Arminius

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘Batavians,’ I said to Aldhard as we sat on horses and squinted to make out their standards. ‘They’re going to try and swim the river.’

  ‘Let them try,’ Aldhard said with a grin, ‘they’ll be dead before—’

  Screams, flattened by the mist but still audible enough to make out the pain within them, cut in from the north; Aldhard and I shared a brief look and then urged our mounts in the direction of the noise. All around, our camp, which had already been rousing from sleep, now broke into frenetic action, each man convinced that we were under attack by the full Roman force that had somehow crossed in silence during the night. Again I cursed the ill-discipline of my people as leaders of clans and war bands tried to outdo each other in rushing to where they assumed the enemy to be.

  ‘Stop!’ I shouted as we rode through what was boiling up into chaos. ‘Hold your positions!’ But I might just as well have tried to get them to dance a jig for all the good my shouting did. They began to swarm to the north, thousands of them, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. And then, through the mist to the south of us came the spectral shapes of horses; those warriors nearest them turned and with mighty war cries raced towards the new foe who promptly wheeled and disappeared into the mist. But this did not deter the warriors pursuing them and I watched in despair as hundreds of them were enveloped by the miasma that I knew would contain their deaths. There was nothing that I could do for I realised that, at that very moment, the Batavians were resting their shields on their inflated water-skins, to give them buoyancy, and were on their way across the river. Renowned for their ability to swim in full armour, they would be across in a couple of hundred heartbeats in numbers enough to form a bridgehead.

  I looked to the far bank and a soft breeze cleared my view for a few moments, long enough for my fears to be realised; there were men and horses in the water and boats being launched behind them. But these boats were not all just transports; no, they were more than that, they were also barges already linked together ready to span the Visurgis and construct a pontoon bridge across it. And my army had been split in two by a couple of small night crossings. I looked to the south and knew that it was pointless trying to rally the warriors who had chased the horsemen in that direction; those that survived to make their way back to the main body would find the Batavians in their path and would doubtless perish or flee. So north was my only option; north I went to try to pull my army back into some sort of disciplined unit rather than an unruly ensemble of glory-hunters, with no idea of how to act as a coherent force, bent on pursuing Germanicus’ feint. My advantage had been ripped from my hands and now there was no way that I would be able to fall on Germanicus as he crossed; I had yielded the east bank unfought and had been made to look a fool. Now I knew that the only hope we had was to form up with our rear protected by the thick wood that traced the northern edge of Idis’ plain, with our right flank protected by the river and our left flank secured in the hills that rose a mile to the east of the river; in these hills I placed the bulk of the Cherusci warriors leaving the plain manned by the other tribes. And so, with a prayer in our hearts that the Goddess would hold her hands over us as we faced the might of Rome, we waited for Germanicus to come to us.

  But what power can a Goddess of little renown have over eight legions and their auxiliaries? As the sun rose and the mist cleared we could see rank after rank of them marching across the four pontoon bridges that had sprung, seemingly, out of nowhere, screened by cohorts of auxiliaries. The entire army was over by the eighth hour, but instead of offering battle Germanicus decided, rather, to build a camp and rest his men.

  At this moment anyone with any sense would have chosen to wait until darkness and then withdraw. I, however, had to stay and face the superior force, for to retreat would be seen as the act of a coward and my life would be forfeit. That would achieve nothing as the Germanic army would remain to be slaughtered under the generalship of another.

  So we stayed, sleeping out in the open under the multitude of stars that crammed the sky above our land for what would be, I suspected, the last time for many of us.

