Eagles in the Storm

by Ben Kane

‘You leave me no option,’ said Arminius. Mallovendus tensed, as if about to leap up, and Arminius pushed the dagger’s tip in hard enough to draw a fat drop of blood. ‘Think before you move. Your men will also die.’

  ‘Filth,’ hissed Mallovendus, but he relaxed back on to his stool. ‘Do your worst. I will never reveal where the eagle is hidden.’

  ‘No?’ Arminius glanced at Osbert. ‘Hold down the youngest warrior – that one, with blond hair. Gouge out his eyes.’

  A great cry escaped Mallovendus. Swift as lightning, Arminius wrapped an arm around his throat and leaned even harder on the dagger. ‘Go on,’ Arminius whispered. ‘I’ll willingly send you to the other side.’

  Quivering with rage, Mallovendus subsided. Arminius watched with satisfaction as the young warrior was manhandled, roaring and shouting, to the table and slammed down on to his back in front of Mallovendus. Knife in hand, Osbert looked to Arminius.

  ‘Where is the eagle?’ enquired Arminius again.

  ‘Donar take you, whoreson!’ bellowed Mallovendus.

  Arminius nodded at Osbert, who leaned over his victim.

  A soft shuffle of footsteps. Arminius sensed someone behind him. It couldn’t be one of the Marsi warriors – they were all being guarded. Unable to relax his grip for fear of Mallovendus’ reaction, he twisted his head. Before he could make out anyone, pain lanced through him. A knife pricked through his tunic, low down on his right side.

  ‘My husband told me once that the liver lies in this area.’ The widow’s icy voice was a world away from the seductive tones she’d used when they had lain together. ‘Stick the blade in deep enough, and the bleeding will never stop. A slow death, he said, and an unpleasant one.’

  Arminius laughed. ‘You wouldn’t do it.’ The words had only left his mouth when the widow shoved the knife tip into his flesh. He cried out. Several of his men raised their weapons.

  ‘Don’t tempt me,’ advised the widow.

  ‘Stay where you are!’ Arminius barked. With reluctance, his warriors obeyed.

  ‘The boy is to be released,’ said the widow. ‘Your men are to leave the settlement, without any fuss.’

  ‘And me?’

  ‘You will stay behind as surety,’ said Mallovendus, his good humour returned.

  ‘The instant my warriors have gone, you will cut my throat.’

  ‘Not everyone is a treacherous dog like you.’ Mallovendus twisted out of Arminius’ grip, his face cold and set. ‘Because of our previous friendship, you will be released unharmed. I swear this to you before Donar, bringer of thunder.’

  Arminius’ eyes searched Mallovendus’ long and hard, but he could see no sign of deceit. He nodded, accepting defeat even as fury consumed him. ‘Let the boy go, Osbert. Take the men to our camp. I’ll find you there.’ Osbert hesitated, and Arminius barked, ‘Do it! The mad bitch will gut me.’

  Glowering, Osbert did as he was told. When he and the others had departed, the widow moved away from Arminius with a scornful remark about his manhood. The chuckling Marsi warriors took her place but, true to Mallovendus’ word, no one laid a finger on Arminius. Instead, he was offered a platter of bread and roasted meat.

  The food tasted like ash. Despair was not an emotion familiar to Arminius, but it swamped him now. Without the iconic eagle, his chances of winning allies among the fresh-beaten tribes were small indeed.

  Chapter XXXVII

  UNDER A WARM morning sun, astride his horse, Tullus was waiting with the senior officers of five legions: his own, and the four others selected by Germanicus to subdue the Marsi afresh. On an expanse of fields behind them, every soldier of the Fifth was massed, cohort by cohort. A short distance in front sprawled the largest Marsi settlement, and home of Mallovendus.

  Three days had passed since Piso’s death, and the army had reached its destination. The march hadn’t been without incident. Angered by the Romans’ new policy of destroying every farm in their path, Marsi war bands had mounted attacks on the column. All had been driven off with heavy losses, and one annihilated to the last man. Tullus and his soldiers had played their part. Grief-stricken by the loss of Piso, they hadn’t needed the order to take no prisoners.

