I had not been at Oppidum Ubiorum for more than eighteen months when what Lucius had predicted came true: Gaius died suddenly in Armenia and Tiberius was recalled from Rhodos; the price that Livia exacted from Augustus was that he be given military command – a huge one: the overall military commander in Germania Magna. The objective of this command was to subdue and bring within the empire the southern marches of Germania bordering the Danuvius, which was to involve defeating the Marcomanni in Bojohaemum where they had recently migrated to, displacing the pro-Roman Celtic tribe, the Boii, from that haemat or homeland, hence the name of the region. To this end Augustus ordered one of the largest concentrations of troops since the civil wars that had brought him to power. To the province of Raetia were ordered ten legions and their equivalent in auxiliaries and my Cheruscian ala was one of them. It was a task that I was very enthusiastic about, seeing as it would put my objective closer within reach: should Tiberius be successful – and there was no reason to suppose that he would not be, considering the size of his army – then we would have proved our loyalty to Rome by partaking in a great victory against a Germanic tribe thus making it more likely that we would be allowed to serve closer to our homeland.
With that happy thought in mind, I led my ala south the following year, along the Rhenus and then east into Raetia to Tiberius’ camp at Augusta Vindelicorum. My men were all from my tribe and, indeed, many of them were known to me from the reputation of their fathers that I remembered from my childhood. Although they had all volunteered to serve as auxiliaries in Rome’s army, they were still very much Cherusci in themselves and considered me – even though they respected my father who still lived – to be more Roman than Cherusci, even after I had been in command for almost three years and had the Cherusci wolf tattooed on my chest. How could I dissuade them of that with words? I, who had been in Rome for all those years and had received equestrian rank from the Emperor himself? I, who spoke Latin with a fluency greater than I now spoke my own mother tongue? I, who had been placed in command over them by Rome? It was only my uncle, Vulferam, and my cousin, Aldhard, who had both come to serve as a debt of gratitude to me and now acted as my senior decurions, who knew my true character. To the rest I was, in short, a foreigner to my own people.
But that was to change shortly after our arrival in Augusta Vindelicorum.
Tiberius looked even more morose than I remembered him as I entered his praetorium soon after our arrival.
He looked at me, his eyes sorrowful as if he had recently received bad news. ‘So you’re the son of Siegmarius; I remember seeing you a few times in Rome.’
‘Indeed, general, although we have never met formally.’
‘No, I don’t suppose we have.’ He sighed as if the weight of his burden was such that he could barely stand it for much longer. ‘Perhaps we will get to know one another better in the coming campaign.’
‘It would be my greatest wish.’ I was adept in the art of flattery, a subject that I had studied closely under Lucius.
Tiberius, however, being no flatterer himself, saw it for what it was. ‘This is a military camp not some dinner party on the Palatine, Arminius. Here I expect men to behave as men, not as sycophants. It’s soldiers I need not courtiers.’
I have to admit I liked him immediately. ‘My apologies, general; I have been too long in Rome.’
‘And I have been too long away from it to wish it to follow me here. Your ala has been assigned its quarters?’
‘Yes, general.’
‘Good; settle them in and then join me and the rest of my staff for a working dinner this evening. You will be busy here, prefect, cavalry are my eyes and ears and my sight and hearing both need to be sharp at a very long range.’
‘We march in two days and will cross the Danuvius at Sorviodurum,’ Tiberius announced to a packed triclinium, ripping off a hunk from the hard regulation loaf and then passing it to his neighbour; there was no luxury on his campaign dining table. ‘From there it’s around two hundred miles to Maroboden, the Marcomanni capital. My intelligence tells me that Maroboduus, their king, will be there for the coming month, ample time to get there and force them to battle. Defeat them and, preferably, kill the king at the same time and then you have the tribe by the balls.’ He looked around the faces of the legates and auxiliary prefects; they nodded with sage agreement in the flicker of the few lamps that Tiberius allowed himself. Satisfied that his subordinates were behind him he turned to me. ‘Arminius, your Cherusci and the Batavian alae will be ferried over in transports two nights before the main force begins its crossing, so you will march tomorrow. Ten miles from the river there is a high range of hills thirty miles deep; through it is one pass that goes to the north. To either side of the pass is the most inhospitable forest, the sort of terrain that your Cherusci are used to, I believe.’
I grinned and raised my cup. ‘They will feel quite at home there, general.’
Any attempt at levity was lost on Tiberius. ‘That’s what I thought. I want reports from the entire length of the pass by the time the rest of the army has crossed the river two days later. The Batavians will act as your support, one ala in the pass and the other at its entrance for you to fall back on should there be enemy in substantial numbers in the vicinity.’ He took a handful of garlic cloves from a bowl on the table and chewed one whole, turning to his neighbour. ‘Varus, you will have overall command of the column and will take with you the legionary cavalry of the Ninth Hispana as your escort and to act as messengers. I’m sure Legate Bibaculus won’t mind lending them to you.’
A corpulent man on the other side of the table from me raised a chicken leg. ‘For the greater good, general, the greater good.’