  In an attempt to avert the inevitable that night, I tried a stratagem born more of desperation than of logic. With a small bodyguard, I rode through the darkness to within hailing distance of the Roman camp and had Vulferam, because I knew that my voice would be recognised, try to tempt the legionaries into desertion. It was farcical—

  ‘And it was insulting,’ the street-fighter interrupted. ‘We heard this voice coming out of the night offering us one hundred sesterces a day as well as land and a Germanic wife if we would let down our mates and desert.’ He paused to hawk and then spit on the wooden floor. ‘“Bollocks!” we shouted back. “We’re going to take your land and steal your women anyway; why should we throw away our honour to get what is already within our grasp?” Well, as you can imagine, the lads got themselves pretty worked up over this and really began to look forward to the battle on the morrow, thinking of ways that they would avenge the insult on the first hairy-arsed savage that they came across.’ The street-fighter paused to grin at his companions. ‘It was a massive error of judgement on Arminius’ part seeing as before that we was all for getting home as quickly as possible as we wasn’t at all enamoured of the idea of proceeding any further east; but this had got us going and Germanicus heard our change of mood because he disguised himself as a common grunt and went around the camp during the night listening to our conversations.

  ‘Well, when the reveille sounded an hour before dawn most of us was already up and shoving our faces in our breakfast bowls, that’s how anxious we were to be at it. We almost had to be held back as we paraded in our cohorts and the gates were opened – it was a far cry from the Battle of the Long Bridges, that’s for sure. Anyway, we formed up opposite this mass of grunting barbarians and Germanicus treated us to one of his rousing speeches saying that it was further to go back to the Rhenus than it was to go on to the Albis but there would be no fighting beyond it if we won today and asserted the authority of Rome once again in this province. Needless to say, we were right up for that so we cheered and cheered him until we was hoarse. When eventually we stopped we could hear our enemies cheering and we wondered just what Arminius had said to them to make them feel that confident in the face of line upon line of very pissed-off, heavily armoured infantry. Not that we really needed to know, it was just curiosity that soon faded as the blow-boys began to do what they like best and the arse-widener, who was just two places away from me, the other side of Cassandros, started to get so excited that he was slavering and rolling his eyes as he suggested, in the tenderest of tones, that we might like to advance towards a mass of warriors who had nothing but our demises in their minds. I think we rather shocked him when it became apparent that there was nothing that we would like better at that moment and that his vine stick wouldn’t need to be wiped clean in the near future.

  ‘Forward we went with the auxiliary Gallic and Germanic cohorts in the first line, supported by the archers, and us, the Fifth, a part of the second line with three other legions and then another four legions in the third line; the whole formation was supported by swirling cavalry – mainly Batavians, Gauls and Hispanic, as well as a few Illyrians – on our right flank to keep all the bastards up in the hills from charging down and doing us some serious damage. If we thought that we were already as enthusiastic as it’s possible to be when limbering up for a day’s killing then the sight of eight Eagles, the same number as our legions, flying over our heads towards the massed sweaties before us made us boil over with enthusiasm. Indeed, some of the lads swore afterwards that they had seen tears of joy roll down the arse-widener’s face as he bellowed at us to stop behaving like a gaggle of Mesopotamian bum-boys, pull our communal thumb out of our communal arsehole and start acting like Roman legionaries ready to deal out righteous slaughter to anyone who entertains a malicious thought towards Rome and her beloved Emperor.

  ‘As the auxiliaries came into conta
ct with the forward masses of the Germanic horde there was a huge shout from off to our right and the hills began to look as if they were crawling with thousands of gigantic ants, so alive they were with warriors rushing down at us trying to take us in the flank. This brought even more joy to the arse-widener’s heart as we, the Fifth Alaudae, were on the right flank of the second line and our cohort, the ninth, was on the right flank of the legion; but what brought pure joy to Balbillus’ heart was that our century, his century, was on the extreme flank of the cohort and so all that hate-filled charge was coming directly at us. The blow-boys rumbled away and standards began dipping this way and that as our legate issued orders for us to turn and face the incoming; the arse-widener and Servius screamed abuse at us and, without pausing or even slowing our pace, we turned when the charge was still a couple of hundred paces out. But there were no orders to stand and receive the enemy, it seemed that we were expected just to stroll on as if we was spending a pleasant afternoon in the gardens of Lucullus; and who were we to question it? So on we went as the cavalry began to get very excited and thundered off in a huge looping manoeuvre that seemed to be aimed at taking the bastards coming towards us in the rear. Well, it goes without saying that we were grateful for all the help that we could get and it was with the sure knowledge that we’d be fighting an enemy that was soon to be surrounded that the arse-widener, his voice cracking with the emotion of it all, suggested that we might like to throw our pila, which we did willingly and followed that with a second volley before drawing our swords in preparation for engaging in the arse-widener’s second favourite pursuit of trying to get as much blood and shit on his sandals as possible.