  The countryside had emptied before their destructive swathe, and the final approach to Mallovendus’ village, several miles of well-laid wooden road, had been eerie: not a living soul was to be found in or near any of the many longhouses. Only the scouting auxiliaries had had sight of people, fleeing into the nearby forests and woods. Rumour had been rife among the high-spirited legionaries that the main settlement would also be abandoned, but the approach of a solitary messenger an hour since had changed everything. Carrying a mistletoe branch to signify a truce, the warrior had borne word that Mallovendus would meet Germanicus or his appointed official to seek terms.

  Wary of a trap, Germanicus had ordered the auxiliary cavalry to search the settlement. News that the place was empty apart from Mallovendus’ longhouse, where about a hundred warriors had gathered, had been greeted with widespread exhilaration. Distrustful, averse to risk, Germanicus had taken no chances and deployed an entire legion to bear witness to an immediate meeting. The remaining legions were close by, and easy to summon if the need arose.

  Tullus, still much affected by Piso’s death, was disappointed at this lack of resistance. He longed to kill yet more of the enemy. Piso had been worth a thousand cocksucking, sister- and daughter-humping savages, he thought. More. Piso’s value was greater than every last cursed tribesman to walk the earth.

  Gritty-eyed, dry-mouthed and with a thumping head induced by the skin of wine he’d had the night before, he wondered with growing irritation when Germanicus would appear. It wasn’t for him to say a word, any more than it was for the other primi pili, or the tribunes. Even Legate Tubero, sweating in his crested helmet twenty paces away, had to wait.

  A short time later, trumpets announced Germanicus’ arrival. Looking like the god of war Mars come down to earth, the governor was resplendent in burnished armour, red general’s sash and a silver-embossed helmet. Measured nods acknowledged every officer present as he manoeuvred his horse into position. ‘Any sign of Mallovendus?’ he called to Tullus.

  ‘No, sir. He must be waiting for your summons.’

  Germanicus’ answering smile was thin. ‘Give the order, Tullus.’

  He eyed the dozen musicians who stood nearby. ‘Trumpeters, sound!’

  The long and piercing call that followed delivered a message decipherable in any language: Present yourself. Mallovendus must have been watching from hiding, because he appeared not thirty heartbeats later, flanked by a small retinue of warriors. That’s right, worm, thought Tullus, come when your master calls.

  ‘He is to have no one by him when we speak,’ said Germanicus. ‘See to it, Tullus.’

  ‘Sir.’ In general, Tullus would have regarded it as suicide to ride alone towards a group of hostile Germans. Today, he took huge satisfaction from this show of confidence. If the warriors attacked, he would have a chance to lay in the mud Mallovendus, one of Arminius’ main henchmen. If he himself were slain, he would join Piso, Vitellius and the rest of his slaughtered men in the afterlife. Given his recent dark mood, that was to be welcomed. With urging knees, he drove his horse into a trot, then a canter.

  He rode right up to the defensive line the warriors had formed in front of their chieftain, enjoying their flinches and involuntary half-steps backward. ‘Where is Mallovendus?’ he demanded in German.

  ‘Here I am,’ replied a coarse-featured, red-haired brute clad in a rusted mail shirt and dark green trousers. ‘Who are you?’

  Tullus ignored his question. ‘Germanicus will speak with you – alone. No honour guard. No warriors. No weapons.’

  Mallovendus’ face flushed at this disrespect, but he nodded his acquiescence.

  ‘Follow,’ ordered Tullus, turning his horse in such a tight circle that several warriors had to step out of his way. He rode off without looking back, revelling in the invisib
le hatred that floated after him. There might only be a hundred pairs of eyes watching from the settlement, but the humiliating image of their chieftain walking alone and unarmed towards Germanicus would sear itself into their memories, and the implied message would soon pass through the tribe and beyond. Resistance is futile. Rome is all-powerful. Bend your knee to the emperor, or suffer the consequences.

  ‘Stay by me, primus pilus,’ said Germanicus as Tullus reached him. ‘I don’t trust this savage Mallovendus, even if he is on his own.’

  ‘Honoured, sir.’

  Mallovendus came to a halt. He dipped his chin. ‘Germanicus.’

  ‘You are Mallovendus?’ demanded Germanicus, gesturing at the interpreter, a Chauci auxiliary officer.

  ‘I am.’ It was bad Latin, but comprehensible.

  ‘Not content with joining Arminius’ rebellion, your people continue to attack my legions.’ Germanicus was angry.

