In a few months, the bride’s pregnancy began to show and Arminius received news in the winter quarters. Flavus wrote using very simple Latin.
The day before the Ides of February
Flavus to brother Armin, hail!
Vatinia is expecting a child. With the help of the gods, you may become an uncle.
I hope you’ll share my happiness as I become a father.
And so Arminius spent the winter in the Eighteenth Legion’s winter camp, in a situation suspended between boredom and waiting for something indefinable to happen, in a sort of interior discontent in which a certain phrase kept ringing in his ears: ‘Look! A barbarian wearing a toga!’
So this was what being an Eques meant? The Roman citizenship his people aspired to? A barbarian in a toga?
That spring, Arminius returned to his parents’ home to say goodbye before the departure of the army, which would begin when Tiberius Caesar came back from Italy. He found them preparing for the festival of spring. It was a very ancient celebration in which all of the village chieftains and their families participated, but he remembered it for one reason alone: the apparition of Thusnelda and the blue light in her eyes. An epiphany that had seared her features into his heart.
‘Can I come with you?’ he asked.
Sigmer looked at him with surprise at his unexpected request, until he realized the reason behind it.
‘You’re wrong,’ said Arminius as if he could read his father’s thoughts. ‘That face and those eyes no longer exist, just as my adolescence no longer exists . . . except sometimes in my dreams.’
‘Come with us, then. News travels fast; everyone’s eyes will be on you.’
Arminius participated in the procession through the woods wearing his Germanic warrior’s armour. His father lent him his own weapons and his silver-studded leather tunic and it was as Sigmer had predicted: all eyes were on Arminius.
He searched for Thusnelda among the girls who paraded with crowns of flowers in their hair, hoping to catch just a glimpse of the visage that had filled his dreams, fluctuating between the lights and shadows of the forest.
‘There she is,’ rang out Sigmer’s voice. Arminius turned towards where his father was pointing. A spring of water at the base of a cliff covered by dripping moss. The girl had dipped her hand in and was bringing it to her mouth to drink. A young woman at the peak of her splendour which encased the girl she had been, like a golden circle encases a gem. But her gaze was darker, the colour of her eyes like deep water now.
He wanted her. He would have her at any cost.
21
THEIR EYES MET AND it was just like it was on that distant spring day: a burst of fire.
Sigmer saw but said nothing. He remembered when he had sought out Antonia’s gaze on General Drusus’s flagship, without ever succeeding. All those times he had told himself, She’s not for you. How many times in the years that followed had he thought of his secret friendship with Drusus in terms of an insane attempt to see her again? The vision of the two of them making love, projected by the lamp onto the walls of his tent, continued to torture him.
But here, in the sacred forest, everything was very different. Arminius was a prince of the Cherusci people and she was a young noblewoman, the daughter of Seghest. She must not have seemed so unreachable to his love-lost son. In truth, Thusnelda was betrothed but not yet taken, that’s what his son must be thinking. And yet he intended to dissuade him now as he had then.
‘Son, there’s not a girl among our people who doesn’t dream of becoming your wife and bearing your children. You’re a prince and yet you’re also a man of high rank in the empire of the Romans, and that’s immensely attractive to all of our youth. Why that one? It can only lead to violent clashes and the letting of blood . . .’
‘Father, if I give up, I would spend my whole life regretting it. Regretting not having fought to have her. There is no other woman for me. I’ll come to blows with anyone who tries to stop me. Even you, Father.’
Sigmer said nothing else and Arminius went to say goodbye to his mother. He found her fretting over the fate of both her sons. She knew that combat was their everyday occupation. They weren’t like the warriors of her people, who battled only when necessary or to defend themselves. But how could Arminius explain to his mother what the Roman Empire was?
For her, the Romans were the ones who had stolen her sons away when they were very young and carried them off to a land so distant that she never got news of them. The Roman warriors all looked just the same, with the same armour and the same arms, like ants. And only one of them commanded. How could he explain to his mother what Roman discipline was? What a public work was? How Rome brought land to where there was water and water to where there was land? How to explain the road that never ends?
