“I know,” Tabbo replied, “that is why I have brought you with me today.”
“Where are we going?” the young warrior maiden asked as they stepped onto the wooden bridge. It was sturdy, built by the Romans four decades previously. Half a dozen men could comfortably walk abreast and it was perfect for trade. Amke paused to gaze into the water of the rushing Rhine.
“A little place up on a hill off the beaten path a bit,” Tabbo answered. “There is something I want you to see.” As war chief, Tabbo was responsible for all the fighting men, and the women at that, who served Frisia under arms. As niece of the King, Amke was soon to be named the head of the all-female regiment of the King’s bodyguard, and Tabbo felt the need to help with her education of the world around them and the people they dealt with. One never knew whom they would have to fight beside, or against for that matter. As soon as they crossed, Tabbo led them north through an open field. After a mile or so, they came to a wooded hill. Amke followed the war chief in silence as he made his way to the top. There he found a spot overlooking a small open valley.
“Here we are,” he said, as he sat beneath a large shade tree, bushes to his front masking his presence to the valley bellow.
“What am I looking for?” Amke asked as she knelt down next to him.
Tabbo grinned and pointed down into the valley.
“Out there,” he replied, “where that road comes out of the tree line. You will see them soon enough. They always come around this time of day, especially on pleasant days like this.” Amke wanted to ask him who he was referring to, but decided to sit and wait.
As the sun reached its apex in the sky, they heard the sound of footfalls marching in step, along with the rhythmic banging of metal on metal. The sun caught the standard carried at the front of the column as they exited the trees across the way. It was a brilliant standard, one that Amke had never seen before; a long pole with a series of several silver discs running up it. A small rectangular plaque was above these, and at the very top was a copper hand, palm facing towards them. The man who carried the standard wore bronze scale armor and a helmet with some type of animal skin covering it. The men who marched behind the standard, and were now fanning out on either side into a large rectangular formation, were equally impressive.
“So these are the Romans,” Amke observed.
“Not just Romans,” Tabbo added. “These are legionaries, the best fighting men in the entire Empire.” Their iron armor consisted of banded plates around the torso, as well as vertical plates covering the shoulders. Their helmets had a protruding neck plate off the back with guards covering the cheeks. Each carried a large, rectangular shield that was painted a bright red with gold colored wings coming off the bronze metal boss in the center. Brass strips ran the along the edges as well.
“I did not know there was so much iron in the entire world!” Amke said, marveling at the gleaming armor.
This caused Tabbo to chuckle softly.
“This is but a single Century,” the war chief explained, “a paltry fraction of a legion. They paint their shields bright so that not only can a commander identify his men, but so that the enemy can see them coming and be afraid. If you count their heads, there are not even eighty men on the field. Imagine what their enemies must feel when facing a legion of five thousand of these men!”
“You admire the Romans,” Amke noted, still watching the scene below as a soldier in the distance who looked to be wearing chainmail instead of plate armor raised his short staff in the air. His helmet was adorned with a red horsehair crest that ran transverse across the top. The legionaries immediately halted.
“Squads one through five, make ready for javelin practice!” The man’s voice carried a great distance. “Squads six through ten, to the training stakes!”
“That man is a Centurion,” Tabbo explained to the unasked question. “And yes, I do admire the Romans greatly. I have fought beside them before, in fact, our people have adopted some of their practices in close combat to our own weapons and tactics. As you can see by looking at the men attacking those tall poles with their short swords, they like to get in close to their enemy. The Romans believe that those who fight with longer weapons, such as spears and pole arms, do so because they are afraid of their enemy. A Roman gets right into his opponent’s face, making him look him in the eye and feel his breath before being killed. That is why our people fight in close with short hand axes, swords, and stabbing spears, rather than the great spears and clubs that many of the neighboring tribal kingdoms use.”
“I admit they are impressive to watch,” Amke conceded, “though I can’t help but wonder if perhaps your admiration runs a little too deep. You sound almost as if you revere the Romans.”
“Not at all,” Tabbo snorted. “I have no love for their Government or the petty magistrates they send out to collect their taxes. Their army I have the highest respect for. One must know an ally or enemy’s strengths and respect them, as well as any potential weaknesses. Many of the younger generation wonder why we give tribute to Rome, when all they see is the single magistrate and his tax collectors who every spring come to collect cattle hides. You are one of the most prominent voices of that generation, and as a leader of the King’s bodyguard it is important for you to understand why we pay tribute to Rome. It was men such as these, under the command of the General Drusus Nero, who was the current Emperor’s brother, that expediently routed our warriors all those years ago.”
“Can they be beaten?” Amke asked. “I’ve heard stories…”
“They are fearsome, but they are still men,” the war chief answered. “Yes, they can be defeated. The stories you have heard stem from the Cherusci tribe, who formed an alliance of twelve tribes sixteen years ago to oust the Romans from their lands. In simple terms, they succeeded. Three legions were destroyed in the forest known as Teutoburger Wald. The Emperor’s nephew, Germanicus Caesar, who was the son of the great Drusus Nero, invaded six years later with an army of eight legions, plus auxiliaries and allied troops. I was one of those allies.”
“I remember that a little bit,” Amke added. “I was only eleven when you, the prince, and several hundred of our warriors left to fight the Cherusci. I never knew that it was Rome you were fighting for. I thought it was simply an intertribal affair between the Frisians and the Cherusci. Most of you were back before the harvest moon, so I thought little of it. Although, I do remember, vaguely, the funeral pyres for some of our warriors.”
“We ended up facing the Cherusci cavalry,” Tabbo explained. “Like most of the tribes within the Germanic Alliance, they were a fearsome enemy. One in ten of our warriors who left to fight beside Germanicus Caesar never returned. Our losses still paled in comparison to what the legions did on that field of Idistaviso, and later at the stronghold of Angrivari.”
“But Rome never conquered the lands of the Cherusci,” Amke replied.
Tabbo confirmed with a nod. “True, though not because they couldn’t. The Emperor Augustus died the year before Germanicus launched his invasion. In his will he forbade the expansion of the Empire beyond the Rhine. This did not mean that the Romans could not still invade and raze civilizations to ash; it simply meant that they would not stay once the fighting was over. Under the order of Emperor Tiberius, who our own noble King fought beside many years ago, Germanicus laid waste to the tribes east of the Rhine. The Marsi were nearly exterminated, and the Cherusci paid dearly in lives and spoils. Even their wives, children, the old, and the infirm were not spared from the legions’ wrath. Those who could not flee…” His voice trailed off and his eyes seemed lost, as if seeing beyond. Suddenly he shook his head, brought back to the present.
“My apologies,” he said, swallowing hard. “I will speak no more of that time.” Amke noticed sweat had suddenly formed on his brow, even though it was not hot out.