Ben Kane: Eagles at War

Tullus hung back, unable to put the woman and child from his mind. Without being asked, Degmar stayed by his side.

Fenestela’s teeth flashed in the gloom as he reached the entrance. ‘We did it,’ he whispered.

‘Aye. Stay by the door.’

Fenestela sensed Tullus’ purpose at once. ‘Leave her!’

‘I can’t. Imagine what they’ll do to her when she’s found.’

‘That’s not your problem.’

Ignoring Fenestela, Tullus stalked back into the darkness with Degmar.

‘We’ll be lucky to find her,’ muttered Degmar.

‘Go back if you wish,’ retorted Tullus, wondering why he was risking his life yet again.

But Degmar stayed where he was, and together they sneaked back towards the enemy positions. They reached it without incident, madly enough, yet trying to decide where to search was futile. The woman could have been anywhere in the disorganised and ramshackle camp, and her child somewhere else altogether. Tullus wasn’t prepared to return without trying, however. Conscious that each passing moment increased the risk of discovery, he crept up and down several rows of tents – without success. Degmar roved around some distance away, returning now and then to report that he’d found no sign of her either.

Tullus had given up hope when, of all things, he heard a dog whine.

He pricked his ears. A dozen heartbeats later, there was a stifled cry – that of a woman – and then a slap as someone struck her. A man cursed, and Tullus thought, it has to be them. He’d gone perhaps a dozen steps towards the sound when Degmar appeared, knife already in hand. ‘You heard that?’ he whispered.

‘Aye.’ Tullus drew his sword.

The scene they came upon was pathetic. A three-sided lean-to, with a dying fire before it. The girl, crouched down, the pup in her arms. Her mother, on her back, with a warrior’s bare arse thrusting up and down between her open legs. Two other warriors watching with smirks on their faces.

The standing men were the greater danger, Tullus reasoned. A quick command to Degmar and they fell on the pair like vengeful ghosts. The two died before they could utter more than short, surprised cries. What Tullus hadn’t taken into consideration was that the warrior raping the woman might be holding a blade to her neck. The instant he realised his companions were under attack, he ran the iron across her throat. He died not three heartbeats later, Tullus’ sword slicing deep into his back, but it was too late. Tullus could only hope that the woman heard him say, ‘Your daughter is safe.’ He watched the light fade from her eyes with Degmar hissing in his ear that they had to go.

‘Come with me.’ Grabbing the sobbing girl’s arm, Tullus ran for the fort.

Once again the darkness and the late hour combined to help them reach the walls without harm. Fenestela was waiting as ordered, and the door opened before Tullus had time to knock again. ‘The woman?’ he asked as they barged in.

Tullus gave a savage shake of his head.

You saved the girl, he thought. That’s better than nothing.

The knowledge did little to ease his bitterness.

Late that evening, Tullus was once more a guest of Caedicius in Aliso’s rundown praetorium. He had seen his men to their quarters, and delegated Fenestela to look after the traumatised girl. A warm bath had followed, and then he’d donned the clean clothes he’d been given. Now he was in civilised surroundings, being served tasty food and drink. The luxuries, although welcome, did little for his mood. The woman was dead, despite his best efforts, and the thousands of warriors whom they had sneaked past to enter the fort were still outside.

Tullus’ disquiet wasn’t helped by the presence, alongside Caedicius’ two cohort commanders, of Tubero. Wounded, dazed-looking and with a black eye, but Tubero nonetheless. He hadn’t as much as acknowledged Tullus’ existence thus far, other than to grunt when Caedicius had announced him. That suited Tullus to the ground. It was bad enough seeing the prick alive when so many better men were not, without having to talk to him. If what Tullus had heard was true, Tubero had survived because he’d fallen in with a seasoned optio of the Seventeenth, who had somehow managed to drag him and seven ordinary soldiers to Aliso. Rather than seem grateful for his luck, Tubero kept mentioning the fine helmet he’d lost. At length, Caedicius told him to shut up.

The talk was all of what they should do, and when the next enemy attack would be. Bone-weary, grieving, worried, Tullus took no part in it. Caedicius was watching him, however, and saw his long face. Ordering a servant to top up Tullus’ wine, he said, ‘Aliso hasn’t fallen yet, centurion, nor is it likely to anytime soon. We’ve thrown back the savages three times now, with heavy losses on each occasion. Our ballistae reaped them like wheat, and will continue to do so. Apart from filling in the ditches with cut turves, the stupid bastards have no idea how to take a fortress, and that won’t change.’

‘Aye, sir.’ Tullus pulled a smile. Caedicius was soon drawn back into conversation by Tubero, and Tullus was content to fall silent again. He threw back a mouthful of wine. It was tasty, reminding him of the night he’d got drunk with the two men a few months back. Yet his pleasure soured as he fell to brooding about the brutal events of the previous few days.

Other stragglers from the battle were still coming in – the tribesmen’s cordon around the camp was incomplete in many places, allowing men to approach the walls under the cover of darkness, as they had – but the total stood at fewer than two hundred legionaries, and a couple of score civilians. Two hundred left out of fourteen and a half thousand, Tullus brooded. His legion hadn’t been the only one to suffer the dishonour of losing its eagle. All three standards had been taken by the enemy.

These were the most severe losses that Rome had suffered for generations – perhaps since the battle of Carrhae, more than sixty years before. The shame of the defeat – no, massacre – was beginning to sink in at last. And the woman – why couldn’t she have survived? Another swallow of wine, and his cup was empty. He raised it in the air, but took scant relief from the way a servant filled it at once. Tullus drank the cup back in two gulps, and held out his arm again.

‘Don’t get too pissed, centurion.’

He looked up. Tubero was regarding him with clear disapproval. ‘I’m not drunk, sir.’

‘You’re heading that way,’ said Tubero, his lip curling. ‘We need our wits about us, eh, Caedicius?’

Here we go, thought Tullus. I’ve survived a visit to fucking Hades, only to be dressed down by this prick.

‘Leave him alone,’ ordered Caedicius. ‘You heard what Tullus has been through. It is beyond belief.’

‘I was there too,’ cried Tubero.

‘Maybe so, but you weren’t in charge of a cohort that was wiped off the face of the earth. Many of Tullus’ men had served under him for years, and you had been with the Eighteenth for – how many months?’

Tubero coloured. ‘Three.’

‘Need I say more? Let the man drink,’ ordered Caedicius. ‘He has many shades to honour. You have the loss of a helm to mourn.’

Tubero looked furious. Despite his technical seniority over Caedicius, he didn’t have the confidence to challenge the veteran officer.

Tullus saluted Caedicius, uncaring – pleased, even – that this further embarrassed Tubero. ‘May each and every one have a swift passage to Elysium, sir.’

‘I’ll raise my cup to that,’ said Caedicius, glancing at his senior centurions, who were quick to emulate him. Tubero, glowering, followed suit last.

When they had drunk, Caedicius eyed Tullus with clear intent. ‘The camp’s walls are strong. There are good stores of ammunition for the ballistae, and our provisions are plentiful, yet we cannot stay here. I suspect that Arminius will appear before long, or another army sent by him. When that happens, Aliso must fall. You know him better than many, Tullus. What do you say?’