Eagles at War (53 page)

‘Aye. Stay by the door.’

Fenestela sensed Tullus’ purpose at once. ‘Leave her!’

‘I can’t. Imagine what they’ll do to her when she’s found.’

‘That’s not your problem.’

Ignoring Fenestela, Tullus stalked back into the darkness with Degmar.

‘We’ll be lucky to find her,’ muttered Degmar.

‘Go back if you wish,’ retorted Tullus, wondering why he was risking his life yet again.

But Degmar stayed where he was, and together they sneaked back towards the enemy positions. They reached it without incident, madly enough, yet trying to decide where to search was futile. The woman could have been anywhere in the disorganised and ramshackle camp, and her child somewhere else altogether. Tullus wasn’t prepared to return without trying, however. Conscious that each passing moment increased the risk of discovery, he crept up and down several rows of tents – without success. Degmar roved around some distance away, returning now and then to report that he’d found no sign of her either.

Tullus had given up hope when, of all things, he heard a dog whine.

He pricked his ears. A dozen heartbeats later, there was a stifled cry – that of a woman – and then a slap as someone struck her. A man cursed, and Tullus thought, it
has
to be them. He’d gone perhaps a dozen steps towards the sound when Degmar appeared, knife already in hand. ‘You heard that?’ he whispered.

‘Aye.’ Tullus drew his sword.

The scene they came upon was pathetic. A three-sided lean-to, with a dying fire before it. The girl, crouched down, the pup in her arms. Her mother, on her back, with a warrior’s bare arse thrusting up and down between her open legs. Two other warriors watching with smirks on their faces.

The standing men were the greater danger, Tullus reasoned. A quick command to Degmar and they fell on the pair like vengeful ghosts. The two died before they could utter more than short, surprised cries. What Tullus hadn’t taken into consideration was that the warrior raping the woman might be holding a blade to her neck. The instant he realised his companions were under attack, he ran the iron across her throat. He died not three heartbeats later, Tullus’ sword slicing deep into his back, but it was too late. Tullus could only hope that the woman heard him say, ‘Your daughter is safe.’ He watched the light fade from her eyes with Degmar hissing in his ear that they had to go.

‘Come with me.’ Grabbing the sobbing girl’s arm, Tullus ran for the fort.

Once again the darkness and the late hour combined to help them reach the walls without harm. Fenestela was waiting as ordered, and the door opened before Tullus had time to knock again. ‘The woman?’ he asked as they barged in.

Tullus gave a savage shake of his head.

You saved the girl, he thought. That’s better than nothing.

The knowledge did little to ease his bitterness.

Late that evening, Tullus was once more a guest of Caedicius in Aliso’s rundown praetorium. He had seen his men to their quarters, and delegated Fenestela to look after the traumatised girl. A warm bath had followed, and then he’d donned the clean clothes he’d been given. Now he was in civilised surroundings, being served tasty food and drink. The luxuries, although welcome, did little for his mood. The woman was dead, despite his best efforts, and the thousands of warriors whom they had sneaked past to enter the fort were still outside.

Tullus’ disquiet wasn’t helped by the presence, alongside Caedicius’ two cohort commanders, of Tubero. Wounded, dazed-looking and with a black eye, but Tubero nonetheless. He hadn’t as much as acknowledged Tullus’ existence thus far, other than to grunt when Caedicius had announced him. That suited Tullus to the ground. It was bad enough seeing the prick alive when so many better men were not, without having to talk to him. If what Tullus had heard was true, Tubero had survived because he’d fallen in with a seasoned optio of the Seventeenth, who had somehow managed to drag him and seven ordinary soldiers to Aliso. Rather than seem grateful for his luck, Tubero kept mentioning the fine helmet he’d lost. At length, Caedicius told him to shut up.

The talk was all of what they should do, and when the next enemy attack would be. Bone-weary, grieving, worried, Tullus took no part in it. Caedicius was watching him, however, and saw his long face. Ordering a servant to top up Tullus’ wine, he said, ‘Aliso hasn’t fallen yet, centurion, nor is it likely to anytime soon. We’ve thrown back the savages three times now, with heavy losses on each occasion. Our ballistae reaped them like wheat, and will continue to do so. Apart from filling in the ditches with cut turves, the stupid bastards have no idea how to take a fortress, and that won’t change.’

