He took a draft of ale as the old slaves busied themselves with their scrolls. Putting the drinking horn down, he surveyed his guests who sat, expressionless, waiting for the next part of the tale. ‘So Varus came back at the head of three legions and eight auxiliary cohorts, five of which were Germanic. That campaign season he followed Augustus’ orders and probed the eastern bank of the Albis, testing the will of the leaders of the Saxones and the Semnones, bestowing and receiving gifts and threats in equal measure but doing nothing that could be construed as a cause for war. Chieftains from even further east sent emissaries pledging friendship and pleading poverty in the hope that Rome would not venture that far or, if she did, that they would be treated with leniency.
‘And so the summer passed, the equinox drew closer and my father put into place the first part of his plan: because of all the contact with the eastern tribes, he had each of the kings of the confederation approach Varus and ask for garrisons to be left on their land to guard against the possible threat of those tribes making a pre-emptive strike into the west during the winter when the Albis was frozen and easy to cross. This, of course, was most unlikely but my father had the Governor’s ear and had often expressed his concern that the eastern tribes could not be trusted and were very likely to raid Germania Magna for its riches, pointing out that they themselves had expressed just how poor they were. So when the kings, each in turn, made their requests, Varus took them seriously and left twelve half-cohort garrisons around the province, thus reducing his strength by almost three thousand men.’
Thumelicatz took the scroll that Tiburtius was preparing to read and glanced through it before handing it back to the slave and pointing to a line. ‘From there.’ He looked back at his guests. ‘So, the time had come for Varus to head back to the west. He felt pleased with his summer’s work and the garrisons that had been left behind added to his sense of wellbeing and security. He gave permission for his legions’ legates, most of his tribunes and quite a few of his senior centurions to travel back to Rome for the winter, and so it was that at the feast to mark the conclusion of a successful season, shortly before he departed, there were hardly any Romans present, just the kings and sub-chieftains of the confederation. Tiburtius.’
It was a small gathering but the food was good, not the finicky little dishes that the Romans usually served but, rather, roasted meats, salted cabbage, carp, perch, bread and cheese – Germanic food; but this was, I suppose, because Varus was the only Roman present as he had sent most of his officers either back to Rome or posted them to one of the garrisons that he had been fooled into leaving behind. However, he seemed oblivious to the danger that he had placed himself in and drank deeply all evening of his Roman wine whilst we Germans, me, my father, Segestes, Engilram of the Bructeri and a couple of his sub-chieftains, guzzled ale until the fronts of our tunics were soaked and our bladders strained.
‘To the success of our venture next year,’ Varus announced, raising his wine cup in the air so that red liquid slopped down his wrist. ‘May the gods of our peoples hold their hands over us as we venture further east.’
‘To the East!’ my father shouted before draining his drinking horn in one gullet-opening draft to the cheers of almost all present.
Only Segestes scowled, frowning into his horn, clasped in both hands; he had been brooding for the duration of the feast. He had made a point of sitting on his couch rather than reclining Roman style; the rest of the company had by now become used to the strange position the Romans adopt when eating and although it felt alien to us we had taken it on as part of our professed Romanisation.
Varus held out his cup for a thrall to refill. ‘I fully expect the Emperor to order the complete annexation of the eastern bank next season.’
‘Tactically that makes sense,’ Engilram observed, his grey beard dripping with ale. ‘The Marcomanni in Bojohaemum would be far more inclined to come to a negotiated settlement if they found themselves surrounded rather than hold out against the inevitable.’
Varus nodded his agreement. ‘The punishment raids from Raetia and Noricum seemed to have only hardened Maroboduus’ resolve; since Tiberius was forced to abort his invasion in order to suppress the Pannonian revolt three years ago he sees the smaller raids as a sign of weakness. But when we move across the Albis then he’ll find Rome all around him and he’ll have a simple choice: submit and become a client king of Rome or face an invasion of his hilly realm from north, south, east and west. That should focus his mind.’
This was greeted by enthusiastic rumblings of agreement, another chorus of toasts and draining of drinking horns.
