War Raven: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume One

by Nick Morris

  Arminius slowly wiped his face with the back of his hand.

  He chose his words carefully. “You know nothing of what your people want. When did you last drag your face from your mead cup to ask them? You are concerned only with the serving girls in your bed and the grog that fills your belly. Like a pig at the trough, you only care about what you need.”

  Segestes drew back his fist, ready to strike. “How dare you speak to me like this! I am your chief!”

  Stepping back, Arminius raised a hand between them. “Don’t!” he snapped, the fire in his eyes saying the rest.

  Breathless, Segestes dropped his arm.

  “Look at your people Segestes, and not through Roman eyes but your own.” Arminius’s tone was like iron.

  “There is peace, and my people don’t hide in the forest like beasts.” Segestes’ voice had lost some of the anger and he began to turn away.

  “Yes, they are almost tame now, and led on a Roman leash.” Arminius told him. “You should remember uncle, that it was you who sent me to Rome. And, I was impressed. But it wore off, and I saw the truth, just as I see how Rome is bleeding our people dry.” He paused before asking, “Have you really lost all the truth there is in freedom?”

  Segestes slumped down onto his furs.

  Outside, Arminius could hear children shouting and further off dogs barking. Why did I come, he chided himself. He chooses blindness because it is easier not to see, and nothing I can say will move him.

  “You speak and dream like a fool,” Segestes said, sounding very tired.

  Arminius drew back his shoulders, and then turned to leave.

  “I could go to Varus . . . ” Segestes spoke quietly.

  “Then go,” Arminius said evenly.

  Segestes dropped his head. “When you return...what else will you steal from me?”

  “When I return, nothing will be the same.”

  *

  Blaz stood at the back of the gathering, with Guntram, Bertha and a very excited Wilda. The crowd was still as they waited for Arminius to address them from the back of his crow-black stallion.

  “Cherusci! Our time has come!” his voice rang out clearly in the brisk evening air.

  Like the roll of thunder the crowd responded as one.

  Raising his hand for silence he continued, “It is time wrench the boot of Rome from our necks. Throughout our lands Rome is spreading like a choking weed, strangling our way of life, and our freedom!”

  The crowd roared its agreement.

  “I promise you tonight that no longer will their servants tax our labours to fill the fat bellies of their masters in Rome. No longer will our young men wage their wars and fight like beasts in their houses of death. No longer will our young women be raped by their soldiers without trial or punishment. No longer I tell you. This all ends now!”

  A deafening clamour erupted around Blaz, and he glanced at Guntram. He looked like a man in a dream.

  Both arms raised, Arminius’s voice rang out. “I bring news that Varus’s army has left its winter base at Vetera and crossed the Rhinus.”

  Furious shouts and insults rang out.

  “Listen brothers, listen!” Arminius went on. “Tomorrow you will leave to join other Cherusci war-bands, and those of our brothers the Marsi, the Chatti and Bructeri. We will assemble three days hence at the Teutoberg Forest, in a host as never before seen in these lands. Like the grass of the field, our army will number over eighteen thousand strong. But, we will need all of our strength to crush Varus’s legions. We have planned well and have been patient, but the time of the spear has come and there can be no turning back. There can be only victory or death!”

  A great roar went up.

  “Warriors of the Cherusci!” Arminius raised his arms and the noise level subsided. “As well as your spears, bring all the food you can carry, and tools to dig the ground – because we have a great task ahead of us before the battle begins.” He paused to catch his breath.

  The crowd pushed closer, with cries of “Arminius!” and “Victory or death!” Many just opened their mouths to scream their feelings without words.

  He gestured for silence again. “And remember, that even though I leave you now. Look for me when the battle commences and I will be there, fighting at your side.” Taking a deep breath he bellowed over the heads of the assembled, “Victory or death!”

  With the chanting resounding all around him, Blaz moved close to Guntram. There was no mistaking the look of surprise on his friend’s face. Despite Guntram’s suspicions during the frustrating months of inactivity, the scale of Arminius’s plan had clearly stunned him.

