Tullus spied one turn back to empty his bladder into the largest stream, and urging his companions to do the same. One figure alone did not join in. Their obvious leader watched with evident amusement, shouting encouragement, clapping the piss-instigator on the shoulder as the group traced a path back to the safety of the trees. At this distance, there was no way of knowing who he was, but Tullus couldn’t help wondering if it was Arminius. It would be like him to stay until the last moment, he thought, wishing that the bolt-throwers were up here, rather than in their wagons, dismantled and useless.
The barritus started up again from the trees, and Tullus cursed. Like most, he had got little rest thanks to the enemy’s incessant singing overnight. This rendition had a taunting edge to it, or so it seemed to his foggy, sleep-deprived brain. He spat over the ramparts at the Germans. ‘You’re a clever bastard, Arminius, and no mistake. Don’t think we’re done yet, though.’
Despite Tullus’ fighting words, their situation had worsened a great deal. Caecina’s orders, issued the night before, had been to move out after dawn, but marching on to the just-submerged road was an altogether different proposition to crossing it over dry, repaired sections. This new dilemma would have been bad enough without the news brought to Tullus by Piso late the previous night.
Tullus’ men seemed happy enough, all things considered, and he hadn’t been aware of ill feeling elsewhere in the legion, but Piso wasn’t one to concoct stories out of thin air. As he was recounting his tale for the second time, Tullus had sent Fenestela wandering the tent lines, seeking out those junior officers who were still awake. It had been dispiriting when Fenestela returned with confirmation of Piso’s story.
A good number of the Fifth’s legionaries were talking again of rebellion, he reported. Rumour was that the men of the Twenty-First felt the same way. Wary of disturbing Caecina’s rest, even with such tidings, Tullus had decided to tell his general in the morning. He had mulled on it all night. Singling out and killing the culprits, as they had before, would have a disastrous effect on morale. In any case, every man who could wield a sword was needed, or they’d never fight their way out of this forsaken spot.
Tullus had given up trying to sleep while it was still dark, and had come here to pace the defences and rack his brains some more. It would have been good if inspiration had struck. It hadn’t. Short of magicking a new road into existence, or having the gods destroy Arminius’ gathered host, nothing had come to mind. Caecina had to hear Piso’s tale. ‘Best get it over with,’ Tullus muttered.
How the general would react to the damage done to the road, he did not know. Should they march on regardless, or stay to restart their repairs? Clattering down the wooden steps, he worried that whatever Caecina’s decision, the attacks today would be heavier than the day before. Arminius was about to throw his entire force at them – Tullus could feel it in his bones.
If the Fifth and the Twenty-First also mutinied, disaster beckoned.
Caecina was a veteran officer who had served more than forty years in the legions. Short, squat and with cropped white hair, he was a restless soul who liked to pace about, talking in a loud voice. Tullus heard Caecina deep inside the command tent long before he saw him. When he was ushered into Caecina’s presence, the man looked both irritated and exhausted, but catching sight of Tullus, he let a brief smile cross his lips. ‘Give me a moment,’ Caecina ordered, waving away the staff officers who surrounded him at the large table in the centre of his campaign room. ‘You did well to spot those warriors, Tullus.’
‘I was on the ramparts anyway, sir,’ Tullus demurred. ‘Sadly, the cohorts you sent out won’t catch them.’
‘I didn’t expect they would, but the Germans’ actions couldn’t go unanswered.’ Caecina seemed about to mention the road, but instead he proffered a brimming glass. ‘Don’t worry. It’s well watered down.’
‘A pick-me-up then, sir. Thank you.’ Tullus tasted the wine. Even dilute, it had a fine, rich flavour – there was no comparison with the vintage given him by Germanicus, but it was better than anything Tullus could afford. He glanced at Caecina, who was draining his own glass. Fuck it, thought Tullus. That was a long night, and it’ll be an even longer day. He threw back the contents of his own – and didn’t protest when Caecina offered a refill. ‘It’s tasty, sir.’
‘I’ll have some sent around to your tent tonight.’ Caecina batted away Tullus’ protest. ‘The more we drink, the less weight in the wagons, eh? We’ve got to think of the poor mules.’
Tullus had to grin. ‘As you say, sir.’
‘Much as you admire my wine, you didn’t come here to beg some of me.’ Caecina’s red-rimmed eyes, sharp as ever, bore down on Tullus. ‘What has you here at such an early hour?’
‘Something one of my men told me last night, sir.’ Caecina frowned and Tullus explained. ‘I have no proof that the legionaries of the Twenty-First are as disaffected, but, given the rumours, it seems probable. I thought you should know.’
Caecina pressed a thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. ‘More bad news.’
‘I’m sorry, sir-’
‘Don’t be. It’s your job to bring me word of such things. So, is the threat real? How does your cohort stand?’
‘My men are solid, sir,’ said Tullus with pride. ‘As for the rest, it’s hard to be sure. These things ebb and flow like the tide – you know how it is. One moment, they might all follow an order to attack, and the next, they might not.’
‘It depends in part on how today goes, I’d wager.’ Caecina’s face darkened. ‘How bad is the flooding?’
‘Bad, sir. Yesterday’s work has been destroyed, or I’m no judge.’
‘Curse Arminius!’
‘If I knew where he camped, sir, I’d ask to take a couple of cohorts and attack him at night. His alliance might fragment if he was dead.’
‘It’s too easy for such a mission to go wrong, and I can’t afford to lose officers like you,’ said Caecina. ‘You’ve also been through this before, under Varus.’
‘That’s right, sir,’ replied Tullus in a grim tone.
Caecina rubbed his eyes. ‘I must have slept for a time last night, because I dreamed of him.’
A chill tickled Tullus’ guts. ‘Of Varus, sir?’
‘Aye. I heard a voice calling me. I awoke – in the dream – and walked out of my tent. There was no camp, just the stinking bog on all sides. High-pitched, mesmeric, the voice came from the midst of it – I could not see who or what was speaking to me. I waited, rigid with fear, and at length a pale figure rose from the depths. The wraith began to float over the marsh towards me, and as it drew near, horror filled me. It was Varus. Flesh-rotted, bloodied and with a gaping wound in his chest, but Varus nonetheless. Stretching out his arm, he called me to him.’
‘What did you do, sir?’ asked Tullus, fascinated and horrified.
‘I was frozen to the spot,’ Caecina admitted. ‘It was only when his cold hand touched mine, trying to drag me with him, that I found the strength to shove back the fell creature. “Go back whence you came,” I cried, and turned away. It was then that I awoke.’ He made a cynical noise. ‘There was no sleep to be had after that, I can tell you.’
‘I’m not surprised, sir,’ said Tullus, fighting the feeling that Caecina’s doom-laden vision might have been gods-sent.
‘What would you do?’ muttered Caecina.
Tullus gave him a confused look. ‘Sir?’
‘If you were the army’s commander, what would your next move be?’
For Caecina, a general with four legions under his command, to tell him of his dream about Varus was extraordinary enough, thought Tullus. To be asked for advice straight after – well, it showed how rattled Caecina was. He must not crumble, Tullus resolved. ‘How many days’ supplies have we, sir?’