In front of Arminius, six legionaries and some dismounted cavalrymen had made a stand together, but they were cut down by an overwhelming charge led by Osbert. The section’s remaining defenders faltered, and then broke as Osbert tossed a severed head into their midst. The warriors charged after the Romans with vengeful cries. Arminius smiled.
Find and kill Caecina next, he thought, and his chances of overall victory would soar. And yet that task was almost impossible to achieve. Things were going well, but utter confusion reigned. The heavy rain had reduced visibility to fifty paces or less, and the thick mud impeded everyone, light-armoured or not. His battle-mad warriors were unlikely to recognise Caecina, or to be able to find Arminius and tell him even if they wanted to. His best option was to oversee the massacre of every Roman in this small area, and to hope that Caecina was among them before moving on.
Arminius also had to trust that the other chieftains – Inguiomerus, Big Chin, Stick Thin and the rest – were doing what he’d asked of them. As well as attacking the wagons and the two legions which had broken away from the column, each of the eagle standards was to be targeted. ‘Take one of those,’ Arminius had told them, ‘and you cut off a legion’s balls.’ He hoped that they’d emphasised this to their warriors, and that the attraction of the wagon train – a booty-rich, easy target – wasn’t too great a temptation.
‘ROMA!’
The shout – and the subsequent crash of bodies and shields – was close enough to turn Arminius’ head. Distracted, he hadn’t until then looked to his right. That had been a mistake, he thought, cursing his stupidity. A party of the enemy – it wasn’t clear how many – had just driven into his warriors. Some must have seen the attack coming, because the legionaries had been checked, but there was a noticeable bowing in the line. Arminius watched with grim intent. On the far side of his assailed men’s position, the Romans seemed to have taken heart and redoubled their efforts. His warriors were now caught between two groups of the enemy.
‘You, you and you!’ Arminius shouted to get the attention of nearby men. Ten, a dozen, fifteen formed a ring around him. ‘Come with me,’ he ordered, urgency throbbing in his voice.
Fresh thunder rolled overhead. The rain pattered down with relentless intensity, disturbing the pools of stagnant water. Ripples caused by wading men lapped off muddy banks. Brown, peaty water splashed high, dripping off the heather and bog cotton. Spongy grass on the hummocks compressed and sprang back from the impact of the warriors’ passage. The mire made reluctant, sucking sounds as it released their feet. Gorse thorns tore at their arms and legs. Arminius cursed as he lumbered along. Their progress was slow, too slow.
His bad luck was compounded by the Romans’ leader, who saw them coming. By the time Arminius drew near, ten legionaries were waiting for them in a small shield wall. Weighed down by their armour, knee-deep in the mud, they were still a fearsome prospect. To hesitate was to die, thought Arminius. Ordering four warriors to flank the enemy, he led the rest forward in a little wedge. It was a tactic he’d learned in the legions.
‘Donar!’ he roared.
The warrior to Arminius’ left broke free of their formation and struck the Roman line first. Run through by two swords, he died before his spear thrust had found a home in enemy flesh. His sacrifice allowed Arminius to close unscathed, and to kill a legionary. The warrior to Arminius’ right slew another even as he took a mortal wound.
Arminius shoved his way into the gap, careless of the danger he was in. Wheeling, he stabbed a legionary in the base of the spine, below his armour. Three steps on, and he slashed another’s legs from under him. The next Roman half turned, his face frantic, and Arminius stuck him through the throat. Assailed from in front and behind, the outnumbered legionaries did not give up, downing two more of his followers and maiming another before they died.
‘That was well done,’ said Arminius to his ten surviving warriors. He was no longer sure if they were enough to make a difference to his beleaguered men, but they had to try, or his attempt to kill Caecina would come to a premature end. ‘Can you do the same again?’
Mud-covered, blood-encrusted, they nodded in assent.
‘After me then.’ Arminius took a step forward.
‘Over there!’ shouted a voice in Latin. ‘Three men from the two rear ranks, turn. Pick up any spears you can. Move, you maggots!’
The voice sounded familiar but, in the heat of battle, Arminius could not recall from where. He led his warriors on, towards the section of legionaries that was breaking away from the Roman formation. Curse the bastards, he thought. Even in these abominable conditions, their discipline remained impressive. Six legionaries were ready to take them on, with, in their middle, a veteran centurion.
Each party closed on the other with a measured, purposeful intent. No one shouted; no one ran. The loss of a single man to a twisted ankle at this point could prove the difference between victory and defeat. Arminius talked to his warriors in a calm voice, urging them on; he could see the centurion doing the same with his soldiers.
‘Let’s charge,’ muttered one of Arminius’ warriors when fifty paces remained. ‘Panic them.’
‘These ones won’t break,’ said Arminius. ‘Keep walking.’
‘But their armour-’ began the warrior.
‘I know,’ interrupted Arminius. Their own numerical advantage was countered to a large extent by the Romans’ armour and curved shields. ‘When we’re close, we’ll give them a volley of spears. Then you three are to go left, and you three move right. Get around to their rear while the rest of us distract them.’
‘Aye.’ The warrior’s grin was feral.
It was a simple plan, thought Arminius, but better than fighting the legionaries on their terms. Even when the Romans were calf-deep in the morass, it was inadvisable to take them on face-to-face.
Arminius had not expected the centurion’s next move. A shouted order, and his legionaries launched spears – scavenged frameae – at thirty paces. There was time, just, for his men to raise their shields, but the unexpected volley, and a second one, injured two warriors. They fell back, groaning in pain.
Arminius felt the first traces of doubt, and cursed himself in the same moment. To retreat now would be shameful. He still had two men more than the enemy, and the advantage of speed and mobility. Mud or no, they could run rings around these legionaries. It would be over and done in no time. How the rest of the Romans would quail when first their centurion’s helmet landed among them – and then his decapitated head. Arminius continued to advance.
‘Throw!’ he shouted at twenty paces.
Not all his warriors had enough frameae to loose at the enemy, but half a dozen hurtled up into the leaden sky. Arminius’ second shaft followed a heartbeat later. Down they came, like streaks of black lightning, one after another. The first found a home in a shield. Five thumped into the mud, or glanced off helmets and armour. The last, falling short, took a legionary in the foot. He bellowed like a stuck pig, but after a comrade had jerked out the weapon, resumed his position.
‘Charge!’ roared Arminius, breaking into a run. Move fast enough, and the legionary with a spear-encumbered shield would be defenceless, and the injured man still reeling with pain. ‘Go!’ Arminius ordered the warriors who were to break away on either side.
‘Shields up!’ ordered the centurion – a senior centurion by his helmet. ‘Steady!’
Again the voice tickled Arminius’ memory. He focused on the officer’s face, noted the long jaw, the steely eyes. A jolt of recognition struck him. It was Tullus, whom he’d first met close to the Rhenus, during the recapture of a bear destined for the arena. Six years older, his face more lined, but Tullus nonetheless.
Arminius chuckled. It seemed apt – and perhaps predictable – that he should have been one of the few to survive his ambush. Now, though, Tullus’ time had come. He would be hard to kill. I’d best do it, thought Arminius, changing the angle of his run to ensure that he came up against Tullus.