Their fate rested on a knife edge, Tullus concluded. If the soldiers headed into the bog, they would drown in the morass, or be killed by the opportunistic Germans. Even if Arminius’ forces weren’t prepared for this unexpected, almost gods-given development, they would soon realise what was going on. When dawn came, the disorganised, demoralised legionaries would be easy prey. The gates, thought Tullus. Every gate had to be secured.
He stripped one entrance – the one behind him – from his list. The purported attack was coming from that direction, so even the dimmest soldier wouldn’t try to escape that way. Three gates remained then – one at either end of the camp’s shorter sides, and the one at the far end of the avenue Tullus was standing on. As he tried to decide what to do, the uproar in the darkness beyond worsened. Two centuries could hold a gate, he decided.
He would march back to his cohort’s position and there split the unit into three, each two centuries strong. One would go north with him to the entrance that lay behind the headquarters. Caecina could be made aware of the situation at the same time. The two other groups would head for the east and south gates. Tullus barked the order to advance, but a growing, unhappy certainty filled his mind as they marched.
If they didn’t move fast, it would be too late.
Their journey proved tricky. The main avenues were clogged with scared, aggressive legionaries, arguing and fighting among themselves as they meandered along. Swearing, Tullus led his men into the smaller lanes that separated unit from unit. Crowds of nervous soldiers had also gathered there, but it was easier to find the gaps. Tullus and his party reached the cohort’s tent lines without incident. Augmenting his force with the Second Century, he sent the remaining four units off under the command of his two most senior centurions. That done, he made for the headquarters.
It seemed to take an age to reach the camp’s centre. The usual, large command tent was missing, lost with the baggage train, Tullus presumed. A rectangle of six ordinary legionary tents stood in its place, and there scores of officers and guards were milling. Hundreds of soldiers were streaming past, towards the gate, and no one was trying to stop them.
With his century in close formation, Tullus drove straight through the panicked mob to the headquarters. He found Caecina in the midst of a dozen or more legates and tribunes. Their raised voices and worried faces told their own story. Tullus paused at the edge of the gathering to listen.
Caecina’s expression changed from moment to moment as he listened to the conflicting advice being given him. One legate wanted to lead the nearest cohorts towards the attackers. A second thought a defensive cordon should be set up along the camp’s north-south axis. A senior tribune – Tubero, no less – declared that the legions needed to be assembled in marching order on the intervallum and from there be dispersed to take on the enemy. Another tribune was even advocating retreat back to solid ground.
Tullus’ frustration boiled over. ‘I must speak with General Caecina!’ he cried, pushing his way forward. Faces turned, registering shock, anger and disbelief. In Tubero’s eyes, Tullus saw real hate. It was too late to consider what punishments this transgression might earn him. He came to a halt in front of Caecina and saluted.
Caecina, tired-looking but already in his armour, seemed unimpressed. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
‘I know what’s going on, sir,’ said Tullus.
‘Ha!’ cried Tubero. ‘D’you hear this? Tullus knows what’s going on – even though it’s as clear to us as the noses on the end of our faces.’
Caecina twisted his head. ‘Guards!’
‘A wise decision, sir,’ said Tubero in a snide tone.
Tubero’s comment sent rage pulsing through Tullus’ veins, but the danger they faced was too great to risk a confrontation. ‘My news is urgent, sir,’ he said to Caecina. ‘Let me explain.’
Caecina’s nostrils flared, but he waved back the quartet of guards who’d appeared. ‘Be quick.’
‘There is no attack, sir.’ Ignoring the senior officers’ disbelieving reactions – Tubero even said, ‘Liar!’ – Tullus ploughed on. ‘The whole thing began with a horse that was startled by the thunder. The beast broke free and galloped off, among the sleeping soldiers. Complete panic ensued as they awoke and imagined Arminius’ warriors were in their midst. Men are beginning to retreat from the cavalry lines near the west gate. Those further away, unable to decide what’s going on, are also affected by the fear sweeping through the camp. The troops are trying to get out by the most distant gates, sir. That’s it.’
‘These are the ravings of a madman, sir,’ declared Tubero. ‘Every soldier in sight is talking about the enemy attack!’
A good number of officers nodded, dismaying Tullus. He glanced at Caecina. He didn’t care about himself, but the army’s destiny hung in the balance.
‘How do you know this?’ demanded Caecina.
As fast as he could, Tullus laid out what had happened since he’d been woken by Fenestela. Caecina listened in silence. To Tullus’ surprise, so did the senior officers. No one spoke when he was done, allowing the sound of panicked cries and running feet to fill the air.
‘Has anyone here seen the enemy inside the defences?’ asked Caecina.
There was no answer.
‘Not a single one of you?’ Caecina’s gaze raked the gathering. ‘Has anyone spoken with a soldier who has set eyes on the attackers?’
Some officers began to seem embarrassed now. Even Tubero looked uncomfortable.
Caecina scowled. ‘It appears you may be right,’ he said, relieving Tullus beyond measure. ‘Take me to the north gate.’
‘Yes, sir. Might I make a suggestion?’
‘Anything.’
‘Send an eagle to each of the gates, sir. They will help to steady the men.’
‘A fine idea.’ Caecina rattled off orders, commanding a legate, an eagle and an escort to both the east and south entrances. The Fifth’s own eagle was brought forth from the command tent to accompany their party. With the aquilifer nowhere to be found, Vitellius was deputised to carry it. He bore the gold bird aloft behind Tullus, his usual sour expression replaced by a wide, satisfied grin. Four soldiers, Piso among them, walked to either side, carrying flaming torches that allowed the eagle to be seen. Pride filled Tullus to have the legion’s standard at his back, although it wasn’t the same as if the Eighteenth’s lost eagle had been there.
The throngs of soldiers heading towards the north gate had grown denser, yet the sight of the eagle made them give way. Again using the wedge, with Caecina close behind, Tullus forged a path into the area occupied by the Fifth Legion. From there, he guided them through the tent lines and approached the north gate from the side. A hundred and fifty paces out, he stopped.
The entrance was obscured by a large crowd of legionaries which filled the intervallum and the spaces where tents should have been. Despite the fearful cries rising into the night, the soldiers didn’t appear to be moving outside the camp. ‘Maybe there’s still time, sir,’ Tullus said to Caecina. ‘They can’t make up their minds what to do.’
‘It’s one thing to run amok through the camp, but quite another to charge into the darkness beyond the walls,’ said Caecina. ‘We’d best get over there fast, though, before they change their minds.’
Even in the poor light, the press seemed far thicker than it had been elsewhere. There was a chance that the panicked legionaries might fight back, Tullus decided, which meant his hope of positioning his two centuries between the mob and the gate was no longer feasible, at least without blood being shed. He wasn’t averse to that per se, but if it happened, the situation would descend into complete chaos. ‘Let’s walk along the rampart, sir. That’ll take us right up to the entrance.’