CHAPTER XII

‘ENOUGH FOR THE moment, Aius,’ Thumelicatz said, holding up a hand and casting his eye over his four guests and smiling. ‘So, Romans, here we have a fine thing: Varus’ sense of loyalty was to prove to be the death of almost all of his men. He left the relative safety of his fortified camp to march to the aid of a man he considered to be his friend even though Segestes had tried to impress upon him just how mistaken he was in that assumption. Yet still he went, blinded to reality by the belief, instilled by Rome’s outrageous arrogance, that once a man has received citizenship it is inconceivable that he should ever turn his back on what is obviously the only civilisation of any worth in this Middle-Earth. With admirable motivation, Varus set out to come to the aid of the very man who had put him in such peril by conjuring a rebellion in the north; a rebellion that was all too easy for him to believe in as he well knew the extent of the enmity that bubbled beneath the surface of the newly seized province.’

‘It wasn’t just his misplaced loyalty to Arminius that made him go,’ the younger brother said, a touch of petulance in his voice. ‘In fact, I would suggest that was the secondary factor: his and Rome’s honour were both at stake as far as he was concerned. According to the false message that Vulferam had delivered, Arminius was going to wait for four days by the swamp so it wouldn’t have sounded to Varus as if he was in any imminent danger. You should be able to understand this, Thumelicus, with your experience of Rome: yes, you are right when you assert that we have such strong certainty in the Idea of Rome that we find it hard to understand why a man would wish to turn from that ideal, but what makes that concept so strong in our minds is that fusion of one’s personal and family honour with the honour of the empire itself. The two concepts are inseparable and with the possibility, fictional, granted, of the revolt spreading to the Frisii in the far north it would have seemed to Varus that Rome’s honour was being threatened and therefore, by implication, so was his and his family’s. Should he leave the rebellion unchecked and hide behind his palisade awaiting another man of noble birth to lead an expedition to extract him and his legions whilst the province disintegrated about him, his shame would have been insufferable and there would have been no option left to him other than to fall upon his sword. He had to go, whether he considered Arminius his friend or not. Each one of his officers and men would have understood why staying put was not an option.’

Thumelicatz took a swig of his drink as he pondered this assertion for a few moments, before turning his attention back to Aius. ‘What say you, slave? When you still held your honour intact would you have defended it, and that of Rome’s, even though it would have meant a hazardous journey towards a supposed rebellion under attack all the time by tribesmen and some of your own auxiliaries who, as far as you understood, were trying to prevent you from reaching the rebel area?’

For the first time, Aius met his master’s eye and there was a slight hardening in his look as if the years of slavery were starting to shed and dignity was reasserting itself once more. ‘That was the only option open to us; every man in those legions would have made the same decision as our general and they would also have left the camp in the same condition as he did, knowing all too well the greed of uncivilised tribesmen.’ His eyes lowered back to the scroll in his hand.

Thumelicatz tensed, his fist clenching, as if he was about to strike his slave for answering the question with candour. After a couple of heartbeats he relaxed and gave a grim chuckle. ‘So you still have your balls in place after all these years, slave; but mind how they affect your speech, else you may well see them being added to this jar. But you are right, I cannot deny it; the way Varus left his camp did make a difference: it bought him another day, or so he thought, but did not, ultimately, affect the result. It did, however, bring shame upon my father’s alliance and showed the Germanic nature not in the best light. Read on, Aius, I’m sure this is a passage that you secretly enjoy.’

Whether or not his master’s assumption was correct did not show on the old slave’s face, now veiled again with subservience, as he scanned the scroll and began to read.

The sun had risen high behind the heavy, leaden clouds and the fires still burning within the camp had died down by the time the rearguard had passed through the gate and the auxiliary cohorts facing us, protecting the column’s flank, withdrew. In all that time we did not show ourselves, keeping our men under the cover of the forest, hidden from the open ground and the Roman camp, resting and feeding, building their strength back up for what would come. As the last footfall of more than ten thousand surviving marching men faded into the distance I had the tribes muster, ready to harass the Roman advance: the Chauci and the Marsi to their right, the Cherusci and the Bructeri to their left with the Sugambri staying behind them to pick off stragglers.