  There was a short delay as the interpreter translated and Mallovendus responded. ‘He begs your forgiveness,’ said the interpreter. ‘It was a mistake to take up arms against the empire. His people are also sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Germanicus’ face twisted with contempt. ‘Tell that to my dead legionaries! Will “sorry” bring back the wagons destroyed, or the equipment burned?’

  Mallovendus shook his shaggy head, no, when the interpreter relayed Germanicus’ words. He was careful to keep his gaze directed at the ground, but his fists kept clenching and unclenching. Go on, Tullus thought, fingers on his sword hilt. Try something, maggot.

  ‘Your people will pay Rome for their treachery,’ said Germanicus. ‘Coin. Cattle. Furs. Slaves. I care not how, but the total value will be a thousand thousand denarii.’

  The interpreter did his work.

  ‘Too much,’ said Mallovendus in his heavy-accented, poor Latin. ‘My people … not wealthy.’

  Germanicus’ laugh was harsh. ‘Find the means, fool, or suffer my legions’ full wrath.’

  The two studied each other, Mallovendus bristling with impotent rage, Germanicus cold-faced and contemptuous.

  ‘I have something you want,’ said Mallovendus in German.

  Curious, Tullus leaned forward, but Germanicus had to wait until the interpreter had translated the sentence.

  ‘What could you possibly have that I desire?’ sneered Germanicus.

  ‘Aquila,’ said Mallovendus. ‘I have … eagle.’

  The world stopped. Stunned, Tullus bit his cheek until he tasted blood. He fixed Mallovendus with an icy stare. ‘You have an eagle?’

  Mallovendus nodded as the interpreter said in Latin, ‘He has one of Varus’ legions’ eagles.’

  A ripple of excitement swept the watching officers. Tullus’ heart banged in his chest.

  ‘Prove it,’ Germanicus demanded.

  The interpreter translated; Mallovendus shook his head and replied.

  ‘He will prove it,’ said the interpreter, ‘but his people will only pay a quarter of the amount you demanded.’

  Germanicus raised himself in the saddle. ‘They will pay every last coin I order them to, or be butchered!’

  But Mallovendus did not back down. ‘Kill them all,’ the interpreter relayed. ‘That way, you will never get your eagle back.’

  An impasse reached, both men glared at one another.

  Tullus cleared his throat. ‘May I speak, sir?’

  A glance from Germanicus. ‘Aye.’

  ‘Which eagle is it?’ Tullus barked at Mallovendus in German. ‘Which legion did it belong to?’

  ‘The Eighteenth.’

  Tullus swayed in the saddle, lightheaded. From a long way off, he heard the interpreter repeating Mallovendus’ reply in Latin. The Marsi had his old legion’s eagle. It was close by – it had to be. After all these years—

  ‘Tullus – are you well?’ asked Germanicus.

  He blinked, pulled a smile. ‘I’m fine, sir.’

  ‘This is your eagle, is it not?’

  ‘Aye, sir.’ Tullus’ voice was thick. He wanted to plead with Germanicus, to beg him to accept Mallovendus’ terms, but pride wouldn’t allow it. He stitched his lip, praying that the governor felt the same way about the eagle.

  Germanicus’ eyes moved from Tullus to Mallovendus and back, and then away again, into the middle distance.

  High above a buzzard called, its lonely screech deriding the unfolding drama.

  As Tullus studied Mallovendus, a solution came to mind. Torture the bastard until he reveals the eagle’s location. Appealing though it was, it would never happen. A pragmatist, Germanicus would want both the standard and as much tribute as the Marsi could afford.

  ‘You will give us the eagle and five hundred thousand denarii,’ said Germanicus, confirming Tullus’ suspicions.

  Mallovendus seemed about to speak, but Germanicus cut him off. ‘You are in no position to bargain! Refuse my offer and my legions will reduce your settlements to ash. Your people will be enslaved or slain, down to the ancients and babes in arms. This I swear before Mars and Jupiter.’

  Nerves jangling, Tullus looked on as the interpreter played his part.

  Mallovendus’ shoulders bowed. ‘Very well.’

  Germanicus’ expression became triumphant. Tullus’ heart sang. After all the horrors that he’d been through, the Eighteenth’s eagle was to return where it belonged.

  ‘The standard is hidden near here,’ said Mallovendus.

  ‘Is it guarded?’ demanded Germanicus.

  ‘Ten warriors, and a priest.’

