Ben Kane: Eagles at War

Yes, there were many benefits to being part of the empire, Arminius admitted to himself, but they came at a high price. First among these was having an absolute ruler, a so-called emperor – Augustus. A man to whom everyone had to pay obeisance; a man who had to be venerated almost as a god. Germanic tribes did have leaders, but they were regarded in a different manner than Augustus. They were esteemed, thought Arminius. Feared – likely. Revered – perhaps. Loved – possibly. But superior to all others? Never. A chieftain who acted as if he were better than others would not last long at the head of a tribe. Warriors followed him out of respect, and if for some reason their high opinion of him changed, they walked away, or began backing another chieftain. As a leader of the Cherusci, Arminius was mindful of the need to retain this support, in particular because he spent the majority of his time away from home, with the legions.

The second price of being part of the empire – Arminius’ lips quirked, because it was just that, a price – was its damnable taxes. This summer, the collecting of tax was to be extended beyond the Rhenus for the first time. While imperial officials would gather the money and trading goods that many would use in lieu of coin, it would be the legions’ presence close by that ensured its payment. The chieftain who had approached Arminius – regarding him as trustworthy because he too was German – had been incandescent. ‘The tax is an outrage! I can afford to pay, but many of my people will find it difficult to come up with goods to the value of the coin that has been spoken of. Why should we pay anyway?’

Arminius had muttered various platitudes about the protection offered by the empire, and the benefits to all and sundry that it brought, but his heart hadn’t been in it. He suspected that the chieftain had seen this too. The contentious tax issue didn’t just apply to the tribes who lived in the border zone that comprised the thirty miles east of the Rhenus, but to all those who lived under Rome’s influence. The tribes further afield were accustomed to sending their sons to serve with the legions, and they were becoming used to other aspects of Roman society. Accepting these things was one matter, thought Arminius, but the imposition of tax was altogether different. The old anger came to life in his belly, the resentment towards Rome that fuelled his very being.

Hooves hammered the ground close to him, and Arminius’ attention was drawn to his men. Over and back the riders went, practising the same moves again and again. In close formation, they rode straight at a pile of training equipment. This was the ‘spear’, the pointed shape designed to smash open an enemy line. Their next move, a loose, upside-down ‘V’, was meant to do the same, but to unprepared foes who hadn’t had time to tighten up their position. The third move was the simplest: it consisted of a long line of charging horsemen, riding close to one another – almost ankle to ankle.

As they advanced, the trumpeter in their midst sounded his instrument with all his might. BOOOOOOO! BOOOOOOO! BOOOOOOO! This, the most common attack against enemy infantry, worked almost every time. Whether it was daring, a desire to impress him or just poor control by the officer in charge, Arminius wasn’t sure, but his riders thundered to within a hundred paces of a cohort of training legionaries. The Roman troops would have known that the cavalry were friendly, but that didn’t stop their lines from bending away from the horsemen. Angry shouts from their centurions – directed towards the riders as well as their own troops – soon saw the soldiers re-form and resume their training, but there could be no denying the move’s efficacy, or the irritation it would have caused the legionaries’ officers.

It worked, thought Arminius with considerable satisfaction, because it was so terrifying. Many of his men were wearing silvered cavalry helmets that were less ornate than his, but similar in design. The hinged frontpieces of each had been shaped into human features, to resemble the individual wearing it. Like the rest of the helmet, the ‘face’ had been covered with a thin layer of silver foil. When pulled down, the wearer’s field of vision was much reduced, meaning only the most skilled riders could make use of them. Yet the masks’ effect – turning the wearer into an unearthly-looking creature that might have been from the underworld – made this sacrifice worthwhile. A massed charge with even a few such riders, accompanied by the blaring of trumpets, sent terror lancing into the hearts of the bravest foe.

Arminius had been around long enough to have had to use all the tactics he’d just seen. He knew the effectiveness of each, and which one to choose at what moment. The cavalry were yet another part of the impressive Roman military machine, the centrepiece of which was always the damn lines of armoured legionaries. Again his grey eyes wandered towards the unit that his men had intimidated.

It still felt odd to regard the Romans as allies. It had been so since the first day he’d served with the imperial army, eight years before. The campaigns and battles he’d taken part in – on Rome’s side – meant that he had a healthy respect for its soldiers and their officers. Their bravery, discipline and ability to stand firm against an enemy were remarkable. On more than one occasion, he and his men had been saved by the intervention of one such unit or another. He had endured lengthy marches with the legions, got pissed with their officers, and even whored with some of them. His loyalty to the empire had seen him first rewarded with citizenship and then elevated to equestrian status, the lower rank of Roman nobility.

Despite these experiences and honours, Arminius felt less kinship with the Romans than might have been expected. In the main it was because he continued to regard himself, with pride, as German. The Romans’ superior attitude didn’t help either. Despite his exalted status, he was to many little more than a fur-wearing savage. He and his men were good enough to fight – and die – for Rome, but not to be recognised as equals. This had been hard enough to take during the years Arminius had served elsewhere in the empire, but being close to his homeland of recent months had accentuated his aggrieved feelings. Not two miles hence, on the eastern bank of the Rhenus, the tribal lands began. His people, the Cherusci, lived far away, yet he still had far more in common with the nearest tribe – the Usipetes – than he did with the Romans. He held the same values, spoke a similar tongue, and worshipped the same gods.

Arminius remembered the night in the sacred grove so long ago, and a line of sweat ran down his back. When the legions crossed the river to punish tribes who had risen against the empire’s rule, those they slew were not Dacian, Illyrian or Thracian. They were German. Like him. Like his warriors. Like his long-dead aunt and cousins. They were people who had a right to live their lives freely. Why should they be subjects of Augustus, who lives many hundreds of miles away, in Rome? Arminius asked himself. Why should I?

It had been twenty-one years since he had stood among the trees with his father, but the words of his oath were as vivid in his head as they had been the first time he uttered them. One day, as Donar is my witness, I will teach the Romans a lesson that they will never forget. I, Ermin of the Cherusci, swear this.

His eyes rose to the blue arc of the heavens, which was decorated with a scattering of lambswool clouds. The sun was warming, but not too hot. The skylarks yet trilled from on high, a sign that spring was passing. Summer would arrive soon, and when it did, Publius Quinctilius Varus, the governor of Germania, would lead his army east. Over the Rhenus, where his troops would collect taxes as far as the River Visurgis. Only the Romans could have come up with fucking taxes, thought Arminius. The tribes’ hard-earned silver would go towards gilding yet more statues of the emperor, and building paved roads upon which his armies could tramp. Great Donar, he prayed, I have waited long years to fulfil my oath. To wreak vengeance for those of my tribe slain by Rome. I ask that you let the right moment be this year.