‘The Chatti are free to follow us, if you have the stomach for it,’ I told Adgandestrius as I met with the kings and their thanes as well as the prefects of the auxiliaries who had joined us to discuss the disposition of the tribes, as while herding Varus northwest it was vital to ensure that he passed between the marsh and the Kalk Riese.

The Chatti king spat at my feet, sneering; behind him his followers bristled and gripped their sword hilts, ready to support their king should the insult be deemed intolerable. ‘The Chatti will not be found wanting; we will fight if and when you force Varus to the killing ground. There you will see just what the Chatti have the stomach for. After that, Erminatz, we will have an accounting and I think it will be you who will be found wanting: wanting of manners.’

I raised my hands in a conciliatory gesture. ‘If you are promising to fight, Adgandestrius, then I apologise for my manners or lack of them. Forgive me so that we may draw swords together in a common cause.’

We locked glares and a tension ran between us, neither saying a word, as all those around remained silent, ready for violence; but violence did not break out, as Adgandestrius knew that he could not refuse the apology made in front of so many men of high status united in their enmity towards Rome – whatever he thought of me personally. He slowly relaxed, nodding his head in agreement as his lips beneath his beard cracked into a smile that did not reach his eyes. ‘We will fight together, Erminatz, and let that be an end to it.’

‘Then the Chatti will join the Sugambri and drive the column from the rear.’

‘We will do so because we choose to, not because you have ordered us to.’

‘Then it is a good choice.’ Satisfied that I would get no more from him I turned to the rest of the kings. ‘We will catch up with their rear units in an hour or so and then we will spend the rest of the day wearing down what’s left of their morale. Keep at them constantly: missile volleys and lightning attacks. They must never feel safe so that the fear grows in the hearts of the common legionary. Then, when it’s dark, Engilram will lead us to the Kalk Riese. The Bructeri, Cherusci, Chatti and Sugambri will take position on the hill itself whilst the Marsi and the Chauci will cut off any possibility of retreat so that we will have them completely at our mercy and we shall withhold.’

‘What about preventing them from going forward?’ Engilram asked.

‘That is down to you, my friend. Send all the warriors you can spare ahead by the shortest route to the Teutoburg Pass and prepare the ground. The pass must be blocked; fell as many trees as you can between your Chalk Giant and the swamp to make the way impassable. Have another party take our store of javelins and arrows with them so that we have sufficient weaponry there waiting for us. We will fall on the column just before they reach the barrier; they will try and move forward quickly to escape us and find the way obstructed. At this point they will realise that they have walked into a well-laid trap and the fear that we’ve built up within their hearts will overflow as they see that there is neither a way forward nor back and they have been brought to the place of their death. As they despair we’ll reap their lives and not one will escape; not one.’ I looked around the group and there was no sign of dissent, even Adgandestrius stroked his beard and hoomed his agreement along with the rest; I now knew that I had won all these proud men over to my will and with them I could strike the greatest blow for our Fatherland, the land of All Men. Our failure to finish the business on the first day was now behind us for we could all see how Varus would be trapped in the shadow of the Chalk Giant, and with nowhere to go and demoralised troops he would stand no chance. ‘So, my friends, go now and lead your men well and may the gods of our land help us to rid ourselves of the invader.’

But the gods of our land include Loki; he tricks and deceives for his own amusement and that day he played a jest that nearly cost our land its freedom. The abandoned camp, itself a huge affair – almost half a mile square – lay in our path as we followed the Roman trail. I had paid it no mind; why should I have as it was just an empty marching camp bereft of its inhabitants and containing now just the smouldering remains of the fires set by our attack the previous night? I gave no orders to avoid it and as the tribes moved forward they passed to either side and saw that the gates were open; and what lay within was too much to resist, as Varus knew it would be when Loki inspired him to such a trick: he had abandoned his baggage and had concealed his action by using the cover of our fire attack to set his own wagons alight.

