Arminius

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘And so, with our land secure and our freedom to do as we wished returned to us, my father, realising that he would never unite all the tribes under his rule and pose a threat to Rome, was content to take Siegimeri’s place as king of the Cherusci and spend much of his time dictating his story to his two slaves. What we have heard is barely a third of it, but it has been enough and now, seeing as I have the manuscript, I shall read the last lines he dictated. “As I contemplate Chlodochar’s message and Segestes’ guarantee of my safe passage, for his daughter’s sake, I know them to be false. And yet how can I not go if there is the smallest chance that I might be wrong and my brother really is returning my wife and son to my side? But if they really are false and they mean to kill me, then, with my long-dead friend, Lucius, in mind, I shall give them the grandest of gestures.”’ Thumelicatz looked at Thusnelda. ‘Where were you, Mother? Did Flavus bring you back to this land, because he certainly didn’t bring me?’

  Thusnelda spat. ‘He was false and we have dealt him just retribution. No, it was merely a way of snaring Erminatz; his love for me meant that he could but go.’

  ‘So, tell our guests what happened,’ Thumelicatz ordered the two slaves.

  It was Aius who spoke first. ‘It was so obvious a trap that there seemed a good chance that it was genuine; who would believe that they could ensnare the great Erminatz with such a simple device? And so he went and took us with him to act as witnesses should he be betrayed. We travelled to the arranged meeting place on the banks of a small tributary of the Rhenus and there he ordered us to conceal ourselves and watch the proceedings. And so, shivering in the dawn, because it was the time of the Ice Gods, we watched from a distance as two men approached our master.’

  Tiburtius interrupted. ‘There weren’t just two men; behind them were a dozen or so warriors and, although they looked to be Germanic, it was evident that they had been equipped in the empire. However, they held back as Erminatz approached the two men. “Chlodochar, Segestes,” my master called as they neared each other, “where are my wife and son?” They made no reply.’

  Aius took up the tale from Tiburtius who was visibly upset by recalling the memory. ‘It was now that our master knew that what he had hoped against hope for was not to be and at that point he lost his will to carry on. Walking forward, he opened his arms, a sword held in one hand, exposing his chest to his brother and kinsman. “I do not run from traitors,” he shouted, “nor will I demean myself by fighting them. The coward strikes down the man who refuses to defend himself and the cursed murder their own kin. I call down Donar’s curse upon you, Flavus and Segestes, and I seal that curse with my own blood.” And with a cry to the gods for vengeance in this life or the next he allowed them to strike him down with a weapon in his hand so that he would attain Walhalla.’

  ‘The grandest of gestures, I think you’ll agree,’ Thumelicatz said. ‘When life has no value left to you then sacrifice it to curse your enemies; his mother also understood that too. Tell us the end, slaves.’

  Aius began. ‘When they had gone we crept from our hiding place and took our master’s body back to his mother; we told her that it was her youngest son who bore the responsibility for her eldest son’s death.’

  Tiburtius finished. ‘She saw to Erminatz’s funeral rites, laid a curse woven with much magic on her youngest son and his descendants hereafter and then, to seal it with her own blood, threw herself on the pyre.’

  No one spoke as the two old men finished and began rolling up the scrolls and replacing them in their cases, their eyes never leaving the work on the desk in front of them.

  Thumelicatz looked thoughtfully into his beer cup. ‘My father was a great man and it is my loss that I never met him.’ His eyes flicked up and bored into the Romans one by one. ‘But I’ve not had you sit here with me and listen to his story just so that I can wallow in a bit of self-pity afterwards. I wanted you to hear it so that you can understand my motives in what I shall do next; I intend to go against everything that my father stood for.’

  The elder brother’s face grew intense. ‘Does that mean you can tell us where the Eagle is hidden?’

