Eagles at War (17 page)

Furious, the boar wheeled on its attacker. There was a loud yelp as one of its tusks connected, and the dog released its grip. Before the boar could flee, however, another hound had seized hold of its haunches. Squeals shredded the air, and the boar turned anew, gouging at the second dog’s head and neck. Droplets of blood flew everywhere, but instead of letting go, the dog clamped its jaws even tighter. This was what its two companions had been waiting for. Hurling themselves forward, they sank their teeth into whatever part of the boar came within reach.

Tullus was still about fifteen paces from the spinning mass of flesh, but Varus had closed right in. He drove at the boar with his spear. Whether it was accuracy or blind luck, Tullus couldn’t tell, but Varus’ blade sank into the beast’s neck rather than into one of the dogs. The weapon was almost ripped from his hands as the boar bucked and tossed in an effort to free itself, but Varus hung on. Tullus reached the maul and took a position several steps away. When his chance came, he too stuck his spear into the boar, taking him in the belly. Spitted on two shafts, the boar shrieked his distress, but he was far from done. With a vicious swipe of his tusks, he eviscerated one of the hounds, which fell away, yelping. At once the boar focused its attention on another of the dogs. Shouting encouragement at Tullus, Varus ran his spear even deeper into the beast’s neck. Tullus emulated the governor, shoving his weapon so far in that he wondered if it would emerge on the other side. He was now far closer to the boar and its gore-tipped tusks than he would have wished. Its rank odour clawed at the back of his throat. If it broke either of their spear shafts, he thought, they could be injured or killed.

There was a heavy impact as another spear was plunged into the boar. Tullus wasn’t ashamed to feel relief that Arminius had arrived. Even with three spears in its body, and two dogs hanging off it, the boar would not die. It wasn’t until Varus’ blade slid right into its chest cavity that that happened. Gouts of bright red blood poured from its mouth as it shuddered its way to oblivion.

Its dead weight was far too great to hold up. Tullus and the others released their spears as one, letting the boar collapse to the ground. Fierce grins split their faces as the reality sank in. ‘Fine work, sir,’ said Tullus.

‘Yours was the first strike?’ Arminius saluted Varus. ‘You did well, governor. He must weigh as much as three men.’

‘I didn’t stop him. It was that poor creature.’ Varus gestured at the gutted dog, which was being dispatched by Maelo.

‘Nonetheless, it takes balls to charge a boar of that size, and to stay with him until another hunter can get to you,’ said Arminius. He spoke a couple of sentences in his own tongue – Tullus heard the words ‘first to blood his spear’ – and the gathering warriors called out in appreciation. When Arminius pulled free his hunting blade and raised it, crimson-coated, to the sky, they joined in his shout. ‘Varus! Varus! Varus!’

His concerns about the Usipetes set aside, so too did Tullus. Varus had a name for being a brave man, an individual who got things done, and this was proof of it. The governor
was
a man to follow, which made Arminius’ continuous stream of compliments more likely to be genuine.

Tullus’ disquiet about Arminius lingered, however. Life had taught him that people who worked hard to win others over always had an ulterior purpose.

What was Arminius’ motive?

The sun was falling in the sky and the muggy heat had abated by the time that the party neared the Rhenus. Small boys clutching poles and strings of fish stood by the roadside, watching as the soldiers passed by. Scrawny pups by their feet yapped futile challenges. An old woman sat by a little stall covered with vegetables, crying in bad Latin that her produce was the best in all of Germania.

Tullus was riding at the front as before, with Varus, Arminius and Maelo. They had been sharing skins of wine since reaching the wagon, and Tullus was half pissed. It wasn’t surprising. He’d had nothing to eat since dawn except a strip of Arminius’ dried bear meat, and he had shed a bucketload of sweat during the long hunt through the forest. If he had been one of the unfortunate legionaries who had accompanied them, Tullus decided, or one of the warriors who had lugged the boar’s gutted carcase back to the road, he wouldn’t have made it to the end of the day. He was getting old, that was the problem. Stop it, you fool, he ordered himself. Some of your new recruits wouldn’t have kept up today.

