Arminius

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘It wasn’t until the rear of the column had gone a couple of miles that we realised what they were waiting for: they had been busy overnight and soon our feet began to sink further into the mud and then the mud became very liquid until we were walking through an endless puddle that gradually deepened to ankle-height and then knee-height. The bastards had spent the night, when they weren’t attacking us, damming the next couple of rivers so that the flood-plain between them lived up to its name. Needless to say we were by now really struggling and even Sextus, who could wrestle down an ox, was having trouble moving forward and the column’s pace was reduced to no more than a shuffle as the carts were constantly getting stuck. Then that cunt Donar crashed his hammer down and, just when the arse-widener thought that we couldn’t be more miserable, more water came tipping from above and its arrival heralded a new series of attacks on the auxiliaries. But this time with the water level so high the cavalry couldn’t protect their flanks nearly so effectively and it weren’t long before the first Gallic cohort broke, turning and splashing back towards us in the main column; and then the rest of them turned and the hairy-arsed savages came tearing after them, felling them as they ran, and having a good laugh about it as nothing pleases them more than the sight of a dead Gaul. Even the cavalry were ravaged as the horses weren’t willing to move fast through the water and shied when pushed, so that many of the riders abandoned their mounts to try and make a quicker getaway.

  ‘With the cover swept away we were open to attack but a toe to toe was not what they had in mind. The javelins fell down on us almost as thickly as the rain and, by now, the image of what had happened to Varus was in all our thoughts for we had heard the four-day battle being recounted many a time and there was not a man in that army who didn’t fear its repeat. And that’s what looked to be happening. Helpless we were as the lethal rain fell, volley after volley down onto our upturned shields, many a missile getting through, such was our disorder; and we were unable to return the favour as all our efforts were concentrated on protecting ourselves and trying to move forward and, besides, we hadn’t been resupplied with pila due to the chaos of the previous night. The few archers we had tried to hold the savages off but they were so small in number that they hardly made any difference as the Germans would just back off when they saw them coming and concentrate their efforts elsewhere.

  ‘For hours we waded forward, only leaving our dead behind; those unlucky enough to be too wounded to carry on gratefully accepted into their hearts the sword of their comrade rather than be left behind for the fires. But the dead soon caught up with us again as the savages took their heads and hurled them into our midst and we raged at our impotence, not being able to avenge the mutilation of our fallen.

  ‘The day dragged on and our hunger grew as we could not stop to eat and, besides, there was no way that we could make a fire in the middle of what had become a huge lake. Even when we finally made it onto dryer ground, in other words ground that was just a quagmire rather than being submerged, we knew that there would be no pausing. So we chewed on whatever scraps we could find in our kit, wishing that we could make use of the eleven days’ rations that we were each carrying because the order hadn’t come through to break them out.

  ‘We made it across another river, one that hadn’t been dammed, and found ourselves on more open ground. The blow-boys started doing their thing and it wasn’t long before the arse-widener was politely requesting that we start digging our share of the ditch for the night’s camp. That camp was no better than the previous night’s and our misery did not let up and neither did the savages, although we were so knackered that no matter how many wounded were screaming their agony to the gods we slept as soon as we had finished our shift at the breastwork. Even Balbillus showed us a bit of consideration and didn’t bellow at us for a full four hours.

  ‘“I don’t think I can make it through the day,” Cassandros muttered as the bellowing started again soon after reveille and we were trying to make a mush of cold flour and ground chickpeas.

  ‘“Well, it’s a choice between going on, falling on your sword or warming your toes in the fires,” I said, none too helpfully, “and personally I’ll take the first option as I don’t like fire and I’d rather avoid the serious bollocking that I’d get from the arse-widener for killing myself without permission.”

  ‘Cassandros grumbled a complaint although acknowledging the truth of the matter whilst Sextus looked painfully confused as he tried to work out how the arse-widener could chase him into the afterlife; he was still working on the problem when we had, once again, formed up and the order to advance in double time was sounded by our legion’s blow-boys.

