Eagles at War (55 page)

The order went rolling up the column, and the soldiers maintained their steady pace.

By rights, Tullus was supposed to be with his men, further up the line, but his pride wouldn’t let him move. If there was to be a fight, he wanted to be part of it. All he’d done for the last seven days and more was run. Even if it meant his death, he was going to face the enemy.

It was as if Caedicius knew – he didn’t say a word.

HUUUUMMMMMMMM! HUUUUMMMMMMMM!

Tullus took a look. The berserkers were about half a mile back, and a good distance ahead of their comrades.

Caedicius barked an order at his last rider, who urged his horse forward.

Soon after, Degmar appeared out of the bushes to the side of the road, his chest heaving from the run. Several thousand warriors were following them, he reported, but a sizeable number
did
appear to be drunk. Clapping Degmar on the shoulder, Tullus relayed the good news to Caedicius, who halted the cohort at once.

‘About turn,’ Caedicius shouted. ‘Rear ten ranks, spread out, twenty wide, three deep. Off the road, if you have to. READY JAVELINS!’

Tullus counted the berserkers. There were a dozen, and his gut twisted. That many naked madmen would smash their formation like hammers striking a pane of glass. Their volley was vital, therefore. ‘
Pilum
,’ he ordered, raising his hand, and one was handed forward from a man in the rank behind.

Caedicius was busy too. He couldn’t have stood in the front line of a battle for years, yet he hadn’t forgotten the little details that stiffen men’s spines. Tullus felt his own resolve firm as Caedicius stalked up and down, telling his soldiers that they were the pride of Rome, the best legionaries in the empire. They would fight for each other, and to avenge their comrades, who had been so foully murdered by the whoresons coming down that road. No quarter was to be given, Caedicius roared, not even if an enemy was crying for mercy. ‘I want you to cover your blades in blood. I want you to kill every fucking savage that comes near you! Do you hear me?’

‘YES, SIR!’

Caedicius began to clash the head of his javelin off the iron rim of his shield.

Every man joined in.

They kept it up until the berserkers were a hundred paces away. The rest of the warriors were at least three times that distance further behind. Caedicius raised his pilum high, and a gradual silence fell.

‘Front two ranks, ready javelins!’ called Caedicius. ‘On my command, ranks three and four will pass their pila forward.’

Tullus tried not to think about the gaps in their far from ideal formation. On the road, they were only six men wide. Seven soldiers were standing a little lower down to either side, in the ditches that ran alongside, and on the rough, grassy ground that extended beyond that. He took a tighter grip on his pilum shaft, thinking that it would have to do.

Caedicius continued encouraging his men until the berserkers were fifty paces away. They were a fearsome sight, their bodies streaked with white pigment, spears ready, mad war cries leaving their throats. ‘Front two ranks, take aim,’ he yelled. ‘Pick your target. On my order.’

Tullus concentrated on a wiry berserker who was taller than any of his companions.

‘READY,’ cried Caedicius. ‘LOOSE!’

Tullus drew back, and threw.

Caedicius was shouting before the shoal of missiles had even reached the top of their arc. ‘RANKS THREE AND FOUR, PASS YOUR JAVELINS FORWARD. QUICKLY!’

Tullus held up his hand, and was given another pilum.

Down came their first effort, forty javelins, striking the berserkers like heavy rain on immature wheat. Many of the warriors fell, but Tullus had no chance to count them. Caedicius had ordered another volley – short this time. Up went two score more pila, and down again, their pyramidal iron points ripping into the unarmoured berserkers like hot knives through cheese.

Tullus stared. Counted. Let out an incredulous laugh. Two berserkers remained standing, and one had a javelin protruding from his left leg, crippling him. The pair were no cowards, however. The uninjured man charged on alone, and his companion hobbled after.

The mass of warriors behind continued to advance, yet the annihilation of the berserkers had silenced their barritus, and seen their pace slow to a walk.

