Tullus pointed. ‘One is at the east gate, and another at the south. They’ve been sent to do the same as this bird here – to stir the men’s pride. The other remains at the headquarters.’
Sour Face seemed pleased. Heads nodded. Men even started smiling.
Tullus took heart. ‘Leave this camp, brothers, and I promise it will be the end of you. Arminius is out there with thousands of his warriors, waiting for you to wander around in the dark, up to your knees in mud. Leave this camp and your lives will be forfeit. Your eagles will be lost – taken by the enemy, disgracing each and every one of you for eternity. Is that what you would have?’
‘NO!’
‘Do you want your bones to moulder in the bog? To have your heads nailed to trees?’
‘Noooo!’ they screamed back at him.
‘Return to your positions then. Get what rest you can. In the morning, Caecina will lead us out, to victory.’
‘What about the enemy in the camp?’ demanded Sour Face.
‘Listen,’ ordered Tullus. ‘Tell me if you can hear any fighting.’ Gods, let the situation have calmed, he prayed as the mob fell quiet. A dozen heartbeats skipped past; in the distance, men were shouting, but the frightened edge that had been present before was gone. There was no sound of combat, no clash of sword on shield. No screams as men died on the sharp end of a blade.
Sour Face stared at Tullus, long and hard, and then he shook his head. ‘It must have been a horse after all. Curse it, brothers, we were fooled by a fucking horse!’
Embarrassed laughter broke out and, just like that, the tension began to dissipate. Sour Face turned on his heel and shoved his way into the crowd. ‘Back to our places, brothers!’ he cried. ‘Tomorrow will be a long day.’ His shouts continued as he pressed on into the throng. Nothing else happened for a few moments. Tullus’ heart was thudding in his chest – there was no way of knowing if enough of the legionaries had been convinced.
He twisted the standard’s staff a little, so that the torchlight bounced off the majestic gold bird. Similar in appearance to the Eighteenth’s lost eagle, it was depicted lying forward on its breast, a golden wreath encircling its wings, which were upraised behind its body. Its part-open beak and penetrating stare gave off an overpowering sense of arrogance and power. The embodiment of a legion’s pride and honour, the eagle demanded – expected – respect.
Another reverent sigh escaped a hundred throats, and in dribs and drabs the legionaries began edging away. All were careful to avoid Tullus’ and Caecina’s gaze.
It took time, but at last he and Caecina were left standing in the gateway, with Piso and the rest watching from above. Only the muddied ground – tramped flat by hobnailed sandals – bore witness to the large crowd that had been present.
‘Well done,’ said Caecina, his face paling with delayed shock.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Tullus studied Caecina sidelong. One disaster had been averted, but another – in the form of Arminius’ waiting hordes – beckoned. They needed Caecina’s leadership now more than ever. ‘Have you given any thought to our next move, sir?’
His composure regained, Caecina let out an evil chuckle. ‘The enemy must have heard the commotion. Let him think we are too scared to leave the camp. Let him think the legionaries are bunched together like frightened sheep. Let him attack us here, at dawn.’ He gestured at the ramparts and the intervallum. ‘When he scales the defences, and enters the gate, he’ll find us waiting.’
The chaos at the gate had curdled neither Caecina’s resolve nor his courage, thought Tullus with delight.
It was an ingenious plan.
Chapter XXXVIII
Using a spear as a staff, Arminius was picking his way through the bog towards his camp. Maelo and a group of his best warriors were with him; they had spent the previous few hours in the darkness close to the Roman fortifications. Drawn at first by the uproar – shouts, cries of fear, and a horse of all things – Arminius had lingered because of the degree of panic among the enemy troops. The cause of the widespread alarm was unclear, but by the time small groups of dishevelled, fearful legionaries began wandering out of the northern gate, it seemed that the chaos was very real.
Wary still of the possibility of a trap, Arminius had held his eager warriors back. With Maelo by his side, he had crept closer to the enemy camp’s north gate. The staggered construction of the entrance had prevented him from seeing events unfold inside, but he’d been able to glean much of the goings on from the shouted conversations wafting over the defences.
What a pity he had not slain Tullus six years before, brooded Arminius. The man was indefatigable. First he had thwarted Arminius on the battlefield, and then he had won over the terrified mob of legionaries by the gate with talk of his legion’s eagle, and how their own must not be lost to the enemy. It was infuriating – yet it was also hard not to feel a certain admiration for the man. Realising that Caecina had been there too, Arminius had determined to storm the gate and try to kill both Tullus and general in one fell swoop, but Maelo had stood in his way. Arminius had cursed him for it, but as the first fingers of light stole up the sky from the horizon, he had to admit that his second-in-command had been right. They might have succeeded, but some of the legionaries at least would have fought back. Maelo or he might have been slain.
Dying didn’t scare Arminius – since Thusnelda’s abduction there had been many occasions when he would have welcomed the oblivion it granted. He had allowed Maelo to step in because without him, the charismatic leader, it would be too easy for the tribes’ assault on the battered legions to fragment and fail. With him, it would succeed. The legionaries were terrified – the evidence of that had filled Arminius’ ears. When they emerged from the camp at last and his warriors fell on them in their thousands, what remained of their resolve would vanish, as it had for Varus and the unfortunates who’d followed him.
It was bittersweet that despite the magnitude of Arminius’ impending victory, Thusnelda and their baby would never return home. His suspicion had been borne out some time before by news that had reached him from the west bank of the Rhenus. No matter how many Romans he slaughtered, she was gone forever – sent to Rome as a prestigious captive. Arminius ground his teeth until his jaws ached. You bastard, Germanicus, he thought. You cold-hearted, motherless get. I’ll capture you one day, and by the gods, you’ll live to regret the day you were born.
‘We’re almost there.’ Maelo’s voice pulled Arminius back to the moment. He dampened his rage. Now was a time for calm, for control.
‘D’you want me to wake the others?’ asked Maelo.
‘Aye. Every chieftain needs to be here – we haven’t got long. Caecina will want to march soon, before his men’s new-found resolve deserts them.’
‘Today’s the day – I can feel it,’ said Maelo, slapping Arminius’ back before he slipped off into the lightening gloom.
An hour later, neither man’s outlook was so rosy. Encouraged by Arminius’ reports of the panic among the enemy ranks, Inguiomerus had proposed an all-out attack on the Roman camp. To Arminius’ dismay, the other chieftains had loved the idea, roaring their approval at the leaden skies. Again and again, he repeated the risks of fighting the legionaries face-to-face. ‘Why not let them march out, into the wet and broken country? They’re easy prey there.’
His protests and suggestions fell on deaf ears. Even Big Chin, who had listened to Arminius before, wanted to strike at the Romans. ‘They’re soiling their undergarments like newborn babes – you said so yourself,’ he declared to loud acclaim. ‘Their defences are poor. Better still, the legions are in one place.’
‘It will be easy to take the eagles,’ said Inguiomerus. ‘Imagine that.’
The chieftains cheered. ‘I’ll have one.’ ‘Not if my warriors get there first.’ ‘I want two!’