‘I am glad to meet you,’ Tullus said in careful German. ‘We must hurry from here.’
Degmar’s father spat on the ground.
‘I would be the same,’ Tullus said as Degmar’s mouth opened. ‘Fetch your other sister.’
Degmar sped off, leaving Tullus and his men to guard his resentful family. To everyone’s relief, he returned soon after with a man and a woman, both of whom looked surprised, angry and resentful. A sleeping baby strapped to the woman’s chest remained oblivious to its parents’ unhappiness.
Degmar’s father chose this moment to begin arguing with his son. The older sister’s husband leaped in too. Degmar’s demands for them to be quiet were in vain. Tullus watched with increasing anxiousness. Every heartbeat that thudded by, every angry exclamation, increased the danger they were in. Two horrifying thoughts soon struck him. Had the argument been staged by Degmar, to make fleeing Tullus’ only option? Perhaps the Marsi warrior even intended that he and his men should die here?
A solid smack rang out, and Tullus’ eyes shot to Degmar’s father, who was reeling back, clutching his cheek. Degmar bristled before him, his hand raised to strike again. ‘We leave now,’ he hissed. ‘All of us.’
Tullus felt instant remorse for having doubted Degmar.
Degmar’s father gave a meek nod; his brother-in-law glowered, but did not argue further. Quiet sobs racked his mother; she was being comforted by her younger daughter, while the other one rocked to and fro, caressing her baby as if this were an everyday situation.
‘Who’s there?’ called a voice from the direction of the feasting area.
Curse it all to Hades, thought Tullus, signing his men to group together.
‘None of your business, you sot. Go back to sleep,’ called Degmar.
‘Screw you!’
‘Move! Now!’ whispered Degmar, pushing his parents and sisters forward. ‘To the split oak.’
‘Piso, Vitellius, Saxa, Metilius, go with Degmar. We’ll follow when you’ve got a head start,’ whispered Tullus. ‘See you at the tree.’
With relieved looks, the legionaries did as he ordered. Fenestela stood by Tullus’ side, watching the man who’d challenged them. He was some fifty paces away, and was rousing his companions, but he was also casting frequent looks in their direction.
‘There are many places I’d rather be at this moment,’ muttered Fenestela. ‘And I’d give a year’s pay for my armour.’
‘You’ll be able to run faster without it,’ advised Tullus, eliciting a snort by way of reply.
Humour aside, there was a grim reality to Fenestela’s words. The warrior who’d confronted them had woken four others. They were struggling to their feet, while their comrade kicked at other men to stir them too. Tullus had no illusions about taking on so many enemies. Drunk or not, they would overwhelm him and Fenestela. ‘Best go,’ he said, ignoring the sweat slicking down his back. ‘Otherwise, we’ll never leave. You first.’
It was reassuring that there was no immediate pursuit. Tullus moved as fast as he could without losing the trail. He glanced back often, but they reached the safety of the trees challenged only by a few dogs inside the nearby longhouses. Tullus had taken a dislike to forests since Arminius’ ambush, but he was right glad to be in the midst of one now, to have the trunks close around him and the canopy lowering overheard.
They found Degmar and his family in an odd stand-off with the four legionaries. The two little groups were glaring at each other over the piles of armour and equipment. Tullus eased into the gap. ‘We made it,’ he said. ‘Well done, all.’
‘I don’t trust this lot, sir,’ said Saxa, his eyes gleaming. ‘Especially the father.’
‘They don’t trust you,’ Degmar retorted. ‘Truth be told, I don’t either.’
Tullus didn’t see who moved first, but more than one hand went to a sword hilt. ‘Stop it!’ he ordered. ‘You lot, get your armour on, double quick, and quieter than you’ve ever done in your miserable lives. I don’t want a sound to be audible more than fifty paces away.’ To his relief, the legionaries obeyed, and there was an instant drop in tension. Tullus shot a look at Degmar. ‘You had best leave.’
They locked eyes. Emotions flickered back and forth like bolts of lightning between them. Like, dislike. Trust, mistrust. Friendship, enmity. There was even love – and a trace of hate.
‘So this is what it has come to,’ said Tullus, sighing. ‘I wish that things could have been different.’
‘And I,’ answered Degmar.
‘I thought you were going to set the whole village upon us back there.’
Degmar chuckled. ‘I was thinking about it.’
I did read him correctly, thought Tullus with a thrill of dread. ‘What stopped you?’
‘My oath, and the knowledge that even if I’d helped my people to escape, the Romans would still hunt them down.’
Again Tullus was grateful for Degmar’s sense of honour. He wondered if Degmar would warn the village’s inhabitants once he and his men had left. If the village was empty at sunrise and there was no sign of Degmar, Tullus was the one who would be blamed.
The crack as someone stood on a piece of fallen wood somewhere to their left, followed by another and another, were therefore a welcome relief. ‘That’ll be some of the auxiliaries,’ he whispered. ‘Go, before they catch you.’
Disappointment flared in Degmar’s eyes, and Tullus knew that the Marsi warrior had been intending to alert his people. He wouldn’t risk it now, with his family in danger – whatever he was, he was no fool.
‘I don’t think we will meet again,’ said Tullus, feeling a rush of sadness. ‘My thanks for your service.’
‘I am still in your debt,’ growled Degmar. ‘I will find you again one day.’
‘Gods grant that you do so,’ said Tullus, offering his hand. ‘In happier times.’
They shook, hard, and then Degmar urged his family away, towards the south.
Despite the fact that their mission had succeeded, Tullus felt a deep melancholy. He didn’t know which was worse: the loss of a loyal friend or the fact that, come the dawn, he would have to take part in a massacre.
Chapter XVII
The rest of Tullus’ night passed in a chilly daze of sentry duty, liaising with units of auxiliaries as they appeared, and trying to get a little sleep. By the time tinges of pink and red were visible in the eastern sky, he was tired, hungry and short-tempered. His cohort had found him, however, and the ‘net’ that was Germanicus’ army had been tightened around the village without any indication that the Marsi had realised what was happening.
As the sun rose, Tullus convened a meeting of his centurions, repeating Germanicus’ command that there were to be no survivors. No one questioned his orders, but he noticed his own distaste, mirrored and quickly concealed, in a few faces. It was one thing to act so in a war, thought Tullus, and another to destroy a village that had been feasting the day before. What choice had they, however, but to follow orders? He hardened his heart, remembering the hordes of warriors descending on his soldiers in the forest, the crimson-spattered, spear-decorated bodies decorating the mud and the piercing screams of the wounded.
The Marsi were not a peace-loving people – they were proud and warlike, and had been willing participants in Arminius’ uprising. The elderly among them had been young once and, like as not, they had slain legionaries aplenty then. Their women had birthed the warriors who’d taken part in the ambush. The children would be old enough one day to fight Rome’s legions, or to bring new members of the tribe – more enemies – into this world. They all had to die.
After a time, his conscience had been silenced. The fate of the Marsi would send the starkest of messages to every German tribe, and in particular to the ones that had been allied to Arminius five years before.