by Alex Gough
Odo nodded. ‘It seems so. It’s that or go to the chief of the Chatti and ask him personally.’
‘Any suggestions?’
Odo scanned around him, and pointed to a small isolated cottage with smoke drifting up through the chimney hole in the roof. ‘I guess that would be as good a place as any. If there are local rumours about a band of Roman soldiers passing this way two months ago, then everyone local should know about them by now.’
Silus nodded. ‘Probably true. Fine.’
‘I’ll go in alone,’ said Odo. ‘If that’s good with you, sir. We don’t want any more people than necessary knowing there is a Roman wandering the area, regardless of whether or not they believe you are a trader.’
Silus reluctantly agreed, and they walked together to a point a safe distance from the cottage, where Silus settled down against a lone fir tree and broke out some bread and cheese while Odo continued on his own.
Soon the grey clouds opened in a huge downpour, and Silus pulled his cloak around him and huddled under the canopy made by the wide branches. He watched the rain dripping off the edge of the leaves, and felt the occasional fat droplet make its way through the needles to splash his face or neck. He thought back to a time sitting in a Caledonian forest, with rain dripping down his back, scouting a Maeatae stronghold. It not only seemed like a different time, it seemed to have been a different man, watching the approach of the tribal chief, deciding on the spur of the moment to take an action that had destroyed his life and started a war. Where would he be right now if he had taken that other path, the one where he hadn’t been a reckless idiot? Probably sitting curled up with his still-living wife and daughter.
He started to shake, and told himself that it was just the cold, that the water trickling down his cheeks was just errant raindrops. He pulled his knees up to his chest and put his face on his knees, and squeezed his eyes tight shut. He became unaware of time passing.
The touch on his shoulder made him cry out loud. He looked up into Odo’s concerned face.
‘What’s wrong? Are you ill?’
Silus wiped the moisture from his cheeks. ‘Think I might have started to doze off there,’ he lied. ‘Lax of me. Any news?’
‘Actually yes. An old turnip farmer lived there. Widowed. He seemed lonely, wanted to talk. I told him I was a traveller passing through and he gave me some of his pigeon stew. I asked if anything exciting ever happened in these parts, and he told about how a party of Roman soldiers had chased and caught a young boy, a goatherd, then let him go again.’
Silus’ heart beat faster. It was the first time since they had started out that they had found concrete proof that Atius and his party had actually passed this way.
‘Where can we find this boy?’
‘He lives in the next valley. He should be out and about, tending his goats.’
Silus got to his feet, shaking out the pins and needles.
‘Well done, Odo. Let’s go.’
Odo held something out in his hand. ‘Turnip, sir?’
‘What?’
‘The old man was most generous. He gave me a sack of turnips to take with us. I think he took a liking to me.’
Silus sighed. ‘Dump the sack when we are out of sight of the farm. Come on.’
They walked up the next hill to the peak and looked through the drizzle. Odo spied the herd of goats first, milling about on the slope of the hill across the small valley. A small shelter made of branches piled against each other in a cone shape and tied at the top suggested where the boy might be keeping dry.
They covered the distance quickly, Silus’ excitement rising when he saw a wisp of smoke emanating from the top of the shelter. He whispered his plan to Odo, who nodded his understanding. The shelter had a small opening on one side, just big enough for a boy to crawl through. Silus approached it cautiously and crouched beside it like a ratcatcher waiting for a rodent to emerge from its hole.
Odo went to the opposite side of the shelter and after a slow count of five, he kicked in the branches making up the far wall. A high-pitched cry came from within the shelter, and the boy shot out of the entrance, straight into Silus’ arms.
He struggled, kicked, even bit, and Silus had a hard time keeping a grip as the boy did his best impression of a feral cat. But this was Silus’ best chance so far to find out where Atius may have gone, and he wasn’t about to let it slip through his fingers. Odo joined him, and together they pinned the boy down until his efforts ebbed and he lay on his back, breathing heavily and glaring at them defiantly.