  Tullus wanted to shout with delight.

  Germanicus’ hawkish gaze moved to Tullus. ‘I think you should take charge of this enterprise. Are you willing?’

  Tullus came to attention. ‘I’ve never wanted anything more in my life, sir.’

  Chapter XXXVIII

  LITTLE MORE THAN two miles away, Arminius was still in his hiding place close to Mallovendus’ settlement. He’d spent the night thinking of ways to force the Marsi chieftain to reveal the eagle’s location, but had set them, one after another, aside. Storming Mallovendus’ longhouse with his full force had been the most likely to succeed. His warriors would have won the fight, but plenty would have died, and Mallovendus might also have been slain, taking with him his secret.

  There was nothing to do but return home, Arminius decided with bitterness. Perhaps bridges could be built with the Chauci during the autumn and winter. It was a faint hope – what had he been thinking to execute their messenger? – but there was nothing else to cling to. Blanket rolled up, tent taken down, weapons checked, Arminius glanced around the clearing. ‘Ready?’

  His warriors muttered their assent.

  ‘We’ll split up, as before. Mallovendus said Germanicus’ forces are camped to the south of his settlement, so head north at first. Our meeting point this evening—’ Arminius cocked his head. Someone was approaching their position, making plenty of noise. Romans? he wondered. Marsi warriors? There was no way of knowing. ‘Spread out! Attack on my signal,’ he ordered, easing himself into the bushes. In no time, his men had formed a deadly circle overlooking the clearing.

  Tension laced the air as the interloper drew nearer. Arminius’ mind spun with possibilities. Was this a trick to divert their attention as other enemies flanked them? Could Mallovendus have had a change of mind?

  Arminius’ confusion grew as an unarmed warrior he didn’t recognise emerged, hands held up in the universal gesture of peace. In the prime of life, black-haired, stocky, the warrior wore a simple brown tunic and Marsi-patterned trousers. ‘I seek Arminius of the Cherusci,’ he called.

  ‘Who are you?’ shouted Arminius.

  ‘My name is Degmar. I have urgent news.’

  ‘Did Mallovendus send you?’

  The warrior shook his head. ‘He has no idea I am here.’

  Arminius’ doubts remained. ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘Aye.’ Degmar turned towards his voice. ‘Arminius?’

  Arminius stepped into the clear
ing.

  ‘Well met.’ Degmar dipped his chin in respect.

  ‘Why are you here?’ demanded Arminius, still suspicious.

  ‘Not all the Marsi agree that submitting to the Roman yoke is the best idea.’ Degmar’s eyes were full of anger. ‘Some of us want to fight on, to wage a war from the forests. Mallovendus will have none of it. You are cut from different cloth.’

  ‘You wish to join us?’ asked Arminius, thinking: One warrior will make no difference to my lot.

  ‘In part.’

  Arminius’ irritation flared. ‘Stop wasting my time.’

  ‘I know where the eagle is hidden.’

  ‘How?’

  A smile. ‘I followed some of the warriors chosen to guard it one night.’ He paused. ‘They say you want the eagle to rally the tribes, to continue the struggle against Rome. That is what you plan to do?’

  ‘Until my dying breath,’ swore Arminius. ‘Having an eagle proves to men that Rome’s legions can be defeated – can be wiped out.’

  Degmar nodded his satisfaction. ‘We’d best move fast. The first opportunity I had to leave unnoticed was when Mallovendus rode out to meet Germanicus, almost an hour ago. Gods only know what he has agreed to since then.’

  ‘Take us there!’ cried Arminius. ‘We have no time to lose.’

  Chapter XXXIX

  TULLUS WAS DEEP in the forest, picking his way along a narrow, overgrown track. Brambles flourished in the gaps between trees, restricting his view, but by his calculation, they had come at least two of the three miles described by Mallovendus. Dappled sunlight filtered through the thick canopy provided by the sessile oaks, beeches and hornbeams. Mossy boulders lined the banks of a burbling stream.

  It was a green world, and benign compared to the living hell Tullus had endured as part of Varus’ doomed army. The footing was firm beneath his new boots; his clothing was dry. A clear sky precluded any chance of rain, let alone thunder. Jupiter was in a good mood, thought Tullus, and no wonder. A lost eagle was about to fall into Roman hands once more. That meant the thunder god’s protection was over him and his men. He grinned. This was Rome’s hour.