He looked inside the stronghold. There were scores of huts and buildings inside. Men were ushering their wives and children into what they hoped were the soundest shelters. One woman was carrying a crude sword and arguing with her husband while her toddler son tugged on her other hand. Arminius marveled at the sight. Even the women of his tribe were willing to fight to the last. He listened intently to hear their debate.
“I can fight!” the woman shouted. “And I will not sit idle while you commit suicide!”
Her husband sighed.
“I know you can fight. But what we need now is courage beyond that of fighting the Romans. Somebody has to help our people to rise again. When I am gone, you will raise our sons to be great warriors. You will teach them what it means to be Cherusci!”
The woman’s lips trembled as she smiled weakly and averted her eyes downward.
“If you are overrun, what will keep the Romans from slaughtering every last person here?” she asked softly. “You said so yourself; they do not come for conquest or slaves. They come for extermination. If I am to die today, and if our children are to die, then we will die where we belong, fighting by your side.” As she spoke, she placed a hand on the side of her husband’s face. Their elder son, perhaps eight or nine, placed his hand on his mother’s shoulder. He proudly carried a wicker shield and club in his other hand, though both were too big for him to wield effectively. The father lifted his youngest into his arms and embraced his wife and elder son. Tears were in his eyes.
“I have been so blessed to have such a family,” he said. “But you must live! If I die and we do get overrun, you must make your way into the forests. You must do this for me.”
His wife clung to him tightly, not saying a word. The warrior then released his family, his face stoic. He nodded, drew his sword, and returned to the rampart.
“Is there no hope for us, Mother? Are we really going to die today?” the eldest son asked, looking up into her face.
Her face set and determined, the woman kneeled down and placed both hands on her son’s shoulders.
“If we show true courage and if we face the Romans like Cherusci, then all of us will live forever in the Halls of the Valiant. I do not fear them.” She held both her sons close, trying hard to hide her own tears, for she knew their fate. If they tried to flee, they would only be cut down during the Roman pursuit. To die running was unacceptable.
“The Romans are coming!” a young boy shouted from the rampart.
Arminius and the warriors rushed forward to see for themselves. Thousands of Roman infantry were formed up on the dry plain in front of them. In the distance, the brightly colored paint and the metal bosses on their shields gleamed in the sun. Their helmets and armor reflected the glare even more so. In true Roman fashion, they moved in complete silence. They would only make a sound when the time came to engage. It was unnerving. Arminius looked beyond the infantry. As expected, the Roman artillery was set, crews working frantically on each weapon. Arminius started to breathe heavily. The pending barrage would be devastating.
“Scorpions…load!” Pilate shouted. Loaders rapidly cranked back the tension ropes on their machines. They placed bolts into the firing grooves as gunners looked down their sights towards the stronghold.
“Scorpions ready, sir!” Dionysus called back once all crews reported they were set. Pilate walked up and down the line of scorpions. Behind them, onagers were loaded with their fire pots. Beside each a torch bearer stood awaiting orders.
“Monitor your sectors,” he told the scorpion crews. “Only fire at what you can hit. Quick, clean shots, men!” He looked over at the wall. In his peripheral vision he could see the legions advancing on the woods.
A detachment of onagers had been designated to cover their advance as well. He also saw movement on the wall of the stronghold. There seemed to be excited shouting and pointing coming from the ramparts. It was time to put a stop to it. On the line, one of the gunners watched as a figure silhouetted itself fully in his sight. He gave a knowing smile. This was going to be all too easy. He wondered to himself if he could score a head shot.
“Scorpion crews…fire! Onagers…ignite!”
The gunner elevated his weapon slightly and squeezed the firing mechanism.
“Got you.” he uttered in a low breath as the bolt flew home.
“The Romans are advancing on the woodlines!” the young lookout shouted. He couldn’t have been any older than fourteen, not even old enough to grow a beard.
“Damn, they anticipated our move once again,” Arminius swore. He was still dizzy from the effects of his injuries and was having trouble focusing.
“Tell your son to get off that wall! And get the rest of those men off of there!” Ingiomerus shouted at Haraxus.
The other warrior just laughed. “My son’s a brave lad, and he’s a damn good lookout. Aren’t you, son?” The boy smiled broadly and turned back to gaze over the ramparts. Suddenly, they saw a long bolt fly through the air and smash through his face and head. Blood and bits of bone sprayed everywhere as he fell into a heap on the rampart. A scorpion bolt protruded from the back of his skull.
“No!” Haraxus screamed as he ran towards his dead son.
More scorpion bolts were seen flying towards the stronghold. Warriors that were standing up conspicuously were picked off by the highly accurate weapons. One lay screaming on the ground as a bolt protruded from his upper arm. Another warrior cried out as he sprouted a bolt from his thigh. His leg started to spasm uncontrollably as he fought to keep his balance. His leg snagged on a section of turf, and he pitched head first over the side of the wall. Yet another warrior took a hit to the chest and was dead before he hit the ground. Haraxus knelt down on the rampart, cradling the bloody and broken head of his son, tears streaming down his face.
“Haraxus, get down!” Arminius shouted.
Haraxus ignored him. All he could do was clutch his son while sobbing uncontrollably. A scorpion bolt slammed through the grieving father’s neck, covering Arminius in blood. Haraxus bore a look of both pain and relief in his eyes. He still clung to the body of his son, as both tumbled over the rampart. Arminius turned his head away, trying to drown out the screams of his warriors as they were horribly maimed and cut down. Then a wave of fireballs came over the rampart in a high arc; flames spewed forth as from the bowels of Hell. Their targets were the inner structures, where the families of the warriors huddled in fear.
“Look out!” he shouted to the people below. It was too late. The fireballs were already falling inside the compound, exploding, and spreading liquid fire wherever they impacted. Huts inside the stronghold burst into flames, their thatched roofs feeding the fire to an uncontrollable inferno. Warriors turned back from the ramparts and looked on horrified, as their wives and children became the targets of the Roman firestorm. There was nowhere for them to run. The torrent of fire seemed to find all who sought shelter within. Arminius watched as what looked like a sound shelter burst into flames, the walls quickly crumbling. The screams of terror were almost deafening, those trapped inside slowly suffocating or burning to death. He quickly turned back to the rampart, trying to shut the nightmare from his mind.
“Their infantry is advancing on us!” a warrior shouted, peeking over the rampart. Suddenly the back of his throat exploded, spewing more blood on the already slick rampart, as another scorpion bolt found its mark.
“Stay down! Nobody goes to the wall!” Arminius shouted. “We’ll face them as they come over. Uncle, you take the right wing.”
He and Ingiomerus drew their swords and waited. Ingiomerus walked over to the extreme right of the wall. He leaned back against a post, resting the blade of his sword in his hand. The wait was maddening. He could hear the Romans advancing towards the wall. How long would it take them to get over the top? For the first time since the campaign began, he was afraid. Even when he had been wounded during their assault on the Roman fort at Ahenobarbi, he had not felt fear the way he did now. Now they were the ones cornered, and there was nowhere for them to run. If only their plan for defense had been as sound as the Romans’.