  ‘In they came, whooping and halooing and already splattered in blood from the casualties rightfully caused by our pila volleys. With swords and spears waving, hair flying, covered in their strange tattoos and led by a big bastard in an auxiliary’s captured chainmail, they closed with us. With unconcealed glee, the arse-widener bawled that the big bastard was his as they roared into our shield wall with a velocity that made us stagger and feel grateful for each of the seven ranks behind us pushing into our backs. Straining with my left arm to keep my shield upright and with Sextus growling like a rabid dog to my right, I slammed the point of the gladius forward and felt it snag on chainmail. I ducked below my shield rim as I sensed a blow coming down from above; sparks flew into my eyes as iron scraped iron and thunderous noise crammed my ears. Again I stabbed and this time I split a ring and punctured flesh, not deeply but enough to feel my opponent step back. Sextus bellowed like a rutting boar, battering at a young warrior’s shield, as Cassandros hurled unpleasant Greek at his opponent who screeched back in their foul tongue.

  ‘Then, over all this noise, rose a clamour of hate and clashing weapons so intense that men on both sides turned to see the cause; it was a fearsome sight: the arse-widener and the big bastard had squared up to each other and such was their ferocity that they had created their own little arena a couple of paces across and seemed to tower above everyone. With savagery that comes from a deep love of violence they laid into one another, hurling their bodies forward and raining down the fiercest cuts and thrusts. Round they went in their own private dance of death and no one dared interfere; in fact, I seem to remember that all combat close to them stopped for a few moments as we marvelled at the violence of it. But we soon remembered what we was meant to be about and iron again slashed through the air; I was one of the quickest to refocus and with a backhanded cut I opened the throat of the man opposite me. The big bastard glanced to his left as my victim sank to his knees and screamed at the sight, giving the arse-widener the fleeting instant he needed to cut low at his thigh but he mistimed the stroke and caught the hem of the chainmail tunic; hatred overflowed in the big bastard and, with a roar that deafened and movement that blurred, his sword arm flew around and down and the arse-widener’s transverse plume parted as the blade split his helm and skull to wedge itself in his upper teeth. I swear the last expression in the arse-widener’s eyes was exaltation as they looked their fading last at the man who had stolen their light.

  ‘Now, say what you like about the arse-widener, and we often did, but he was our centurion and to see him cut down by some bearded barbarian got the lads well and truly worked up, me included. I threw myself forward at the nearest enemy, a grizzled grey-beard, and crashed my sword fist into his face, shattering teeth, before ramming my shield rim up under his jaw, crushing his windpipe, as Cassandros, next to me, downed another of the big bastard’s bodyguards with a slash to the thigh; I finished the job with my blade in his eye, leaving the way clear for me to fly at the huge brute, shield first. Punching the boss into his chest, as he struggled to wrench his blade from the ruins of the arse-widener’s head, I took the wind from him, following it up with straight thrust to the throat that he all but dodged so that the point rammed through his chainmail and into his shoulder, jagging on the bone. He staggered back, almost pulling my sword from my grasp, his eyes rolling and blood pulsing from the wound. I tried to get at him again but Sextus had the same idea and we collided as hands grabbed the big bastard and hauled him away from us and other warriors took his place; but our blood was up and we ripped into them with nothing but vengeance in our hearts for the arse-widener and all the indignities that had been thrown at us every time we had crossed the Rhenus into this land of strange gods and dark forest.