Within the four walls the camp remained intact: rows of leather tents still stood as if the eight men sharing each one were yet asleep within. Through them swarmed our men, my men, out of control as they swooped down on the plunder of three legions. And I cursed Varus and Loki in equal measure for I realised that the two cavalry alae that had covered each side of the camp as Varus led his men out were placed there for a dual purpose: they were not just for fending off any foray that we may have attempted; they were also there to obscure our line of sight so that we would not notice that the baggage train was not a part of the column but, rather, had remained within the camp as a smouldering wreck of wagons. In one move Varus had speeded up his advance unencumbered by the slow baggage train that would delay our moving on until it had been picked through and every item of value appropriated. Only what could be carried on the backs of mules had been taken; anything requiring wheeled transport had been forsaken.

Varus had played me for a fool.

What could I do? I was helpless in the face of the greed of men who have little and desire to better themselves in any way that they can. And there was much to take as it was not the baggage of an army on campaign, travelling light; no, this was the baggage of an army on its way from its summer quarters to its winter home, an army that was taking everything it owned with it. That was the mark of how desperate Varus must have felt if he and his men were prepared to leave all that loot behind. All that to buy them the time to link up with me – or so they thought – in the northwest so that together we could put down a rebellion that did not exist. He must have calculated that once victorious he would be able to reclaim much of what had been lost from the defeated tribes; either the original items or in kind. Whatever had gone through his mind his ploy had worked and I looked in impotent rage at the unrestrained marauding of my six tribes, unleashed on the treasure of an army.

Through the camp they swooped, taking all that they could find, weighing themselves down with plunder. It was not just the heavy leather tents or the amphorae of wine or bushels of grain, it was the mills to grind that grain; it was the quarter-masters’ stores of armour, military sandals, tunics, cloaks, blankets and weaponry, some of which had survived the fires, as well as the remains of the butchered carcasses of the draft-oxen.

And then there was the pay chest buried beneath the praetorium.

This one sacrifice was enough to guarantee that I had no chance of moving my army forward until every scrap of ground had been searched. Varus had been very cunning: the chest had been buried in an obvious manner so that it would be discovered; and it was not even full. Most of the tribesmen, however, couldn’t see that it had been left as bait, to tempt them into thinking that there could be more – which, of course, there wasn’t. But no one can talk sense into a man in the grip of greed.

‘I’ve had some of our warriors secure the praetorium,’ Vulferam said, breaking into my misery as, above, the Thunderer, as if in disgust at his children’s behaviour, cracked open the skies with a reverberating strike and rain flooded through the resulting rent. Almost three hours had passed since the looting began and there was no sign of it abating.

I was momentarily confused and then managed to focus. ‘And the tent’s contents?’

‘All gone; it seems as if Varus was only too happy to let everyone else abandon their belongings but his have been packed up and taken.’

Thumelicatz held up his hand. ‘And that was so, Aius, was it not?’ He gestured at the rich furnishings and lavish silverware that adorned what had once been Varus’ command tent.

Aius inclined his head in agreement. ‘Indeed, master, he had all this loaded onto mules.’

‘And what was everyone else allowed to take?’

‘We had been issued with four days’ rations and could take whatever we could load onto our contubernium’s mule, which was why every eight-man tent-party had chosen to leave their tent and grain-mill behind so as to get as many personal possessions on the beast as possible – much good it did us.’

Thumelicatz smiled in satisfaction. ‘Yes, we’ve been finding coins along the battle’s path ever since and will, no doubt, carry on doing so for many years to come.’

‘But at the time we thought that the general was doing the right thing and that without the baggage train slowing us down we would escape the rebels’ pursuit and soon join forces with Arminius … I’m sorry, master, Erminatz, and then, once clear of the Wald we would be able to stand and fight on open ground.’

‘And then victory would have been yours,’ Thumelicatz scoffed.

‘Of course, master; that’s what we all believed because it had always been so: no barbarians could defeat three Roman legions head-on, and your father understood that because he had decided to ambush the column rather than face it.’

Thumelicatz’s fist slammed into the old slave’s face, cracking his head back with a surprised cry. ‘Don’t assume to know what my father did or didn’t understand, slave. Your role is to read his words and answer my questions, not to make suppositions that you cannot possibly support.’

The street-fighter made to intervene but was restrained by the two brothers.

Aius hung his head, his hands holding his face as blood dripped through the fingers from a misshapen nose. ‘I apologise, master,’ he whispered, his voice shaking with pain, ‘I spoke out of turn.’

