Eagles at War (25 page)

‘You may also recall that the Bructeri stand with the Cherusci on this. The Chatti are soon to join us. Taking part will grant you Usipetes a chance to avenge not just your dead warriors, but to redress the great injustices that will be laid upon you tomorrow. You will not have to wait long for vengeance. Varus’ army will march east inside the next month. I know this and more because he regards me as a trusted ally, a man in whom he can confide. A friend.’ Varus’ acceptance that his men had merely been overeager in their killing of the Usipetes was proof of that.

Now Arminius judged that he might have about half of them, but not more. He flailed around inside his head, worrying that, even at this point, the chieftains would give up. Bend the knee to Rome. Pay Varus’ taxes although that would mean bleeding themselves dry. I’ve killed and lied to get this far, he thought. What’s another lie? ‘In recent days, I have had word from the Marsi and Angrivarii. They too will fight with us! Six tribes will field a mighty force that will crush the Romans like men step on ants. With the Usipetes by our side, we will be invincible.’ Arminius knew he couldn’t sound desperate, so he let his words settle among the chieftains. He prayed that they took root.

No one spoke. Each dragging moment seemed to last an eternity.

‘How many soldiers will Varus lead over the river?’ asked Red Head at last.

‘Three legions, and a number of auxiliary units. None are full strength – they never are – so all told there will be about fifteen thousand men.’

‘And you expect to field?’

Arminius couldn’t blame Red Head. When a man was about to risk his life, and those of his people, he had every right to know such important details. He was asking, though, and
that
was good. ‘By my reckoning, close to twenty thousand warriors.’

‘On an open battlefield, that superiority will not be enough,’ said Red Head, and a few heads nodded.

Arminius was ready. ‘You speak true, but it was never my intention to fight the Romans face-to-face. Your warriors’ strengths, and mine, are those of courage, speed and agility. Ambush Varus, and we can utilise all those qualities at once. Imagine your warriors like the clouds of midges that plague our peoples every summer, but far more deadly. They will dart in from the forest and attack the Romans. Before the enemy can react, they will escape not above, as midges do, but to the safety of the trees. Together with the other tribes, they will do it again and again and again, until none of the Romans are left alive.’

‘I like the sound of that,’ growled Bushy Eyebrows.

‘And I!’ ‘And I!’ ‘I am with you, Arminius!’

Arminius nodded as if their reaction had been what he’d expected from the start.

Red Head did not join in, but nor did he try to stop the chieftains’ loud cries. He waited until his fellows had fallen silent.

Arminius’ fear resurged. If Red Head spoke against him, the others’ opinions would change like a gust of autumn wind. ‘Well?’ he asked in his most confident tone. ‘Are you with us?’

By way of answer, Red Head slit his bonds with a dagger. ‘I will fight with you,’ he said with an evil smile. ‘And so will every Usipetes warrior.’

XIV

TULLUS WAS IN
his tent, making his last preparations before leading his troops towards the Usipetes’ settlement. He eased a little more of his mail shirt up here and there, so that it hung over his gilded belt. Doing this made him look less impressive – the pulled-out shirt gave him a slight paunch – but the belt helped to transfer some of the mail’s dead weight on to his hips. If he didn’t do it, his knees would be screaming by the end of the day. His belt was on, his sword too. The metalwork of the scabbard and his helmet had been polished, and his mail scrubbed. Tullus had suffered no one else to do it. Today was a day to impress. To send home the message to the Usipetes that Rome’s soldiers were to be feared. To make them understand that if the emperor wished it, their people could be crushed underfoot.