  Blaz gripped Guntram’s arm firmly. “Well brother, our time has come at last. The sound of the battle will draw the attention of the gods themselves. How do you now feel?”

  “It’s the time I’ve waited for,” Guntram replied, smiling, before directing his words to the jubilant Wilda. “And, it’s good to know that we’ll be leaving the village’s defence in such good hands. All your work with the sword may yet be put to good use, Wilda.”

  Hands on hips, Wilda addressed Blaz, “Educate this ox will you, because he obviously thinks I’ll be staying behind. Men are such fools!” Wearing a smug grin she smartly swung away, leaving the two men staring at her swaggering rear.

  Blaz placed a hand on Guntram’s shoulder. “You look surprised, but you know it’s our women’s right to accompany their men into battle if they choose. It seems Wilda has made her choice...”

  “What!” Guntram exclaimed. “Frightening off a few pig rustlers is one thing, but we face Rome’s finest. Their trade is bloody butchery and they’ll show no mercy to any who stand before them. That aside, Wilda is not spoken for, and so has no man to follow.”

  Scratching his head, Blaz sighed deeply before answering, “Guntram, regarding Wilda having no man to follow...you’ve still a lot to learn about my little sister.”

  *

  The day was fiercely cold as Ulner surveyed the auxiliary camp on the great river.

  The wind blowing off the Rhinus was biting and he let the tent flap fall, glad to return to the heat of the brazier. He rubbed his hands vigorously together and then let them drop tingling into his lap, palm on palm. He needed to inspect the camp’s sentries, despite Jenell instructing him that he first had to eat. To reinforce the fact she’d promptly left to prepare some hot food. Resigned to wait for her return, he stared into the braziers’ glow, contemplating their time together.

  It was the happiest he’d ever been, and he loved her. He realized that Jenell didn’t feel the same way, but she’d always been loyal and caring. And, she’d never hurt him with it, despite him knowing from the first time she came to his bed. What she gave was enough, and he couldn’t imagine a life without her. They often talked about their plans for the future, after Ulner had served his time. There’d be a small farm, and perhaps a child, if he wasn’t too old. When the subject of their difference in years arose, Jenell told him that his age didn’t matter, and that he was a good man.

  Ulner hoped that one day they would make a child she could love, to make up for what he could never give her. Once, in the beginning, she’d spoken plainly about the young warrior who survived the raid on her village; the one she’d loved but knew she would never see again. She never spoken of it again and neither did he.

  Now, there was barely a winter to serve and he’d be out. It would a different life for him and a new beginning for them both. Yes, the present campaign was ill-timed, with his company leaving soon to join the army’s main body. But, when he’d spoken to Arminius about it, he was reassured that the revolt was restricted to one tribe – the Chatti – and that it would be quickly over. Bah! You worry too much, old man, he mused. Even if Varus plans to push the Empire into the setting sun, I’ll not be with him.

  A cold draught turned him around and Jenell stood there with his food. She smiled at him, and he was happy this campaign would be his last.

  * * *

 
Chapter XLVIII

  VARUS

  “A man’s character is his fate.”

  Heraclitus

  The Roman marching camp at Haltern was a day’s trek east of the Rhinus. Varus’s tent was located at its centre.

  The tent’s interior was decorated with fine silk curtains and luxurious, hand woven rugs from the far reaches of the empire. Draperies of magnificent colours hung from the walls and a large gilded table occupied the centre of the room, filled with a selection of mouth watering delicacies and fine wines.

  After refilling his goblet, Varus returned to his couch, where he proffered a toast in the direction of his current favourite: “To Caesar and a successful campaign.”

  Servannus raised his cup and repeated his words.

  Varus turned his attention to Segestes who sat across the tent from him. Far enough away not to smell him, thought Varus. The pig gulps the wine like the slop he’s used to. What a waste; like casting silver before dogs.