Tiburtius looked on impassively, giving no clue as to his feelings on the treatment of his fellow slave.

‘Get on with the reading,’ Thumelicatz said before turning back to his guests. ‘As you can see, there is still some spirit left in him even after thirty-three years of slavery.’

None of the Romans ventured their opinions on the condition of one who had been of the foremost in his legion.

Aius wiped away the blood with the back of his hand and then dried it on his tunic before picking up the scroll again.

An empty Praetorian tent was of little use to me but I thanked Vulferam nonetheless because it would be expected of me, by all my warriors, to take that as a prize, otherwise I would lose face in their eyes should one of the kings claim Varus’ property for his own; having just gained control of the army I could not afford to lose it over a matter of principle.

Then, through the chaos of the looting, I saw the man I needed to speak to most urgently if the situation was not to be lost. ‘Engilram!’ I bellowed over the cacophony of greed. ‘Engilram!’

The old king heard me and made his way over to where I stood.

‘Engilram, please tell me that you, at least, have some control of your men.’

Engilram looked grave but his words brought me relief. ‘Two hundred I’ve sent on ahead with the promise of more silver than they would have scavenged from the ruins of the camp; they left a couple of hours ago. It’ll cost me dearly but it was the only way to tear them away from the looting.’

I squeezed his shoulder, my heart thumping with relief, and looked into his eyes with mine full of gratitude. ‘It will be made up to you by double what you’re forced to pay, my friend. Because of you we still have the chance to finish this thing properly.’

‘I know, Erminatz; but we’ll need to hurry; if Varus sets a good pace he’ll arrive at the Kalk Riese tomorrow afternoon. We have to leave soon in order to be able to skirt around him and be waiting when he arrives.’

And that was the reality that I had already confronted in my head but did not know how to overcome: not only were we far behind the Roman column now but we were also burdened down with plunder. There was no way that I could see of us being able to travel fast enough or stealthily enough to be able to get in position to crush the column without them being aware of our presence. There was nothing else to do other than wait for the frenzy to be over and then address the army as a whole and appeal to them to leave their loot for the time being in order that a greater victory could be gained.

Perhaps I had a use for Varus’ praetorium after all. I turned to Vulferam. ‘Have Varus’ tent packed away and brought to me.’

Vulferam nodded and went off to fulfil my wishes as I stood, watching the continued looting, waiting with little patience.

I had to wait for another precious hour before the warriors, by mutual consent, decided that the camp had been picked bare and there were no other pay chests buried within its walls. I called upon the kings to muster their tribes on the ground to its north and prepared to regain the initiative by leading by example.

‘Brothers, fellow sons of All Men,’ I shouted from the improvised dais before the assembled tribes standing in the steady rain, ‘we have been fortunate in that we have enriched ourselves without any great struggle. Each of us has some prize or other; some of great worth, and others less so.’ I punched a fist into the air. ‘Let us cheer our good fortune!’

This was uncontroversial and produced a roar from the assembly as they celebrated their luck. For many heartbeats I led them in the celebration until I judged that they were ready for what I had to say. I stretched my arms out wide, palms down, and hushed almost thirty thousand men who now wanted to listen to me.

‘Fortune has favoured us, but it has done so at a price.’

I paused to let them wonder what the price could be and, judging by the faces of those nearest to me, it was not obvious to them.

‘The price is that we have been diverted from our real task, the reason that we have come on this venture. And it was planned that it should be thus, planned by our enemy; Rome has tricked us.’

Again I paused to let that sink in and for each man to begin to feel outrage at being duped even if they did not comprehend just how.

‘This booty that we all hold was always going to be ours; but in having it now, having it early, it is missing a vital ingredient: it is not covered in the blood of the former owners. No, my brothers, we’ve been cheated; all this should have come to us over the dead bodies of Varus and his legions. And where is Varus? Where are his legions? Can you see their bodies lying limp on the ground? No, my brothers! No, you cannot! You cannot because they are miles from here and their hearts still beat and their limbs are still intact. They are still alive on Germanic soil; our soil; the soil of our Fatherland where All Men should dwell in freedom!’

This sent them into cries of indignation as they realised that what I had said was the truth and that they had been blinded by greed that had been provoked by their enemy. Now, shamed, their indignation began to turn to anger.