  ‘Now, I don’t know what happened because in those days I didn’t query anything; I just followed the last bellowed order unquestioningly to make life easier and to avoid Balbillus demonstrating on me, for all to see, how he got his nickname. And my guess is that the arse-widener himself didn’t know how it occurred; but occur it did and it was nearly the end of us all.

  ‘Off we went, moaning as much as we dared about being asked to set off at such a pace on a virtually empty stomach and getting no sympathy from the arse-widener other than some encouraging taps with his vine cane. We pressed on, thinking that we were all doing the right thing, over the gradually drying ground as Donar had obviously decided to have a lie-in that day, and we had nothing worse to contend with than a strong, cold, northerly wind that would have caused us considerable misery in our damp clothes had we not been fortunate enough to be sweating with the exertion of jogging in full kit.

  ‘However, it seemed that no one was paying attention to what the rest of the army was doing for they were certainly not doing the same thing as us – except for the Twenty-first on the left flank, that is, who were doubling away with enthusiasm. The First and the Fourteenth, however, had taken it upon themselves to have a far more leisurely start to the day and were strolling along as if they were on a country ramble with their sweethearts. Well, it didn’t take long before the inevitable happened and we and the Twenty-first outpaced the rest of the column exposing the baggage train, and if there is one thing that a German enjoys more than fucking a dead Gaul it’s an exposed baggage train; and this one was irresistible. Out of the morning mist they came, hallooing and—’

  ‘My father’s account of this is worth hearing at this point,’ Thumelicatz interjected. He looked over at his two slaves, who had been scrupulously taking notes; they put the styli down on the desk. ‘You can collate your notes later and I’ll decide what to add to my father’s account. Aius, read from the eleventh scroll, from the moment that Erminatz sees the exposed baggage. Tiburtius, refresh the lamps and candles.’

  After a few moments Aius had found his place and began to read as Tiburtius went around the tent tending the lit candles and lamps.

  How such an order had been given I couldn’t understand; it was madness to me but it was happening and it was an opportunity that I could not pass up: here was my chance to split the Roman column in two, right through the middle and then deal with each half piecemeal. Here was my chance to achieve an even more crushing victory than at the Chalk Giant. I was standing with my father and his household warriors at the head of the Cherusci, to the north of the Roman formation; without hesitation, I raised my sword and cried to the gods our war cry, praising them and reviling our foes. Forward I sprinted, my sword held in both hands over my right shoulder and my eyes fixed upon the junction of the baggage train and the Fourteenth Legion, at the rear of the hollow square not more than four hundred paces distant. My warriors followed gladly, seeing their chance of blood and booty, as before us, the command of the Fourteenth suddenly spotted the danger. But they were advancing in line, five cohorts abreast and two deep now that the ground was more open, so as to seal the fourth wall of the square, but the side walls had now disappeared; with no time to manoeuvre and turn and face us head-on, the best they could do was to halt and turn at right angles, switching their line into a colu
mn. At the moment they did so the Chatti and the Bructeri charged from the south and the Chauci joined in behind us.

  The panic in the Roman ranks was evident, even at two hundred paces out, as they tried to face both attacks: files became entangled with one another as contradictory orders came in as to which way to turn and so their cohesion began to suffer. The baggage train began to scatter as the drivers all tried to catch up either with the two legions that had so inexplicably left them exposed or the legion closest to them either to their front or rear. But they didn’t make it to safety; our charge went home. Almost four thousand of my warriors hit the Fourteenth in its disorganised flank and then spilled into the rear of the baggage train. Their disorganisation meant that they were unable to launch a timed volley of pila and it was with the loss of very few casualties that we pressed our charge home.

  Swiping my sword from over my right shoulder I cleaved my way through the haphazardly formed front rank, sending one and a half heads spinning up into the air, bloodying all around, as, to either side, my father’s household warriors broke the shield wall in many places and began fighting in the way they know best: as individuals. Through them we tore, causing mayhem and mortality, as the ranks and files split and the united war machine became no more than a collection of terrified, unsupported soldiery.

