Egino nodded, looking grim, as well he might before the attempted destruction of three legions; he halted his cohort and ordered one of his junior officers back with the message for Gernot. As the cohort formed up, four ranks deep, facing down the hill, I pushed my horse on up to the brow where I found my father, resplendent in his war gear: a bronze helmet sporting two boar tusks, a chainmail tunic, silver arm-rings, leather breeks and with a long sword in a finely decorated scabbard hanging at his side along with a great war horn. He raised his spear and oval shield, decorated with the Cherusci wolf, to greet me as I approached, water dripping from his helm onto his greying beard; he mimed the roar that he would have liked to have given had secrecy not been paramount. My heart leapt with the joy of it all; after all these years we were finally going to have our revenge. Behind him, bound to a tree, was Segestes, blood running rain-washed from swollen and cut lips, with my uncle watching over him.
‘You will let him go once it is done?’ I asked, dismounting next to my father.
‘Of course; I would not be my cousin’s murderer.’
‘He would be yours if he could run to Varus now.’
‘But he can’t and I will let him live. Is Varus in sight?’
I nodded and took my father in an embrace, our chainmail rubbing together. ‘This is for the time they stole from us, Father, and the grief that my mother feels at not watching her boys grow up and what my sister felt at having her brothers taken from her.’
He slapped my back and then held me at arms’ length by the shoulders, looking at me as if it was for the last time. ‘We’ll meet over Varus’ corpse.’
‘We will, Father.’
Turning, he waved to Vulferam, in the trees a hundred paces away; he punched his drawn sword in the air and suddenly, behind him, thousands of warriors rose from the undergrowth stretching all the way to my right, rippling up in the direction of the rear of the Roman column, as far as I could see. Silent they were as they moved forward; the richer ones armed with swords and spears and helmeted, armoured and shielded; the poorer with their top-knots bare and no more protection than a leather jerkin and a rough, wickerwork shield and armed only with a spear and some rough-hewn javelins. But whatever inequality there might have been in their accoutrements of war they all had equal desire to avenge the defeat inflicted on them by Drusus, all those years ago, that ended with my father handing over his sons as hostages to Rome and Cherusci pride being buried beneath Roman taxes.
Together, my father and I led our warriors up to the crest of the hill, my heartbeat increasing with every step and me praying with every beat that on the opposite side of the valley Engilram and Hrodulf were bringing their warriors forward to support the auxiliaries over there, and if they were, would they heed my orders?
But those worries were driven from my mind as I crested the hill and looked down into the valley. Through the rain and the trees the first cohort of the Seventeenth Legion was visible; it was the elite unit of the legion and thus the one that I wanted to isolate and destroy first.
Now was the time; I knew it with certainty that now we must strike, now as the gap between the first and second cohorts came into view. I lowered my facemask and signalled to my father who lifted his war horn to his lips and blew a mighty note that rumbled through the trees.
And the Cherusci cheered as they surged forward, brandishing their throwing weapons that they unleashed as they drew level with the two cohorts of auxiliaries who loosed their first volley of one thousand six hundred javelins. In the opening moments of the ambush almost ten thousand lethal projectiles rained down towards the unshielded legionaries; although many thwacked, juddering, into trees, a goodly part of them flew true into their target, followed a few moments later by another volley almost as large, reaping bloody death and mayhem in the quickly disordered column. Hurling a javelin, I screamed the war cry of our forefathers and hurtled down the hill, flashing my sword from its scabbard as I went. All along the Roman line of march men writhed on the ground felled by the lethal downpour that intermingled with the natural rain that, along with the freshly spilt blood, turned the path into a quagmire.
But many more legionaries remained on their feet than went down and, being troops of the highest order, it was but a few moments before most of them had retrieved their shields, slung on their backs, and had begun to present a united front. The eight-man-wide column turned to face us as an eight-rank-deep line; and that was the moment I had told Hrodulf and Engilram to wait for.
And they did.
As we pelted down the hill, teeth bared, howling hatred, beards buffeted by the wind of our haste and eyes wide with fear and battle-joy, the volley that I hoped would break Roman cohesion thumped into the rear of their line, skewering unprotected necks and unshielded limbs and spreading terror through the rear ranks as they registered that they were under attack from both directions. But their discipline remained, despite the shock of a second ambush. Another hail of death slammed into them as their back ranks made to turn their shields to face this new threat, mowing down scores and creating gaps that they struggled to fill as we closed with them.
It was now that they began to see their opponents and the shock registered on many of their faces as they discerned not only Germanic tribesmen but the familiar uniforms and shield patterns of their auxiliaries. Formed to protect the legions and to give their cheaply rated lives in place of those of the more valuable citizens in the legions, the auxiliaries were now doing something unthinkable: they had turned on their betters. With a piercing clang of ringing iron that almost drowned out the rage of war cries and the desperate screams of the wounded, Egino’s men cracked into the Seventeenth Legion, centred dead-on the fissure between the first and second cohorts. An instant later my Cherusci warriors threw themselves onto the rest of that legion and the Eighteenth behind it as a third volley from Hrodulf and Engilram’s men thumped into the newly presented shield wall facing them. As I pummelled my shield boss into the rectangular shield of the legionary before me, thrusting the tip of my blade, overarm, at his ducking head, denting his helmet, I felt a shudder run through the Roman ranks as they were hit from behind, compressing their eight lines together, squeezing the men up so that sword work became restricted.
