“You dare speak of traitors?” Arminius retorted. “You betrayed our fatherland, our very ancestral freedom, and the gods of the homes of Germania! Our mother has shared my prayers that you might not choose to be the deserter and betrayer. Rather that you would become ruler of our kinsfolk and relatives, and indeed of our own people. 2 I see that such prayers were in vain! Rome has corrupted your soul. This is your home no longer, and these are no longer your fellow tribesmen. You are no longer Cherusci, you are Roman!” He spat on the ground to emphasize his point.
A thin smile crossed Flavus’ face. “Do you want to know who else in your family is now a Roman? Your son! Oh, yes, Thusnelda bore you a son, a son that will never know his lineage to you! And unlike his father, he will have a future, one with promise and hope. You my brother, and whatever other bastards you may spawn, will have nothing!” Flavus knew he exaggerated when speaking of Arminius’ son. Indeed, he knew the boy would be lucky if he were even allowed to live.
Arminius choked and sputtered as spittle flew from his lips. “How dare you call me your brother! You are no kin to me! I have no brother!”
“And you no longer have a son!” Flavus called out as he drew his sword.
Arminius sneered at this gesture.
“Come to me, Flavus, and let us end this! The current here is not so swift, nor the river so deep that you cannot cross in safety. Safe passage I will give you to cross to this side, that I may slay you as a man does!” He brandished his own sword as he spoke.
Flavus smiled wickedly.
“I’m going to kill you, Arminius! I’m going to rip your guts out and feast on them!”
He started to move towards the river, when Stertinius, who had also accompanied Flavus, seized the reins of his horse.
“Not this way!” he shouted. “Listen to me, Flavus. He will only lure you across so that he can ambush you like he has so many others. Look and see for yourself!” He pointed across the river to where, indeed, a number of mounted barbarians were stirring anxiously amongst the trees.
Flavus exhaled audibly through his nose, nodded, and sheathed his sword. Arminius gave a great cry, which was echoed by the warriors who had accompanied him. His face was red with rage. Flavus regained his composure and calmly turned his horse and rode away.
“See, I told you he had proven his loyalty to us,” Flavius said to Strabo as they watched Arminius ride away in fury.
The next morning Stertinius and Aemilius accompanied the Batavi to the Weser River. The water was cold and swift as Chariovalda swam his horse across. Like all great warrior leaders, he was always the first to cross into hostile territory. He also made it a point to be the first to directly engage the enemy once in contact. The woods were dense on the other side. He could not tell if the Cherusci were waiting for them or not. He was certain they would be distracted by the Romans on the other bank. As he stepped onto the soft dirt of the river bank, he quickly mounted his horse, drew his long sword, and looked back to see how the rest of his warriors were faring. All were experienced at fording rivers, so it was not a great ordeal to them. The Roman cavalry, on the other hand, were struggling in the current. As soon as the last of his warriors had crossed, he signaled for them to move out.
As they made their way through the dense woods, he saw a party of enemy warriors running their way. They were confused and looked as if they were running from something. Since they were still fairly close to the river bank, Chariovalda assumed they had just felt the wrath of the Roman artillery.
“Yah!” he shouted as he kicked his horse into a full gallop. His warriors were close behind him, all shouting and waving their swords. As they came upon the surprised mob, Chariovalda swung his sword in an underhand movement. The sharp blade made contact with one warrior’s neck, severing his head from his shoulders. The rest of his cavalry crashed into the ranks of the Cherusci, causing those they did not kill outright to scatter. One barbarian made a half-hearted attempt to attack Chariovalda with his spear. Chariovalda grabbed the spear with his left hand and then plunged his sword deep into the man’s chest, right below the throat. Blood erupted in a geyser from the barbarian’s mouth as it spurted from the wound.
The Batavi warriors shouted and raised their weapons in triumph. Most cared little about the conflict between Arminius and Rome. The Batavi were involved in an inter-tribal war, and Rome was their means to winning that war. Now they had spilled first blood against their hated neighboring tribes. Chariovalda looked around. It seemed that a number of Cherusci were running away from the battle together, a perfect target.
“With me!” he shouted and urged his warriors towards their fleeing enemy.
As they closed, he swung his sword hard across the back of one unsuspecting foe. He heard the vertebrae and spine split underneath the force of his blow. The barbarian screamed and fell to the ground.
The Batavi were in the midst of another massacre of their enemy when suddenly a throwing spear flew through the air, driving deep into the chest of a warrior riding next to Chariovalda. He looked in the direction it had come and saw a number of Cherusci regrouping ahead of them. He looked quickly to his left and right, and saw even more of them swarming towards him. Another throwing spear felled one of his warriors as the Cherusci gave a great cry and charged. A volley of darts and arrows showered the ranks of the Batavi, who raised their shields to protect themselves. Cries of shock and pain could be heard as horsemen were hurled from their mounts.
Centurion Aemilius slashed his sword across the back of a fleeing barbarian. His men had caught a small band of Cherusci completely off-guard and had slaughtered them without loss. He then heard the commotion coming from where he knew Chariovalda was in contact. He turned his gaze to his front and saw a large number of Cherusci warriors rushing towards the sounds of battle. He grimaced, knowing that Chariovalda was in trouble.
“Cornicen, sound recall!” he shouted, turning his horse about.
Stertinius, alerted by the trumpet’s sound, immediately brought his own contingent about, rushing to the aid of the Batavi.
“To me, my brave warriors!” Chariovalda shouted, raising his sword.
His warriors, realizing their plight, quickly rode to their leader, forming a circle with their shields facing out. The Cherusci now had them completely surrounded, and were attacking in overwhelming numbers. As they clashed with the Batavi, many were initially cut down by the better equipped horsemen who had the advantage of being mounted. Gradually, however, the Batavi circle started to break. Warriors succumbed to fatigue and were struck down. Others, overwhelmed by the superior numbers of Cherusci, were pulled from their mounts and hacked to pieces. Realizing their desperate situation, Chariovalda rode straight at what he thought to be the weakest point in the circle of Cherusci warriors.
“Follow me to freedom!” he shouted as he brought his sword down on the skull of one Cherusci warrior with a horrific crunch. Suddenly a spear skipped underneath his shield and pierced his side. He gasped in pain as his breath was suddenly taken from him. The spear was wrenched from his side, causing the wound to bleed profusely. His shield drooped allowing a volley of darts to pierce him in several places, sending him reeling. As he fell from his horse, he saw his warriors riding around him, hacking and stabbing away at the hated Cherusci. His vision started to fade as he saw the Roman cavalry coming to their aid at a dead charge.