‘Take your eye off an enemy, and he’ll have you,’ warned Maelo with a leer.
‘Piss off,’ retorted Arminius, grimacing back. ‘I can take you any time.’ Wiping his brow with the arm of his tunic, he waited for the party to reach them. Instead of sheathing his sword, he let it dangle by his side. Innocent enough, given the training men around him, but also a veiled threat if needs be. Fifty paces off, Arminius recognised an unruly mop of blond hair that could only belong to one man he knew. Cupping a hand to his mouth, he yelled, ‘Segimundus!’
A hand was raised in acknowledgement, and Arminius grinned. ‘I haven’t seen him in years, maybe since the ambush even.’
‘A little odd that he appears so soon after we’ve imprisoned his father, don’t you think?’ muttered Maelo.
‘Don’t be so suspicious,’ chided Arminius. ‘Segimundus stands with us. Rallying the tribes would have been much harder without his support. Remember too what he did to Varus.’ Arminius wasn’t sure if that last detail was true – no one had seen who had mutilated the Roman general’s body – but rumour then and since had Segimundus as the perpetrator.
‘Blood runs thicker than water,’ rumbled Maelo with a frown.
‘Yet my brother Flavus and I cannot abide each other. I’d save your life before his a thousand times,’ retorted Arminius, challenge in his tone. ‘And Segimundus was with us in the forest when Segestes was nowhere to be seen, wasn’t he?’
‘Aye.’
‘Well, then. Set aside your distrust. He’ll want to visit his father, I wager, but I’m the person he’s come to speak with.’ Sliding his sword into the scabbard, Arminius took a few steps towards the approaching party. ‘Welcome, Segimundus! It has been too long.’
‘The years pass swiftly, do they not?’ Segimundus, an imposing figure in a priest’s dark green hooded robe, dismounted and came to meet Arminius, arms outstretched. They embraced.
‘It’s good to see you,’ said Arminius, pulling back to stare at Segimundus.
‘And you. Are those grey hairs I see in your beard?’
Arminius gave his chin a rueful stroke. ‘There are a few, perhaps. You’ve got the same, I see.’
‘None of us can stop the march of time.’ Segimundus made a solemn face. ‘They add to my authority, don’t you think?’
‘As if you ever needed that. Men always listen to a priest.’
‘Not so. It takes more than a green robe or, for that matter, a chieftainship to win men’s hearts and minds. You know that as well as I do.’
‘Aye, perhaps.’ Arminius smiled. ‘The timing of your visit couldn’t be better. I will need your help again in the coming months.’
‘I thought it would be useful for us to take counsel together. Is it true what they say – that Germanicus is going to wage a new campaign against us?’
‘It’s all that the legionaries talk about in the taverns and whorehouses of Vetera. Eight legions and a similar number of auxiliaries he’ll lead over the river, or so they say. What’s heartening is that there’s been a mutiny in two of the camps of recent days. Germanicus will have sorted it out before the spring, but he might not be able to rely on some of his soldiers – and that will help us.’
Segimundus’ expression remained dark. ‘Even if some of his troops are untrustworthy, he’ll have upwards of fifty thousand soldiers.’
‘I know,’ said Arminius with a grim nod. ‘If they are not to lay waste to the entire land, every tribe between here and the river will be needed for the fight. Will you help?’
‘Of course! Anything to keep Rome’s hobnailed boot from our necks.’
Arminius noticed for the first time the lines of weariness streaking Segimundus’ face. ‘Forgive me – you must be weary from your journey. Come. You will lodge with me and Thusnelda. Maelo will see to accommodation for your followers.’
‘Gratitude.’ Segimundus’ eyes cast about the settlement before returning to Arminius. ‘Word reached me that my father is also here.’
Arminius remembered Maelo’s suspicions, but could spy no trace of guile in Segimundus’ face. ‘That is true. He came a few days since, pretending he had come to see Thusnelda. In fact his purpose was to visit Inguiomerus, and to turn him against me.’
‘I’d heard that Inguiomerus had joined your cause – fine work on your part. What makes you so certain that my father planned to bring him back into Rome’s fold?’
‘He told me as much,’ Arminius replied with a snort. ‘As you know, Inguiomerus is a tricky customer. It’s taken years for him to shift allegiances. I am not about to let my hard work be undone by your father. Segestes has been my captive since, but every comfort has been provided for him, never fear.’
A faint line marked Segimundus’ brow. ‘How long do you plan to hold him prisoner?’
‘Until the end of next year’s campaigning season.’
‘By which time his counsel to Inguiomerus will be useless.’
‘Aye.’ Arminius searched Segimundus’ face again for an indication of his feelings, but could detect nothing that indicated his visitor was angry with him.
After a long moment, Segimundus said, ‘What you’ve done is for the best.’
Despite himself, Arminius’ breath came out long and slow. ‘I’m glad you see it that way.’
‘How else could I take it?’ Segimundus’ grip on his arm was solid. He added, ‘You won’t hold it against me if I visit him?’
‘Please – you don’t have to ask. Spend as long with your father as you wish,’ said Arminius with an expansive gesture. It might keep the old dog quiet for a time, he thought, which would be a gods-sent blessing for everyone.
Segimundus’ visit to his father was brief, pleasing Arminius. He turned out to be a pleasant house guest as well, charming Thusnelda with his compliments by day, and content by night to listen to, and comment on, Arminius’ plans. The warriors also took to Segimundus, relishing the unusual company of a priest who wrestled and drank.
On the second night, Arminius took Segimundus to the sacred grove. Barley beer and blankets kept the worst of the chill away during the long, unnerving hours of darkness. Arminius saw nothing, and dreamed less during the fitful periods of sleep that came to him. Creaking branches, wind rustling the last leaves on the trees, the hooting of an owl, mice skittering about in the undergrowth – these and Segimundus’ pacing were the only sounds he heard, and could not be assigned to Donar. Hugely frustrated by the time dawn had come, Arminius had given up hope that a sign would be revealed to them. Red-eyed, belly rumbling and muscles stiff from inaction, he motioned to Segimundus that they should go.
Segimundus shook his head – no.
Arminius was about to ask why, but Segimundus motioned for him to remain silent.
Krrruk.
The hair on the back of Arminius’ neck prickled. Only one bird made that sound.
Krrruk. Krrruk.
He turned his head to see not one but two ravens alighting in the largest of the oak trees that ringed the sacred space. The birds were common enough in the area, but he had never seen one in this place. When first one and then the other raven flew down to the rough-hewn stone altars that sat in the centre of the circle, Arminius thought his heart would stop.
The birds began tapping to and fro on the stone with their powerful beaks. Of course, thought Arminius. The sacrifices practised here meant that there would be congealed blood, and perhaps more, on the altars – appealing food. Nonetheless, it felt god-sent for the ravens to arrive when he and Segimundus were present. It seemed that Segimundus had drawn the same conclusion, for his lips were moving in fervent prayer.
Arminius squeezed his eyes shut and did the same. Great Donar, I thank you for this sign of your favour. I will have a fine ram killed here in your honour before the sun sets. In return, I ask for your help in uniting the tribes. If the Romans are to be defeated once and for all, they must follow me to battle. Let my words, and those of Segimundus, fall on the chieftains’ ears as spring rain on young barley, and when the time comes, let us reap Roman legionaries as we did for you in the forest.