‘Kill the German filth! KILL!’
Piso didn’t see who began the cry, which was taken up with the fervour of men who need a cause to support. In the blink of an eye, every customer in the place was chanting. ‘KILL! KILL! KILL!’
The sound followed them outside. It was still audible at the end of the alleyway, and for some distance along the vicus’ main street. Similar sounds echoed from other drinking holes. A gang of soldiers staggering along in front of them were singing, ‘Ger-man-i-cus! Ger-man-i-cus!’
Piso felt his foul humour slipping away with each step. After a time, he said, ‘D’you feel it?’
Vitellius cast him a questioning look.
‘I don’t know how to say it, but the air – it feels lighter.’
Vitellius glanced up and down the street. All the legionaries within sight were cheering, or belting out endless repetitions of ‘Ger-man-i-cus’, ‘KILL!’ and ‘Revenge for Varus!’ Some were even praying out loud, thanking the gods for sending Germanicus to be their leader. ‘Aye,’ said Vitellius, a smile sneaking on to his face. ‘I see what you mean.’
‘A common enemy is exactly what we need,’ said Piso, thumping his friend on the back.
Life had just regained some of its purpose.
Chapter XVI
Ten days had passed since Germanicus’ announcement, and night had fallen over the temporary camp that housed his vast force, thirty miles east of the Rhenus. Tullus was in his tent, Degmar and Fenestela by his side. Facing him were Piso, Vitellius and two other old soldiers of his from the Eighteenth, Saxa and Metilius.
Both Piso and Vitellius had expectant looks on their faces. Saxa and Metilius seemed more bemused. Since their move from Tullus’ command, they had seen him and their other former comrades on but a few occasions. Army life didn’t lend itself to reunions. Saxa was a bear of a man with shaggy brown hair. Metilius’ slight build, dimpled cheeks and cheerful expression gave the impression that he would be a poor fighter. In fact, the truth was quite the opposite.
Tullus’ promotion and newfound regard among his fellow officers had allowed him of recent days to secure the transfer of Saxa and Metilius into his own century once more. He hoped that the bond they had shared in the Eighteenth was still strong, because what he was about to ask them ran contrary to everything they stood for. Fenestela, who knew already, was in, and Tullus had little doubt that Piso and Vitellius would volunteer, but the other two were still an unknown quantity.
‘You must be wondering why I asked you here,’ he said to the legionaries. All four nodded their heads in agreement. ‘I will tell you, but you must swear never to speak of this meeting, except to one another. I mean it. If you won’t make such a pledge, leave now.’
The legionaries exchanged perplexed looks, but none protested. It took a few moments to make their oaths.
Feeling a little less worried, Tullus began. ‘You remember Degmar?’ This was more aimed at Saxa and Metilius – Piso and Vitellius saw him every day.
‘Aye, sir,’ replied Saxa, giving Degmar a civil nod. ‘He’s the one as got us to Aliso.’
‘Correct. If it hadn’t been for Degmar, our bones would be strewn across the forest floor, like those of so many former comrades.’
‘Marsi, aren’t you?’ Metilius directed this at Degmar.
‘I am,’ came the proud reply.
‘That’d be part of the reason we’re here, sir, I’d wager,’ said Metilius with a knowing look.
‘I’d forgotten how shrewd you are, Metilius,’ said Tullus, chuckling. ‘We all know what’s going to happen tomorrow.’ Degmar’s face twitched, and Tullus felt grateful that he had ordered two men to guard the warrior since they had left Vetera.
Their target, a cluster of Marsi villages scattered over a five-mile radius on the other side of an expanse of forest, lay within easy striking distance. Caecina’s scouts, two cohorts of light-armed auxiliaries, had been sent into the woods at sunset, their task to find a path through. The entire force would mobilise at dawn, and make straight for the settlements. No quarter was to be given, not to man, woman or child. When the slaughter was over, fire and sword was to be taken to the entire area. If possible, Germanicus had ordered, the entire Marsi tribe was to be slain.
‘Our debt to Degmar can never be repaid in full,’ said Tullus. ‘Tonight, however, I will redress the balance somewhat. The three of us’ – and he indicated the Marsi warrior and Fenestela – ‘are going to find Degmar’s family. We’ll help them to escape, and return to our allotted positions before dawn.’
The four legionaries’ expressions varied from incredulous to aghast.
Piso was first to regain control. ‘How will you get out of camp, sir?’
Tullus winked. ‘You can’t always trust the auxiliaries, I told one of the tribunes. He gave me permission to check the lie of the land.’ His eyes moved from face to face. ‘For once, I cannot order you to follow me. I ask instead that you remember what Degmar did for each of us five years ago, and make your decision based on that.’
‘Degmar has helped me since too, sir. I’ll come,’ said Piso at once, giving the warrior a friendly glance.
‘And I,’ added Vitellius.
Tullus gave them both a nod of appreciation, before looking at Saxa and Metilius. ‘Well?’
‘Your pardon, sir, but you’re mad,’ exclaimed Saxa. He paused, making Tullus’ heart skip a beat, and then he added, ‘I’m not fond of tribal types, not after what happened with Varus, but Degmar saved us, and a debt’s a debt. I’ll help.’
Metilius snorted. ‘I’m not going to miss the fun, sir. I’ll string along too.’
Just like that, they were all part of it. Tullus couldn’t quite believe his luck.
His zeal soon cooled. They were seven men against an entire tribe. Seven men who somehow had to keep their mission secret from their own kind, or face the most severe consequences.
In reality, their chances of success were slim to none.
It was a cold, bright night, and the Marsi settlements lay directly ahead, to the east of the forest. That didn’t mean it was easy to keep a straight line under the trees’ shadowy canopy, and Tullus was content to give Degmar the lead. If Tullus had taken it, they would have gone wrong within a few hundred paces. With the Marsi warrior in charge, however, they picked their way past vast patches of brambles, around towering beeches and sessile oaks, and through streams. They travelled in single file, Degmar first, followed by Tullus and the legionaries, with Fenestela taking his customary place at the rear. In the larger glades, moonlight turned their shadows into great black figures, ghosts going about their silent business.
On several occasions, they encountered groups of auxiliaries, but each time the hissed challenge to identify themselves came, Tullus was at Degmar’s shoulder, ready with the password. Although they received a few odd looks, their presence in the forest wasn’t challenged. Step by step, quarter-mile by quarter-mile, they made their way along the narrow paths found by Degmar. Checking the moon’s passage across the starlit expanse above was the only way of judging time. By Tullus’ reckoning, they had been travelling for perhaps two hours when Degmar came to an abrupt halt.
Tullus peered into the gloom ahead, but could see nothing. ‘What is it?’
‘The village is near. You had best shed your armour here.’
‘How will we find it again?’ asked Tullus, concern gnawing his guts. If there was pursuit from the settlement, it could be the least of their worries that night, but having to explain why he and his men were without their kit the next morning would also be his undoing.