Varus would have given every last part of his considerable wealth to have had Arminius in chains before him at that moment. Despite his civilised appearance and gregarious nature, the Cheruscan was a lying, treacherous snake. His intent had always been to break the empire’s hold over Germania. The planning must have taken months, thought Varus. To unite the tribes – never fond of each other at the best of times – and then bring them together in one place was a considerable feat, and worthy of respect, however grudging. So too was the manner in which Arminius had kept his strategy secret, and how he had found such a perfect location for the ambush.
Varus pictured the countless trees, which had pressed in on either side of the track, confining his soldiers and preventing them from forming up. All part of Arminius’ plan. The narrow track, which Varus had laughed about for slowing his army down, and the hellish mud bath that it had turned into. It had also been of Arminius’ design. How the legionaries had had to abandon their baggage and, worse, their artillery. That would have been something Arminius hoped for. The damnable hill, and the earthen embankments, which must have taken at least a month to build. Planned in advance too. The bog on one side, cutting off retreat in that direction. Yet another part of Arminius’ devilish enterprise.
A sour smile found its way on to Varus’ face. Only the weather could be described as being outside Arminius’ control. His smile didn’t last. Perhaps the Cheruscan’s gods – the thunder god Donar being one of them – had intervened on the tribesmen’s behalf. After the lashing rains, and the thunder and lightning of the previous two days, the case could be argued.
‘Master?’ It was Aristides’ voice, right outside the tent.
‘Enter.’ Varus had been surprised, and relieved, to find that his servant had somehow made it through the day’s slaughter.
Aristides unlaced the flap and ducked inside, balancing a tray in one hand. ‘I’ve brought you some food, master.’
Whatever it was he bore – a stew of some kind? – smelled good. Despite his misery, and his shame, Varus’ belly rumbled. ‘You’re a miracle-worker. Where did you get that?’
‘You’re the governor, master. If anyone’s going to eat, even in a place like this, it will be you.’
Varus reached out for the bowl and spoon. Close up, he could see that Aristides’ plump face had changed during the last two days. It bore a perpetual expression of anxiety, and there were deep bags under his eyes, lines that had not been there before. He’s not made for this, thought Varus. I should have left him in Vetera. ‘You look dreadful. Have you eaten? And found a place to sleep?’ Realising the stupidity of what he’d said, he cut off Aristides before his servant could pretend to have done either. ‘Have the bread.’ He gestured at the half-loaf on the tray.
‘No, master, I-’
‘Take it, I say,’ ordered Varus. ‘You will sleep in here, with me.’
Aristides looked as if he might cry with gratitude. ‘Thank you, master.’ He fell on the bread like a starving man.
When they had finished, Varus handed Aristides a small piece of parchment. The Greek looked at it, and at Varus, and back again. ‘What is this, master?’
‘Forgive the poor quality of the material. My seal has gone missing too, but the wording is clear. My signature is also plain to see.’ Still Aristides’ face remained blank, so Varus added in a soft voice, ‘It’s your manumission. A little earlier than promised, but I wanted you to have it before …’ His throat closed. It wasn’t certain what would happen the next day, but the tribesmen hadn’t gone away for good. Their relentless attacks would resume at dawn. A bitterness that had become all too familiar coursed through Varus. If the reports were to be believed, half his army had been slain or wounded in the previous two days. The safety offered by the forts along the River Lupia still lay many miles away. What chance would his demoralised, soaking legionaries have tomorrow, against superior numbers of enemies, men with the taste of victory already in their mouths?
In all probability, the fate of Aristides – old, fat, unable to fight – was even more certain. For that, Varus felt huge guilt. As the Greek stuttered his thanks, Varus replied, ‘I wish I could have done more. I advise that you find Centurion Tullus in the morning. Tell him that I sent you. Stick by his side, as if you were a limpet on a rock. If anyone makes it out of this hellhole, it will be him.’
‘It’s that bad?’ Aristides’ eyes were wide.
‘Aye,’ grated Varus. ‘You saw what it was like today. More than half the army is dead or injured, Aristides, and we’re a long way from the river. Arminius’ warriors are like a flock of vultures about to pick the flesh from a corpse. Except that in this case, the corpse hasn’t yet died.’
‘Could we get away on some of the cavalry’s horses?’
It was unfair to say that only a Greek would consider fleeing, thought Varus, yet that had been the first thing to enter his mind. ‘No, we couldn’t. I ordered Vala to take what riders remained earlier on.’ It had seemed a good idea in the middle of the battle, with his cavalry powerless to help in any way. Horsemen were useless in woodland, and on narrow paths, in particular when they were mixed with infantry. ‘Word reached me soon after we set up camp that they had been ambushed and killed to a man.’
Fear filled Aristides’ eyes. ‘We’re doomed,’ he whispered.
‘Find Tullus. He’s a survivor,’ Varus repeated. And a better man than I, he thought. If I had listened to him, thousands of men would yet be alive, and thousands more would not die tomorrow. The last realisation tasted as bitter as hemlock, and Varus came to a sudden decision.
‘What use is this to me if we’re going to die?’ Aristides’ fear had been subsumed by anger, and he was waving his manumission under Varus’ nose.
Despite the fact that Aristides had never done such a thing during his entire service, this was an offence that merited severe punishment, thought Varus in a detached way. In this moment, he wasn’t angered – if anything, Aristides’ show of spirit amused him. Maybe the Greek would use a sword if he had to. ‘Tullus is your man. That is my only advice to you,’ he said.
Aristides seemed about to say more, but the arrival of Varus’ surviving senior officers put an end to their conversation. With Vala dead and another legate injured, but one legion commander remained. Somehow he and the eight remaining tribunes, the two camp prefects, and one primus pilus squeezed into Varus’ tent. Soon the space was warm and snug, and the smell of damp wool, leather and stale sweat overpowering.
Varus bid them a sombre welcome. ‘I have no wine to offer you, or food. I apologise too for my quarters, which are a little smaller than usual.’
Three men managed a chuckle, but the rest just stared at him, dull-eyed, unshaven, as mud-covered as he. They looked beaten, thought Varus. With an effort, he rallied his strength. Things were bad, but it had to be possible that they could still smash through the encircling tribesmen. Roman armies had come through situations as dire as this in the past. Think of Julius Caesar at Alesia, he told himself. With an image of that stirring victory against overwhelming odds in his mind, he regarded his assembled officers, trying to appear determined, undefeated. ‘How stand my legions tonight?’
One by one, Varus’ subordinates made their reports, most of which had to do with their casualty estimates. This was bad enough, but an audible groan greeted the news of the loss of an eagle, that of the Eighteenth. More than half the soldiers in his army had been killed or wounded. The losses among the centurionate had also been fearful, which was a mark of the savagery of the day’s fighting. Of the hundred and eighty centurions in the three legions, ninety-five were dead or incapacitated. Although many of the injured had been left behind, there were perhaps two thousand in their camp. A good proportion of these men could march, but not fast, and the majority would need to be carried, or helped to walk. Perhaps six thousand combat-ready legionaries remained, along with about five hundred auxiliaries. These figures were made even starker when spoken out loud. No one mentioned how many warriors they faced, but everyone knew that they were now outnumbered. By some degree.