‘Calm down, boy, we aren’t going to hurt you.’
The boy spat and made a comment in German. Silus looked at Odo for a translation.
‘He said, “why don’t you fucking Romans leave me alone?”’
Silus laughed. ‘So he has come across Romans before. Find out what he knows, ask him what he saw.’
Odo spoke some calming words to the boy, then questioned him. The boy looked suspicious, but Odo continued in a reassuring tone. Slowly the boy’s demeanour softened, and he looked at Silus, then let out a long stream of words, sentences blurring and merging without apparently drawing a breath.
When the monologue faded away, Odo gave Silus a summary.
‘He was caught by a group of Romans who were with a German-speaking guide. He thought they were going to kill him, but instead they made him swear an oath not to reveal he had seen them, in exchange for which they let him go.’
Good old Atius, thought Silus. He would have really struggled with this moral quandary. He wondered if he had made the right choice.
‘And did he keep his word?’
Odo asked him and the boy looked shifty, and another fast stream of agitated words poured out.
‘He said, of course, but he is lying.’
‘Is there anything else?’
‘He said that after they let him go, he watched them for a little while. They went that way.’ Odo indicated with his arm the direction the boy had mentioned.
‘Well, that’s something,’ said Silus. ‘Let’s head in that direction and see what happens. Do we need to extract an oath from him like Atius did?’
‘He has already promised not to tell anyone he has seen us. But there is more.’
‘Go on.’
‘He said that not long after the Romans passed through, a band of German warriors came past. Quite a few. He isn’t sure how many. Maybe a score. They were Chatti like him, but from a different branch of the tribe, so he didn’t know them. And he didn’t like them being in his land, so he followed them. They were tracking the Romans, he said.’
‘Shit,’ breathed Silus.
‘And it seems their task was being made easier.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The lad saw them stop by a tree, look at something, talk for a while, then move on. He went to see what they had been looking at. He found a piece of cloth tied around a tree.’
‘Like a signal?’
Odo shrugged.
‘Ask him to show us this piece of cloth.’
Odo spoke to the goatherd, who looked reluctant. Silus delved into his pack and brought out a copper bracelet. The boy looked at it, then at Silus, questioningly.
‘Tell him it’s his if he takes us to this sign.’
Odo translated and the boy reached out to grab the bracelet. Silus snatched it way.
‘Uh-uh. After.’
The boy led them up the hill, around the crest, and down the far slope to a small wooded area. He took them to an oak tree, showing the first signs of budding. On one of the lower branches was small rag, tattered, damp, patchy with mould. It had clearly not been torn accidentally from a passing traveller’s tunic, but tied there on purpose. On the trunk of the tree was a carved arrow. Silus tossed the bracelet to the boy, who grabbed it and then abruptly sprinted back the way he had come. Silus didn’t even watch him go, lost in thought.
‘Someone was giving their location away. They had a traitor in their ranks!’
&n
bsp; Odo nodded. ‘It seems like it.’
Silus untied the rag and ran it through his fingers. ‘Well, if those Chatti used it to follow their trail, so can we.’
Januarius 213 AD
Atius listened closely as Eustachys outlined his mission.
‘We are travelling to a place called Kalkriese,’ continued Eustachys, ‘which sits on a hill near a forested valley.’
‘I knew roughly where we were going – I mean which direction and how many days’ march – but not the name. It sounds vaguely familiar. What will we do when we get there?’
‘We are meeting a German nobleman, by the name of Erhard. He is something like a prince in the Chatti tribe, but was overlooked for rule when his father died, and his uncle became chief in his place.’
‘And what do we want with him?’
Eustachys took a deep breath, then told him. The explanation took some time, and Atius interrupted and asked questions at several points to make sure he understood. When Eustachys was finished, Atius let out a long breath.
‘Fuck,’ he said.