  Thumelicatz could sense the desperate hope behind the question. ‘I can tell you which tribe it is with, that is easy; the Chauci on the coast to the north of here have it, but how and where they’ve hidden it only they would know. But I’ll do more than that; I will actively help you find it.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘My father tried to make himself king of a Greater Germania, uniting all the tribes under one leader. Imagine the power he would have had if he’d succeeded. He would perhaps have had the strength to take Gaul; but would he have had the strength to hold it? I don’t think so; not yet, while Rome is so strong. But that was his dream, it’s not mine. I look far into the future to a time when Rome starts its inevitable decline as all empires have done before. For the present I see the idea of a Greater Germania as a threat to all the constituent tribes. It is the potential cause for a hundred years of war with Rome; a war that, for the next few generations, we don’t have the manpower to win.

  ‘So I do not desire to be the leader of a united Germanic people but there are many of my countrymen who suspect that I do. Some actively encourage me by sending messages of support but others are jealous of me and would see my death as furthering their own ambitions. But I just want to be left in peace to live, in the manner that was denied me all my youth, to live as a Cherusci in a free Germania. I want nothing of Rome, neither vengeance nor justice. We’ve freed ourselves from her once; it would be foolish to put ourselves in the position where we have to fight for our freedom again.

  ‘However, Rome will always want her Eagle back and while it’s on our soil she will continually come looking for it. The Chauci will not give it up and why should they; but their keeping it puts us all at risk. I want you to take it, Romans; take and use it for your invasion and leave us in peace. So I’ll help you steal it and the tribes will learn that I helped Rome and they will no longer want me to become – or fear me becoming – an image of my father.’

  ‘Won’t the Chauci see that as a declaration of war against them?’ the younger brother asked.

  ‘They would if there weren’t other circumstances involved. You see, in my position I get to hear things: I know that Rome collects tribute from many of the tribes in Germania and I also know that recently Publius Gabinius, the Governor of Germania Inferior, has been demanding ships from the coastal tribes instead of gold. Now, the Chauci’s neighbours, the Frisii, are very fond of their ships and I heard that to avoid handing too many of them over they sold the secret of where the last Eagle is to—’

  ‘Publius Gabinius!’

  ‘Exactly. So the Chauci are going to lose their Eagle soon but if we can get it before Publius Gabinius arrives with a Roman army then many Chauci lives will be saved.’

  ‘How far is it?’

  ‘Thirty miles east of here is the Visurgis River; that takes us all the way to the Chauci’s lands on the northern coast. We’ll be there the day after tomorrow if we go by boat.’

  Thumelicatz held his mother’s hands and looked into her eyes; he had divested himself of Varus’ uniform and wore a simple tunic and trousers. The flame of the single tallow candle burning in the tent played on Thusnelda’s pupils; tears fell down her cheeks. From outside came the muffled noise of men striking camp as dawn edged over the eastern horizon.

  ‘This morning is colder than yesterday,’ Thusnelda whispered. ‘The Ice Gods will be here tomorrow; that has always been a time of ill-omen for our family. Can you not wait three days until they have gone back under the ground?’

  Thumelicatz put a hand on the back of her neck and drew her towards him; he kissed her forehead. ‘No, Mother; this must be done now in order to save lives. Besides, I’ve already spoken with Romans and worn the uniform of one of their governors. Donar has not struck me yet and if he does hold me to my oath he’ll strike me down whether the Ice Gods are roa
ming the earth or not.’

  ‘Their chill will add bitterness to his wrath.’

  ‘No, Mother, it will make no difference; what does the Thunderer care for the Ice Gods?’

  Aldhard stepped into the tent. ‘The Romans are almost ready, my lord; we should go soon if we want to be at the river by midmorning.’

  ‘I’ll be with you shortly.’

  Aldhard bowed his head and withdrew.

  Thumelicatz looked back to his mother. ‘Do you remember the tales you used to tell me when I was young?’

  ‘Every one of them.’

  ‘If I don’t return then compose one about me. Tell how I braved the wrath of the Thunderer to keep our land, the land of All Men, free until we have the strength to take on Rome and beat her.’ He kissed her again as the tears continued to trickle unevenly down her age-lined face; he turned and left her behind him.