He hugged her tightly and said, ‘Mother, I’ll be back soon to see you; I won’t leave you alone again. If you knew how to read, I could send you my words even from a long way away.’
His mother gave a pale smile. ‘Do you get along with your brother? I’ve heard that he’s married.’
‘We get along, Mother, but it’s not always easy. Life is tougher here than when we were in Rome. I’ve seen his wife; she’s the daughter of a very important man in the city that was built on the other side of the Rhine.’
She stood in front of the door to her house and watched as Arminius jumped onto his horse and rode off at a gallop, until he vanished into the distance.
ONCE HE GOT to Magontiacum, Arminius joined up with his unit and then with the Eighteenth, where he met with Velleius and awaited orders.
Tiberius’s order to mobilize came at the end of February. His second in command, Legate Sentius Saturninus, assembled the entire Army of the North; four legions plus the cavalry alae, which also included the Germanic Auxilia, began their descent south, crossing a land that was apparently calm.
On the same day in which the Army of the North was to begin its march, four horsemen without insignia left Carnuntum and headed to Pannonia to take an order to the Pannonian-Dalmatian army corps, composed of four legions. They were to move towards Carnuntum and then proceed in the direction of the kingdom of Marbod, who had already tried to contact Tiberius in order to negotiate favourable conditions for his surrender.
The conquest of the last part of Germania that was still independent was at hand.
Arminius felt the excitement, not only of the legionaries, but also of his Cherusci and Hermunduri horsemen. Everyone was convinced that the Roman army was invincible and that the constitution of the province of Germania was imminent. It was clear that whoever contributed to the project could hope to attain privilege and a position of power and prestige within the vast new borders of the Empire. Emperor Augustus was growing old and would be sooner or later succeeded by Tiberius, who wouldn’t forget his friends and his soldiers.
Arminius wondered where his brother Flavus might be; how could he be missing from such an event? He hadn’t spotted Taurus either, although finding any single person in a sea of twenty thousand was very difficult indeed.
Tiberius’s orders had been for all units to find themselves at five days from Marbod’s kingdom at the end of March, and that moment was approaching. His messengers arrived almost daily, and Saturninus sent just as many in his direction. In this way the two corps were perfectly synchronized, their positions recorded every day on the great map.
On the evening before the last stage of their approach, Velleius invited Arminius to dinner in his praetorian tent along with other officers of the legion. He illustrated to them the itinerary they would be following. Their endeavour was practically completed: they were only five days’ march away from Marbod’s borders. The mere fact of coordinating the two army corps had been a strategic stroke of genius which would be talked about in manuals for many years to come. But just as the dinner was winding to a close, they heard scuffling and voices outside. A messenger had arrived at a gallop and asked to speak immediately with the commander of the Eight
eenth. He was brought to Velleius’s presence; he was dripping with sweat and unsteady on his feet.
‘Legate,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid I have bad news.’
Velleius startled and Vetilius’s words sprang to mind: ‘the chaotic element of history does exist . . .’
‘Speak,’ he urged the messenger, motioning for the servants to bring him some water, which the man drank down in a few gulps.
‘Pannonia, Illyricum and Dalmatia are in revolt.’
‘That’s impossible!’ exclaimed Velleius.
‘I’m sorry. It’s true.’
‘And so?’
‘Commander Tiberius Caesar must turn back with the legions he has brought here.’
‘No, that’s a mistake. We have to finish what we’ve begun.’
Arminius started and his reaction did not escape Velleius. The messenger continued: ‘Commander Tiberius has sent another messenger like me to Marbod. He’ll be told that if he so much as moves a finger against Rome, Tiberius will turn back and he will go to the ends of the earth to find him. And when he does, he will not leave a blade of grass or a human being or a sheep or a calf untouched anywhere in his kingdom. He knows that Tiberius always keeps his promises. Our supreme commander feels that Marbod will not move and that his inertia will be an example to all of those living between the Rhine and the Elbe.’
