Tomorrow would be different, he decided. A better day for them all.
Arminius hadn’t wanted to be absent during the first part of the ambush, but it had been unavoidable. He’d had to coordinate the tribes as they rallied at the agreed point, some miles to the east of the Roman column, greeting their chieftains like conquering heroes, ensuring that old tribal enmities weren’t restarted and making certain that they dispersed to the areas that he had decided upon. He had broken the back of his tasks by mid-afternoon, at which point he led his four thousand Cheruscan warriors, eager-faced and armed to the teeth, westward, towards the foe. There would be time that evening to meet all of the chieftains together.
The heavy rain and driving wind did nothing to lower their spirits. To Arminius’ followers, the severe weather was physical proof that Donar approved of their ambush. Arminius himself felt blessed. Despite a number of near escapes – Tullus’ suspicion, which he’d been aware of, the risks posed by the drunk young warriors, and Segestes’ warning, which he had heard about afterwards – he had succeeded in keeping his plan secret until the end. With flashes of lightning searing his eyeballs and thunder battering his eardrums, it was hard even for him to feel sceptical about the divine backing for his plan.
They came upon the camp of the Usipetes and Sugambri first, a sprawling affair of lean-tos made from branches and leaves, small tents and animal hides tacked up between close-growing trees. Judging by the whoops and cheers that met their arrival, things had gone well thus far.
‘Welcome, Arminius,’ cried a massive warrior, brandishing a cohort standard in the air. ‘Our spears are well blooded, but we left plenty of Romans for you and your men.’
‘My warriors will thank you for that,’ replied Arminius, noting the plentiful signs of a victorious clash with Varus’ soldiers. There were many men wearing Roman-issue helmets, and over there, he saw a pair play-threatening each other with gladii.
At that point, he was spied by Red Head, who was in the midst of a group of warriors standing around a makeshift firepit covered by an ox skin. He came striding over. ‘Well met, Arminius.’
Arminius dismounted, and embraced Red Head. ‘It went as we’d hoped, I take it?’ he asked.
Red Head threw back his head and laughed, uncaring of the rain that spattered his face. ‘It was as if the gods had come down to earth and fought with us! The filthy Romans had no idea that we were there until the first spears and stones landed among them. You should have heard their wails – they were like swine in a slaughterman’s pens. Their cries grew even more pathetic when they heard the barritus. They died in their hundreds, while not a single warrior fell. We withdrew and let them march on awhile before attacking them again, with almost the same results. Give them credit, the bastards kept moving forward, and at the hill where they chose to camp, they gave a good account of themselves. We lost more men than we should have there, because some of our warriors had grown cocky with the ambush’s success, and tried to take the enemy head-on.’
Angry at this departure from his plan, Arminius began to interrupt, but Red Head was having none of it. ‘I see you shaking your head,’ he said, his voice rising, ‘but remember how four hundred of our young men died not three months since.’ Arminius made an apologetic gesture, and Red Head’s frown eased. ‘It’s easy for you to remember how disciplined the Romans are. You’ve fought alongside them for many years. Our chieftains managed to regain control of the warriors soon enough when a couple of charges had come to naught. So did the Sugambri’s leaders. We left the Romans to lick their wounds and wonder what in the name of all the gods had happened to them.’
‘You did well,’ said Arminius in a hearty tone, aware that nothing held his alliance together other than a mutual hatred of the Romans. If he tried to exert more than a subtle authority over the other tribes, they would fade away like stars in a brightening sky. A few dozen dead warriors would make no difference to the size of his army. ‘How many men are watching their camp?’
‘Two score. They’re hidden close to every entrance. Not even a rat can leave the place without us knowing.’
‘Fine work,’ cried Arminius, throwing an arm over Red Head’s shoulders.
‘Many thousands of the Romans remain living,’ said Red Head. ‘Did the other tribes honour their pledge?’
‘I am also the bearer of good – nay – excellent tidings,’ replied Arminius, smiling. ‘Four thousand Cheruscan warriors marched here with me. The Marsi are nearby, with all of their strength. So too are the Angrivarii, Bructeri and some of the Chauci. The Chatti have also sworn to help, although they might not arrive before we have massacred every last Roman in Varus’ army. Without taking their strength into consideration, there are still more than eighteen thousand warriors within three miles of here.’
Red Head’s eyes were full of respect. ‘Never did I think to hear of so many tribes united with one purpose. Truly, the gods blessed you with a silver tongue, Arminius of the Cherusci. To think I came close to killing you.’
If you had even an inkling of my men’s role in the slaying of your young warriors, thought Arminius, you still would. ‘I thank Donar every day that you had the wisdom to let me speak. My success is in great part thanks to men like you – and so will the final result, when we annihilate Varus’ legions and drive Rome from our lands forever.’
If Red Head had had a tail, he would have wagged it then. ‘This calls for a drink! Come, there is beer by my fire. The other chieftains will want to hear your news, and to question you about tomorrow.’
Arminius allowed Red Head to lead him towards the group of warriors. His heart was singing. Donar had been patient with him for many years, but tomorrow he would fulfil his vow at last.
Tomorrow.
XXIV
The following morning Tullus rose when it was still dark. Leaving his tent, he found the world cloaked in a damp, cold mist. He ordered the unit’s dead fires to be rekindled at once. Some of the oil that had to be destroyed was at hand, making it easy to ignite the damp wood. By the time the trumpets sounded, a reasonable amount of mule flesh had been cooked for his men.
Soldiers with full bellies marched better than hungry ones, he thought with satisfaction as he patrolled the lines, noting the pleasure with which the meat was being consumed. Exhorting each man to do his best that day, he ordered every third legionary to retain his trenching tool. This was against Varus’ command, which was to leave behind everything that wasn’t a weapon, but Tullus didn’t care. It was one thing to discard their heavy leather tents and excess equipment, but it was foolish to divest themselves of all of the tools with which to dig defences.
Following Varus’ orders, the Seventeenth was in the vanguard. It was standard procedure for the first legion to change, but Tullus was most unhappy. Stuck in the middle of the miles-long column, surrounded on both sides by interminable trees or marshy fenland, he and his soldiers had not the slightest clue what was happening. Worse, they were helpless to do anything but follow in the quagmire left by those who had gone before. In the depths of Tullus’ mind, barely admitted, there was also the niggling concern that if things went really wrong, he and his men would be trapped. He buried the worry as best he could: resignation would get him nowhere. Today was about marching. Surviving. Protecting his troops.
Despite his unease, things went well at first. Everyone was keen to vacate the temporary camp, and the legions got moving with a minimum of delay. The soldiers with common-law wives and families grumbled and bitched, yet they had to follow their orders, like everyone else. Leaving those who could not travel fast – even their injured comrades in the few wagons that had been retained – was easy for the rest. Nevertheless, Tullus was glad when he could no longer hear the wails of distressed babies, the laments of their overburdened mothers and the moans of men who knew that they were, to all intents and purposes, being abandoned. As the legions left the hill, palls of smoke from the burning wagons streaked the sky, and the air was rich with the smell of the olive oil used to set them alight.