He peered with a critical eye at the bracelets on his wrists, and the multiple
phalerae
suspended on his chest by a leather harness. They shone back at him, gold, silver, bronze, each one the acknowledgement of an action that had been judged valiant. On at least half of the occasions, Tullus reckoned he had done no more than any soldier would, but he was the one who’d been spotted by a tribune or legate. Thrice, he’d only been trying to reduce the number of casualties suffered by his men. Perhaps two of them had been won justly, Tullus had once declared to Fenestela and besides, it was becoming unfashionable to wear them. He’d been shocked by the vehemence of his optio’s reaction. ‘That’s bullshit, sir, plain and simple,’ Fenestela had said. ‘I’ve lost count of the times when you have thrown yourself into places that most soldiers would run a mile from. That takes balls, sir. Real balls. So you be fucking proud of those medallions. Sir.’ Fenestela had blushed then, and the memory of that made Tullus smile.

He ran a comb through the horsehair crest of his helmet, and wished that he’d had it redyed before leaving Vetera. It would do, he decided, putting it on. The savages will be too busy listening to me shout to notice it.

‘Sir?’ It was Fenestela’s voice, from outside the tent.

‘Coming.’ Picking up his vitis, Tullus joined his optio, whose equipment and helmet had been burnished as much as his own. ‘You look the part.’

Fenestela grinned. ‘So do you, sir.’

‘Are the men ready?’

‘Yes, sir. The three cohorts have assembled on the
intervallum
as per your orders. The cavalry as well.’

‘Has Arminius returned?’ At the officers’ meeting earlier, Maelo had reported that his superior had gone to pray to his gods in a nearby grove. Tullus had been irritated – by rights Arminius should have told him – but not that surprised. The Cheruscan was the force’s commander, so he couldn’t protest, and it hadn’t occurred to him to question the sentries about when Arminius had left the camp.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. Walk with me,’ directed Tullus, heading for the intervallum. ‘I suggested to Arminius that the plan stays the same. We advance to within a hundred paces of the settlement, and then deploy in a line one cohort deep, with the horses on the flanks. I’ll have the trumpets sound, and we will wait to see what they do.’

Fenestela’s chuckle was unpleasant. ‘Not very much they can do, is there, sir?’

‘Take nothing for granted, optio.’

‘I won’t. But they’d have to be fucking mad to do anything other than roll over and show us their throats, like submissive dogs.’

‘That’s what I think they will do too,’ said Tullus, ‘but we stay on our guard nonetheless. A beaten dog can still bite.’

It didn’t take long for the Romans to form up outside the settlement. The cohorts arrayed themselves in good order, three centuries wide, and two deep. A twenty-pace gap separated each unit. Arminius’ horsemen spread out in a long line on either flank, curving around like the encircling wings of a bird of prey. Tullus’ century had a place of honour, in the front rank of the middle cohort. Although Arminius was the force’s commander, his place was with the cavalry, he’d said, and so it was Tullus who would deliver Varus’ ultimatum.

Tullus sat astride his horse to the right of his men, with a standard-bearer and trumpeter close by. Plenty of eyes must have watched from within the settlement as they had taken up their positions, but apart from a couple of boys who had wandered a short distance from the houses to peer in awe, few people had been seen. An occasional figure had scurried from one house to another, or peered around the corner of a house, but that had been it. Trickles of smoke rose from the roofs, proving that the settlement had not been abandoned.

Tullus saw little fear in his troops’ faces when he’d ridden along the front of the formation, delivering a rousing speech similar to that he used before battle. They were here to serve the emperor, and to serve Rome. They were here to ensure that Germania remained at peace. They were here for each other. They were all brave men, who would do their duty, who would fight valiantly if it came to it. ‘Not that I think the savages will attack,’ he had said. ‘They’ll shit their breeches at all of our finery, and do what they’re told.’ That had raised a laugh, and they had cheered themselves hoarse when Tullus had promised every man extra measures of meat and wine that night. He scrutinised the settlement, but could see no indication that any resistance was planned. The calm was unsettling, but it arose from the Usipetes’ fear, Tullus decided, which worked to their advantage.

‘Ready?’ he asked.

The trumpeter nodded.

‘Sound, as loud as you can.’ Tullus had told the trumpeter beforehand to play the set of notes used to announce the arrival of a general on a parade ground. The Usipetes wouldn’t know its real meaning, but he had little doubt it would tell them that they were being summoned.