‘But why don’t we enter Marbod’s kingdom now and show him we’re not joking?’ asked Velleius as if he were speaking directly to Tiberius.
The messenger must have been a person of a certain importance, capable of responding for his commander: ‘Tiberius has already run a great risk by leaving the eastern provinces undefended. The road to Italy, and Rome, is open now and if the barbarians attempted an invasion there would be no one to stop them. The risk is too great. It must be seen to immediately.’
Velleius dropped his head. There was no alternative.
‘Is that all?’ he asked.
‘If I may,’ said the messenger as he approached Velleius more closely, to speak into his ear. ‘Commander Tiberius Caesar asks you to start off as soon as you can, with the legions and the auxiliaries, towards Carnuntum. From there you will move on together to your destination.’
‘I’ll have some food prepared for you, and a room for you to sleep. You must be exhausted.’
‘I’ll have something to eat,’ replied the messenger, ‘but have me called at the third guard shift; I have to return as soon as possible to report back.’
Velleius dismissed his guests. Early the next morning he woke the messenger himself, having prepared a fresh horse, food, water and blankets for warmth if the weather worsened.
‘Tell Commander Tiberius that I thank him for his trust, and that I will reach him as soon as I can.’
TWO DAYS AFTER the arrival of the messenger, Arminius set off with his Cherusci and Hermunduri auxiliaries in support of the Eighteenth. He rode alongside the legionaries during the long march to Carnuntum, and then to the foot of the Alps and to the Danube, the other great river that marked the borders of the Empire.
Combat was harsher than anything they had ever seen in Germania. The peoples of Illyricum, Pannonia and Dalmatia were rebelling against the ill treatment received at the hands of the Roman governors. They were ready to die in battle rather than live as slaves.
After Tiberius had captured one of the rebel chieftains, he asked why they had revolted against the Roman State and received this reply: ‘Because you did not send a sheepdog to govern us, but a wolf.’
They were proud peoples, fiercely attached to their native land, no matter how poor and barren it might be. Most were shepherds and livestock herders, while others cut wood, mostly oaks, to sell to the Romans for their shipyards on the coast or for the wooden frames of their stone houses, arches and aqueducts.
Arminius was long accustomed to showing no mercy, because there is only one rule in battle – kill or be killed – although one could add sow terror to avoid attack. There was another thing to keep in mind in warfare as well: learn all you can without giving away anything of what you know.
He never stopped thinking about Thusnelda. She was always on his mind, even when he had coupled with a terrified barbarian woman who’d been captured in one of the villages, taking her brutally and then turning her over to his men so they could satisfy themselves with her as well.
But when the time finally came to drop onto his camp bed at night, utterly exhausted, he would fall into a deep sleep and her gaze would rise from the gloom like the light of the moon in summer. He dreamed of riding with her along the bank of the river where Sigmer once took his two boys when they were children. He spoke to her with words that faded instantly, leaving only a melancholy whisper that echoed in his heart.
He sometimes heard her singing in a voice he had actually never heard, a voice clear and melodic, singing the songs of his people. He dreamed, only once, of a night of love with her, a dance of shadow and flame, her body completely naked like the statues he’d seen in the temples and squares of Rome.
He spent more than a year in the middle of the horrors of a war so ferocious it did not seem real. Rivers of blood that threatened to drown him. The heat of the battle, a vortex of screaming violence, burned into his heart. And all of that suffering ended up being acceptable, inescapable, a necessity. He realized that he had crossed the line, the limit beyond which there is no return.
ONE DAY, TIBERIUS Caesar’s adjutant sent for Arminius to tell him that his father was dying. The supreme commander had therefore decided to deploy him to the headquarters of the Army of the North. He was given a couple of messages to take to Sentius Saturninus, Tiberius’s right hand in Germania, and a small unit of brawny Hermunduri auxiliaries to serve as an escort.