‘Aye, sir.’ Tullus pulled a smile. Caedicius was soon drawn back into conversation by Tubero, and Tullus was content to fall silent again. He threw back a mouthful of wine. It was tasty, reminding him of the night he’d got drunk with the two men a few months back. Yet his pleasure soured as he fell to brooding about the brutal events of the previous few days.

Other stragglers from the battle were still coming in – the tribesmen’s cordon around the camp was incomplete in many places, allowing men to approach the walls under the cover of darkness, as they had – but the total stood at fewer than two hundred legionaries, and a couple of score civilians. Two hundred left out of fourteen and a half thousand, Tullus brooded. His legion hadn’t been the only one to suffer the dishonour of losing its eagle. All three standards had been taken by the enemy.

These were the most severe losses that Rome had suffered for generations – perhaps since the battle of Carrhae, more than sixty years before. The shame of the defeat – no, massacre – was beginning to sink in at last. And the woman – why couldn’t she have survived? Another swallow of wine, and his cup was empty. He raised it in the air, but took scant relief from the way a servant filled it at once. Tullus drank the cup back in two gulps, and held out his arm again.

‘Don’t get too pissed, centurion.’

He looked up. Tubero was regarding him with clear disapproval. ‘I’m not drunk, sir.’

‘You’re heading that way,’ said Tubero, his lip curling. ‘We need our wits about us, eh, Caedicius?’

Here we go, thought Tullus. I’ve survived a visit to fucking Hades, only to be dressed down by this prick.

‘Leave him alone,’ ordered Caedicius. ‘You heard what Tullus has been through. It is beyond belief.’

‘I was there too,’ cried Tubero.

‘Maybe so, but you weren’t in charge of a cohort that was wiped off the face of the earth. Many of Tullus’ men had served under him for years, and you had been with the Eighteenth for – how many months?’

Tubero coloured. ‘Three.’

‘Need I say more? Let the man drink,’ ordered Caedicius. ‘He has many shades to honour.
You
have the loss of a helm to mourn.’

Tubero looked furious. Despite his technical seniority over Caedicius, he didn’t have the confidence to challenge the veteran officer.

Tullus saluted Caedicius, uncaring – pleased, even – that this further embarrassed Tubero. ‘May each and every one have a swift passage to Elysium, sir.’

‘I’ll raise my cup to that,’ said Caedicius, glancing at his senior centurions, who were quick to emulate him. Tubero, glowering, followed suit last.

When they had drunk, Caedicius eyed Tullus with clear intent. ‘The camp’s walls are strong. There are good stores of ammunition for the ballistae, and our provisions are plentiful, yet we cannot stay here. I suspect that Arminius will appear before long, or another army sent by him. When that happens, Aliso must fall. You know him better than many, Tullus. What do you say?’

‘Arminius is a clever bastard, sir,’ said Tullus, regretting yet again his failure to persuade Varus of the Cheruscan’s treachery, and that he hadn’t been given a chance to slay Arminius during the ambush. ‘I think you’re right. My servant – the warrior who led us here – heard enemy tribesmen talking about burning the camps east of the Rhenus.’

Everyone looked unhappy at this, but unsurprised. Caedicius nodded. ‘In that case, our decision has already been made. We must break out of here and flee to Vetera, as soon as possible. Gods grant that we have rain, or even a storm, in the next few nights. That would provide a diversion.’

‘What about the civilians, sir?’ asked one of the senior centurions.

Tullus had seen the barracks that had been given over to the inhabitants of the nearby settlement, but he had no idea how many of them had taken refuge in the camp.

‘I’m not leaving them to be butchered, or enslaved,’ said Caedicius, frowning. ‘They come with us.’