‘Tullus.’

With an effort, he focused on Varus. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘You’ll dine with me tonight,’ Varus repeated. ‘Arminius and Maelo will be there too.’

‘I’d be honoured, sir.’

‘I will need the company. Arminius is saying that because mine was the first spear into the boar, I must eat one of its balls.’

Tullus glanced at the Cheruscans in disbelief. ‘It’s our tradition,’ said Arminius, grinning. ‘The most courageous hunter has to savour the bravest part of the boar.’

‘You’ll both have a mouthful too,’ warned Varus, also smiling. ‘But the other bollock belongs to Tullus.’

Tullus, who had been drinking from the skin, spluttered wine everywhere. Arminius threw back his head and laughed. ‘Sir …’ Tullus managed.

‘There’ll be plenty of good wine to wash it down, you have my word,’ said Varus.

‘As our host today, you must have at least one mouthful of mine as well,’ Tullus shot at Arminius.

Arminius grinned in acceptance. ‘So be it.’

Tullus winked, glad to have paid Arminius back a little. In truth, he wasn’t that bothered about eating a few mouthfuls of rubbery testicle. It was a small price to pay for the vintages that Varus had at his disposal.

Tullus’ good humour faded soon after, however, when he spotted a horse and rider galloping towards them from the direction of Vetera. No one rode that fast unless there was an urgent reason, and in Tullus’ long experience, it was seldom a good one. ‘Messenger approaching, sir,’ he said.

Varus’ mouth turned down as he too spied the horseman. ‘We’re not even over the river, and already duty calls.’ He urged his mount in front of the rest and, with an imperious wave, gestured that the rider should halt.

The man
was
a messenger, thought Tullus, spotting the ‘SPQR’ brand on the horse’s withers. Augustus might be the first emperor, but the mark, a vestige of how things had been in the Republic, remained in use. Men such as these carried official news the length and breadth of the empire, renewing their mounts at the regular way stations. It was possible that whatever Varus was about to hear had come all the way from Augustus, in Rome.

The messenger looked none too happy at being stopped. ‘I seek Publius Quinctilius Varus,’ he cried.

‘And you have found him,’ replied Varus in a sardonic voice.

The messenger’s face could not have fallen any further. ‘My apologies, sir. I did not recognise you.’

Varus made an impatient gesture. ‘Who sent you, and what news do you carry?’

‘Vala said I should find you with all speed, sir. Reports are coming in of a band of Usipetes that have crossed the river, some distance between here and Asciburgium. They have sacked numerous farms, and are moving westward.’

Varus let out a ripe oath. ‘How many?’

‘It’s not clear, sir. Several hundred at least.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Vala said that it was too late to send out any troops, sir. He knew that you were returning from a hunt, and would want to decide on the best response.’

Dismissing the messenger with orders for Vala to organise a meeting of his senior officers, Varus regarded Tullus with a faint smile. ‘The Usipetes were unhappy with my ruling after all. They will have to be taught the error of their ways.’

‘Aye, sir,’ replied Tullus with a grim nod.

‘Refrain from drinking any more wine. You too, Arminius.’

‘You’d like me to be part of the retaliatory force, governor?’ asked Arminius. Tullus glanced at him, wondering if he had sensed a tinge of reluctance in his voice. The Cheruscan’s face was bland, however.

‘I would. Tullus too,’ answered Varus. ‘Tubero will lead you. It’ll be an opportunity for him to learn from both of you how things are done.’

IX

WHEN ARMINIUS HEARD
about the Usipetes’ raiding party, he was furious. Varus could respond in but one manner. Retaliation. Why did Varus have to pick him to be part of it? The Usipetes were his allies, secret or no. If their chieftains heard that their warriors had been slain by Cheruscans and, worse still, that he had been involved, any chance of their cooperation would vanish forever.

