‘You will receive it not only as punishment, but to mark you out as men who are to fight in my ambush,’ said Arminius. He saw their surprise, and smiled. ‘You still want to take part, I assume? Still want to redden your spears with Roman blood?’
‘Aye!’ cried the ringleader; his comrades quickly joined in.
‘Excellent,’ said Arminius, cutting another man’s face. He sliced the fourth warrior’s cheek, and then the fifth. Despite their pain, their relief was palpable. Then Arminius caught one of the men smirking. He cursed inside. The wounding would not be enough. Without hesitation, he confronted the one who’d smirked. ‘You think this is funny?’
Panic flared in the warrior’s eyes. ‘No, I-’
He couldn’t say any more, because Arminius’ dagger was buried in his chest. Arminius twisted the blade to and fro, making sure. When he tugged it out, gouts of warm blood spattered his hand and tunic. The warrior dropped at his feet like a bag of wheat. He kicked once and was still. Blood began to pool around him. His companions looked on in horror.
Arminius let them think that there would be nothing more for a dozen heartbeats. He stepped back, his bloodied dagger by his side, moved his harsh gaze across the remaining warriors. ‘Does anyone else think this situation is amusing?’
No one answered.
‘Know that you will be among the first warriors to attack the Romans.’
His words fell like lead slingshot bullets from the sky. The command was as good as a death sentence, and the young warriors knew it, but an end in battle was preferable to a blade between the ribs in this glade.
‘Before that, though, some of my men will take you to the ambush site,’ said Arminius. ‘You will help to erect the earthworks that will hide us from the Romans. Work parties from other tribes will be there too. I command you to go among them, explaining what happened here, and why you have been marked so.’ This was the sting in the tail. If any of the warriors did not comply, they would be forever known – because of their scars – as cowards. The only other option would be to abandon their tribe and become outcasts, friends to none. That in itself would be a death sentence to most men.
The ringleader was first to respond. He stepped forward, chin held high, blood yet trickling down his cheek. ‘Before mighty Donar, bringer of thunder, I swear to follow your every command. May the god strike me down if I fail you.’
Arminius bent his head a fraction.
One by one, the warrior’s companions swore similar oaths.
When they were done, Arminius dismissed them. ‘Word will reach you of the time to meet. It will be soon after the harvest. Keep your spears sharp.’
Arminius’ mind was made up by the time he’d reached the huge camp outside Porta Westfalica. Not only would he call in on Varus, but he would issue the governor with an invitation to go deer hunting. With Varus to himself for a day, there’d be plenty of opportunities to discover if he had any reason to be concerned.
Wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn’t spot the woman squatting by the roadside until the last moment. Her woollen shawl was cast over her head, and from beneath it came the sound of weeping. The sight was unusual enough to make Arminius rein in. Maelo and his men did the same. Arminius glanced at the nearest sentries, a pair of legionaries who were slouched over their shields. ‘You there! What’s going on?’ he demanded in Latin.
Realising his rank, the soldiers straightened with alacrity. ‘The stupid bitch came to the gate two hours ago, sir. Wanted to speak to the governor himself,’ said the older, a man with a heavily stubbled jaw. His companion, who was short and thin, snorted. ‘Goes without saying, we didn’t let her in,’ the stubbled legionary went on. ‘She wouldn’t take “No” for an answer, though. Eventually the officer in charge of the guard came out and had a word. She was screaming that her daughter had been raped by one of our boys, that something had to be done, that he had to be found and punished.’
Arminius glanced at the woman, whose sobbing continued unabated. If she was play-acting, she was putting on a fine performance. ‘What did the officer do?’
There was a contemptuous sniff. ‘He asked a few questions, sir, about what had happened. Whether any coin had changed hands, what the man’s name was, what century he served in and so on. She grew angry, shouting that her daughter was no whore. How could anyone know what the bastard’s name or unit was, when he hadn’t said? “I demand to speak to Publius Quinctilius Varus,” she repeated over and over.’
‘Did he agree to take it any further?’ asked Arminius, knowing what the answer would be.
The sentry gave him an incredulous look. ‘No, sir. He tossed her a few coins and told her to clear off.’
‘That’s more than I’d have offered her, sir,’ commented the second legionary. ‘She’s giving me a damn headache.’ He spat in the woman’s direction. ‘Leave, before we make you,’ he said in poor German.
The soldiers’ offhand cruelty incensed Arminius. Throwing his reins to Maelo, he dismounted and crouched by the woman’s side. ‘Tell me what happened,’ he murmured in German. There was no response, and he touched her shoulder. With a wail, she recoiled. ‘I mean you no harm,’ he said. ‘I am of the tribes, like you.’
The shawl moved a fraction, revealing a pair of terrified eyes. ‘Who are you?’
‘I am Arminius, a chieftain of the Cherusci. You also look to be Cheruscan.’
A slight nod. Suspicion had replaced the fear. ‘You serve the Romans?’
‘I do, but that does not mean I will see injustice unanswered.’
The shawl fell away. Lines of worry, old and new, scored the woman’s tear-stained face, and her straggling hair was more grey than blonde. There were red scratches on her cheeks, the marks of her fingernails, yet she was still striking. Strip the care and the years away, thought Arminius, and she’d be a real looker. Like as not, her daughter was too, which would explain much.
Arminius paid no heed to the sound of an approaching horse – riders passed by all the time in a spot such as this – until it stopped a little distance behind him. ‘Out of my way!’ barked a familiar voice: Tubero’s. Anger kindled in Arminius’ belly, but he didn’t look up.
‘Greetings, tribune,’ said Maelo.
‘Ah, Maelo. I didn’t recognise you.’ The aggression vanished from Tubero’s voice – almost.
‘Off the road. Let the tribune past,’ ordered Maelo in German.
Arminius decided to stand as Tubero and his escort began to ride past. Surprise creased Tubero’s face as he recognised Arminius, and took in the woman behind him. His lip curled a fraction, but he made no comment. ‘Arminius,’ he said with a civil nod.
‘Tribune.’ Arminius watched Tubero go by, thinking: You piece of shit. Arrogant Roman bastards like you are proof that I am doing the right thing.
‘Ignore that worthless dog,’ he muttered, returning to the woman’s side. ‘Reared at the top, but he still acts as if he was born on a dungheap.’
The woman threw him a pathetic smile.
Arminius set aside his fury and spoke in a calm, gentle tone. ‘Tell me what happened to your daughter.’
‘We-we came here yesterday. With the wool from our sheep, to sell. It was late by the time we had sold it, so I found us a room in an inn. It was a rough place, but the landlord swore no harm would come to us. All the same, we retired straight after some food, to avoid any trouble. One of the soldiers who was drinking there must have seen my daughter, though. We hadn’t been asleep for long when he shouldered the door open.’ She wiped away fresh tears. ‘I screamed, but one of his friends was outside to stop anyone helping. He held a knife to my daughter’s throat while he, while he …’ A cracked sob left her lips.
Arminius ground his teeth. Crimes such as this were common in and around Roman camps. More often than not, the perpetrators got away with it, because senior officers were out to protect their own rather than see justice done. Yet again, Arminius thought, one rule applied to the rulers, and another to the subjects. The response from the guard officer, and in particular the coins he’d thrown, was more than the woman could have expected.