‘Quite,’ replied Eustachys. ‘So, can you do it? It won’t be easy for you, I know. You have no training in diplomacy, nor grand strategy. But you are a military man, and I have seen enough of you to know that despite appearances, you have some sort of intelligence inside that thick skull of yours.’
If ever Atius had received a backhanded compliment, he had now, but he was too awed by what he had heard to rise to it.
‘Erhard is expecting me, but if you give him the code phrase, he will know you are speaking on behalf of Rome.’
‘And what is the code phrase?’
‘“Give me back my legions.”’
Atius stopped and stared at him. He looked around. They were in a wooded valley, the trees dense on the steep slopes on either side of the road. There was a sudden yelp from behind him and he turned quickly and rushed back to his comrades.
Drustan was holding his foot, and there was a small ooze of blood trickling between his fingers which clutched at a slash that went right through his boot.
‘Brigantia’s tits, what have I just trodden on?’
As Atius strode over to him to assess the extent of the injury, Memnon bent down to examine the seemingly innocuous ground. He scraped in the dirt with both hands, gripped something, then pulled.
‘Bugger me with a pilum,’ said Scaurus. ‘That’s a gladius.’
‘Rusty as anything, but a gladius alright,’ said Memnon.
‘It’s certainly still sharp,’ said Drustan.
‘Look, it’s shorter than ours, and the edges aren’t straight,’ said Memnon. ‘They sort of curve, like a waist.’
‘Isn’t that how they used to make them?’ asked Scaurus.
‘It certainly looks old,’ said Drustan, putting his foot down tentatively. ‘Is that ancient thing going to poison me?’
Atius bent down to the ground that Memnon had excavated, and dug around with the hilt of his own sword. In moments he hit something firm, but not metallic. He scooped the cold earth away from around it, and eased the object out of the ground.
The others stared at the skeletal arm, held together by roots that had twined themselves around the bones. It had clearly been severed cleanly through the bones of the forearm.
‘Look,’ said Memnon, ‘there’s something else over there.’
Poking up from the earth, covered in moss, only a curved rim visible, was a legionary’s shield.
‘And there,’ said Drustan. What looked like a moss-covered molehill turned out, when the accumulated dirt and vegetation was cleared away, to be a skull. Atius stared at the split down the centre of the forehead, then started backwards as a spider scuttled out of an eye socket.
‘What the fuck happened here?’ breathed Scaurus.
Atius turned to Eustachys. ‘Are we where I think we are?’
Eustachys shrugged. ‘It wasn’t my idea. It was his. I guess he thought it was symbolic, that it would help his negotiating power to meet us in this place.’
‘What are you talking about, Atius?’ asked Scaurus in a low voice. ‘Where are we? What’s going on?’
‘This is the Teutoburg forest, isn’t it?’ said Drustan.
‘Teutoburg?’ Scaurus rounded on Drustan. ‘How do you know about that? You’re from Britannia.’
‘Everyone knows about it,’ said Drustan. ‘Especially everyone who has spent any time in the German provinces. The story of Arminius’ massacre of Varus’ three legions is like a fairy story the centurions tell to scare their new recruits into obedience.’
‘Is it true?’ asked Memnon.
Eustachys nodded acknowledgement.
‘This place is cursed,’ said Drustan.
‘Too right,’ said Memnon, looking into the trees as if German warriors were about to descend on them, or worse, the lemures of their own long dead brothers-in-arms.
‘You brought us here,’ said Scaurus, pointing his finger at Eustachys and advancing angrily towards him. Eustachys took a step back, hands up to ward him away. Atius interposed himself between them.
‘Listen. Listen! I’m as unhappy about this as any of you.’
‘Why didn’t you know where we were? You’re supposed to be a scout.’
‘What am I, a historian or something? I didn’t know the details of where this battle took place, and I only knew the rough direction and distance of our travel. I was as in the dark about this as the rest of you.’
‘So why did he bring us here?’ asked Scaurus, pointing at Eustachys over Atius’ shoulder.
