‘The Romans’ lives will be snuffed out like those sparks,’ said Arminius, thinking of his aunt and cousins. ‘Think on that while I’m gone.’
‘Donar protect you.’
‘It is in his name that I do this.’ Arminius remembered the sacrifices he’d seen as a boy, and took strength from the memories. ‘Got the rope?’
‘I have it here.’
‘It’s dark enough. Time to move.’
They had already discussed where Arminius should go over the earthen rampart of the rectangular marching camp, which had been thrown up when they’d arrived. The four gateways – in the middle of each side – and the corners were manned at all times. At regular intervals, sentries patrolled the ramparts between these points. Arminius, Maelo and three warriors crept into position midway between a corner and a gate. Arminius could feel his heart thumping a protest. It was one thing to talk about getting out of the camp unseen, and another to do it. If he were caught, there would be hell to pay. No, he thought, it would be worse than that. Tullus would suspect him – correctly – of treachery.
Move, he told himself, before your courage leaves you.
‘Ready?’ he asked the trio of warriors.
‘Aye,’ they whispered back. ‘The gods guide you, Arminius,’ said one.
‘You must play your part too. Be convincing. Go.’
He and Maelo watched as the three staggered out from the shadows cast by the rampart. Talking in loud voices, they wove their way towards the nearest corner of the defences, from where the sentry that guarded this section would soon appear. It wasn’t long before a voice challenged them. Arminius waited until their conversation with the sentry was well under way before he gave Maelo the nod. His friend gave him a lift at once, up on to the walkway. Guts wrenching with nerves in case he should be seen, Arminius knelt and heaved Maelo up beside him. There was no cry of alarm then, nor was there as Maelo unravelled the rope tied around his waist and threw it over the rampart.
‘It will be too risky to try and get back in,’ hissed Arminius. ‘Send out a turma at dawn, when the gates open. I’ll meet them half a mile away, among the trees that border the road west. If Tullus asks where I am, tell him I had to pray to our gods.’ Arminius had to believe that that would be enough to allay Tullus’ suspicion of him, which had been made more evident by his comment to Varus about the killing of the raiding party.
Maelo nodded to show he’d understood, and braced a foot against the battlement. Without hesitation, Arminius climbed over the edge. Once he’d worked his way between the spiked branches, he lowered himself hand over hand into the ditch beyond. At the bottom, he gave the rope a sharp tug. Without waiting for Maelo to pull it back up – they were both on their own now – he clambered out of the trench and crawled on his hands and knees for some distance. Hidden in the blackness, he listened for the count of a score of heartbeats and more. To his intense relief, he heard nothing. Neither he nor Maelo had been spotted.
The first part of his mission had been successful.
That meant the real danger was about to begin.
Asking Donar for his continuing protection, Arminius strode towards the Usipetes’ settlement. A challenge rang out some distance from the first longhouse, and fresh sweat slicked down his back. ‘I am a friend,’ he called out in a low tone. ‘Arminius of the Cherusci is my name.’
‘It’s an odd fucking hour to come calling,’ said the sentry, looming out of the darkness with a levelled spear. He peered at Arminius’ face, took in his well-cut clothing and grunted. ‘Especially considering the company you keep. I saw you earlier, with your warriors, among the damn Romans.’
‘I am a friend of the Usipetes.’
‘I don’t know many who would agree with that statement.’ His lip curled. ‘You’re unarmed. Did you think that would stop me from gutting you right here?’
‘I left my sword behind because I didn’t want it tripping me up as I climbed out of the Roman camp. They don’t know I’m here,’ said Arminius. ‘I must speak with your chiefs. At once.’
The sentry, who stood an impressive two hands taller than Arminius, grunted again, but his spear remained where it was. ‘They’ll all be abed.’
‘Wake them up then.’
‘You’re not Usipetes. You don’t get to order me about,’ snapped the guard, but Arminius had noted the faint tone of uncertainty in his voice.
‘Would you rather be the warrior who wakes his leaders for a night-time meeting, unwelcome as that might be, or someone who killed a visitor come with an important message?’ he demanded. ‘Make your choice, but do it fast.’
With a curse, the guard directed a companion who’d been dozing against the wall of the nearest house to take his place. ‘Know that I’ll cut your balls off if you’re lying,’ he said to Arminius.
‘Just take me to your chieftain.’
Grumbling under his breath, the guard led Arminius deep into the settlement, a jumble of longhouses and workshops interspersed with vegetable patches. Dogs barked warnings as they passed, and Arminius saw armed warriors standing by the entrance to more than one longhouse. This alone revealed the depth of the Usipetes’ unhappiness at the Romans’ presence. Much good it would do them if an attack proved necessary. His force outnumbered the tribesmen by some margin.
They came to a halt by a longhouse which faced on to a square area of beaten earth. A meeting place, so the dwelling of a leader. It seemed that Arminius had convinced the sentry, who took no nonsense from the warrior outside the door. A muttered conversation and some choice curses saw the sentry disappear inside. A few moments later, the building’s owner emerged, clutching a new-kindled torch. Arminius gave silent thanks as he recognised the red-haired chieftain who had translated for his fellows at Vetera. This one was no rash fool.
Red Head lifted his torch towards Arminius and the tall guard. Surprise filled his face. ‘It is you, Arminius. I thought the sentry was raving.’
‘He was not.’ Arminius took a step forward into the arc of light.
‘You have a nerve showing up here, after what has happened.’
Uncertainty stole up on Arminius. Did Red Head know of his involvement in the killing of the raiders? ‘I am a friend to the Usipetes, and hope always to be,’ he said, raising his hands, palms showing.
‘Tell that to the warriors who lie dead on the other side of the river,’ spat Red Head. ‘Seize him.’
Gods, he does know, thought Arminius, fighting panic. He did not resist as the two guards grabbed him by the arms, but he wasn’t ready for Red Head’s quick punch, straight into his solar plexus. The air shot from his lungs, and a ball of pain exploded in his middle. Arminius’ legs buckled, and if it hadn’t been for the hands holding him, he would have dropped to his knees. Stars floated across his vision, and nausea tickled the back of his throat.
‘Four hundred of our warriors, dead. The cream of the tribe, our future, gone.’ Red Head lifted Arminius’ head by the hair. ‘I’m going to enjoy listening to you scream your way to hell. We’ll make your journey there slow.’
Arminius tried to speak, but retched instead. The pain in his belly was as severe as that he’d felt when he took the falx blow to his head.
‘Take him inside,’ ordered Red Head. ‘Bind him. Gag him as well. The less poison that comes from his snake’s tongue, the better.’
Arminius retched again and again, until dribbles of spit hung from his lips. When he looked up, Red Head was gone. The tall guard, who had released his arm, was eyeing him with a disappointed expression. ‘I knew you were trouble.’
Arminius opened his mouth to protest, but the guard stepped in and wrapped a strip of dirty cloth around his face, knotting it at the back and preventing him from speaking. Next his hands were bound behind his back, so tight that he groaned. Without further ceremony, he was bundled inside the longhouse and thrown to the floor by the central fireplace. At once the blackness which had threatened to take Arminius loomed.