Sensing their opponents’ difficulties, my Cherusci cheered as they hammered at shields with their swords and jabbed through the wide gaps between them with their spears, piercing and slicing flesh, cracking bone and causing grievous harm with the joy of men so long kept in the chains of occupation and now released to vent the pent-up rage that humiliation brings.
And they slew and they maimed so that the blood flowed so fast that the rain had not time to dilute it before it slopped to the ground; feet became clogged with cloying mud so glutinous that movement slowed for both legionary and warrior alike. It would have turned into a slogging match had it not been for one crucial factor: legionaries fight as a cohesive unit but my warriors fought as a collection of individuals. So the one-on-one combats lessened as the legionaries, knowing that not to do so would mean annihilation, pushed forward, closing up shoulder to shoulder, straightening their lines, and forming a wall of leather-reinforced wood. The blades of the Roman killing machine, which we all feared from haunted dreams, began to do their deadly work, hissing, lightning fast through the now narrowed gaps between the shields; they punctured our flesh like the stings of a hornet swarm. My warriors, enraged by the defiance, drew back and then hurled themselves against the wall, barging with shoulder-reinforced shields or flying one-booted kicks, not in unison but when each man had worked up the courage to try once more after the last attempt at making a breach had been thwarted by Roman teamwork. And, despite fighting to the fore and rear, the legion cohered.
I pulled back from the fray, passing beyond the more timid of our men who preferred to show their prowess by hurling insults and making false charges at the enemy, and ran a few paces back up the hill; my father joined me. From this vantage point I could see that the Seventeent
h Legion, despite overwhelming odds, held firm; Only Egino’s auxiliaries, to my right, had made any progress: between them and the auxiliary cohort that had descended from the opposite hill they had severed the legion’s first cohort; but the head of the legion, despite being cut off, still had life in it and it fought like a wolf with slavering jaws.
It was at that point that I knew we would not manage to break them – this time – but perhaps we could vanquish that severed head.
‘Enough, Tiburtius,’ Thumelicatz interjected, jolting his guests back to the present. He turned to the second slave. ‘Aius, you were part of that head; give us your recollections.’
The eyes of the once-proud Eagle-bearer of the Seventeenth misted over as he cast himself back to the last memories of his previous life. ‘It was sudden and from the east; there was no warning, but then how could there be when it was the very units that were meant to alert us that were attacking us? Auxiliary javelins hissed all around, a couple cracked against the haft of the Eagle I held aloft causing it to sway and I stumbled in my efforts to keep it upright – for it to fall would have been the worst of omens. Horns blared and centurions roared orders. I went down on one knee to regain balance and that movement saved my life as, next to me, Pompilius, the cornicern, gave a strangled note on his horn and keeled over sideways with a javelin in his temple and surprise in his eyes. In front of us, the pioneers who had been clearing the way came pelting back down the path towards us as another volley clattered about my head. And then I saw it was our auxiliaries, the Marsian cohort, if my memory serves, as their forms came out of the trees, cloaked by rain, to manifest as our worst nightmare: allies bent on treachery. I felt my comrades pull me into their midst to protect our bird, as we liked to call the Eagle, and then the shock of impact shuddered through our ranks. They had hit the rear half of the cohort but we still felt it in the front ranks, and as we strove to turn and support our comrades behind us another shower of projectiles punched in on us but this time from the west. Fabius, the primus pilus, had gone back to Rome on leave and so the next most senior had taken over; cracking heads with the flat of his blade, he turned his century to the west to face the new threat as they were flayed yet again by another volley. The pioneers now joined us, shouting of enemy cavalry up ahead that had despatched the hundred-and-twenty-strong force of legionary horse that had been the advance guard; the trap must have been excellent if none of them had managed to escape it.
‘Then the second blow came in from the west; more auxiliaries, but this time they hit the front of our cohort, slewing us round so that I could see all down the column from my position and the sight took my breath: thousands of barbar… thousands of Germanic warriors had sprung from the hill, covering our legion – which was the standard one thousand and two hundred paces long – and no doubt the Eighteenth behind us and maybe on into the baggage and the Nineteenth. Mates fell in sprays of blood, curses rang in my ears as I stood, immobile, holding our bird aloft with the standard-bearer of the first cohort next to me, giving our lads something to form on. And form they did, slowly; getting over the shock and terror of surprise, they fell back on the innate discipline that is drilled into every legionary and is just second nature to the veterans of the first cohort. Shields came up and shoulders touched, the men of the second, third and fourth ranks facing in either direction made a roof, not that there were many missiles raining down on us as the combat was now hand to hand. And that was where we had the better of the auxiliaries who fight in a more dispersed order than us so that they can wield their longer spathae and negotiate on more rugged ground. But we closed up so there were three legionaries to each two auxiliaries and, although they had managed to separate us from the column, we locked ourselves down and soaked up all they could give us, never once letting them within our ranks.’ Aius smiled at the memory. ‘They might just as well have been attacking the camp’s bathhouse.
