In the case of the barbarians, the readier a man is to be daring, the more trustworthy is he regarded and, when things are in turmoil, more influential. (Tacitus)
We came at each other in a thundering rush of bodies and battle cries. My well-trained horse charged without hesitation, eager for the battle.
All my senses sharpened. I heard every breath and growl, each thump of a foot or hoof. The scent of unwashed bodies, fir trees in the distance, and the tang of blood overwhelmed my nostrils.
I crashed my horse into the enemy’s line and pulled hard on the reins to stop her while I swung the flat of my spear against any with the misfortune of being too close. Each blow reverberated up my arm.
It was a struggle to hold myself back from the instinct to slaughter. Our goal was to subdue, not massacre, despite my father’s insistence otherwise. Keeping nearly fifteen hundred warriors on that same path was nearly impossible.
I aimed for arms and legs, the backs of heads to render a fighter unconscious. It was slow going, a slog through men and women alike. When my horse screamed, a chilling noise no matter how often I’d heard it, I tossed a leg over her neck and slid back into the snow, dropping the spear in favor of my sword along the way.
Thought plays little part in a battle, beyond moving from one opponent to the next. There’s no space for much of anything else. I didn’t notice the bite of snow soaking between the seams of my heavy wool trousers and down through the tops of the fur wraps encasing my calves and the tops of my winter boots. Pain registered in the back of my mind, quickly silenced.
My heart raced, and my lungs pumped like bellows.
A sword swung at my head. I ducked, just in time for the wind of the blade to kiss along my cheek and temple.
I spun around my attacker and cracked him across the skull with the flat of my sword. I raised the weapon for the next opponent and pulled up short when he whirled to face me. Reimar’s eyes glowed brightly behind his warpaint, bright with the lust of battle.
He had his own weapon raised, now frozen, over his head in a stalled strike. For the first time since I’d known him, he laughed, a full belly-shaking guffaw. I was so stunned, I almost died for a second time. Fortunately, Reimar was paying attention, and he felled the warrior who came at my back with a quick thrust of his sword.
“We have to end this,” I growled and swung on another attacker.
Exhaustion would set in soon for all of us. Even the most well-conditioned warriors couldn’t maintain a pitched battle for very long. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes like hours. Hours seemed as days, weeks, months stretching into eternity as we pushed ourselves beyond our breaking points in the name of victory. As friends and family died around us.
“Their leader,” he thunked the pommel of his sword against a woman’s head and she crumpled like a dropped sack at his feet, “we have to find him.”
I parried a blow and kicked the man’s feet out from under him, doubting it would take one man to stop this mess. One man alone hadn’t started it, and these raiders had damn good reason for their anger.
A woman ran at me and for a moment, time froze. Her cloak was threadbare, her frame dangerously thin. About her neck was a collar in the style Rome used to mark their slaves.
I batted her weapon aside, nothing but a short length of wood crudely shaped into a club. Bruising mapped her face and her neck was inflamed, openly bleeding in sores around the collar.
My stomach twisted into a knot so painful, bile rose in my throat. She wasn’t a scalc in the Germani fashion, but a slave. The Mattiaci were taking true slaves and forcing them to fight. To bleed. To lose limbs. To die. Her eyes rolled to their whites, like a panicked horse. Open blisters pocked her nose and cheeks, and the fingers desperately clutching an ax looked black. They made her fight, after letting her succumb to frostbite.
In that frozen moment, I made a decision. I made it without consulting Reimar, and certainly not Arminius who was long gone from the territory. And I didn’t care one whit about what they might say. I didn’t care about what it might cost us in the future, because the cost staring me in the face was too high to pay. I refused.
I snatched her by the front of her tunic and cringed when the fabric tore. She cried out, dropped the ax, and tears sprang free. The scent of urine mingled with the other foul smells of battle.
“Tell the other scalcs,” I shouted to be heard over the din of battle, “any who fight for me, Thusnelda of the Cherusci, will earn their freedom.”
She continued crying and wincing away from the blow I had no intention of delivering.