  “No mead I’m afraid,” said Varus, his tone was demeaning.

  “It quenches the thirst,” Segestes answered, refilling his goblet to the brim.

  “I’m glad to see that you appreciate the fineness of the grape.” Varus smiled glibly. “So, what is so urgent that you request this audience with me?”

  “It concerns Arminius.”

  “Your nephew and my commander of horse.”

  “He cannot be trusted,” Segestes grunted. “And I bring news regarding his disloyalty. It concerns the rising amongst the Chatti that you march to crush.”

  “I hope this isn’t another example of your spleen getting the better of your judgement,” Varus countered. “Your hatred of Arminius is common knowledge – a man who’s served me well throughout the empire.”

  “My words are not tainted by my opinion of Arminius,” Segestes responded.

  “Is that so? Some claim that you are envious of his popularity with your people, and that you’ve never forgiven him for bedding your daughter against your will and instruction. His willing consort, I hear that she carries his child. A child who one day will carry the status of Roman citizenship like his father. An honour granted him by Caesar himself for his service to Rome and me...and a privilege you don’t have.” Shaking his head, Varus concluded, “I fear that your hatred of Arminius consumes you, Segestes. He is the bile that sours your words.”

  “Rumour has it that Arminius’s young wife would drink his piss if he asked it,” Servannus contributed with a sneer. “Are you familiar with this German custom my lord?”

  Varus chuckled; enjoying the chief’s simmering discomfort.

  “I’ve no love for the man it’s true,” Segestes fumed. “And Thusnelda is my daughter no longer. She has shamed me, fooled by Arminius’s honeyed words.”

  Varus knew how deeply Segestes had loved his daughter, and Arminius had taken her from him. When he died Arminius would also take his place as chief of the Cherusci, and Segestes’ hatred for him was bitter, unyielding.

  Segestes paused to take another deep swallow from his cup, wine dribbling down his stubbly chin onto his swollen gullet.

  Like an old toad, thought Varus, before prompting, “Well, continue.”

  “I’ve received information that the rising amongst the Chatti is just a ruse to draw you out to a place of your enemy’s choosing.”

  “Draw me out and then what?”

  “To attack you with a host as not seen in all the years of my life.”

  “Interesting,” Varus replied, pursing his lips. “But hardly believable that an officer of proven courage and good service to me would suddenly betray the very hand that’s raised him up. Do you expect me to believe this of a man who’s shed blood for me?”

  “It’s the cloak he’s worn, and my people speak without malice,” Segestes’ face was taking on a purplish tinge as his frustration grew.

  “Your spies,” Varus pointed out.

  “Yes, spies who are true to me.”

  “It’s not their loyalty to you that I question,” Varus said. “But, their loyalty to Rome.”

  Clearly offended, Segestes posed angrily, “Have I ever proven false?”

  “True, you have not,” Varus confirmed. “Not that I know of at least. Regardless, you know that I’m on the eve of departing to squash this uprising, and that I intend to complete the conquest of this land.” Varus let his words sink in. “I believe this is shaping your judgement, Segestes. But, I assure you, no amount of scare mongering will succeed in stalling my plans.”

  Varus took a leisurely sip of wine, and then addressed Servannus, “See how these barbarians find it impossible to accept the inevitable.”

  Servannus grinned widely, nodding his head.

  “I’ve spoken truthfully, so take it or leave it as you will!” Segestes answered hotly, rising to his feet.

  “Very well,” Varus responded nonchalantly. “I believe I will leave it. And, if you have nothing further to add, I’ve other pressing matters to attend to prior to the army’s departure. I bid you good night.”

  Without further word, Segestes stormed out from the tent, almost knocking over the sentry standing vigil.

  “Do you think that there might be some truth in what he says my lord?” Servannus asked.

  “Possibly?” Varus said, wearing a contemplative expression. “My young Servannus, one thing that you will surely learn in your long and prosperous career: is that it’s unwise to completely trust the word of any man or woman. Trust only in your own ability and strength.”

