feet. The dense canopy and the dark cloud filled sky blocked any starlight from filtering down through the trees from the heavens above. The forest floor was pitch black and deathly silent. Rufus had tried, but when he extended his arm moments earlier he was disappointed that he couldn’t see his hand at the other end of it. The canopy rustled above and an owl hooted forlornly in the distance as Rufus gathered his men close around him and whispered.
‘Right lads, I know its bloody dark in here but we’re going to try to make our way westwards. We can’t go anyway near the track because the rebels will be all over it so we must get further away.’ He stared into the inky darkness which surrounded them. ‘I don’t think we’ll get far without torches so let’s take our time and put some distance between us and the track before we light them and turn west.’ Rufus paused for a moment before continuing grimly. ‘We’re only going to get one chance at this so keep your eyes and ears open... and for Jupiter’s sake, stay close together and don’t under any circumstances get separated. Because there’s no light, rest your hand on the shoulder of the man in front of you to stay in touch. When we move out in a minute we must move quietly and slowly like shadows from the afterlife...We’ve no idea if there are rebels close by so keep it quiet...any questions?’
Taking their silence as confirmation of their understanding Rufus added one last comment.
‘If we get hit...it’s every man for himself. Don’t stop for anything, just try and get away.’
The party set off in silence heading north. Almost immediately Rufus knew it was going to be more difficult than he had at first hoped when his shin collided with a fallen log in the darkness. Stifling an oath he felt his way over the obstacle as far as he could reach then carefully eased his leg over it. Gingerly applying his full weight to his front leg, Rufus lent forward and carefully lifted his back leg over it as well. He turned and helped Severus as he began to clamber over the fallen log. It took several minutes for all of them to cross and get clear. Rufus didn’t rush his men, they were still too close to the track to risk discovery by making any unusual or unnatural noises. Rufus and his men were playing a deadly game of cat and mouse with the unsuspecting rebels; to stand any chance of surviving the night, he couldn’t afford to give the slightest hint of their presence to the enemy.
As they made slow progress forward, magnified by the stillness of the surrounding forest, an unseen twig occasionally snapped beneath one of the men’s feet; the sound boomed like the crack of a whip and startled, it made them all drop into a crouch and listen intently for any sign of discovery.
Arms outstretched Rufus felt his way slowly forward, stopping and dealing with obstacles as he discovered or blundered into them. It proved to be exhausting work as his senses strained with every pace the men took forward. Night marches were always challenging, and knowing how difficult it was to judge distances travelled without reference points in the darkness; Rufus was carefully counting every step.
Progress was painfully slow. After an hour of cautiously fighting their way through a tangled mass of undergrowth, branches which threatened to stab into unprotected eyes and climbing over fallen rotting tree trunks, Rufus had counted only seven hundred paces through the dank, dripping forest. He whispered a halt so his men could snatch a short rest.
At this rate Rufus knew the men behind the walls of the marching camp would be long gone before he could lead his small party to safety. There were plenty of hours of darkness left, but each one was critical if they were to successfully meet up with the Legions and make their escape. Rufus turned to the shape nearest to him and whispered.
‘Severus?’
Out of the darkness the whispered response came instantly.
‘Sir?’
‘Listen, we can’t spend all night moving like this, it’s taking far too long. We must be at least a thousand paces from the track by now. We’ve seen no sign of the enemy, but the problem is that tonight’s marching camp might be miles away so we’ll have to risk moving with light from some torches.’
Severus nodded in the darkness. He knew the risks, but they were worth taking.
‘Yes sir.’ He replied quietly, gently rubbing a recently bruised knee.
Rufus said quietly.
‘As soon as we get the t
orches going, we’ll turn and start heading west.’
Darkness had fallen when General Varus closed the staff meeting. His heart ached with resignation and sorrow. There had been nothing but bad news. His adjutant had begun the meeting with the latest casualty figures. He estimated there were less than five thousand men left alive under his general’s command, and many of them were wounded. The others were missing and must be presumed dead or worse still, captured and in the hands of the barbarians.
There had been a heated discussion as to the merits of pushing on or staying behind the palisade walls and waiting for reinforcement from the reserve Legions on the other side of the Rhine. Varus had angrily dismissed such defeatist talk; he still had a chance to salvage something from this debacle and maintained they could still win a resounding victory before the reserves arrived with the help of the Cherusci.
Varus had sent out small scouting parties on foot. One had returned and reported that they had climbed the highest hill and could see beyond the canopy of trees that the other side of the treacherous forest was close now; it was no more than five miles away.
It was of deep concern to all that since they had left hours earlier there had been no sign of the mounted patrol sent out to find Arminius. The General had committed the last of his cavalry and couldn’t now rely on them providing any screening whatsoever to the remaining column. To compound a terrible day, not one but two Eagles were now unaccounted for. The 18th Legion, apart from a few survivors, appeared to have been completely wiped out. The handful who managed to make the marching camp reported that the enemy’s tactics had changed. They had attacked in huge numbers. Instead of hit and run, the 18th had been assaulted by wave after wave of rebels until they were simply overwhelmed and slaughtered. Their supply of javelins exhausted, the hungry exhausted men who formed the backbone of the marching columns’ centre hadn’t stood a chance against the unrelenting attack by so many fresh and ferocious enemies.