It was no surprise, therefore, that when they reached the spot where the confrontation had taken place, the tribesmen were herding their cattle to the south at speed. Tullus’ heart quickened. Whatever the right and wrong of it, they were quarry now. ‘If one century moves to the left, sir, it should cut them off from those trees by the river. The other century goes to the right. Some might get away, but we’ll soon run them down. If any are foolish enough to come back in this direction, they’ll meet the rest of the cohort.’
‘Fine,’ replied Tubero. ‘Try and keep a couple alive at least. They can be interrogated before I have them crucified.’ Beckoning to his staff officers, he galloped off, straight after the warriors.
‘Sir!’ But the tribune paid him no heed. Impulsive fool, thought Tullus. It’d be just my luck for one of the tribesmen to fell him with a lucky spear. Despite his dislike of Tubero, he had no wish for that to happen, nor to suffer one of Varus’ thunderous – and famous – dressing-downs. He issued his orders, deciding to take his century to the right while the other centurion and his men went to the left.
They charged down on to the pasture upon which the cattle had been grazing when Tubero arrived. The corpse of the man slain by the tribune stood out, a slumped figure on the green grass, surrounded by a circle of crimson. Tullus passed close enough to see that Tubero had almost cut him in two. He felt a little respect. The boy was no slouch with a sword. Within a short distance the grass gave way to a large swathe of barley, beyond which stood a couple of longhouses. Tullus cursed at the sight of them. The cattle had trampled much of the crop flat, and the passage made by his men would make things worse. Whatever the reason, the local farmers – Usipetes – would blame the Romans for the destruction of their precious barley.
He hadn’t expected to be confronted the moment that he and his soldiers neared the longhouses. Two red-faced tribesmen stamped out to block their path. Bearded, dressed in dark homespun tunics and trousers, and unarmed, they shouted and waved their arms in evident fury, not at the disappearing warriors, but at Tullus and his men.
He sensed the legionaries behind him growing tense. ‘Halt! Stay calm, brothers. They’re farmers, just angry farmers. No one is to lift a hand unless I say so.’ Although Tullus’ fingers wanted to grip the hilt of his sword, he raised his right hand, palm showing, as he walked his horse towards the pair. Their ranting checked a little, but it did not stop, nor did they retreat. Tullus’ understanding of the local tongues was decent enough, and what was being said was not complimentary. ‘Calm yourselves,’ he shouted. ‘Tell me what has happened. Slowly.’
The older of the two, a greybeard with a weeping eye, batted at his companion, who reluctantly fell silent. At once a new tirade began. ‘Ruined crops … starvation in the winter … cattle being chased … a man murdered … and for what?’ Tullus heard. ‘For what?’ repeated the greybeard, spittle flying from his lips.
Tullus felt even unhappier. ‘The cattle. They were stolen by those warriors. Tencteri rustlers.’
He received a contemptuous stare. ‘Tencteri? Those are Usipetes, same as I am! They were driving the herd to new grazing when a lunatic Roman attacked them for no reason. Killed one of them dead. He was sixteen summers old. His body’s over yonder.’
‘You’re certain that they’re Usipetes?’ asked Tullus, feeling foolish.
Another scornful look. ‘Several are kin of mine. Or of his.’ He jabbed his companion. ‘Is that enough proof for you, Roman?’
Tullus clenched his jaw. Jupiter, I ask you to help this situation not to go all the way to Hades, he prayed. ‘For the moment, it is, yes.’
‘The Usipetes are at peace with Rome! Did the fool who attacked those boys not know that?’ screeched the greybeard.
Tullus did not answer, but he was thinking that the reckless imbecile didn’t bother to check. Someone had to ride after Tubero and stop him from killing more innocents – if he hadn’t done so already. ‘Damn you, Tubero,’ Tullus whispered. He would have to do this. ‘Did you catch any of that?’ he demanded of the other centurion, a solid type called Valens, who had ridden up alongside.