‘But it is not too late, my brothers; it is just half a day since they left this place; we can still catch them. We can still kill them, all of them!’

The howl that erupted from the combined tribes drowned anything they had produced previously; it was a howl for blood, for vengeance and for honour.

Now I had them. ‘We must make haste, my brothers, if we are to catch them; we must leave immediately and we must travel fast and light.’ I turned to Vulferam, standing beneath me, next to the dais. ‘Vulferam, bring me my share of the booty.’

As a dozen or so of my Cherusci heaved and manhandled the packed Praetorian tent to the front of the dais I stood, looking at it, making a show of scratching my head and rubbing my chin as if I was very deep in thought.

When finally the huge bundle was in position, I looked up at my audience; they quietened to hear me. ‘But how will I travel fast and light, my brothers, if I am weighed down with my share of the booty? Should I give it to others so that they take the burden whilst I rush to avenge my pride? But what about the pride of those others? No, my brothers; I shall not ask others to make such a sacrifice; I shall, instead, abandon my booty and leave it here and I shall ask the wounded, those who will not be able to keep up the pace that we shall surely need, to look after it until such time as I can return to reclaim it. Thus I shall stand a chance of catching Varus and his legions. Who will follow me and do likewise?’

None now could, in honour, fail to do as I had; the field was soon covered in discarded loot as the wounded of each tribe were brought out to look after their compatriots’ share.

Now we were ready; now the chase could begin.

*

Along the trampled trail I raced at the head of the Cherusci with my father and uncle at my heels; rain and low-hanging branches whipped into my face and my boots slipped in the churned mud but I still managed to keep up the pace. Behind me the six tribes followed, every man chastened by the way Varus had exploited their inner greed by his ruse and each determined in his desire to catch the Roman column and punish it for bringing such shame.

Never letting our speed slacken to less than a jog and sometimes breaking into a full run, we pursued our quarry and within three hours had started to come across the stragglers; some singularly and some in small groups. It did not matter for they died the same way: in a rush of iron as we sped past, not even bothering to slow our pace as we sliced the life out of them, their eyes staring in final terror at the flood of warriors tearing through the rain. More and more we met the closer we drew to the rearguard of the Nineteenth Legion and none escaped our wrath. Those that tried to flee found nowhere to go as our frontage, by this time, was so spread out that there was no way around us and their exhaustion precluded fleeing before us. Mercy they could not expect and they knew it so none pleaded for his life, relieved to have a swift death rather than be subjected to our fires; some made a stand and some just went down under our blades to be trampled beneath our ever moving feet.

On we went through semi-open hilly ground, a mixture of farmland and wood, given over to agriculture and coppicing, but on this day deserted in the wake of three legions. Soon the hills began to close up and the husbanded land became less frequent as the forest began, once again, to hold sway. Our pace lessened but I did not mind as I knew that what affected us adversely was even harder for thousands of close-order infantry marching in column.

And then, as the sun started to make its way down to the western horizon, we saw them; we saw the rear ranks of the Nineteenth Legion, which were, by my estimation, at least a mile and a half from the vanguard at the front of the reduced column. Such was our joy that we cheered and bellowed our praise to the gods of our Fatherland so that the legionaries heard us and cried out in fear, warning the ranks ahead of them that they had not escaped the terror that chased them. And so it was without the element of surprise that we plunged our blades into the rear cohort of the Nineteenth.

Along their left side we swarmed, hacking and stabbing with sword and spear; but despite our numbers and the intensity of our hatred, their superior discipline held them intact as they locked shields and, with blades flashing between the gaps, edged forward, the rear ranks stepping backwards as they fought us off. Up the column we went but found their defence solid; here and there a less-experienced legionary let down his guard and fell beneath a flurry of blows but always his comrade next to him would take his place, so that there forever seemed to be a wall of wood and leather that we could not get past.

By now the following tribes had caught up with us and began flowing to either side of the column, the Chauci and the Marsi to the right and the Bructeri joining us on the left. I ordered my Cherusci to disengage and we melted into the forest along with the Bructeri, to make our way, unseen, up the column in order that the fear of being surrounded by an invisible enemy would start to gnaw at the guts of every man under each of the three Eagles that were our prey; for total demoralisation now had to be the objective of the next few hours until dusk and then on through the night. It was to that end that I met with Engilram of the Bructeri as we drew level with the head of the column.