‘That’s still not for you to know, legionary,’ said Atius, putting his hand on Scaurus’ chest and pressing firmly, forcing the wiry soldier to take a step back.
‘Bollocks,’ said Scaurus. ‘We are up to our eyeballs in all kinds of shit, and he is the reason we are here, and you tell me we can’t even know why?’
‘It’s better that way,’ said Atius. ‘Besides, I’ve made a decision.’
‘A decision? What are you talking about?’
Atius looked over at Eustachys, who nodded once.
‘I’m going on alone.’
‘You’re fucking what?’ yelled Scaurus.
‘You’re abandoning us?’ asked Drustan.
‘Atius?’ Memnon’s tone was plaintive, almost hurt.
‘It’s not like that,’ said Atius, suddenly made to feel like a coward. ‘It’s for your own good.’ He realised he was finding it hard even to convince himself. Was he doing this for the mission, or was it because he thought his chances of surviving were better without the others slowing him down? The soldiers looked at him with varying degrees of suspicion and disappointment.
‘Look, Eustachys told me what the mission is. It’s… big. It’s important. I have to do this.’
‘So what, we just turn around and march back the way we came?’
‘You’re not raw recruits. You’re not helpless. You can escort Eustachys back to Colonia, and complete your mission with honour. Strike out cross country from here, and with Aldric out of the picture, the Germans pursuing us won’t know which way you have gone. You will be back in the baths and taverns before you know it.’
Memnon shook his head and looked away. Scaurus held his gaze, hawked up some phlegm, and spat contemptuously on the ground.
‘Let’s get it sorted,’ said Atius, ignoring the disapprobation. ‘We need to make sure the supplies are even so I have enough to get there and out. Let’s do an inventory and make it quick. This place gives me the creeps as much as anyone. Come on, move. What are you waiting for?’
But no one was paying him attention any more. He looked over his shoulder to see what had transfixed them.
A hundred yards away, at the end of the path, before it turned a corner off into the trees, stood a dozen German warriors, armed with spears and round shields. Atius turned back to his men, and saw, behind them, a hundred yards in the direction they had come from, another dozen warriors had emerged from the trees t
o block any retreat.
It was too late to go it alone. It was too late for anything now, but to fight and to die.
Martius 213 AD
They found several of the markers as they travelled, giving Silus confidence they were on the right track, although to be fair, Odo seemed to know where he was going too. The trail led them to an abandoned barn, tumbledown, roof caved in and bearing evidence of fire damage – scorch marks and soot. As they got closer they saw that the intertwined branches that made the walls were peppered with arrows.
‘Shit.’
Silus gestured at Odo to stay put, and he approached cautiously, sword in hand. The front door was caved in, rotten planks hanging loose, but he ignored that and crept around to squat beneath one of the windows. He inched himself up and peered in, and once he was persuaded that the only occupants were a couple of pigeons, he returned to the front door and entered.
He knew a couple of months had passed since Atius had been here, assuming he had indeed passed this way, but still he crouched down and ran his fingers around the indentations where men had slept in the muddy ground. He looked around, seeing the splintered walls, split by axes, the tips of arrows protruding through the branches and a handful of shafts littering the floor, and he tried to picture what had happened.
Atius had obviously fought a defensive battle against a superior force here. If it had been an inferior force, he wouldn’t have allowed himself to be trapped inside. He closed his eyes, imagining the Germans at the door, at the walls, arrows flying, the screams and cries, the clashes of iron on iron or iron on wood.
There was no blood, as expected after this length of time. Neither had they seen any bodies, or any signs of recent burial. Had all of Atius’ men survived this encounter? Had they all been captured at this point, or all killed, and had their bodies taken away for mutilation and display? Or had they all in fact survived and continued their mission, at least for the time being?
The ruined door squeaked on its hinge and Silus started, whirling to face the potential danger. Then he relaxed as Odo came through.
‘I scouted around. There is another piece of cloth, a quarter of a mile, roughly east.’