  “So, does the army march tomorrow as planned?”

  “Have the last units of the nineteenth arrived?”

  “This morning.”

  “Excellent!” Varus said. “And, Arminius rides with us. His men’s foraging has always played an invaluable part during our campaigns together. He will be our eyes and ears.”

  “What if he cannot be wholly trusted?”

  “Servannus, your concern for my military well-being is commendable. But remember, we have the might of the Seventeenth, Eighteenth and Nineteenth Legions. That’s twenty five thousand seasoned troops. If there’s a grain of truth in Segestes’ words we will crush any opposition like maggots!”

  “General,” Servannus began. “I would just like to say that both the men and I have unshakable confidence in your leadership, and in your knowledge of these barbarians. And, I hope that I’m not being presumptuous by mentioning that it’s well known that our Great Emperor also has great faith in you.”

  “I would hope so Servannus, as I have always served him well,” Varus said smugly. “And, without doubt I will continue to do so.”

  *

  Servannus, mounted and in full battle armour, watched the vast camp being dissembled. Shivering, he consoled himself that this was the time that he’d planned and worked so hard for.

  Eager to ingratiate himself with the governor on his return to Germania, he’d familiarised himself with the history of Varus’s rise to eminence.

  Ever the opportunist, the youthful Varus had wasted no time taking steps to elevate his station and that of his family. Firstly, he married Claudia Pulcha, the grand-niece of the Emperor; a union which won him the favour of Augustus, and promotion to the governorship of the wealthy Syrian province quickly followed.

  During his time in the east he acquired a sizeable fortune, as well as a reputation for being a rapacious levier of taxes. Such was his reputation, that by the end of his term of office it was lauded – amongst those with insight into the economic affairs of the region – that Varus ‘came as a poor man to a rich province and left it a poor province as a rich man’.

  Post Syria and in his fifty second year, the highly placed Varus was granted the Governorship of Germania. It was a position that put him in charge of the five legions stationed on the Rhinus frontier, together with the responsibility for Rome’s policy east of the Great River.

  During his two years in office, Varus had succeeded in making a considerable impression on his officers,
his administrative cohorts and those he governed. Having acquired a taste for luxury and excess during his years in the east, he was regarded by his staff as an arrogant indulgent, as a general whose self-opinion far out-weighed his military talent. And the tribes: his contempt for them was only out-done by their hatred of him. He regarded them as a subjugated sub-species, imposing ever increasing taxes and crippling legal dictates.

  Of course, none of this bothered Servannus – quite the opposite – he admired the man’s ruthless ambition.

  Determined to get close to the governor, Servannus had exploited their early meetings, pouring fatuous praise into his ears. It was a strategy that soon gained him favour. Now firmly ingratiated, he seized every opportunity to cater to Virus’s inflated ego, with the counsel of other military strategists being neither sought nor welcomed.

  His horse shied back as a trumpet call signalled the striking of the forest of tents. Then a second sounded to ready the pack animals and to destroy the remaining fortifications, and a third for the troops to fall into marching ranks.

  Finally, the iron-shod, massed units of men were asked by the commander’s herald if they were ready for war. Three times they raised their voices to respond, “We are ready!”

  Servannus looked on as the army, unwavering in its self-belief, departed. Yes, I’ve done well, he congratulated himself. And, it’s only the beginning!

  High above, rain clouds were gathering.

  * * *

  Chapter XLIX

  HOPE

  “Wait for the wisest of all counsellors, Time.”

  Pericles

  The smoke from the earth-fire smarted Guntram’s eyes, and all about him last minute preparations were being ratified. The long-house was a flurry of activity, but despite the commotion Arminius appeared calm, in control. Guntram was impressed.

  “You sent for me?”

  “I have news,” Arminius stated without preamble. “My people across the Rhinus have sent word of your brother and the woman.”