If Arminius could have, he would have seen that the raiding party was wiped out. Thanks to Varus’ desire for prisoners, though, the raiders’ fate had been taken out of his hands. Varus’ legionaries would follow their orders. The best Arminius could do was to order
his
men to slay as many of the raiders as they could, and hope that the ones who were captured and interrogated didn’t give anything away. Everything felt risky and uncertain, but he had to remain confident that the Usipetes’ chieftains would not find out about his involvement.

At least the situation wasn’t all bad. Varus’ heavy-handed response would fan the flames of resentment towards Rome among other tribes. Those who might have wavered before would now be eager to throw in their lot when he called on them to do so.

The Usipetes
would
remain unaware, Arminius told himself. His ambitious alliance
would
come together. His plan
would
bear fruit.

A day had passed, and Arminius was riding south on the road that led towards Asciburgium. He had been astride his mount long enough for his arse to start aching. Most of his men were ranging ahead of the patrol, but he was at its front, with two turmae; Tullus and the legionaries were marching behind. Arminius had been counting the stone markers at the side of the paved road since they’d left Vetera, but his bad mood meant he’d forgotten how far they had come. The dull pain in his backside, he decided, meant it had to be about ten miles. The countryside was almost flat, as it was throughout the area. The river flowed along to his left, a constant feature, and there were open fields and occasional farmhouses to his right. From this point on, his scouts would be of vital importance, because no one knew where the Usipetes were.

Once they were found, victory was certain. The Roman force – two cohorts and half of Arminius’ cavalry unit – would have no difficulty in dealing with the tribal war band. Ensuring that the Usipetes remained ignorant of their allies’ participation in the Roman response to their raid was another matter altogether.

Not long after, Tullus rode forward from his position. Arminius had been impressed by Tullus’ soldiers, who seemed well drilled, disciplined and responsive to their officers. This was a solid centurion, who like as not led by example. His men would follow him anywhere. In short, he was someone worth befriending – and also keeping a close eye on. Tullus had not understood Maelo’s muttered comment during the early stages of the boar hunt, but he hadn’t missed the look Arminius and Maelo had shared after the comment about the smell of blood. At some level, Tullus was suspicious of him, thought Arminius, pulling a hearty smile.

‘Seen anything?’ Tullus asked in a friendly enough tone.

‘Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time before my men find them. I suggested to the senior tribune that they scour the countryside ahead of us, in individual turmae, to cover more ground.’ Arminius was pleased to see Tullus nodding in approval. ‘They have orders to withdraw, unseen, at the first sighting of the Usipetes.’

‘Where’s the tribune?’

‘He insisted on going with my men.’ It was clear that Tullus didn’t much care for Tubero. After what had happened on the patrol to Aliso, Arminius wasn’t surprised. He filed the detail away for future use.

They rode on for a time, and then Tullus asked, ‘Did the Usipetes’ chieftains sanction this raid, d’you think?’

‘If they did, they’re damn fools,’ said Arminius with feeling. ‘Such acts will always be answered, in force.’

‘Their entire people will suffer because of this.’

‘They will.’ But if my alliance remains unaffected, I don’t care, thought Arminius harshly.

During the silence that fell after, Arminius caught Tullus rubbing at a puckered scar on the fleshy part of his left calf.

‘That an old injury?’

‘Aye. Nothing’s ever the same once it’s been thrust through by a blade. If I have regular massages, and remember to stretch it every morning, it doesn’t cause me too much trouble. I can’t march like I used to, worse luck. After a few miles, it begins to feel as if someone’s tightening a vice inside the muscle.’

‘Scar tissue,’ pronounced Arminius.

‘That’s what the surgeon said. There’s nothing to be done with it, other than keeping it as supple as possible.’ Tullus threw him a glance. ‘You must have had an injury or two.’

Arminius rapped his ornate helmet. ‘I have a nice scar on the top of my head, courtesy of a warrior with a
falx
in Illyricum. Lucky for me, his blade was poor quality, and broke as it smashed my helm.’