‘And then,’ Varus continued, ‘with that final part of Germania Magna subdued and Germania Ultima pacified I’ll be able to return to Rome and enjoy the favour of Augustus and the benefits that will follow for bringing the whole of Germania under Rome’s sway.’ He looked around, smiling smugly as our rumblings of agreement changed to those of congratulations, our faces hiding the contempt that we felt for his boastful dismissal of Germanic pride.
All of us, that was, except one.
Segestes threw his horn down onto the table, cracking it open and exploding ale onto all of us gathered around it. ‘You think that it’s all so easy; that we will just roll over and bare our throats like beaten bitches! You’re walking through this with your eyes shut; blind you are! Everyone in this room wishes for your death, everyone, that is, except for me.’ He raised his finger and pointed it directly at me. ‘And it’s him; he is the one who has planned it: Erminatz. Erminatz, who pretends such loyalty, who is always willing to do your bidding and lead his loyal auxiliaries wherever you ask; he will see you dead within the month!’
All the Germanic guests stared in disbelief at Segestes who had risen to his feet and was swaying to and fro with alcohol; mouths fell open and eyes hardened at such treachery. I was on the verge of denying his accusation when, from my left, came the amused nasal guffaw that I was used to from the elite of Rome. Varus was laughing. I bit back the words of denial – which would have probably sounded weak, condemning me further – and joined in with his mirth; my father quickly followed my lead and so did, one by one, the rest of the guests until Segestes stood surrounded by open mockery.
‘And why,’ Varus asked, between bouts of laughter, ‘would the man who saved my life want to kill me now? He could have saved himself the trouble and let me go down beneath the blades of the Marcomanni in Bojohaemum three years ago.’
‘Yes, Segestes,’ I shouted over the rising hilarity that masked the relief we all felt, ‘tell me why I should kill the man who owes me such a debt? The man who, as Governor of Germania Magna, can show me favour.’
My father made a show of controlling his amusement. ‘Indeed, tell us, Cousin, what Erminatz would have to gain by our governor’s death?’
‘Yes, tell us,’ Inguiomer urged, scorn in his voice.
Segestes rounded on my father and uncle. ‘You know perfectly well that it’s not just Varus’ death but also the death of every legionary in Germania.’
‘Every legionary in Germania!’ Varus burst out. ‘And just how would you contrive to do that? Take us head on? No matter how many warriors you put against us, you would be crushed.’
‘Of course not, you fool, he plans to lead you into an ambush.’
Varus leapt to his feet. ‘Fool? Fool! You call me a fool? You, you hairy-arsed barbarian, dare to call a member of the patrician Quinctilii a fool? In public? I should have you put in chains until you learn some—’
‘Then put me in chains,’ Segestes roared across him, ‘fool! But make sure you do the same to Erminatz; in fact arrest everyone here and take us back to your winter quarters with you. Mark my words, Varus, only that will save your life.’
Varus opened his mouth to shout at Segestes but then paused, thinking. ‘Why do you tell me this? If a plot really did exist to rid Germania of me and my legions then, surely, you would support it or, at least, not betray it and be seen as a traitor to your
own countrymen?’
‘What loyalty do I have to them? Always the younger cousin; always looked down upon and given the bare semblance of honour.’ He glanced at me; eyes brim with hatred. ‘And now that runt would outdo me: he would become the saviour of Germania Magna and he is not even yet a king, as his father still lives; whereas the best I can hope for is to marry my daughter to a king and be able to boast a king as my grandson.’ He shook his head slowly whilst we all stared at him, transfixed, as these words of long-harboured rancour tumbled from him. ‘No, Varus, I have no loyalty to a people that consigns me to being a man of little or no import. A man with no respect.’ He spat upon the table. ‘No, I have made up my mind and I will support Rome because through her I can change my fortune; through her I can raise myself to the status that I deserve. But Rome will not exist in Germania unless you stop trusting him.’
The finger he pointed at me was steady despite his earlier drink-induced rolling; it was decisive and accusatory. All eyes turned to Varus to see whether he was swayed by it.