  But even in so dire a situation the Roman army can still pull itself together through the discipline instilled into the men over years of training and, more especially, through the professionalism of the centuriate. By the time we had carved apart the first two cohorts on the flank the more central ones had rallied, the centurions realising that not to do so would spell death for them all. We hit their shield wall as a wave hits a cliff and, before long, I realised that it was as far as we would get; to waste my men’s lives in trying to crack a nut that we had never cracked before was a futile aim and, besides, most of the baggage was still there for the plucking. And so the drivers died in droves and bolting mules were brought down with spears as if we were on a hunting trip on a day sacred to one of the gods and for the second time we captured the baggage of an entire army. As we plundered, the three leading legions ran west whilst the Fourteenth closed up and, making its own hollow square, pushed on past us leaving their dead in piles on the bloody ground. I was happy to let them go because I knew that there would be other opportunities to take them in the next few days that it would take them to reach the Rhenus; soon they would be no more and Tiberius, like his predecessor Augustus, would also have legions to mourn.

  But it was not to be. Once again it was my family that thwarted me but this time it was not Segestes, now safely in Rome; the man was even closer to me. It was the following morning, as the warriors of the five tribes roused themselves with the leaden heads of men who’ve drunk far too much wine when their normal fare is ale, that I stood with my father, Inguiomer, Adgandestrius and Engilram, watching the Romans break camp. They had built it on open, flat ground about three miles from where we had looted their baggage train; once we had taken everything of value, enslaved the women and children and then sacrificed all the prisoners in thanks to the beneficence of the gods, we followed them. We had made our camp to the east so that they could carry on their journey west in the morning and hopefully make a similar mistake. I knew that their morale was shaky as there had been uproar in the camp during the night and yet we hadn’t gone anywhere near it.

  ‘Yes,’ Thumelicatz said, halting the narration and looking at the street-fighter, ‘I’ve always wondered what that was about; perhaps you could enlighten me?’

  The street-fighter ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head in regret. ‘It weren’t our finest hour, that’s for sure. It was a horse had got loose and then the slaves trying to recapture it spooked the thing so that it ran amok through the Twenty-first’s section of the camp – not that it was really a proper camp as we’d almost all lost our tents. Well, as you can imagine, the lads were very edgy after what they’d been through the previous few days and a lot of them thought that the perimeter had been breached and, I’m sorry to say, many of them panicked. As there were hardly any tents there were no tent-lines and, therefore, very little order so the panic quickly spread as many of the lads tried to get out of the west-facing gate, the one furthest from the enemy. Well, Caecina had been wounded the day before, his horse had been shot from under him, and so he was confined to his bed and unable to do anything to help calm the lads and explain that they were spooked by a spooked horse and shame them into going back to whatever bit of muddy ground they had been fortunate enough to have been given. So, inevitably there was quite a scrimmage at the gate when the duty centurion refused to open it and it weren’t until the legate of the Twenty-first, whose name escapes me, came along and shamed the frightened ladies into accepting the reality of the situation that things began to calm down. By the time they had all dispersed there were eight bodies lying on the ground; all of them had been trampled to death. If I remember rightly I heard that the legate was so ashamed of his men that he punished all those who’d been involved with exclusion from the camp for a whole year. This meant that they weren’t allowed the protection and support of their comrades at night and had to make do as best they could on the outside. None of them made it through that year.’

  Thumelicatz smiled in the lamplight, his teeth glowing softly through his beard. ‘How gratifying to hear that Rome’s finest were running scared of a horse by this time; my father would have been most amused, no doubt. But I think amusement was the last thing on his mind that morning. Aius, read on.’

  But, to my surprise, Caecina decided not to run but offered battle with his demoralised army instead. I looked at his position and laughed. ‘If he thinks that we would be stupid enough to come and face him head-on when all we have to do is wait for an opportune moment to take apart his flanks and then eat into the rump of his column, then he’s mad.’

  But it soon transpired that I was in a minority of one with this opinion. Inguiomer, my own uncle, spat on the ground. ‘You’ve spent too much time away from your homeland, Erminatz; you’ve lost a real sense of Germanic pride, Cheruscian pride. Shall we really carry on sneaking around, taking our enemy in the back and the side, trying to drown him and doing just about everything other than face him like the sons of All Men should be proud to do. He’s offering battle; are we so womanish to refuse?’