“Did you hear me?” I gave her a shake. “Spread the word among every scalc you know and tell them to repeat it. Any who join my rebellion will earn their freedom. Say you understand.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” She nodded with each affirmation.
A warrior leapt for us, swinging a long sword to cleave us both in one motion. I dropped her and ran him through, just above the gut, under sternum and angled up for maximum effect. His blood ran hot over my hands. I pushed him off my blade with a sickening squelch.
The scalc looked up from the snow, no longer crying, eyes wide with new understanding.
“When the time comes, any who fight for me and the Chatti will be free, do you understand?”
She nodded again.
“Go. Tell every scalc.”
She scrambled away and disappeared into the melee. I hoped she lived long enough to be heard.
A female voice screamed my name, a voice I’d seldom heard and recognized instantly. My head fell back on a prolonged groan. Not this bitch. Like this day wasn’t already long enough.
Arin charged me on horseback. Her shock of red hair blew free behind her, all flames and fury. The melee parted for her assault. Any who stood in her way, she and her horse knocked aside, no more an obstacle than a breeze in her path.
I readied my sword and planted my feet. She was right-handed and would expect a feint to the left. She was also a seasoned enough warrior to know I knew she expected a feint to the left.
The Romans flipped a coin for such a choice. I only had my instincts. At the last possible moment, when I heard nothing but her horse’s hooves and saw nothing but her wild eyes, I sidestepped and swept my blade along her thigh, barely avoiding her horse. No sense wasting a perfectly good animal.
She screamed, and in her shock, fell from the saddle pad. Her blood turned the surrounding snow bright red.
I grabbed her hair and pressed the sharp edge of my sword against her throat.
“Tell them all why you’re really fighting,” I screamed.
The surrounding warriors didn’t pause their own fights, but a few cast looks at the scene we made.
“Food—” she started.
“The truth!”
Her hands and fingernails latched onto my wrists, but on her knees, bleeding badly from the leg, and already worn from battle, she batted uselessly at me.
“She killed my husband!” she cried. “She and Arminius the traitor killed him.”
More fighters slowed and shifted their attention our way.
“Why? Tell them why.” I gave her a hard shake and let my blade draw a thin line of blood for good measure.
“We’re not traitors like you. We stand with Rome.”
There it was, the opening I needed.
“Do you all hear her? They kneel to the masters who would see you starve. I offer you freedom, the same offer I made to the Mattiaci and now they go hungry.”
Bit by bit, person by person, my words echoed outward and combatants slowed, then stopped to repeat what I said. Stopping some two-and-a-half thousand warriors mid-fight was no easy feat.
Inspiration sent from the gods. It wasn’t the speech Wiltrud, Reimar, and I rehearsed while Segestes nodded along in silence. I hadn’t meant to roar treason to so many people, least of all my father or our known enemies, the Mattiaci. Still, I raised my voice, so loud it cracked.
“You go hungry because Rome puts you on your knees. The Cherusci have food because they are fickle masters. Stand with me, with the Chatti, and Arminius, and you will be free to make your own futures. Germani do not kneel.”
Again, my words echoed to each warrior.
Then they returned, quiet at first, growing louder and louder in a single chant.
Germani do not kneel.
* * *
The Mattiaci refused to stay and discuss the redistribution of food. They trudged away clinging tightly to their loot, and I watched them disappear into the woods, wondering what might come of my message for the scalcs. The word would spread, but would any defect from their masters?
Reimar said it was a mistake to let Arin live. I disagreed. To my surprise, he and Wiltrud deferred to me. More than that, others came to me in the aftermath seeking guidance. Warriors watched me, awaiting my word to lead negotiations. Though I’d never been in such a role, I’d never been the one they all turned to, I didn’t intend to start with an execution.
Though I’d grown up as the head woman of the Cherusci, I’d never been a battle chief. That was what I wanted, wasn’t it? I’d made myself the critical link in our rebellion, and that meant being the leader in these moments. That meant directing the negotiations over supplies, or at least appointing negotiators in my stead, as I did with Wiltrud, who in turn gathered warriors she trusted. It was new to me, to act in such a role on this scale. But I’d been training for this my entire life.
