‘Aye, sir.’ It was pleasing that, despite the danger, most of his men grinned.
Four ladders. Four men to lead the way. Four men to risk their lives first. Tullus was one, Fenestela another. The two others were legionaries who’d volunteered before Tullus had asked. The rest took their places behind the climbers, in little lines. Tullus’ guts churned. They were few, so few. Fucking Tubero, he thought, you’d better order the attack when the fighting starts. He began to ascend. Beside him, the others did the same. One rung. Two. Three, and Tullus’ head was almost over the spiked edge of the wooden rampart. It was then he realised that the red horsehair crest of his helmet would already be visible. Other than shouting, there was no better way to advertise his presence. Heart pounding like a smith’s hammer on a white-hot blade, he placed his feet on the last rung, gripped the timbers with both hands and threw himself over the top of the palisade without checking if there were any warriors close by.
The air drove from his lungs as he landed on a narrow walkway; his nostrils filled with the tang of untreated timber. Tullus’ flesh crawled; he was as helpless as a newborn that had fallen from the cot. He struggled to his knees and stood, finding to his relief that he could see no tribesmen, nearby at least. The compound was dominated by a large, grassy mound. Past it, he made out the gate and, around it, scores of warriors. They were too far away – three hundred paces or more – for him to estimate their exact number, but they outnumbered his force several times over. Loud thuds announced the arrival of Fenestela and the two legionaries. Tullus leaned out over the edge and beckoned at the rest. ‘Move it! Move!’
By the time that the last of his men were atop the palisade, Tullus, Fenestela and the others had clambered down to the inside of the compound.Crazy though it was, they had still not been seen. Unslinging their shields, they waited for the final soldiers to join them. To calm his jangling nerves, Tullus studied the large space. It was typical of local villages, a gathering point for the entire community, where religious ceremonies, weddings and festivals could be held. The only structure was a large stone altar that stood in front of the earth mound. Tullus’ jaw clenched. They would have no shelter as they made for the gate.
‘Gather round,’ he ordered. ‘Our task is simple. We sprint to the gate like runners at an Olympic games. They’ll notice us long before we get there, but we keep moving at all costs. Once we reach the gate, we open the bastard and let our brothers in.’ They wouldn’t get that far of course, but sounding confident was vital.
‘Will our boys attack when they hear the fighting, sir?’ asked a soldier.
‘They will,’ replied Tullus, thinking: I wouldn’t trust Tubero as far as I could throw him, the miserable whoreson. ‘But we don’t need any help, do we?’
‘No, sir!’ said Fenestela. ‘We’ll shit on those Usipetes bastards from a height!’
Not every soldier’s face registered the same certainty as Fenestela’s. Some looked plain scared, but Tullus had no time to indulge them. ‘Form up. Five wide, four deep. I’ll take my usual place. Optio, stand in the rear rank, on the left.’ The unspoken part of Fenestela’s job would be to ensure that no one tried to retreat. Cynicism filled Tullus. Not that there was any point, here. ‘Draw swords. Follow!’
He broke into a run, and twenty-one soldiers chased after. Tullus counted his steps, as he had since his first battle. It made the stomach-churning job of charging towards men who would kill him if they could a little easier.
A little.
Ten paces. Twenty. Thirty, forty, fifty. There had been no cries of alarm yet, no shouts from the Usipetes by the gate, or from the sentries on the walkway. Where in Hades were they anyway? Tullus didn’t look, didn’t move his eyes even a fraction from the main body of warriors. His mouth was dry, but sweat was running from under his felt arming cap. He swept it away with his right arm. Sixty paces. Seventy. Gods, are they blind and deaf? he wondered. Despite himself, he began to hope. Maybe the racket from without the palisade was concealing the noise of their approach?
At ninety-one paces, Tullus heard a cracked shout, then another. They’d been seen. He risked a look to the left, and to the right. One of the sentries was dancing up and down like a cat thrown on to still-hot embers, and yelling at the top of his voice. Tullus’ eyes slid back to the gate, and the men defending it. Heads were turning, incredulity was registering, but no one had moved yet.
‘DO NOT SLOW DOWN!’ he ordered.
Content that a good number of the Usipetes were holed up in the palisade, Arminius had taken Maelo and a dozen of his best warriors to ride through the settlement and see how the rest of the raiders were faring. The one-sided nature of most of the fighting was most gratifying. So too was the lack of prisoners. The red mist of combat was affecting the legionaries as well as his own men, thought Arminius with satisfaction, which was just what he’d hoped for. Apart from at the palisade, it wouldn’t be long before the battle ended. With luck, there would be almost no captives. It was time to seek out Tubero once more, to see that the same happened there.
Bolanus saw him approaching, and gave him a friendly look, but when Tubero noticed, he got only a haughty nod. What a prick, thought Arminius. But a useful one, potentially.
‘Arminius,’ said Bolanus. ‘Is all well?’
‘It is. Any remaining resistance will soon be crushed.’
Tubero glanced at the warriors atop the palisade. ‘These ones won’t hold out for long either.’
Arminius noted legionaries’ bodies before the entrance that had not been there when he’d left. It seemed the boy still wasn’t using his brain. ‘Have you sent for the bolt-throwers, tribune?’
‘For the love of Jupiter! You asked before. Tullus said the same thing,’ Tubero snapped. ‘No, I have not. I want to finish this before sundown. Tullus and twenty legionaries are going to scale the other side of the palisade and open the gate.’
‘That’s not very many men, tribune.’
‘It is if I order an attack the moment fighting begins within,’ retorted Tubero with a sniff.
Arminius set aside Tubero’s annoying self-importance and the fact that Tullus and his men stood a good chance of being killed. The palisade would be taken soon, one way or another. Hundreds of legionaries were on hand now, and he could do nothing about the prisoners who might be taken from this point on. What concerned him as much was the chance of raiders escaping over the palisade’s unguarded back wall. He had to intervene, because success was within his grasp. Arminius lowered his voice so that the others present couldn’t hear – the better to protect Tubero’s fragile ego. ‘It’s clear that the gate must be taken, tribune, but I wonder if a multi-pronged attack would work better.’
Tubero scowled, but he didn’t protest as Arminius explained how his men could split up and stand on their horses’ backs to climb the palisade – in different places. ‘The mission will be an unqualified success whatever happens, tribune, but fewer legionaries might die if you thought my advice worthwhile. The loss of a senior centurion would be a grievous loss. Varus-’
‘All right, I see what you’re driving at,’ Tubero admitted, his colour rising. ‘Order your men into position. They’re to attack when the trumpets sound.’
‘A fine plan, tribune.’ Arminius inclined his head, feigning respect. ‘You heard, Maelo. See that it’s done.’ Maelo muttered his agreement and Arminius added, in German, ‘I want none of the Usipetes to escape, d’you understand?’
‘Aye.’ Maelo dragged his horse’s head around and rode off.
‘What did you just say?’ demanded Tubero.
‘I told him that you were relying on our men, that they must not fail,’ he lied.
Even with an approving nod, Tubero could convey disdain.