Publius Quinctilius Varus puffed out his chest, evidently pleased at receiving personal command of the advance column. ‘I shall keep you well informed, general.’
‘See that you do, Varus; and remember my stepfather’s promise.’
‘How could I forget?’
I turned, with a questioning look, to the prefect of one of the Batavian alae, reclining next to me.
‘He’s been promised the governorship of Germania Magna, once it becomes an official province rather than a military command,’ the prefect informed me.
‘Has he now?’ I looked over to the man destined to have the power of life and death over my people and decided that he was someone to cultivate to find out whether he was the right type of Roman for what I had in mind.
And so it was that the next day I began my acquaintance with Publius Quinctilius Varus as we rode east to the Danuvius.
‘Of course, it was a great honour being made consul in conjunction with Tiberius,’ Varus informed me with the sort of condescension that was only possible for the son of a patrician family of great lineage. ‘But not surprising seeing as we were both married to Agrippa’s daughters at the time. I can’t deny that it did my prospects the power of good and have never looked back since, which is only right for the eldest living member of the Quinctilii. I’m now Augustus’ favourite governor.’ Inexplicably, he seemed to find this comment singularly amusing and compromised his patrician dignity by dissolving into a fit of what I can only describe as rather feminine giggles. Eventually he mastered himself. ‘You see, this will be my third appointment as governor since leaving the consulship. Syria, Africa and now Germania Magna; all military provinces with legions, which shows just how much trust the Emperor places in my abilities.’ He patted his horse in an encouraging sort of way as if he were reassuring the beast that it was just about qualified to be carrying so great a personage. ‘I expect Germania will be the toughest posting yet as it’s a barbaric place from all accounts; wouldn’t you say so, Arminius?’
‘It was when I left, sixteen years ago; barely a stone building between the Rhenus and the Albis.’
‘Then that’s one of the first things that I shall address if I’m confirmed in the governorship. We must have civic buildings sufficiently big enough to overawe the locals; only then
can we begin to administer Roman justice with any sort of authority.’
‘Indeed, Varus,’ I said, not understanding at all what he was trying to say; but, as with all men who have an overinflated view of their worth, if you want to ingratiate yourself with them then all you must do is agree with them. ‘And I’m sure that the Emperor is bound to confirm you in the position.’
‘It’s not whether or not I am to be governor that’s in the balance; that fact is a given. No, it’s whether or not Germania will need a governor yet, for if it is not declared to be a pacified area then it will continue as a military zone and not a province. There’s the dispute: is Germania Magna fit for civil administration?’
‘Well, governor,’ I said with no trace of irony, ‘let’s you and I make sure that it is.’
Varus looked at me, guffawed and reached over to slap my back. ‘I can see that we’re going to get on famously, Arminius.’
And we did; I made sure of that.
‘So now we get to see just how far ahead my father was planning,’ Thumelicatz interrupted. ‘And it wasn’t hard for him to gain the total trust of the man he had now planned to betray.’ He nodded to the slave. ‘Skip to the river crossing.’
A night crossing of a river is always a risky affair, especially one as wide as the Danuvius; but to attempt it without first sending scouts across to check whether the far bank was being held against us was the act of a fool. Those abilities that Varus had boasted of and that the Emperor apparently placed such high value on were, evidently, much exaggerated. Fortunately there was no large force waiting for us; however, we did not cross without being observed, something that a few scouts might have prevented. It was a mistake that would cost many lives and from it I judged that Varus was the right man for my purpose: he was a typical Roman who could be made to react how I wanted him to. My heart sang; now it would be just a matter of getting my own people to act according to my will. And that, I knew, would be no easy affair.
The far side of the Danuvius is cultivated, rich land and looks no different from the imperial side: farmsteads, neat orchards and cattle grazing in lush pasture; easy terrain to pass through quickly, even in the dark. It is not until you get to the hills that the wild forest, which Romans fear so much, takes a grip on the land. As dawn outlined the craggy peaks of the hill range ahead of us, we started to climb up to the pass that bisected it.
Although none of us had had any sleep, the exhilaration of commencing a campaign wiped away any tiredness and it was with a clear head that Varus summoned me as we approached the entrance of the pass.
‘You can begin your sweep of the hills, Arminius,’ he said as I pulled up my horse next to his and raised the facemask on my helm. ‘Half your ala to the north and the other half to the south; a couple of miles into either side should be enough to root out anything that could threaten an ambush. I’ll bring both the Batavian alae at a slow pace east so that you can fall back on them should you find yourself in trouble.’
That took me by surprise. ‘Both?’
‘Of course.’
‘But what about covering our rear? Surely one of the alae should stay here at the entrance of the pass in case the enemy should try to box us in.’
Varus laughed; again, it was quite feminine. ‘They wouldn’t dare do that with the main bulk of the army getting ready to cross the river, even if they were here, which I very much doubt as we have seen no evidence of them.’
‘That’s because it’s only just getting light.’
He looked at me with an expression bordering on outrage that I should be questioning his decisions.
‘You’re right, sir,’ I affirmed quickly, ‘ten legions should be plenty enough to guard our rear.’