‘The important bit, sir, I think,’ replied Valens, looking troubled. ‘They’re Usipetes, not Tencteri.’
‘That’s right. Follow as fast as you can. I’m going to try and prevent Tubero from starting a tribal uprising all on his own.’ Tullus cracked his reins over his horse’s neck and set off in pursuit.
His worst imaginings had come true by the time he’d caught up. Tubero and his companions had cut down three more men, killing one and wounding the others so badly that Tullus doubted they would live. He had no doubt that if the remaining tribesmen – a group of fifteen or so fearful-looking youths, wielding spears – hadn’t banded together in a loose circle, Tubero would have done for even more. While his staff officers watched, he was riding his horse to and fro, just beyond spear-throwing distance, hurling insults. ‘You dogs! Scared of facing me, are you? Wait here, then, until the soldiers arrive. You’ll all die soon enough. You’re cowards and thieves, the lot of you!’
‘Sir!’ Although the staff officers saluted, Tubero didn’t appear to hear his first shout. Tullus rode closer. ‘SIR!’
Tubero’s head turned. He smiled, like a wolf. ‘Tullus. You can’t wait to start shedding the enemy’s blood either, eh? Never fear, I’ve left a few for you.’
Tullus rode in until his thigh touched Tubero’s. He ignored the tribune’s annoyed reaction. ‘Sir,’ he said in a low tone. ‘These are not the cattle rustlers.’
‘Of course they are, centurion!’
Tullus leaned even closer. ‘No, sir, they are not. They’re Usipetes, who were herding cattle to new pasture.’ As you’d have discovered if you had bothered to ask, you stupid bastard, he wanted to add.
Uncertainty mixed with the anger in Tubero’s eyes. ‘How can you be sure?’
‘I spoke to the farmers in the houses back there. They’re kin to these youngsters.’
‘There must be some mistake. They shouted at me; they fled when I rode towards them.’
Tullus ground his teeth. ‘They must have panicked, sir, having an armed Roman charging them, shouting in a tongue they didn’t understand.’
Tubero digested this in silence. After a moment, his face cleared. ‘Oh well. A few less tribesmen in the world is no bad thing, eh?’
‘The Usipetes are not at war with Rome, sir. The tribe’s leaders will count this as an unprovoked attack. They’ll say that the youths were murdered. Varus won’t be best pleased either.’
Tubero’s eyes glittered like those of a snake watching its prey. ‘What will you tell him?’
I can’t trust this one as far as I can throw him, Tullus realised. ‘What happened, sir. Nothing more.’
‘See that that’s all you do, centurion.’ Wheeling his horse, Tubero rode away, leaving Tullus to clear up the mess.
VI
It was a baking hot day, with few clouds in the sky. Arminius was sitting cross-kneed on the ground outside his tent, scratching patterns in the dirt with the tip of a dagger. Maelo squatted beside him. A third warrior stood over them, waiting. Around them, Arminius’ troops’ tents formed the long sides of an open-ended rectangle, with pens containing their horses taking up the short side. The ‘open end’ faced on to one of the many avenues in the sprawling temporary camp that had sprung up outside Vetera as Varus’ summons was answered by the troops along the Rhenus. Despite the number of tents, it was quiet. Most of the men had headed for the inns and brothels the instant that they had been given permission.
‘I want to hear every word of what you just told me again,’ Arminius ordered.
‘Some young Tencteri have been rustling cattle from the Usipetes over the last moon or so,’ said the warrior. ‘The Usipetes had begun to think about reprisals, but the Romans at Aliso heard about the latest raid before they had a chance to act. A patrol that was making its way back from there chanced on a group of Usipetes youngsters who were herding some cattle to fresh pasture. One of them – it sounds as if it might have been Tubero, a new senior tribune – assumed that the boys were the rustlers. He attacked them, killing several. A bloodbath was prevented only by the intervention of a centurion who’d discovered that the youngsters were not Tencteri.’