The blaring noise died away.

There was no immediate response. Tullus studied the point where the road led into the settlement, but his eyes also roamed from left to right over the houses, searching again for signs of treachery. He saw nothing.

At a count of perhaps thirty heartbeats, the Usipetes’ leaders had still not appeared. Irritated, Tullus had the trumpeter sound again. If they didn’t emerge soon, a messenger would have to be sent in.

His anger eased as a party of men emerged into view from between the buildings. Perhaps twenty in number, there weren’t enough to pose a threat. Nonetheless, the tension among the legionaries became palpable as the tribesmen approached. ‘Steady,’ Tullus ordered. He rode out a short way to meet them – alone, straight-backed, confident – showing the Usipetes that Rome’s soldiers were scared of no one. In reality, his mouth was dry and his heart pounding. They wouldn’t dare harm me, Tullus told himself. To do so would guarantee the deaths of everyone in the settlement, and they know it.

He recognised many of the chieftains who had come to Vetera to petition Varus, among them Red Head. Half a dozen of the group were warriors, an honour guard no doubt, and a few appeared to be slaves, carrying extra spears for their masters. To a man, the Usipetes looked aggrieved. Good enough for them, thought Tullus, picturing the villagers murdered by the raiding party. We wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t turned a blind eye to their young warriors. He didn’t think about Tubero, whose stupidity was the root cause of it all.

‘That’s close enough,’ he cried when the Usipetes were fifteen paces away.

The chieftains shuffled to a resentful halt.

Tullus did not speak, letting them stew, letting them see close up how many soldiers he had.

Red Head broke the quiet. ‘Have you come to destroy our settlement?’

Tullus didn’t reply at once, and was glad to see fear replace the resentment in many of the chieftains’ eyes. His last doubts that they might spring an ambush, or fight, vanished. They would pay Varus’ taxes. ‘Thanks to the governor’s clemency, not today,’ he said, and let the silence build once more.

Red Head shifted from foot to foot as he listened to the other chieftains’ muttered questions. ‘Why are you here?’ he asked at length.

‘You know why.’

‘Because of what our warriors did,’ admitted Red Head.

‘That’s right. Governor Varus has sent me to deliver a message,’ said Tullus in his best German. Keen to reduce the chance of misinterpretation, he reverted back to Latin, speaking slowly so that Red Head could translate. ‘You will have heard that the raiding party was all but wiped out, and the survivors sold into slavery. The matter does not end there, however. Violations of the imperial peace will
not
be tolerated by the emperor. Will
never
be tolerated. A suitable punishment has to be visited upon your entire tribe, and Varus has decided it will take the form of taxes. Heavy taxes.’ Red Head’s shoulders bowed a little as his words sank in. Good, thought Tullus. This will teach the dogs not to break the peace in future. ‘Do you understand?’

Red Head interpreted. When he had done so in Vetera, there had been uproar. This time, there were weary nods and shrugs. A few hate-filled glances were thrown in Tullus’ direction, but that was to be expected. If there had been none, he would have been suspicious.

‘We understand,’ said Red Head, sounding like an old man. ‘How much will the taxes be?’

‘Forty-one Roman soldiers and auxiliaries died in the clash with your warriors. Twenty were wounded. Altogether, four hundred and eighty-seven villagers were murdered. Varus has set the death price at three hundred denarii per soldier, and half that amount for each wounded man. You will pay a hundred denarii for each slain villager. I believe that the total comes to …’ Tullus paused before delivering the hammer blow. ‘… sixty-four thousand denarii.’

There was pandemonium as Red Head translated his words. No one made a threatening move towards Tullus, however. He watched, cold-faced, until a modicum of calm had been restored.

‘You have to understand, centurion, that our people do not use money the way that you Romans do,’ said Red Head. ‘We are not rich. This tax will beggar us.’