Grabbing a pilum from a soldier behind him, Tullus hurled it from fifteen paces. The throw was as good as any he’d ever made. It hit the lead berserker in the chest, felling him like an ox struck with a hammer and spike.

‘Come on, you maggot!’ roared Tullus at the last berserker, who had stopped in his tracks. ‘Come and die on Roman iron!’

Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara.
The sound of Roman trumpets was unmistakeable – and they were sounding the advance, double time.

Tullus’ breath caught in his chest.

The wounded berserker cocked his head. He listened for several heartbeats, and then he began shuffling backwards, away from the Romans.

Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara.
It was closer this time.

The berserker increased his pace, moaning with the pain it caused him. The front ranks of the warriors wavered a little.

‘ROMA! ROMA! ROMA!’ roared the legionaries.

Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara.

Like a flock of panicked sheep, the warriors turned tail and ran. They didn’t stop. They didn’t look back, except in terror.

The soldiers’ cheering redoubled. It was a small victory – but one to be savoured.

Tullus breathed again and the air felt sweet in his lungs.

Caedicius’ cunning had left the road to Vetera – and safety – open. He, Tullus, would survive. So would Fenestela and his remaining men. And the girl. Even the pup would make it. He laughed as the clouds parted, spilling golden sunlight over the sodden landscape.

Author’s Note

No one can argue that Rome carved an indelible mark on world history, both as republic and empire. During its long and illustrious history, many events stand out, among them the wars against Carthage, the decline of republicanism and the rise to power of Julius Caesar, the lives of various emperors: Augustus, Marcus Aurelius and Constantine. Some of its battles are still remembered: the Caudine Forks, Cannae, Zama, Carrhae, Pharsalus and Adrianapolis – titanic struggles some of which Rome won, others lost. Without doubt, another unforgettable conflict was the battle of the Teutoburg Forest, which took place in north-central Germany in the autumn of
AD
9. It was a devastating defeat for the ageing first emperor, Augustus. It’s not well known today, but much of Germany as far as the River Elbe had been pacified by Rome in the twenty-five years prior to the Teutoburg. This significant achievement was turned on its head when an ingenious ambush devised by Arminius, a Romanised German, and carried out by thousands of his fellow tribesmen, wiped out one-tenth of the empire’s standing army – three legions – in a single, bold stroke.

I have done my best in this book to recreate the events that took place during that fateful summer and autumn, and to stick to the historical details that have survived. I apologise now for any errors that I may have made. Many of the characters in the book were real people; these include Publius Quinctilius Varus, Arminius, Lucius Seius Tubero, Gaius Numonius Vala, Lucius Nonius Asprenas, Lucius Caedicius, Marcus Caelius, Ceionius, Lucius Eggius, Segimer, Segestes, Maroboduus, Fabricius and Flavus. Even lowly soldiers such as Marcus Aius, Cessorinius Ammausias and Marcus Crassus Fenestela existed. (More of Aius and Ammausias anon.) Centurion Tullus is my invention; so too are Aristides, Maelo, Degmar and the soldiers of Tullus’ century.

It’s annoying that almost no ‘real’ tribal names of the time survive. By necessity, I invented Osbert, Degmar and Aelwird. Because I used name stems from the German Dark Age era, I hope they sound authentic. Arminius and Segimundus are clearly Romanised versions of German names. Arminius’ real name may have been ‘Armin’ or ‘Ermin’ – we are not sure. When I began the book, I chose the latter when he was among his own kind, and ‘Arminius’ when he was with the Romans. In fact I wrote the entire story in this way. My editor was adamant, however, that to give him two names would confuse the reader. There were several long discussions about it, but in the end, she persuaded me to change his name to Arminius throughout – apart from one mention, in the prologue. I hope this move doesn’t make him sound ‘too Roman’.