We set up our tents and stoked fires under the relative shelter of the tree line, then gathered to work out the food situation. Segestes kept his sullen silence while Wiltrud went to work. He hadn’t spoken since the battle stopped and I had openly declared the intention to revolt.
I almost pitied him. It had taken him by surprise, the way all but the Mattiaci cheered a rebellion against the very thing to which my father had dedicated his life. His every goal centered on an alliance with Rome, and with a few choice words, he finally understood exactly how unpopular his views were.
Reimar filled a leather flask with broth warmed over the nearest fire, took a drink, and passed it to me. It went a long way toward staving off the cold.
“We’ll all be hungry for the next few months,” he said.
“But we won’t starve, and now we’ve secured the Tencteri to our number. We need to show everyone that it’s better to work with us.”
He shrugged a big shoulder. We had hard work ahead to see it done. We considered which tribes and villages were most in need and which had food to spare. For the first time in living memory, our tribes faced a lean winter while guaranteeing the survival of all but the most feeble. The Cherusci and the Chatti wouldn’t have the plump winter we’d prepared for, but our bounties were a vital lifeline for the Tencteri and Sugambri’s outlying villages left with almost nothing after paying their taxes.
“You drew a hard line today,” he said.
“Do you think I was wrong?” It didn’t feel wrong. We could only keep our rebellion a secret for so long. It seemed silly to stay silent on a rumor already running rampant.
“Segestes may prove more dangerous than he seems.”
I didn’t plan on underestimating my father. Arminius had propositioned him about the rebellion and let him live. I wondered if he’d done that for me and if he’d made a horrible mistake.
“Arminius approached Segestes when he first returned,” I said. “The only thing that surprised him today is bearing witness to how many agree with Arminius.”
I produced a small sack of dried apple slices and offered it to Reimar, who took a few. The tart fruit contrasted unpleasantly with the savory broth we shared, but food was food and drink was drink. A long march followed by a battle left my stomach growling, and my limbs tight and angry. All the talk of food didn’t help.
“Maybe,” Reimar said after polishing off his apple slices, “but that doesn’t make him any less dangerous. He can always go to Varus.”
“No, he doesn’t have Varus’ respect. Arminius has that, and he can make Varus believe Segestes is the real traitor.”
I took a few more slices and returned the sack to my saddlebags. With an ounce more of energy, I’d have risen and fetched a portion of dried fish. My legs felt like bruised jelly. I shouldn’t have sat before getting food.
Reimar eyed me sideways, grunted, stood, and lumbered away without another word. I guessed that conversation was over and flopped back against a tree trunk, knowing I couldn’t risk falling asleep alone out here, yet hardly able to keep my eyes open any longer.
“Here.” My eyes shot back open at Reimar’s voice. He held out a portion of hot, steaming meat. “One of our horses broke a leg. You couldn’t smell it cooking?”
I patted dumbly at my nose and shook my head. Exhaustion hit harder than I realized. We rarely ate our horses. They were much too valuable as working animals for that, and the Cherusci seldom reached the point of starvation when we butchered every animal in a village. Still, I moaned at the first bite. It had been so long since I last tasted horse, I forgot how delicious it was, even prepared without the benefit of herbs.
Reimar settled back next to me, and we ate in companionable silence for several minutes before he spoke again.
“I’m not a fool. I know you are not thrilled with this match. I’m not, either. Irmhild was my wife and I vowed to never take another.”
I swallowed a bit of meat and washed it down with more broth. When I struggled to respond, he waved a hand to stop me.
“Things change. The Chatti benefit from our union as much as the Cherusci. But Thusnelda, I swear to you I will be a good husband, if you will be a good wife.”
He spoke the truth. Reimar would make a fine husband. He supported me when I came to him about Arminius. He didn’t speak over or ignore me. He ensured I had food and drink without my asking. It was a primitive thing, to provide for one’s mate. As far as the Romans were concerned, we were a primitive people and his simple gesture told me everything I needed to know about the kind of husband he’d be.
My heart broke a little. I wanted to want him and I never would. Another man occupied the space in my heart that I was supposed to save for Reimar.