‘How far to the Kalk Riese?’ I asked the old king.

Engilram ran his fingers through his beard. ‘Assuming that they will stop for the night in a couple of hours, I think they should arrive soon after noon tomorrow.’

‘We shall keep pressing them; missile volleys to disrupt them followed by short raids as their defences are in disarray. And try to bring back some prisoners.’

And so it was, as Varus’ men slogged along the track, ankle-deep in mud, keeping eight abreast, their shields in hand ready to defend themselves, we swooped down on them from the cover of the rain-swathed forest to either side of the column; lightning raids, deadly and demoralising, ever picking a different target and ever leaving a trail of corpses so that the cohorts following behind would have to stare into the vacant eyes of the dead. When we could we grabbed screaming men from their formation and bundled them back up the hill. No respite did we give them and nor did the Chauci and the Marsi operating on the other side, so that the air was always filled with the screams of the maimed and the dying and every man in the column would expect it to be their turn for death soon, constantly looking with trepidation over their shoulders, peering into the shadows beneath the dripping canopy ever driven on by the Chatti and Sugambri at the column’s tail so that no rest was possible and there was no time to tend wounds. The best medicine a wounded man could hope for became the sword, for none wanted to fall into our hands alive, as they all knew of our fires and our skill at administering a lingering death and had seen how we had plucked prisoners from their ranks. And I had given orders that there should be no quick death for those taken alive and I hoped that many would be so taken, for I had plans for them that night; plans that Lucius would have approved of had he been in my place.

As dusk approached, the head of the column came to a rounded hill at a place that Engilram told me was called the Feldenfelt because of the stony nature of the ground; and it was here that the training of the legions was seen to full advantage. The auxiliary cavalry formed a protective screen, riding down any attempted attack aimed at disrupting the manoeuvring of the Seventeenth Legion as they split down the middle with four files heading left and four right around the hill so that before we had time to react the entire hill was surrounded by a cordon of legionaries four deep. Two legionaries stood guard for every two men digging and in less than an hour the hill was surrounded by a four-foot-deep ditch with waist-high breastwork. It was into this defensive position that the battered Eighteenth and the, by now, severely mauled Nineteenth Legion marched. Interspersed with them were what remained of their camp-followers, their numbers even more depleted than the legions as we had not differentiated between soldiers and civilians; all had to die and an unarmed woman or child is easier to kill than an armoured legionary.

And so Varus managed to bring his men to rest for the night on the day that he had very nearly managed to slip from my grasp. Although his losses were not nearly as dramatic as the previous couple of days, they had still been considerable and that evening fewer than nine thousand men made camp in the rain-sodden open, less than half the number that he had originally set out with.

‘And how did the men feel as they shared a cold and joyless meal that evening, Aius, on that stony ground?’ Thumelicatz asked, interrupting the aged slave.

‘Most of us had given up hope,’ Aius replied without any need for reflection. ‘We had prayed to all the gods that the abandoning of the baggage would buy us the time to escape, but when the tribes caught back up with us we knew that they would never let us go. It was then that many of the senior officers, the legates and auxiliary prefects, began to question Varus’ strategy. There was a meeting at the top of the hill where we had placed our birds and before long the voices were loud enough for us to overhear.

‘“He will be there at the edge of the forest and together we will move on into the open country and crush the rebellion,” Varus shouted at the group of red-cloaked officers surrounding him.

‘“Stop fooling yourself, Varus!” Vala Numonius, the prefect of the Gallic auxiliary cavalry, thundered back. “He won’t be there because he’s already here.” He pointed out into the night. “He’s always been here; it’s him who has done this. Arminius has betrayed us and would see us all dead if we carry on going northwest in a column. Hour after hour he’ll wear us down, taking lives until there are none left to take. We need to get to the next piece of open ground and form for battle and see if the barbarians are willing to take us head-on or whether they’ll just slink back to their hovels.”