The bloody sacrifice in the book’s prologue is fictitious, but the ritual described within it, of human sacrifice by German tribesmen, is not. The Germanic tribes were known to have held Donar, their thunder god, in particular esteem. The sounds made by sacred horses are also recorded as being important to the Germans’ priests. The tribes’ way of life and social customs are not well known, sadly, but the details of their power structure, houses, weapons and agriculture, and the local fauna and flora that I have described, are accurate according to my research. For example, the German method of execution using a wicker hurdle in the bog is recorded. So too are the broad strokes of Arminius’ childhood and early life. The word ‘berserker’ wasn’t used at the time, but it wasn’t unusual for some warriors to fight naked, and to lead the fight to the enemy.

The construction of the mighty Roman forts along the River Rhine began in the last two decades of the first century
BC
. They stood for many years and sometimes centuries. Castra Vetera, in which Tullus was stationed, stood on the Fürstenberg hill, a short distance south of the modern German town of Xanten. It’s used as farmland now, but its amphitheatre, still in use as a theatre, can be visited. Nearby is a truly impressive archaeological park that is situated on the site of Colonia Ulpia Traiana, the town that grew up after Vetera. It’s by no means certain that the Eighteenth Legion was stationed at Vetera, but it’s considered likely thanks to the tombstone of Marcus Caelius, most senior centurion of the unit, which was discovered in the area of Xanten. His is the only known memorial to a soldier lost at the Teutoburg. There were bridges over the Rhine at Vetera, spanning the midstream islands. The inscription I described does exist, but on the still-standing Alcántara Bridge in Spain, erected by the order of the emperor Trajan.

It is possible that Mogontiacum (Mainz) may have been the home of the Nineteenth, but it’s unclear where the Seventeenth was based. The location of many Roman forts within Germany is known, but their names are not. The town of Haltern-am-See may have been Aliso, but we can’t be sure. The camp called Porta Westfalica (a modern name despite the Latin sound) may have been Varus’ summer camp, or – more likely – may not. The town of Waldgirmes is the site of the Roman settlement with the large forum and municipal buildings mentioned in the book, but my name of Pons Laugona is invented (I thought it apt because the local river was known by the Romans as the Laugona).

The priest Segimundus did ally himself with Arminius, who must have been a most charismatic character. We are told that the Romans, and in particular Varus, placed implicit trust in him. However, let’s not fall for the age-old perception that Varus was a naïve, easily led man with poor judgement. He had a good political and military track record, and had crushed a widespread rebellion in Judaea just a few years before. Augustus was not in the habit of putting men he did not trust in positions of power, and the governorship of Germany was one of the empire’s most important jobs.

Tubero’s disastrous attack on the cattle-herding youths and the events that followed are fictitious. Varus’ summer campaign into Germany, the main purposes of which being to collect taxes and continue the area’s Romanisation, was real. He is known to have ignored Segestes’ warning about Arminius. The details of the doomed army’s march – from the slaughtering of the Roman soldiers at their roadside watch posts to the imagined rebellion by the Angrivarii and the route chosen by Arminius – are as the ancient texts describe. The tribes mentioned as being involved were not all definitively there – only three were – but for Arminius to have had enough warriors, more tribes must have taken part. The terrible weather may have been an invention by the Roman historians who wrote about the battle, to make the scene more doom-laden, more dramatic, but northern Germany
is
prone to severe storms in the autumn, and the drainage ditches found behind the German earthenworks at the Kalkriese battlefield (more of which anon) lend weight to this description.

If you were curious about the references to Tullus’ encounter with a soothsayer fifteen years before the battle, go and read
The Shrine,
my free digital short story, which is available on Amazon and other platforms.

As far as I know, there is no evidence for the use of whistles by Roman officers to relay commands. Trumpets of various types were used instead. However, whistles have been found all over the Empire, including in the vicinity of the legionary fortress at Regensburg, in Germany. It’s not too much of a jump to place one in Tullus’ hands during a battle. A whistle could have been very useful in getting the attention of those who were only a few steps away.