‘How many days have we been looking for Arminius?’
‘Thirty-one.’ Tullus glanced at the fields of stubble sprawling off to his left. The harvest had been taken in, and for the most part, hidden from the Romans. Summer was drawing to a close. As vast and invulnerable as it was, the army couldn’t remain here, hundreds of miles from the Rhenus, for much longer. Supplies would soon begin to run low, and only a fool would countenance staying in enemy territory until they ran out. ‘Thirty-fucking-one.’
‘I wish Arminius would just fight,’ said Fenestela.
‘Every man in the army thinks the same, but time is on his side – not ours. The clever bastard has no great need to worry about food, or when autumn comes.’
Fenestela cocked his head. ‘Has Germanicus decided when we’ll return to camp?’ Tullus had been to a meeting of senior officers at dawn, but they hadn’t yet spoken about it.
‘No. He’s as frustrated as everyone else, and wants a victory before we go home.’
‘It would do all of us good,’ said Fenestela with a scowl.
Tullus’ ‘Aye’ was heartfelt, yet it wouldn’t magic the Germans out of thin air. Nor would Fenestela’s sentiments. It was crazy, even foolhardy, but Tullus almost wished that Arminius would spring another ambush. At least they would then have a chance to face him.
Tullus’ wishes were in vain. The day passed like the thirty before it, without incident.
Things changed on the thirty-third day. Whether it was because Arminius now had sufficient numbers of warriors, or because the Romans were so far from home, no one knew, but his forces began to harry the legions. From dawn until dusk, stinging attacks were launched on the marching column – first the scouts, then the vanguard or the baggage train and next the rearguard. They never lasted for long, and the tribesmen were careful not to engage the Romans head-on.
Deep-throated renditions of the barritus frayed the legionaries’ nerves, in particular when no assault followed. At other times, volleys of spears and sling bullets would come hurtling out of the trees without warning. Casualties were often light – several men injured, an occasional fatality, but the air of tension hanging over the army was ratcheted ever higher. No one had any idea when or where the next attack would fall, which kept everyone from Tullus to the lowest ranker on edge every waking hour of the day.
Darkness did not grant the Romans peace. The tribesmen seemed to have no end of tricks in their inventory. The first night, it was intermittent performances of the barritus; the next saw numerous pigs being slaughtered over several hours, close to the camp; during a third, parties of warriors, their faces and hands blackened, scaled the walls and slit the throats of half a dozen sentries.
It was remarkable how effective the constant harassment was, Tullus grumbled to Fenestela. Their soldiers were tired, irritable and prone to jump at the slightest noise. Stories were rife of men who’d gone for a piss in the night being stabbed by a comrade upon their return, and of panicked individuals who had deserted, never to be seen again. ‘Just like it was, six fucking years ago,’ retorted Fenestela, making the fire hiss as he spat into it. By mutual consent, neither spoke further on the subject.
Tullus did his best to combat the ebbing morale, riding the length of the cohort each day, exhorting his soldiers to do their best, and to ignore their brutish enemies, whose monotone singing made a pack of feral dogs sound tuneful. Every evening, he paced the tent lines, repeating what he’d said, doling out his own wine and rewarding any man whose actions had stood out during the most recent fighting.
Several more unhappy days passed. The weather remained stifling, even hotter than before. Germanicus’ army ground eastward like a massive serpent, assailed on all sides by a multitude of biting rodents. It was unstoppable, thought Tullus, yet maddened by its enemies’ incessant and unrelenting attacks.
On the thirty-ninth morning, Tullus and his cohort were no longer in the vanguard. The duty had fallen to the Twenty-First Legion, while the Fifth was marching in the main body of the column, in front of the other legions, but behind just about everyone else in the army. Even the senior officers’ baggage went before them, Tullus heard his men complaining. Germanicus’ soft bed, his personal stores of wine, were more important than they were, moaned a former conscript. It wasn’t fair. ‘Get used to it, you fool. Be grateful that we’re not right at the back, swallowing thirty thousand more men’s dust,’ Piso advised, making Tullus smile.
Once again the sun beat down from a radiant blue sky, devoid of cloud. The prolonged, baking hot weather had parched the landscape. Brown grass, stubble and cracked earth filled the fields. Even the leaves on the trees seemed shrunken, desiccated by the heat. The paths followed by the army were powder dry, and the rivers running low. Finding water had become a vital daily priority. Tens of thousands of thirsty men and animals needed the most enormous quantity. Wise to this, Arminius had his warriors poison many streams with dead sheep and cattle. The wagons were full of soldiers suffering from vomiting and diarrhoea.
Pure luck and nothing more had stopped any of his men coming down with the affliction, thought Tullus, eyeing his water flask and battling not to drain its contents in one go. Waves of heat rose from his armour. It and his helmet both seemed to have doubled in weight. No matter what way he positioned his scarf, his baldric strap kept pinching at his neck. His back ached, and the old injury in his left calf throbbed from time to time. The harsh tang of his own sweat and the whiff of sheep from his woollen tunic were a constant, cloying presence in his nostrils. He squinted at the baleful white-gold orb that was the sun, hoping that it would be near the horizon. It was but a fraction lower in the sky than it had been the last time he’d looked. Midday had been four hours ago, he decided, resigning himself to two or three more hours on the road.
When the column ground to a halt – again – Tullus groaned. Such stops were normal enough, and could happen for any number of reasons, but that didn’t stop them being frustrating. The vanguard could have reached a river, or another obstacle. A mule might have been panicked, or a wagon axle snapped. It was possible that Germanicus wanted to have a look at something.
His men felt none of his irritation. To them, the halt was a welcome break from marching. When Tullus gave the order to lower their yokes soon after, they were even more pleased. Jokes were bandied about, brows mopped and water drunk. Several soldiers asked leave to empty their bladders, and Tullus let them break ranks. Legionaries were doing the same as far as the eye could see, and there was no harm in it – the land to either side was empty of life except for a few birds. Tullus climbed down from his horse and let it pick at the brown grass.
Time passed. A heat haze rippled the air, rendering everything in the distance out of focus. Waves of warmth rose from the packed earth beneath their feet. A lone crow flapped by. From somewhere to their front, mules brayed. The humour that had been widespread among Tullus’ soldiers when they’d first stopped had died away. Men were sweating now, slapping away the flies that hung in clouds around their heads, and propping themselves up with their javelins.
Still the army didn’t move. No word had come about what was going on. Tullus wasn’t concerned yet. He had his troops unsling their shields from their backs and set them standing on the hard ground. Every third soldier was allowed to sit down if he wished – the others would soon get their turn, Tullus told them. ‘Eat something if you’re hungry. Have another piss. Have a shit. Stay alert, you maggots,’ he advised, before riding along the side of the cohort.
Everything was as it should be, which was something. Tullus took the time to greet those men he recognised, and to say encouraging words to their comrades. His centurions met the lack of information with the same resignation that he felt. There was nothing they could do but wait – and cook in the heat.