‘Get – out – of my sight!’
It took a few moments for everyone to realise that Varus meant Segestes, not me. The surprise that registered on my kinsman’s face quickly changed to incredulity before he turned and walked from the room leaving us all in stunned silence.
My father recovered first. ‘My cousin has not been the same since my elder son came back home,’ he explained to Varus. ‘I believe that he harboured hopes of neither of them ever returning and my younger brother dying early; then he would have been my heir.’
Varus shook his head, pursing his lips, as if he understood only too well. ‘So he’s trying to discredit him with false accusations?’
‘Precisely.’
‘Just give me a chance to prove my loyalty,’ I asked, most earnestly, my Latin as precise and elegant as Varus’ own. I held out a cup for a slave to fill with wine to emphasise my attachment to Rome.
Varus smiled and reclined back on his couch. ‘You’ll get the chance, Arminius; I’ll make sure of that. And when it’s done then I’ll have that kinsman of yours executed for his ill-manners.’
‘I beg you not to do that.’ I felt my stomach churn in disgust as I realised that I was almost simpering. ‘It was just jealousy that motivated him. Not only am I the heir to the Cherusci crown but I also hold the rank of prefect and equestrian status and that he can’t abide.’
‘Perhaps I should recommend to the Emperor, in my next despatch, that he should raise Segestes to the equestrian order in the hopes of improving his manners?’ He laughed at his own feeble wit and downed the rest of the wine in his cup.
We joined in, sycophantically slapping our thighs with mirth and suggesting that perhaps Segestes would only be happy once he was a consul and his family had been given patrician status.
‘But then,’ I quipped in my most-clipped tone, ‘his Latin would have to improve quite dramatically!’
This sent Varus into a fresh burst of laughter and as the others and I joined in, I looked around their faces and those whose eyes I caught were laughing only with their mouths; their eyes, however, betrayed their amazement at Varus’ credulity.
The air was chill and patched with wisps of pre-dawn mist glowing orange in the light of hundreds of torches sputtering around the camp. And the camp was enormous, built to house three legions and their auxiliaries, almost twenty thousand men; and that was not including the ancillary personnel. It had been the main base for the summer’s campaign and, as such, had only held all three legions at the very beginning and now at the end as they mustered to begin the long march back west.
I stood, along with the other auxiliary prefects, next to Varus, on the steps of the praetorium, one of the few permanent buildings amongst a sea of tents, watching the legionaries form up in the eight-man contubernia and then ten of these coming together, with the aid of the harsh voices of centurions and their optios, to parade as a century. All through the camp, iron-nailed boots stamped, equipment clinked and jangled, breath steamed, burnished metal glinted, commands bellowed, bucinae sounded and standards were held aloft as the might of Rome in Germania Magna assembled, bleary-eyed and chewing on the last of their breakfast, into the order of march decreed by their general. In the background, hundreds of slaves began to pull down the newly vacated tents and extinguish cooking fires in clouds of steam, whilst others harnessed mules to carts and loaded others with provisions.
The first legion behind the auxiliary vanguard was to be the Seventeenth and it was its legionaries, their pack-yokes over their right shoulders and shields slung on their backs, that I was watching form up on the principia, the square at the camp’s centre, and along the Via Principalis that ran east to west through the camp. And it was with a cold heart that I surveyed them; there could be no pity as, if I was to carry out my plan, every man of them would have to die. It was at this moment that doubt clouded my resolve; my vision faltered as I contemplated the sheer magnitude of the task as just one legion paraded before me. Despite the chill, I began to sweat.
With the blare of horns and the roars of the centuriate and their optios the men saluted their general who waited for the crash to die away before addressing them.
‘Men of the Seventeenth Legion, you have served your Emperor well this year and have earned your winter’s repose. For a good many of you this was your last year under the Eagle of the Seventeenth and you will be discharged upon your arrival on the Rhenus. I thank you for your loyal service and wish you long life and joy of many sons on the land you will receive. Rome salutes you.’