‘And then a voice, barely audible over the tumult of the battle and rain, could be heard: “Forward! Forward! On, men of the Seventeenth! On! Stay here and you’ll die.” The shout was taken up by our centurions and optios and we started to crab forward, pace by pace as the outside ranks held off the enemy taking deadened blows on their shield and flicking out their blades at our attackers, more in hope than expectation. How long we progressed like this I can’t remember but after some while there was cheering from behind me, Roman cheering, and soon the word travelled up the cohort that we were no longer isolated: the second cohort had caught up with us, the column was once again intact and the general had made it to the front. Varus was with us, urging us forward to somewhere where we could build a camp. The very idea inspired us with hope and I dipped the Eagle to signal the legion’s advance as if we were just on a route-march and not slogging through a forested vale beset on both sides.’
‘And that is the brilliance of the famed discipline of the Roman legionary,’ Thumelicatz said, cutting off Aius’ monologue. ‘By acting as one they could fend off many. Which general was it who said that he thought odds of seven to one were not unreasonable? No matter. Aius, the next scroll and start it from the point where I stopped you as Varus gets to the front of the column.’
CHAPTER XI
I could have wept with the frustration of it: seeing them, this enemy encased in a seemingly unbreakable wall of leather and wood, slowly moving forward whilst fending off the uncoordinated attacks of my men, and there was nothing that I could do. How I wished then for artillery; but that was just a waste of thought.
Now I had to work out how to unravel the column’s defence, to unpick it and eat at it from within and without. One thing was certain – throwing away the lives of my warriors by allowing them to carry on hurling themselves at the wall, for no better reason than to prove themselves braver than the next man, was not going to help. My father was of the same opinion as he and Vulferam found me gazing impotently at the three legions struggling on in the downpour; with a mighty breath he blew three blasts on his horn that echoed up and down the valley and was repeated by other thanes and gradually the warriors and auxiliaries disengaged and pulled back up the hill to either side. The column lumbered on heading ever northwest in the direction that my messengers had said the revolt was.
And that was it; the idea came to me. ‘Father, we will let them go forward; have our men harry them with hit and run raids, keeping them nervous. They’ll stop as soon as they find a suitable place to build a camp.’
My father looked at me sceptically. ‘And how will we prise them out of that once it’s built? You said yourself that our people don’t have the discipline or mentality to conduct a siege.’
‘We won’t need to; I’ll make sure he keeps moving northwest tomorrow and we’ll wear him down slowly and then force him to a place of our choosing. I need to speak to Engilram.’
‘So you failed and now the Cherusci’s lives will be forfeit,’ that unpleasant voice crowed from behind me.
I did not need to turn around to know that Adgandestrius was coming down the slope. ‘No, we haven’t failed, Adgandestrius; we just haven’t succeeded yet.’
‘You said that you had to defeat them on the first attack, break their formation and get amongst them.’ He pointed down to the column that moved ponderously on, our men jeering at it from a safe distance. ‘What’s that, Erminatz? That is an intact Roman formation.’
I rounded on him, grabbing the collar of his tunic. ‘Defeatism is the refuge of the timid, Adgandestrius, and I will not listen to it. You’re right: the Cherusci’s lives will be forfeit if Varus survives and someone tells him who was responsible for this; and I’m sure someone will. So therefore we have no choice but to keep on and make sure that Varus doesn’t survive. So we keep at them; with this weather their progress will be slow so we’ll hound them and whittle them down. You leave if you want to and take your warriors back to the taunting of their women; but the Cherusci stay here and hopefully so will the Chauci and the Bructeri.’
‘And the Marsi will joi
n them.’
I looked beyond Adgandestrius to see Mallovendatz, the young king of the Marsi, standing a few paces away, dripping with rain, listening to our confrontation.
‘Perhaps five thousand more warriors would have made the difference.’ Mallovendatz paused and looked me in the eye; he seemed uncomfortable as his mouth searched for words. Eventually he found them: ‘I have not been as worthy as Engilram or Hrodulf and I have heard mumblings amongst my thanes as we watched the attack; they wanted to be a part of it. I know if I order them away now that will be the last order I give. I have learnt much this last hour. The Marsi stay and I will fight in their front rank and regain the respect of my people.’
I let go of Adgandestrius, took off my helmet and felt undercap, and let the rain wash away the sweat. ‘You won’t regret it, Mallovendatz; whether you live or die your name will be held in glory by your tribe and all the tribes in this place.’ I looked pointedly at Adgandestrius.
‘I never said we were leaving,’ the Chatti king hissed.
‘Nor have you said that you’re fighting.’ I turned to Vulferam. ‘Send messages to our auxiliaries: they’re to keep in position on either flank of the column just within sight of it; that should keep the bastards nervous.’ I addressed Mallovendatz as Vulferam disappeared into the foul weather: ‘The tribes will take it in turns to attack various points of the column and try to split it in half, so it …’ I trailed off leaving him the opportunity to regain some respect in front of his thanes.
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