Arminius left at once, his heart aching. He was eager to reach his father before he died. Maybe Flavus had got a call as well and was hurrying as he was to join their father before he went to the paradise of heroes. Arminius crossed Noricum and decided to cut through Marbod’s kingdom to save time, knowing well what a risk he was taking. He entered the territory at night with his black-cloaked Hermunduri, gigantic and terrifying to look at, covered in tattoos, their weapons bristling with iron spikes. They rode for three days and most of the nights, only stopping for a few hours at a time to rest. On the fourth day they were stopped and surrounded by one of Marbod’s cavalry squads.
‘Who are you and where are you going?’ demanded the man at their command.
‘I am Prince Armin of the Cherusci, son of Sigmer, and commander of the auxiliaries under Tiberius Caesar. What do you want from me?’
‘You’re travelling through the territory of Marbod without being invited and you’re asking me what I want?’
‘I’m trying to reach my father before he dies,’ replied Arminius. ‘You can try to stop me if you want, but I wouldn’t advise it. You’d be the first to die.’
‘But then you would die too, you and your Hermunduri. Better if you follow me.’
‘Where to?’
‘You’ll see soon.’
Arminius nodded to his men and they all followed the cavalry squad that had stopped them. The king was at his camp, which was close by, and this explained the presence of armed squads patrolling the surrounding territory.
Marbod was a heavily built man with a penetrating gaze. It was the first time that Arminius had met him face to face.
‘So you are the son of Sigmer and the head of Tiberius’s Germanic Auxilia. You’re rushing to the bedside of your father, who you claim has fallen ill, and you’re crossing my kingdom with these frightful warriors without even asking my permission. What manners are these?’
‘I have no hostile intentions. I want to see my father before he dies. If I’d had time, I would have come to ask for permission. I must see him before he closes his eyes.’
Marbod was in no hurry; he was dragging out their conversation with sarcastic remarks and making Arminius very nervous. In the end, however, the intention of the Ma
rcomanni king was sufficiently clear. ‘I’ll leave you free now to go wherever you like with those dreadful-looking bodyguards of yours, but remember one thing: given the situation, I’ve had to accept a pact with Tiberius. More than a pact, actually; more like a capitulation. You can even call it surrender if you like; I know my army is not strong enough to take on ten Roman legions, six alea of cavalry and ten thousand auxiliaries. Now Tiberius has his own troubles in Pannonia, but he could change direction at any time and reappear at my borders. Saturninus has withdrawn from my northern border but he hasn’t gone away.
‘Regardless of how things turn out, remember this: if the anti-Roman movement prevails, I let you free today and I treated you as a friend. If the Romans should win, remember that I helped a Roman citizen, commander of the Germanic Auxilia forces. Do we agree? Whenever you have anything important to tell me, remember that my door is always open.’
Arminius nodded and the two men shook hands.
He spent the night with his men undisturbed in Marbod’s camp and very early the next day, they resumed their journey.
In seven days’ time, Arminius had reached his father’s house. His mother Siglinde, Sigmer’s first and only wife, greeted him with a tear-clouded gaze.
Her son looked deeply into her eyes with a question in his. She looked down. ‘Your father is dying.’
‘Where’s Wulf?’
‘I don’t know where he is, but I’ve sent one of your father’s men to Magontiacum, where many people know him.’
‘I’ll send one of my Hermunduri; they’ll be sure to find him. Take me to my father.’
Siglinde led him into the dimly lit bedroom. Sweat was pouring down Sigmer’s face; he was pale and emaciated.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Arminius asked his mother.
‘No one knows. After you left to go off with the Romans, and your brother had disappeared as well, he departed on a long journey himself, accompanied by a group of warriors. When he returned, he was no longer himself. He seems to be living in a nightmare, day and night; it’s as if he is seeing things that terrify him, or fill him with horror . . .’
Wolves of Rome Page 25