When Maelo emerged alone into the clearing, there was a uniform exhalation of breath. He raised a hand in salute to Arminius, who was already stalking to his side. ‘Well?’
‘They’re with me,’ said Maelo. ‘I had to lay it down in no uncertain terms, but they came.’
‘All of them?’
‘No.’ Maelo pursed his lips and spat. ‘Three were on the piss in the settlement. We searched the inns and brothels, but had no luck finding them. Useless pieces of shit.’
‘Have they run to the Romans?’ demanded Arminius.
‘The ringleader thinks not. He reckons they’re in some shithole we didn’t find, sleeping off a drunk.’
Arminius buried his anger. ‘Fetch the rest.’
Maelo vanished the way he’d come, returning soon after with another dozen of Arminius’ men and, in their midst, five dishevelled-looking, unarmed warriors. Red-eyed, hair standing on end, wearing stained tunics, they were obviously hungover. Their flushed complexions paled, however, as they recognised Arminius. They did not resist as Maelo and his companions herded them across the clearing with brandished spears.
‘Greetings,’ said Arminius in a pleasant tone.
There was a muttered chorus of replies, but no one met his eye.
‘Any idea why you’re here?’ he asked.
‘Aye,’ replied one warrior, a young man of perhaps twenty with shaggy brown hair. ‘Because our mouths ran away with us in Porta Westfalica.’
‘That’s a good start,’ said Arminius. ‘I like a man who’s honest. Tell me what it was that you said. What your comrades said. Do not leave out a single detail.’
‘We had come to the settlement to see the size of the Roman camp,’ the warrior started. ‘Everyone in the villages is talking about your ambush, of what a war leader you are, and of the glory that will be won by those who take part in it.’
It was good that expectations were running high, thought Arminius. The priest Segimundus was playing his part. ‘So you want to be there at the ambush?’ he probed.
‘Upon my life, I do! I can think of nothing better.’
Arminius studied the warrior’s companions’ faces as they echoed his fervent vow. It was hard to tell if they were telling the truth – all that was plain was their fear – but it wasn’t surprising that such a group would come to spy out the forces that they might soon be fighting. ‘Once you had seen the camp, why didn’t you leave?’
The warrior’s flush returned. ‘We had come this far. We thought that a few drinks wouldn’t do us any harm. To toast what we would do, when it – the ambush – happened.’
‘I can picture the scene. One cup of wine was followed by a second, and a third, and before you knew it, you’d had more than you can remember. Am I right?’ Arminius’ question was laden with sarcasm.
‘Aye, it was something like that. I can’t remember who mentioned the ambush first. It seemed funny at the time, to be talking about such a thing so close to a Roman camp.’
‘Were there any legionaries in the tavern?’
‘No. I made sure of that much before we started drinking.’
Arminius’ eyes pinned the warrior’s, but he did not look away. ‘Go on,’ ordered Arminius.
‘I can’t remember everything that was said. I was quite drunk by that stage, you see. The talk was all to do with how surprised the Romans would be, and of how many legionaries each of us would kill, and how much booty we would take.’ Ashamed, the warrior dropped his gaze. ‘It was a rash thing to do.’
‘Young warriors like you have always been full of bravado, and always will be. There’s nothing wrong with that. What was stupid beyond belief was the fact that you mentioned such things, drunk, in a tavern adjacent to the very force we want to destroy.’ Arminius sighed, imagining how Tullus might have reacted if he’d overheard the youths. ‘Your comments could have endangered the whole enterprise, could have ended something that I have planned to do for many years – before it had even started. Have you any idea how angry that makes me?’ This last was delivered in a furious hiss.
The warrior’s shoulders drooped further. His companions shuffled their feet. Around them, Maelo and Arminius’ men stood ready. It would take but a word, and the youths would go down under a flurry of blows.
I have a number of choices now, thought Arminius. We could kill them, and send a message to their villages that the same fate would meet anyone else as foolish. The second option was to slay just one or two, and to free the others, letting them carry word far and wide of his punishment. A third possibility was for his men to beat the warriors black and blue, and send them away with a warning.
Roughing them up would not be effective enough, Arminius decided. Killing a few would be, however. He was reminded of the rare Roman practice of decimation, which he had once witnessed: the condemned legionaries had broken and run during a battle.
As soon as it had arrived, his certainty about executing some of the youths faded. How had he become so Roman? Arminius wondered. German warriors who fled from an enemy had to live with the shame of their actions, and remained outcasts from their tribe until they proved their bravery again. Not only was this form of punishment effective, but it was far less savage than men having to murder their comrades with clubs or their fists.
The youths’ crime was nowhere near as severe as those who had shown cowardice during a battle. Their loose talk could have had disastrous consequences, but it appeared from Varus’ decision to do nothing that they – and he – had got away with it. What was his best course of action? Arminius wondered.
‘Shall we kill them?’ This from Maelo.
Several of the young warriors began to pray aloud.
‘They deserve it,’ replied Arminius in an iron tone. Let them think that that’s their fate.
‘Give us the word,’ said Maelo, picking at his nails with a long dagger.
The blade gave Arminius an idea – a perfect one. Drawing his own knife, he approached the prisoners. Unhappy glances shot between them as he drew near.
The ringleader was one of the few not to back away. He squared his shoulders as the blade moved towards his face.
‘I have every right to slay you for what you did,’ said Arminius.
‘You do.’ The warrior met Arminius’ gaze. ‘Maelo knows my family. I ask that they be told I died well.’
Arminius let the dagger point come to rest on the warrior’s cheekbone, just under his eye. There were horrified looks from the other youths. At first, his victim only flinched a little, but Arminius left it there until tiny beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead. ‘Rather than remove your eye before I kill you, maybe I should take your tongue,’ he said, dragging the blade lower, to the warrior’s lips. ‘That would stop you talking out of turn, even in the underworld.’
The youth’s face was dripping with perspiration now, but he did not retreat. ‘Kill me and have done,’ he muttered.
This one was a warrior, thought Arminius. One of his companions looked as if he might be too. The rest, well, they too would fight for him after what he was about to do. Lifting his dagger a fraction, he opened the warrior’s cheek with a quick flick of his wrist. Not a deep wound, or a long one, but enough to leave a permanent scar. The warrior let out a gasp of pain, but held his position, ready for whatever else Arminius might have planned.
‘Each of you will receive this mark,’ Arminius announced, moving to the next warrior. Realising that perhaps he wasn’t to die, the man straightened his back and prepared himself.
Flick. Arminius opened his cheek. Another gasp.