Doing this would make their escape that much harder, but no one protested, least of all Tullus, picturing the nameless woman dying before him … and her child, who yet lived. They listened to Caedicius’ plan, which involved departing in the middle of the night, using the same gate through which Tullus had entered Aliso. The two turmae of cavalry would lead the way, acting as scouts and vanguard both. One cohort would come next, then the injured and the civilians, guarded by the survivors of the battle, with Caedicius and the second cohort taking up the rear. It was a simple plan, and risky in the extreme. A single enemy sentry could be their undoing, and every man knew it. Yet their other option – to remain behind the camp’s walls, awaiting further attacks – had an even more inevitable feel to it. They had to try.

‘If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d like to march with you, at the back,’ said Tullus.

Caedicius studied him for a moment. ‘You and your men are exhausted. There’s no shame—’

‘We need to do this, sir,’ said Tullus. ‘Please.’

Caedicius sighed. ‘Very well.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ This way, thought Tullus, he and his men might be able to salvage a little pride. Dying was yet a distinct possibility. If it were to happen, he would be facing the enemy.

He would run no longer.

XXXIII

AFTER THE WIND
and rain that had lashed Varus’ army, Tullus had never thought he would welcome such weather again. Late the following afternoon, however, he was grateful to see dark clouds massing on the northern horizon, and to feel a rising wind carry them towards Aliso. Their chance to escape was coming, because Fortuna had sweet-talked Jupiter into conjuring up a storm. That meant the goddess still wanted her bull, Tullus hoped, quelling a sneaking fear that any lightning that resulted could give them away as they crept out of Aliso.

The rain came bucketing down a while later. A grinning Caedicius gathered his senior officers and declared that if the severe weather continued, they would leave that night. Tullus spread the word among his men, who, like him, had been enjoying the comforts of being warm and dry inside one of the many unused barracks. They listened to his news in silence, their faces wary and fearful. None protested, though, and when he asked them if they were ready, they managed a cheer. Tullus’ pride in them flared bright once more. ‘Be sure to have a hot meal,’ he advised. ‘Stew, or a hearty soup. It’ll help to stave off the cold, and give you strength for the march.’

‘And the shits too, sir, like as not,’ cried Piso, to a chorus of laughter.

Tullus let them enjoy the joke, and the inevitable, good-natured insults – about who was most likely to soil himself – that were flung in its aftermath. ‘Make your own decisions, brothers, but it’s better to risk ruining your undergarments than to get a bad chill. Muffle your weapons and armour as best you can. The last thing we want is for some fool’s scabbard to knock off his mail at the wrong moment. Blacken your faces and hands too – any exposed bits of flesh.’

They seemed to take that in. Tullus was about to leave when his eye was caught by the girl he’d rescued, at the back of the room. She had stayed with his soldiers – where else would she have gone? – and hadn’t joined in the hilarity. She crouched on her bunk, looking downright terrified. The pup was there too, oblivious to everyone’s concerns, its limbs twitching in a happy dream. Tullus was going to ignore the child – his life would be easier if he did so – yet he found himself walking towards her. He hadn’t asked for her mother’s name, even less hers, before now. He had never even spoken to her. His reasoning had been harsh but sound. Tullus had expected both to fall by the wayside, and knowing nothing about them would have made things easier when it happened. The girl was still here, though, and in a strange way that proved her worth. He gave her an awkward pat. ‘Stay strong. We
will
escape.’

She made a brave face and nodded.

‘Get what rest you can, and eat something. I will find you a place with the women and children before we leave. You’ll be fine with them.’

‘I want to stay with
you
,’ she protested. ‘You rescued me.’

‘You can’t.’ He stared, hoping to make her look away, but she held his gaze. ‘I’m going to be at the rear, with my soldiers,’ he said in a harsh tone. ‘Nearest the enemy.’

‘What will happen if we’re pursued? Attacked again?’

Out of the mouth of babes, thought Tullus. If that comes to pass, we men will be dead. You will be a slave of the Germans. Out loud, he said, ‘We
will
get away in the storm. By the time the tribesmen notice, we’ll be halfway to Vetera.’ Tullus wasn’t sure if she believed him, but he had few words left. ‘Mind the pup.’ With what he hoped was a reassuring smile, he left her to her sorrow.