  I stared at him in disbelief. ‘You’re as mad as Caecina. Have you learnt nothing about fighting the Romans? Take them from the side, take them in ambush, rain javelin volleys down on their formations, snip at them here and there and you negate their power; but take them from the front, head on, toe to toe, and they will always win, even against ten times their number. Always!’

  ‘Not this time they won’t, Erminatz; they’re tired, hungry and dispirited; we will triumph and it will be a triumph of men and not the sneaking ambush of the Teutoburg Pass. This will be a victory of which we can boast with our heads held high. To refuse him now will be to be thought of as lesser men and our women will taunt us.’

  My father put a hand on my shoulder. ‘He’s right, my son: we need to show our people that we can defeat our enemy as men and not just sneak-thieves. To rule, one needs respect and that can only be gained in honest combat. That tired, hungry and demoralised army is our chance and we must take it.’

  As I looked around the faces of the kings and their thanes behind I could see that this argument had convinced them and I cursed, inwardly, the pride of the Germanic male that makes him do things that are totally illogical. But at that moment I remembered that they had never had the benefit of an education from Lucius Caesar; I would never be able to dissuade them from their suicidal course. It was pointless to argue. ‘Very well, we will take his offer, and may the blood of the warriors we lose today weigh heavy on your heads for there will be much.’

  I wanted none of it and yet what option did I have but to fight at the head of my tribe alongside my father and uncle? Our horns sounded and from a
ll about our warriors began to form up in their clan groups and then into their tribes; ale was passed around and they drank themselves some courage as before us Caecina – or so I thought at the time as I was unaware of his injury – completed his disposition. Four legions, albeit all of them under-strength, and almost the same number of auxiliaries, confronted us and our numbers were not much more than theirs. It was a foolhardy decision and now that it had been made nobody could go back on it without losing face. It was with a grim smile that I reflected that a Germanic warrior would rather lose life than face.

  And so we moved forward, our men jeering and shouting whilst swigging from skins of ale and captured wine, all the while boasting of their feats and urging their comrades on to great deeds. Closer we got to the Roman line, three legions wide, each three cohorts deep, with the fourth in reserve and supported on the flanks by auxiliary Gauls, Aquitainians and some Iberians, and with light cavalry swirling beyond them, and it did not move; in fact it did not make a sound. Silent they stood there, waiting; and I knew that with every step we took towards them their confidence would grow for this was going to be the way of fighting that they knew best and they were looking forward, with relish, to repaying the indignities we had heaped upon them over the last few days. And so, filled with foreboding, I led the charge.

  ‘What did it look like, this charge?’ Thumelicatz enquired, with genuine interest.

  ‘Like any other charge of screaming barbarians,’ the street-fighter replied, refilling his cup. ‘We hadn’t had much sleep and it had been so long since we’d had a hot meal that the last thing we fancied was a toe to toe but we knew that would be our best chance of getting back to the Rhenus. So we stood and none of us uttered a word, not even the arse-widener; even he neglected to growl at us as the massed attack came on. I felt Sextus to my right and Cassandros on my left shoulder; around us our mates were breathing deeply, gulping in the air that they knew, from previous experience, would soon be in short supply. The palm of my right hand was sticky as I gripped the first of my two pila, ready for the order; I glanced down at my left forearm, the muscles bulging as I held my shield firmly to the front, the second pilum grasped in the same hand, and I recalled the shock of the impact of all the other head-on charges I’d faced. But no matter how many times you’ve watched, over the rim of your shield, a mass of sweaty savages, howling for your blood, scrambling over one another to be the first to try and take your head off, it don’t make it any easier. You could smell the piss from some of the less-experienced lads and I hoped for their sake that the arse-widener wouldn’t know the culprits as that was one of his pet hates: pissing on your own ground makes it slipperier and he tended to give a good demonstration of the difference between slippery and dry with his cane afterwards – if the culprit was alive, that was.