  ‘How long it went on for after that, I don’t know, not long it seemed; and what happened, I’ve no idea as we could see very little in our confined little corner of the battlefield. All I knew was the ease with which we beat them back after the big bastard was wounded was surprising. But beat them back we did, back into our cavalry that had slammed into their rear, and before we knew it they were running and we were following them up killing at will, revelling in the exhilaration of the greatest sensation a soldier can have.’

  ‘I think I can answer how long the fight went on for before the rout,’ Thumelicatz interjected, looking at the street-fighter with a real interest. He took the scroll from Tiburtius and after taking a few moments to find the right place began to read:

  I screamed my protests but they fell on deaf ears; no one would let me go forward to avenge him. Aldhard, tears flowing down his face, held me firm along with others who were no more than a blur. Rigid, I gave in and watched as the attack at first faltered and then, with the inevitability that comes with the wavering of ill-disciplined troops, broke. But the repulse of our flank’s attack in itself would not have been the end of the matter had the centre at least tried to stand – but it did not. Within a couple of hundred heartbeats, for reasons that have never become clear to me because all those who took part in it are too ashamed to countenance even its mention, let alone engage in discussion over its causes, the main bulk of the Germanic army broke, without giving battle, into two columns; one fled north into the wood and the other made for the hills. But in flight the back is exposed and thousands were cut down with dishonourable wounds, carpeting the path of their shameful retreat with dead.

  I grieved for my men and I grieved for my father as I felt Aldhard pull me back, his tears still flowing for his loss; I knew that I should go with him and, forgetting my grief for the time being, try to rally my army to the north at the final line of defence that I could think of I looked back to where my father and Vulferam had fallen, both now under the feet of the enemy, and then winced at the pain from the wound in my shoulder and cursed the ugly little legionary who had so effectively avenged his centurion whom I had killed.

  Thumelicatz again stared at the street-fighter. ‘So, it was but a few hundred heartbeats, that’s the answer to your question as to how long it went on after you wounded the big bastard, as you call him; but that is supremely uninteresting compared to the life-threads woven by the Norns. That you should be a part of this group come to seek my help – you of all people – shows me that I was right to meet with you and that the gods have some deeper scheme to which I am not a p
arty. However, it has confirmed my decision to help you. Why else would the gods send to me the ugly little legionary who avenged his centurion by killing my grandfather, Siegimeri, my kinsman, Vulferam, and wounding my father, Erminatz?’

  CHAPTER XVII

  ‘I SPIKED ARMINIUS?’ The street-fighter could not conceal his pride. ‘Who would have thought it?’ He looked at the younger brother. ‘What do you think of that, sir?’

  ‘Somehow, after all we’ve heard, the coincidence doesn’t surprise me, what with my father escorting the young Arminius to Rome and then giving us his knife to return to the son he never met. It seems that we’re all in some way woven into his tale.’

  Thumelicatz nodded in slow agreement. ‘Yes, that’s the way of the gods. But further than that, the wound did more than just hurt Erminatz: it prevented him from functioning at his best as his army was chased north to a ridge that the Angrivarii had built along the southern border of their territory on the east bank of the Visurgis. It was here that he had thought to make a stand and, perhaps, had it been successful and he had beaten Germanicus back then things would have been different. But it was not to be and that wound was a major reason why it failed: it meant that my father did not organise the defence with his normal energy. Thus, the final factor that wove the miracle was put in place: Germanicus’ second victory in as many days was too much for Tiberius’ jealousy to bear when it came to his ears not long after and, afraid of Germanicus’ rising star and the power that his wife, Agrippina, had over the troops on the Rhenus, he recalled him, ostensibly to celebrate his triumph. Germanicus pleaded to be allowed one more year to campaign, but was refused; that year, had he been granted it, would have fighter could not conceal been all he needed to finish the job and pull Germania Magna back into the empire.

  ‘Rome withdrew and we fell to fighting amongst ourselves. My father fought a war with Maroboduus of the Marcomanni but failed to break through the natural defences of Bojohaemum and it ended as an insignificant sideshow that had no bearing on history whatsoever; as did all the other wars between the tribes that were fought.