Ben Kane: Hunting the Eagles

I can call him that, but not you, thought Tullus resentfully. ‘He is, sir, but he’s loyal and brave. I haven’t met a better soldier.’

‘High praise from an officer with … how many years’ service?’

‘Thirty, sir.’ And all of it wasted because of today, thought Tullus.

One of Germanicus’ eyebrows rose. ‘Why haven’t you taken your discharge?’

‘You know how it is, sir. The army’s my life.’ Germanicus’ easy tone was giving Tullus hope. It was possible that he didn’t remember the details of their conversation, that he’d forgotten Tullus had been at the battle where Varus had lost his legions.

‘Indeed.’ Germanicus paced up and down without speaking.

Tullus’ unease resurged.

‘It was my understanding that soldiers who’d served in the Seventeenth, Eighteenth or Nineteenth Legions were banned from entering Italy.’

This was said in a low tone, but a chasm had opened before Tullus. Even though he’d said the Fifth was his legion, Germanicus knew . ‘I, er, yes. They are, sir.’

‘Yet here you both stand.’ Germanicus’ voice had gone ice-cold. He towered over Tullus.

‘Yes, sir.’ Hard as it was, Tullus kept his gaze fixed on Germanicus’ face.

‘Your lives are forfeit.’

‘Aye, sir,’ grated Tullus.

‘Why are you in Rome?’

‘We wanted to see the capital, sir, but we wanted to witness Tiberius’ triumph even more. Both of us served in Illyricum, sir – it was only for a year, but we were there.’

‘The glory of this triumph would wipe away the shame of what happened in Germania.’

‘Something like that, sir,’ muttered Tullus, who had not fully realised before that this had been part of his reasoning.

‘Tell me again how the ambush went for you and your men.’

The memories that Tullus had relived not long before were still fresh in his mind. His grief for the soldiers he’d lost, buried as best he could since the disaster, was yet bleeding raw. As for the shame he felt over the loss of his legion’s eagle, well, that cut like a knife – and now he would have to vocalise it all. There was little alternative other than to obey, though. Germanicus was one of the most powerful men in the empire.

And so Tullus laid out the suspicions he’d had about Arminius, first fuelled by a conversation that his servant Degmar had overheard. It was a grim litany: Varus’ refusal to listen to him – twice; Arminius’ lie about the Angrivarii tribe rising against Rome; Varus’ decision to act against them, ordering the army off the road to Vetera and on to a narrow forest path; the initial attack, and the unrelenting horror that had unfolded over the subsequent days.

Tullus described the tribesmen’s frequent, stinging assaults. The growing number of Roman casualties. The enemy’s terrifying renditions of the barritus. The constant rain. The ever-present mud. The way the legionaries’ morale had been chipped away bit by bit. The loss of first one eagle, and then a second – that of the Eighteenth, Tullus’ old legion. The realisation that there might be no escape for anyone.

At this point, Tullus’ throat closed with emotion. With an effort, he continued, relating how he had – somehow – dragged fifteen soldiers out the bloody quagmire that had been the end of the battle. With Degmar’s help, they had made it to the safety of Aliso, a Roman fort. Together with its garrison, they had been pursued to Vetera, their legion’s base, but had reached it at last. When Tullus was done, he let out a ragged breath. Those days, the worst of his entire life, were etched into his memory like a deep-carved eulogy on a nobleman’s tomb.

Germanicus had said not a single word throughout. At length, he asked, ‘How many men survived?’

Tullus scratched his head. ‘Somewhat less than two hundred, I think, sir. That’s not including those taken prisoner by the Germans.’

Germanicus glanced at Fenestela, whose expression had remained grim during the whole account. ‘Well? Did it happen as your centurion says?’

‘Aye, sir, except it were worse,’ said Fenestela, bobbing his head. ‘Far worse.’

Another silence fell, one neither Tullus nor Fenestela dared break.

Tullus threw a sidelong, grateful look at Fenestela, and wished again that his optio had obeyed his order to vanish. Deep down, though, he was glad to have Fenestela there. His optio was the truest of friends, who would stand by him no matter what. Facing the executioners would be their final battle.

But his interrogation wasn’t over yet. ‘If I recall, you were a senior centurion?’ demanded Germanicus.

‘Yes, sir. Second Cohort, of the Eighteenth.’

‘That’s not your rank now.’

‘No, sir. I was demoted after the ambush.’ Tullus didn’t mention Tubero, who had orchestrated his reduction in rank. There was no point.

To his relief, Germanicus made no further comment. ‘How many phalerae have you won?’

Mention of his awards for valour always made Tullus a little uncomfortable. ‘Nine, ten, sir, something like that.’

‘It’s eleven, sir,’ chipped in Fenestela, ‘and he deserved every one of them.’

‘Thank you, optio,’ said Germanicus wryly.

Fenestela coloured and turned his head. Germanicus then studied Tullus’ face for so long that he began to flush, and had to look away. Pronounce my sentence, and have done, Tullus wanted to say.

‘It seems to me …’ Germanicus paused.

Tullus’ heart thudded. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

‘It seems to me that you did what few others could have done.’

Confused, Tullus lifted his gaze to meet that of Germanicus. ‘Sir?’ he asked.

‘I like to take men as I find them, centurion, and you seem to be a simple man. A brave one too, and a fine officer. I believe your story. To execute you would be a waste of a life. It would deprive the empire of a fine son.’

‘I …’ said Tullus, and words failed him.

Germanicus chuckled. ‘You will not be executed or punished for flouting the ban, centurion, nor will your optio here. If I had been in your place, I might also have come to Rome to see a grand spectacle such as Tiberius’ triumph, the first of its kind in thirty years.’

‘Yes, sir. T-thank you, sir.’ Tullus tripped over the words.

‘My clemency is not altogether altruistic. The emperor, may the gods bless him, is soon to appoint me as governor of the province of Tres Galliae and Germania. I will have need of good soldiers. Solid officers, like you.’ As Tullus struggled to contain his surprise and delight, Germanicus continued, ‘The humiliations heaped upon us by Arminius have not been forgotten – no, indeed. I mean to lead my legions over the river, to retake all that was lost. I refer not just to territory and riches, but to the three eagles. Will you aid me in this? Will you see that Rome has its vengeance?’

‘It would be my honour, sir.’ Tullus could hear Fenestela growling in agreement.

‘Good.’ Germanicus clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I will seek you out on my arrival at the frontier. Best return to your duties with the Fifth before too long, eh?’

‘Of course, sir.’ Tullus watched with astonishment as Germanicus called for his horse and rode away. The two Praetorians followed.

Tullus’ knees were shaking. He sat down on a shop doorstep while Fenestela all but danced before him. ‘Who’d have expected that, eh?’

‘Aye,’ said Tullus, wondering how one moment an ignominious death could beckon, and the next he could be praised by the emperor’s step-grandson and then handed an opportunity to retrieve his honour.

Truly, the gods were smiling on him this day. Tullus had a good feeling that they would continue to do so during his quest for vengeance, and his hunt for his old legion’s eagle.