‘Varus replied: “They’ll do neither; they’ll skirt around us, sweep Arminius aside and join the rebellion and before we know it the whole of the north will be lost.”

‘“There is no rebellion! Not in the north, anyway. The rebellion is here and we are in the centre of it and if we don’t act we will be the victims of it. Arminius is false.”

‘“Arminius saved my life!” Varus said. “Why would he do that and then go on to betray me?”

‘“For that very reason: to betray you. Who better to lead you into a trap than the man you trust with your very life? Look at you: you’re blinded to his duplicity because of the debt you owe him and that’s what he’s played on all along; that’s what’s going to get us all killed and you must by now know it to be the case.”

‘This seemed to get through to Varus and he turned to stare out into the night with the look of a man who has just accepted what he always knew, deep down, to be the truth but had previously been unable to countenance. It was then he saw his folly and it was at that moment that the screaming started again out in the night but ever coming closer. Now we knew there would be no quarter and that we either found a place to turn and fight or we would die far from home. We had started to despair.’

‘And you, Tiburtius?’ Thumelicatz asked. ‘Had you begun to despair? Could you ever see yourself walking in the streets of Rome again?’

‘Rome?’ The former Eagle-bearer of the Nineteenth Legion looked into the mid-distance as if trying to picture the city he had not seen for more than half his life. ‘Rome? Yes, master, by then I think that the image of Rome had begun to fade in my mind. And as the screaming came nearer the fear grew within us all for we knew to expect horror. But we did not expect the scale of the horror. Out from the darkness surrounding our makeshift camp on the hill, scores of piercing screams came from every direction. Closer they came and the lads tensed and braced themselves for a night attack. Although it was not an attack in the conventional sense of the word it had the same effect on our morale as if it had been a successful breaching of our lines.

‘Then they appeared through the darkness, wraithlike shadows bearing burdens between them; screaming, writhing burdens that they heaved towards us before fleeing back into the night. Some of the lads – the few who had a pila left – hurled their weapons after them but I don’t think any damage was done other than to deplete our store of missiles. The shadows disappeared but the screaming did not stop. We ran forward and hauled the burdens up the hill, but it wasn’t as easy as we thought it would be for they were very difficult to get a grip of as they were slimed in gore and wriggled like landed eels, all the time shrieking shriller than a harpy; and it was no wonder that they did as they were but blood-splattered hulks, just torsos and heads, their extremities removed. Their arms and legs had been hacked off and the small stumps left had been daubed in pitch to stop the bleeding, as had the gash that marked the place where once their genitalia had hung. The screams were inarticulate as there was nothing left in their mouths with which to form words, and even if there had been they were unable to see to whom they should direct their anguish as their eye-sockets were a bloody ruin of mush.

‘A collective moan of despair rose over the camp almost drowning out the agony of the maimed. What could we do with our comrades left so broken and incomplete? Each scream, each waggle of a ghastly stump, each writhe of an agonised torso instilled fear and terror within us and we all knew that were we to be one of those blinded monstrosities on the ground we would be begging for an end; within moments the screaming had stopped as swords pierced the hulks and exploded their racing hearts. It was then that we directed our rage at the unseen foe in the night and bellowed our hatred, as impotent as it was deep, at the hidden fiends who could inflict such cruelty on our comrades. But no reply came from the dark and many of our men had tears of frustration trailing down their faces; in their exhaustion due to lack of sleep and continuous traipsing through mud, they were unable to control their emotions, and were unmanned, sinking to their knees and tearing at their hair.

‘Varus saw the state of the rump of his army and the effect the dismembering of the prisoners had had upon them and he must have then realised that it was all due to his being duped by Erminatz; the responsibility rested on his shoulders and his alone for he had been warned and he had ignored those warnings. He saw around him not three mighty legions and their auxiliaries but a collection of demoralised, terrified and drained men who happened to be wearing the uniform of Rome. He had led them and it was he who had brought them to this. With the promise of linking up with Erminatz taken from him, now that he had grasped the reality of the situation, he could see no attainable objective, no way forward or back; he could see nothing but death, for it was death besieging us on that stony hill, and he knew the fate that death had in store for him at the hands of his one-time friend, Erminatz, would be worse than the now-motionless hulks that littered the perimeter of the camp.’