Ben Kane: Eagles at War

Tullus and his men spent four long, wet, tiring days on the march. For that entire time, they were each and every one soaked, chilled to the bone and hungrier than a tied-up dog with an empty food bowl. If it hadn’t been for the plentiful supply of blackberries and an occasional rabbit trapped by Degmar, they would have gone without any sustenance. The tough conditions were too much for two of the wounded, who died in their sleep. Tullus was left with fifteen soldiers, the woman, her girl and the pup. It was a pathetic total, but he kept telling himself it was better than none at all. Twelve swords – Vitellius and three others wouldn’t be able to fight for a month at least – would be an addition of some sort to Caedicius’ garrison.

Their chances of reaching Aliso rested on Degmar’s shoulders, and Tullus felt ever more grateful that they had chanced upon each other. Without the Marsi’s unerring sense of direction, they would have lost their way. Appearing not to need the sun, which for the most part was hidden behind dense banks of rainclouds, Degmar led them along winding, narrow tracks through the forest. When they came across boglands, he seemed able to find a path through that didn’t involve drowning. He skirted past the areas of farmland at dusk or dawn, when the local inhabitants were in bed, without the alarm being raised. His one slip-up came when he took the group on to a larger track that led southwest. A close call with a party of Angrivarii warriors – they were not seen – ended the attempt soon after it had started.

Late on the afternoon of the fourth day, Degmar brought them to the top of a low hill. It was perhaps a mile from Aliso, he told Tullus, pointing to the south. Tullus peered through the drizzle, and cursed. Fenestela spat. Across the tops of the trees, in the direction that Degmar was pointing, rose spirals of smoke. There were so many of them, spread out, that they could not all be coming from the camp. ‘It’s under attack.’

‘As I said it would be.’ There was an I-told-you-so look on Degmar’s face.

Tullus swore again, long and hard. So did Fenestela.

‘Do you want to skirt around it and head for the river, a few miles downstream?’ asked Degmar. ‘Arminius might have set warriors to watch the road to Vetera, but it’s possible that they’re just concentrating on Aliso.’

Tullus remembered the sick, guilty feeling he’d had when they had fled from the fallen tree. ‘ No . If the garrison is still holding out, and it’s possible to find a way in, we do so.’

‘You’re sure?’ Degmar’s expression now showed he thought Tullus was insane.

‘Aye, I’m fucking sure.’

Degmar shrugged. ‘Stay here – I’ll take a look.’

‘Straight from the frying pan into the fire.’ Fenestela’s voice was resigned.

‘Maybe,’ said Tullus. ‘We can’t leave them there, though, can we?’

‘It’s damn tempting, but I suppose we can’t.’

‘No, we can’t.’ Tullus tried not to consider the fact that Vetera lay less than forty miles to the west. Dying here would seem even more pointless than in the forest. Remember the bull I promised you, Fortuna, he thought. A big bastard he’ll be, with fine horns and broad shoulders, and balls so big that they almost touch the ground. That beast is yours when I cross that bridge. Not a moment before.

Degmar returned with the news that the tribesmen’s encirclement of Aliso was incomplete. He had also spotted a small gate in the northern wall which appeared to be unwatched. The information was enough to cement Tullus’ decision to enter the fort. During the late afternoon, the group crept close to Aliso’s northern side and hid themselves in the woods. When it was almost dark, they moved to the edge of the trees. Dots of light marked the fires in the enemy camp, which sprawled in disorder as far as the eye could see. The sound of men talking, laughing, arguing carried through the crisp autumn air. So too did the hunger-accentuating smell of cooking meat.

Tullus would have wished for a good plan of action, but that was impossible. What they were about to do bordered on madness. Even if they sneaked past the enemy camp, they risked being taken for attackers by the garrison. He quelled his disquiet. Taking the road to Vetera instead wouldn’t guarantee them a safe passage either. For all he knew, Arminius’ warriors were guarding the entire route.

By the time several hours had passed, peace had fallen over the tribesmen’s encampment. Most of the fires had gone out. There appeared to be few, if any, sentries. Degmar appeared by Tullus’ side. ‘Ready?’ he whispered.

The knot in Tullus’ stomach twisted a little tighter. There was no good time, no right time, he thought. ‘Aye.’

Out they slunk, Degmar leading the file with Tullus next and the legionaries after. The woman and child with the pup followed, and Fenestela took up the rear. Tullus was relying on his soldiers’ cloaks to disguise their armour; he’d ordered each man to sling his helmet around his neck, removing another tell-tale sign that they were Roman. More than that he could not do.

They reached the enemy position without difficulty, but from there, things became problematic. Finding the gap between the groupings of warriors’ tents and lean-tos that Degmar had spied proved close to impossible in the darkness. Unable to stop for long – that would attract attention – they had to walk through part of the camp, aiming for the black shape that was Aliso. It was beyond fortunate that any tribesmen in the vicinity who were still up had congregated around a large bonfire, allowing Tullus’ party not just to pass by, but to orientate themselves again.

Respect for the defenders’ ballistae meant that more than three hundred paces of empty ground lay between the last enemy tents and the fort’s walls. Tullus felt relieved to reach it, but too exposed. Any warrior who saw them from this point onward would be suspicious. An alert Roman sentry might raise the alarm, trapping them in no-man’s land. When Degmar glanced at him, therefore, he indicated that they should keep moving. ‘Quiet as you can,’ he hissed in the ear of the first soldier. ‘Pass it on.’

Dry-mouthed, with a thumping heart, Tullus stole after Degmar. Two hundred paces later, he began to dream that they might make it. After another twenty steps, though, a muffled curse from the rear gave the lie to that hope. Tullus halted Degmar, and the lead soldier, and paced down the line, asking, ‘Anything wrong?’

Every soldier said he was all right until he reached Fenestela. ‘What is it?’ demanded Tullus.

‘The woman’s gone.’

Tullus’ head jerked around to the final legionary – he hadn’t noticed she was absent. ‘Where is she?’

‘Her brat let go of the pup, and it ran off. The woman told her to forget the damn thing, but she went after it. The mother took off too,’ Fenestela muttered. ‘To Hades with both of them.’

Peering back at the enemy camp, Tullus could see nothing. He clenched his jaw. To go after the woman would put all of his men at risk. Bad as he felt, he couldn’t do it. ‘To the wall,’ he ordered.

The last eighty paces felt to Tullus like the final steps of a condemned man walking down the tunnel and into the arena. Yet there was no outcry from atop the rampart, and they were able to cross the defensive ditch over a section that the warriors had filled with turves. It didn’t take Degmar long to find the door. Throwing up a prayer, Tullus rapped on it with his fist.

There was no response, so he struck it with the hilt of his sword. The hollow thumping noise was loud, loud enough to carry. Tullus’ nerves were stretched as tight as wire as he waited but, to his huge relief, a sentry within responded before any of the enemy. Tullus met his suspicious challenge with a reply – in Latin. Quickly, Tullus said who he was, and to prove that he had to be Roman, gave Caedicius’ nickname, ‘Twenty-miler’, after his habit of doling out long punishment marches to soldiers. The dutiful sentry insisted on getting his officer, but the door was opened soon after, and in Tullus’ soldiers went.