The levity brightened Varus’ countenance. ‘Quite; after all, they’ll be starting to arrive on the west bank in the next day or so.’
I saluted him, wondering how he had survived out in Syria with such a cavalier attitude to the safety of his command. However, in my stomach I thought that he was probably right: surely no enemy force would try to take us from behind, knowing that there were ten legions steadily advancing on their rear. And so I split my force and, taking the southern command, led eight turmae of thirty-two men into the hills whilst Vulferam took the same amount north.
Scouting in enemy territory is always an activity to be taken cautiously and it was with methodical thoroughness that we moved forward. I organised my turmae so that each had a half mile frontage to sweep whilst I remained in the rear with four reserve turmae ready to charge to the aid of any of my units that got into trouble. Slowly we moved forward, always keeping in contact with Varus’ main force travelling up the pass so that it did not outpace us. I didn’t even bother to check whether Varus was sending scouts out in front of him as it was such a basic thing to do that it didn’t occur to me that he would neglect even this rudimentary precaution. On we went and by the tenth hour we were almost halfway through the thirty-mile pass and had seen nothing of the enemy; my messengers came and went at regular intervals and reported nothing amiss with the main column and also that Vulferam’s command in the north was progressing at the same speed as ourselves and had not come across anyone either. In short, the exercise was going to plan and that knowledge must have encouraged an already lackadaisical Varus into even more negligence. We camped with the main body in the pass that night and it was remarkable in that we built no palisade and set few sentries; Varus was convinced that the Marcomanni were far too scared of the main army behind us to pose any threat. And that night he was proved to be correct; we woke to nothing more than the news of three desertions and a death from the injuries sustained in a fall the day before.
So we breakfasted and then returned to our posts to press on towards the end of the pass that we hoped to reach by evening, at which time the crossing of the Danuvius would have begun in earnest.
It was just one scream at first that began it, high and piercing; a scream of pure, slow drawn-out agony rather than the scream of a man wounded in combat, and it came from behind us. One scream was not going to make me call in my men and rush to the protection of Varus; after all there could have been a number of explanations for it – admittedly none of them pleasant for the man emitting it. The second scream, every bit as harrowing as the first, was more worrying, and then the third, which acted as an accompaniment to the second, really became a cause for concern. Just then the latest messenger returning from Varus’ command position came in; he had nothing new to report and said that he had set out before the first scream, although he did say that it had sounded to him as if all three screams had come from the same direction. And then I made the connection: three different screams, three desertions during the night; what if they hadn’t been desertions but, rather, abductions? If that were the case then this was a statement of intent: we were not alone and those three men had just been sacrificed to ensure a victory; it’s what any Germanic tribe would have done. But it was as this thought formulated that it was proved correct by the unmistakeable sound of a Germanic charge: horns and war cries echoed around the hills so that it was impossible, or so I thought, to tell from which direction they came, forward or behind. What was sure was that Varus’ command was under attack. I sent out riders to bring in the outlying turmae with orders to follow my path north and set off with the four units I had, north to where the messenger claimed Varus’ last position to be.
On we rushed, as fast as the density of the wood allowed us. The sound of fighting escalated at the same rate as my conviction that the sheer size of the force required to take on two Batavian alae and have a chance of winning would mean that the arrival of two hundred and fifty men would make very little difference to the outcome, unless, perhaps, Vulferam’s men arrived from the opposite direction at the same time.
Breaking through the trees, I came to within sight of the pass; the Batavians, a hundred feet below us, were sorely pressed from both the east and the west. Varus had made the classic mistake of an aristocratic Roman
commander who believes that ability is a birth-right: he had not scouted ahead and had not covered his rear and so consequently had managed to let himself be surrounded; he would be perfect for me. About a couple of hundred Marcomanni foot warriors had crept up to take him in the rear as a similar amount had charged straight up the pass at him. His cavalry had been unable to deploy from column due to the narrowness of the pass and so their numbers were neutralised as no more than ten could fight to the front or rear at any one time. The rest were trying to keep their mounts calm in the slowly confining space within the column as the steep sides of the pass were infested with Marcomanni, penning them in. It was chaos and within the hour most of Varus’ command would be dead or captured.
There was no option other than to come to his aid and thereby win his gratitude and trust.
‘Dismount!’ I shouted, my heartrate quickening at the thought of leading my men into combat for the first time. Now they would get the chance to see my mettle, although I wasn’t without trepidation as, apart from a couple of very minor skirmishes, this was my first taste of battle.
The decurions relayed my orders and, within a few moments, the half ala had become infantry far more suited to charging down the steep sides of the pass and into the, as yet, unsuspecting backs of the Marcomanni to the west of Varus. If I could get them to disperse then Varus could lead his men back to the river and rejoin the bulk of Tiberius’ army.
There was no time for any tactical planning and I knew that had Lucius been present he would have just advocated hitting them fast and hard; and that’s exactly what we did.
Bawling the war cry of my people for the first time in anger, I lowered my facemask, drew my spatha and waved it above my head as I pounded forward. Down the steep slope we raced, some tumbling and rolling as they lost their footing, in a headlong charge aimed at the flank of the warriors between Varus and Tiberius.
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