  At mid-morning the column rode into the dilapidated remains of a small, Roman military river port, uncared for since the final withdrawal of the legions back across the Rhenus twenty-five years previously. Although the roofs of most of the singlestorey barrack buildings and warehouses were still reasonably intact, their brick walls were being eaten into by dense, dark ivy and other climbing plants. Barn swallows swooped in and out of open windows, whose shutters had long since rotted away, constructing their mud nests in the eaves of the deserted buildings. A pack of wild dogs, which seemed to be the only other inhabitants, trailed the column as they made their way along a grass-tufted, paved street down to the river.

  ‘My people didn’t burn this port because my father felt that it was of some strategic use,’ Thumelicatz explained. ‘He made it a supply depot from where he could provision his forces quickly using the river, but after his murder it was abandoned to rot.’

  ‘Why?’ the younger brother asked. ‘It could still be extremely useful to you.’

  ‘Yeah, you would have thought so; but the problem would be: who would stock it and who would guard it?’ the street-fighter pointed out. ‘I imagine there would be a lot of competition for the latter but very few volunteers for the former.’

  Thumelicatz laughed. ‘I’m afraid that you have understood my countrymen all too well. No clan chief is going to give up his grain and salted meat to be guarded by men from another clan, even though they are all Cherusci. My father had the strength to make them do it but since he’s gone they’ve returned to the old ways of bickering amongst themselves and only ever uniting in the face of an external threat from another tribe.’

  ‘It makes you realise just how close we were to subduing the whole province,’ the patrician said as they passed a crumbling brick-built temple. ‘To have built all this so deep into Germania shows that we must have been pretty confident of remaining here.’

  ‘It was confidence or rather overconfidence that was Varus’ problem.’

  The street-fighter scowled. ‘Arrogance more like; yet another pompous arsehole.’

  Any more opinions the Romans may have had were pushed aside as they passed between a line of storehouses and onto the riverside quay. Before them, each tied to a wooden jetty, were four sleek boats; long with fat bellies and high prows and sterns with a single mast amidships and benches for fifteen rowers on each side.

  ‘We live in longhouses and we sail in longboats,’ Thumelicatz quipped. ‘We Germans think that it’s quite a good joke.’

  None of the Romans shared his amusement; instead their expressions were all similar: confusion.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  The patrician turned to him. ‘Horses, Thumelicus, that’s what the matter is. How do we take our horses with us?’

  ‘You don’t. The horses are the price for the boats.’

  ‘Then how do we get back across the Rhenus?’

  ‘You’ll get home by sailing on out to the sea and then follow the coast west. Your Batavians can handle this sort of boat, they’re good seamen.’

  ‘But good seamanship won’t protect us against storms,’ the street-fighter muttered. ‘Last time Germanicus sailed back to Gaul he lost half his fleet in the Northern Sea. Some of the poor buggers were even driven ashore in Britannia.’

  ‘Then you’ll be there, ready and waiting, when the invasion fleet finally arrives.’

  The elder brother looked sourly at Thumelicatz. ‘Is that another Germanic joke, because I didn’t find that one particularly funny either?’

  ‘No, merely an observation. But that’s the deal: horses for boats and you’ll be in the Chauci’s lands tomorrow.’

  The Romans pulled their horses closer, talking in hushed tones.

  ‘There’s Rome for you,’ Thumelicatz observed to Aldhard. ‘Just wanting to take and unwilling to give anything in return.

  ‘What if they don’t agree?’

  ‘They will; they have to. The prize is too great for them, ultimately, to worry overmuch about a few horses; they just can’t bear letting go of anything. Have the horses put into one of the warehouses and leave a man to look after them until we return.’

  The younger brother looked over to Thumelicatz. ‘It’s a deal.’

  ‘But what about my horses?’ the patrician asked through clenched teeth. ‘It takes months to train them and—’

  ‘And you’ll do as you’re told, prefect,’ the younger brother snapped before turning back to Thumelicatz again. ‘But we keep the saddles and bridles.’

