‘Not a bad idea,’ Big Chin commented. ‘My warriors are ready.’
‘And mine,’ said Inguiomerus at once.
You didn’t stand with me six years ago, Uncle. This time around, you were slow to join forces, yet all of a sudden you want to be at the forefront of every attack, thought Arminius, feeling the anger he’d long held back seeping forth. Out loud, he said, ‘My men are prepared too, but an assault tonight would be a mistake.’
‘The Romans are reeling from what we did to them,’ Inguiomerus shot back. ‘Our warriors must have slain half a thousand of the filth.’
‘With respect, Uncle, they are not reeling. Caecina’s army numbers almost twenty thousand men. We destroyed perhaps a fortieth of his total force. That’s a tiny proportion, and not enough to break their spirit.’
Inguiomerus huffed, but even in the darkness Arminius could see that Big Chin had taken his meaning, which was a start. He adopted his bluffest tone. ‘Let’s wear them down first, Uncle. Prevent them from sleeping. Sabotage their repairs to the road, so they have to start afresh each morning. Harass their work parties, as well as the soldiers tasked with defending those at toil. Drive off their mules and horses, perhaps even steal a standard or two.’
‘These are the words of a beardless youth, who hasn’t got the balls to take on an enemy face-to-face,’ Inguiomerus scoffed. ‘Do you doubt your warriors’ courage? Has the loss of your wife made you afraid?’
If Inguiomerus hadn’t led more than four thousand warriors, Arminius would have spitted him then and there, so great was his rage. He stared at the Roman camp and ground his jaws.
Maelo stepped in. ‘Arminius has no need to prove his bravery to anyone, Inguiomerus. What he did six years ago was demonstration enough.’ He added in a caustic tone, ‘I don’t recall you – or your warriors – being present when we slaughtered Varus’ legions.’
‘Nor I,’ said Big Chin.
‘You question my courage?’ Inguiomerus’ voice had sunk to a hiss.
‘More your loyalty,’ replied Maelo.
‘Watch your mouth,’ cried Inguiomerus.
‘Or what?’ demanded Maelo.
Arminius sensed the pair stepping apart and wheeled around before the situation degenerated further. ‘Come now. Let’s not argue.’
‘Maelo is treading on thin ice,’ snarled Inguiomerus.
So are you, you self-serving prick, thought Arminius. Maelo speaks the truth and nothing more. You are my own flesh and blood, yet you did not support my attack on Varus. Now you have the cheek to dispute my mettle? And yet he knew that to say either thing would risk losing his uncle’s hard-earned support.
Instead, he clapped first Inguiomerus, then Maelo, on the shoulder. ‘Today has been long and hard. Tempers fray when men are tired. Falling out between ourselves will achieve but one thing, and that’s helping the Romans.’ Arminius glared at Maelo, willing him also to make amends.
‘True enough,’ said Maelo. ‘I spoke in haste, Inguiomerus. I have no wish to question your honour. Let us remain allies.’ He stuck out his right hand.
Inguiomerus stared at Maelo without reacting. A heartbeat passed. Two.
Make him accept it, Great Donar, Arminius asked. I need his warriors.
‘We have a common enemy, Inguiomerus,’ said Big Chin. ‘And much to do in the coming days.’
Inguiomerus’ eyes swivelled to Big Chin, and back to Maelo. ‘We have a common enemy,’ repeated Inguiomerus, gripping Maelo’s hand at last. Arminius offered his hand then, and his uncle took it. Arminius’ distrust of him wasn’t eased. Inguiomerus’ gesture meant nothing – and yet he hadn’t walked away. He still wanted to defeat the Romans.
‘My warriors are about to divert the streams that flow down to the bog,’ revealed Arminius. ‘In the morning, the Romans will find that today’s work has been ruined. Their morale will be lowered even more – and then we shall fall on them.’
Big Chin laughed. ‘My men will help.’
‘An assault now would be more effective,’ Inguiomerus grumbled. ‘But I suppose we can leave it for another night.’ He stalked off, without offering his warriors’ assistance.
‘Why won’t he just give up the idea?’ Arminius muttered, his frustration gnawing at him like a dog on a bone. ‘Attacking Roman fortifications is almost as unwise as fighting them in open battle. You both know that. I know that. Why doesn’t he?’
‘Inguiomerus covets the glory you won for yourself, I’d wager,’ said Maelo.
‘He doesn’t like being treated as if he’s your follower. He is your equal, Arminius, as am I. Remember what I said,’ observed Big Chin. With a cordial nod, he too strode off. ‘My warriors will be ready whenever you are,’ he called over his shoulder.
Arminius stared into the darkness, brooding. His alliance held, but it wouldn’t take much for the whole thing to smash into a thousand pieces, like a clay jar dropped on a hard surface.
Dawn was breaking, and Arminius was standing in the open, close to the beginning of the wooden road. He used the back of his arm to rub at his gritty eyes. He couldn’t use his hands, which were caked with mud from digging all night. It was growing dangerous to be here, he decided. The enemy sentries hadn’t seen them yet, but the mist that had coated the land was dissipating, and within the camp the trumpets had just sounded, summoning the legionaries from their blankets. Arminius had paced up and down several times, assessing his warriors’ labours. He had no need to do it again, yet a sense of devilment kept him walking the boggy ground. He wanted the Romans to see him and his men.
‘Have we done enough?’ He directed the question at Maelo, who was knee-deep in water, using a spade to slice out the sides of a channel that guided one of the larger streams towards a section of still-usable planking.
Maelo straightened and cast a look at the road, which was under a handspan of murky brown water. ‘I’d say it’s been a good night’s work. Caecina’s soldiers will go nowhere today, except to the underworld,’ he added with a leer.
A cry of alarm rose from the ramparts of the Roman camp. Another voice joined in at once. The words were indiscernible, but their tone was not. ‘We’ve been seen,’ said Arminius. ‘Best get back to the trees, in case Caecina sends out a cohort or two.’
With sharp whistles, he rounded up his men. They were about to set off when Maelo turned back. ‘A little present for the Romans,’ he cried. Opening his breeches, he released an arc of urine into the stream. The warriors hurried to join him, and Arminius chuckled. Their efforts would soon be washing over the wooden road.
‘We should have shit all over the first section of timbers,’ a broad-shouldered warrior declared as they began the tramp back to their positions. ‘Imagine them having to march through that!’
‘Do that tomorrow,’ suggested Maelo, winking.
The tribesmen cheered. From the trees, their comrades began to sing the barritus. Louder and louder it rose, a defiant, fear-inducing chant that challenged the Romans to come forth to another day of mud and slaughter.
Exulting in its sound, Arminius took one last glance at their overnight efforts. As far as the eye could see, the road was submerged. Inguiomerus cannot fail to see the effect, he thought. Grinding down the enemy day and night and impeding his progress at every step are tactics that work. Wolves do not try to take down the bull elk at first pass – he is too big a prey. Instead, they chase him to exhaustion. When he can run no further, they attack from all sides, tearing at the hindquarters and neck until the bull falls. Only then does the lead male grab his throat and choke the life out of him.
‘You will die here, Caecina,’ whispered Arminius as the first legionaries began issuing from the nearest gate. ‘Just as Varus did in the forest.’
Chapter XXXI
Shocked and angry, Tullus stood atop the camp fortifications. Thanks to the Germans’ efforts, the ground was a veritable morass. The three cohorts marching out had no chance of catching the warriors who’d diverted the streams. Men clad in tunics and trousers could outstrip armoured legionaries with ease. The tribesmen still in sight knew it too – many were shouting obscenities at the Romans.