Varus slammed his right fist across his chest; a command bawled out from somewhere in the gloom. The aquilifer raised his Eagle standard and those of the cohorts dipped; as one, the legion crashed a right turn and then began to march westward, through the Left Gate and out onto the military road that traversed so many bridges on its two-hundred-mile journey back to the Rhenus. The auxiliary cohorts had already formed up outside the camp ready to fall into their position of march in the van and to either side of the legion as it passed.
As, almost half an hour later, the tail of the Seventeenth Legion disappeared through the gate, the legionaries of the Eighteenth began to take their place along the Via Principalis and soon Varus was repeating his speech to them. The light steadily grew and by the time the Nineteenth had paraded before Varus the men’s faces were clearly visible and betraying the pleasure they felt at returning to their winter quarters and the relative peace and comfort that was associated with them.
Behind them, in the smoke-wreathed body of the camp, slaves continued to dismantle the empty tents, loading them onto each contubernium’s mule and then filling each century’s wagon with their millstones, the centurion’s tent, sacks of grain and chickpeas and the unit’s carroballista as well as any other equipment not carried by the legionaries and too heavy for the pack mules.
The tumult of the departure carried on all about us as the baggage train formed up and the camp-followers – in the main whores and merchants – tagged themselves on at the end of the column, the head of which had by now disappeared into the distance along the dead-straight road. The newly risen sun washed the backs of the men’s packs and their helms with warm morning light so the column glowed like a luminous spear cast west across the flat heartlands of Germania.
‘Fifteen miles a day, gentlemen,’ Varus said to us prefects as he mounted his horse held steady by a stable-slave. ‘We shall construct rudimentary camps – just a ditch, something to keep the men occupied at the end of each march – as there is no great threat to us on the journey. With luck we’ll be back in Castra Vetera in fourteen days or so. Don’t bother too much with scouting to either side; just send out a few patrols now and again but in the main keep your lads in the column. As to forward reconnaissance, all we need do is send small cavalry detachments ahead just for form’s sake and to check that the bridges haven’t been damaged by floods and such. Arminius, that’ll be your duty; report to me every dawn, noo
n and dusk. Rejoin your cohorts, gentlemen.’ With a curt nod, he kicked his mount on to race up the column and take his place between the Seventeenth and Eighteenth legions. As my fellow prefects made to follow I held two of them back, both commanding infantry cohorts: Egino of the Marsi and Gernot of the Bructeri.
‘Have you had any word from your kings?’ I asked, as we slowly made our way up the column; the legions had now burst into a raucous marching song and I had to raise my voice to make myself heard.
Gernot looked at me askance. ‘In what way, Erminatz?’
‘Concerning the value of my words.’
They looked at each other before both nodding to me.
‘We are to treat them as if they come from our lords themselves,’ Egino confirmed.
I smiled. ‘Good. Then if, in a few days’ time, the column veers off the road and begins to march northwest heading into the Teutoburg Wald, warn Varus of the dangers of ambush travelling through the Wald and ask that your two cohorts and the other couple of Germanic infantry cohorts should screen the march to the left and the right; he will see the wisdom of that precaution as he will think that he’s heading towards a revolt. Once you’re in position to his flank, listen out for my voice; I shall be speaking for your kings.’
The prefects both assured me that they would comply in every aspect of my request and I accelerated my horse away to talk to the prefects of the other two Germanic cohorts. Having received the same assurances from them I rejoined my ala and settled down to wait.
And I waited for two days, the tension growing within me all the time as I could not check whether everything was in place within the Teutoburg Wald. Had the warriors arrived? Were they being fed and watered so that they were not tempted to leave? Had the kings and chieftains managed to control their followers so that no tensions existed between the tribes and fights were kept to a minimum? These worries and more went through my head throughout the time I waited to see the sight that I knew would set in motion a series of events that would lead to the deaths of thousands of men; but whether they would be Germanic or Roman depended on what would happen in the next few days. And doubt still assailed me as every day I saw the length of the column; how could all those men be killed? How would it be possible?
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