  ‘Agreed.’ Thumelicatz smiled to himself, and, as the Romans dismounted, whispered out of the corner of his mouth: ‘What did I tell you?’

  ‘He really doesn’t want to give up his horse,’ Aldhard observed seeing the street-fighter remain stubbornly in the saddle.

  His expression solemn, Thumelicatz turned to Aldhard. ‘The one that looks like a street-fighter—’

  Aldhard held up his hand, interrupting him. ‘I know; he killed my father and your grandfather as well as wounding Erminatz. I heard; I listened to the whole story and strangely enough I wasn’t surprised. I knew that it was more than just a coincidence. Your father’s life was spun in a way that it still resounds here on this Middle-Earth even as he feasts in Walhalla.’

  Slipping from his horse, Thumelicatz stepped into a boat. ‘The story of Erminatz’s deeds and their effect upon the Roman empire and Germania will go down through the centuries; of that I am in no doubt.’

  A thin, freezing mist draped both banks the following morning, as they made their way north on the second day of their journey; the Ice Gods had passed that night. In the wake of their progress through Germania, the flat land to either side of the river was carpeted in their frost; their chilled breath, biting into his flesh, made Thumelicatz uncomfortably aware of their proximity and the adverse portents they had always brought for his family. He shivered and touched the hammer amulet that hung on a leather thong around his neck, praying to Donar for his forgiveness but knowing that, whether it would be manifest or not, he had to continue on his path for his father’s sake.

  The sweat of the Batavian auxiliaries heaving upon the oars permeated the chilled air, already melancholic with their ponderous, deep-noted song that blended with that of the oarsmen in the following boats.

  ‘What do you feel, Aldhard, now there has been some time to think about it, knowing that he was the ugly little legionary who killed your father?’ Thumelicatz asked, looking at the street-fighter standing with his companions in the stern of the ship behind him.

  Aldhard shrugged. ‘It was battle and from his account he did it with honour. I cannot in truth hold him to blame for what happened in a fair fight; as neither can you for his taking your grandfather’s life.’

  ‘No, I can’t. If anything we should be grateful to him for his wounding of my father and making him less than effective at the Battle of the Angrivarii Ridge. Germanicus claimed the easy victory that could be argued to be the final factor that caused Tiberius to recall him. We might be looking at the unknowing saviour of Germania.’

  Aldhard grinned. ‘Or we mi
ght be looking at just an ugly little legionary.’

  Thumelicatz joined in his cousin’s amusement. ‘That too but what a strange whim of the Norns to weave him into my life; it can only mean that this was meant to be the course of action that I should take.’ A cry from the lookout in the bow of the ship as it rounded a bend in the river took his attention; a mile distant the eastern bank was filled with ships disgorging troops. Thumelicatz’s face hardened. ‘It looks as if Publius Gabinius has come for the Eagle; we had better make haste if we want to get it.’ He turned to the helmsman. ‘We’ll land here; take us in.’

  ‘That’s the Chauci’s main township,’ Thumelicatz whispered, pointing to a large settlement about a mile away, built along a low ridge; the only high land in an otherwise flat and dismal landscape still swathed in a light mist. To the northwest of it, six cohorts of auxiliary infantry formed up, in a line across frosted farmland, shielding a legion deploying from column to battle order behind it. Before the Roman force was a massed formation of Chauci, growing all the time as men rushed in from the surrounding areas, answering the booming, warning calls of horns that echoed all around and off into the distance. ‘Their sacred groves are in the woods to the east, the Eagle will be in one of those.’

  ‘This could be a welcome diversion for us,’ the younger brother suggested, his breath steaming.

  The street-fighter grinned. ‘First bit of luck we’ve had; it looks like they’re all going to have plenty to keep them occupied for a while.’

  The elder brother looked equally pleased. ‘We should get going before we freeze our bollocks off; if we skirt around to the south the mist will obscure us and we should be able to reach that woodland undetected.’

  Thumelicatz was not so sure. ‘It’s not ideal; the Chauci will know why they’ve come and will either be moving the Eagle or sending a large force to defend it.’