The Wald (22 page)

Their horses walked a lazy pace in the dark wood.  Neither man
felt hurried because Segimer assumed Adalbern would be successful in his attempts to bring the other tribes into their alliance. That morning he had already dispatched messengers to all corners of the Cheruscan lands to raise an army.  They would do no more logistical planning after that, since every man would be expected to bring his own weapons, horse, and supplies.  The two Cheruscan leaders now had only to wait.

“And so
, Kolman, what are you proposing?  You know that my mind does not work the same as yours.  I hope it is not treachery that you suggest.  That would make this conversation strained.  But know that I do value your opinion for you have been right more often than wrong.”

“I propose nothing different fr
om what we’ve already agreed to. To change course now would make us dishonorable.  We raise the army as promised.  If Adalbern brings in the Suebians they will be welcomed.  If he brings in the Cattans or the Marcomannians from the southwest, so much the better.  They both have a fighting style more like that of the Romans and will serve us well should we actually go to battle.  What I propose is that while we prepare to fight, we try to avoid the war.”

“But Adalbern is correct that we must negotiate from a position of strength.”

Kolman swore to the goddess Nerth who was known to sometimes intercede on human affairs.  “Yes.  We will have strength.  If we send envoys to this Drusus, they may freely tell him that we have a large army.  They may tell him that we intend to use it to defend our lands, but we truly hope to avoid bloodshed and enter into a peaceful treaty with Rome.  It can be an alliance based upon the respect of both parties.”

“And what of the Sugambrians?  You do
n’t mention them in your treaty,” huffed Segimer.

“What of them?  Were you raised in a Sugambrian village on the tit of a Sugambrian woman?  No
, you are a chief of the Cheruscans and it is the Cheruscans you must lead.”

Segimer sighed audibly.  The two rode on in silence for
a time.  Segimer thought of Kolman’s argument.  The cautious man was correct.  The tribes always acted independently.  Why should this time be any different?  A squirrel darted into their path carrying a nut in its mouth.  The tiny beast stopped in the trail’s center and stood on its hind legs, pulling the nut from its mouth with its front paws.  The squirrel barked its frightened squawk before replacing the nut between its teeth and scurrying down the path in front of them.  Segimer watched the creature intently until it finally darted off the path to the right.

“Kolman, will you work your negotiations with the Romans even if I forbid it?”

His friend reacted immediately, hurt.  “No, you should know me better than that.  I pulled you from beneath that fallen tree when we were boys.  I will never abandon you or say one thing and do another.”

“I thought so, but wanted you to tell me.  We’ll not send envoys to Drusus.”

Kolman deflated.  “If that is what you think is best for Cheruscans, I’ll follow your advice, though I am disappointed.”

“Thank you
, old friend.”

“Though
I must ask why you think it unwise to follow my path?”

Segimer gave a sheepish shrug.  “It was that squirrel.  I think a friendly elf sent him to us to help me make my decision.  He spoke to us, after all.  Then when he ran straight down the center of the trail, I told myself that if he went left, I’d agree with you.  If he went right, I’d disagree.  He went right.”

And the decision was made.

CHAPTER 5

11 B.C

They had done it.  Drusus had led his men across the
Rhenus in the springtime when it was time for men to leave their farms and yearn for battle.  The legionaries had no farms to abandon, but they were ready for conquering more of Germania that spring.  Their commander ushered them across the great river at Vetera, some miles north of Oppidum Ubiorum.  The place was not selected at random.  It sat at the confluence where the Lupia River drained from the core of Germania and flowed into the Rhenus.  Drusus marched his army east along the Lupia’s northern bank which was the southern-most extent of the allied Frisian lands.  The general then had a small fort and supply depot built there, the first Roman fort east of the Rhenus in what was formerly Germanic tribal territory but was now decidedly Roman.  They had done it.

It was a piece
of the broader plan he had worked out with his stepfather, Augustus, during his winter sojourn in Rome.  The fort could be easily supplied from Gaul by loading pig ships with food, drink, arrows, spears, et cetera in Vetera along the Rhenus River and paddling them up the Lupia for stockpiling.  The legions’ long baggage train could then strike out over land to follow the march wherever Lord Drusus saw fit to direct.  And he knew just where he meant to lead.  The new fort would serve as a jumping off point for the march into the Germanic heartland to the south and east.  Both the Sugambrians and Cheruscans would feel his total wrath this season.

Drusus
didn’t desert Gaul entirely.  He had left the forts on the west bank of the Rhenus well stocked with troops to dissuade any Gallic rebellion or any misplaced Germanic tribal aggression, and yet the army he took with him as they left the new Lupia fort was grand indeed.  It consisted of four full legions of regular Roman army – nearly twenty thousand men.  It was bolstered by five cohorts of Gallic auxiliary infantry and finished off with a single cohort of Germanic auxiliary cavalry, mustered mostly from the Batavians and Ubians.  The general had discovered that the tribesmen, though mostly too poor to themselves own a horse, were comfortable with animals and excellent horsemen.

Some miles to the east of the new fort,
Drusus held up his hand to halt the march along the narrow road that his men literally hacked out of the forest along the river.  Even more confident than during the previous year’s campaign, the general leaned over to his newest military tribunes, Chumstintus and Avectius. “We are finished acting like common tribesmen riding upstream for a suitable place to ford this river.  These are Roman lands.  See that our engineers direct a bridge constructed there.”  He pointed to a place where the river ran wide and straight.

Avectius looked to his commander.  “Yes, lord.  But won’t that delay our entry into the Sugambrian lands?  Will the Sugambrians not have more notice of our arrival and whereabouts if we tarry here?”

“Yes, I suppose they will,” Drusus answered pleasantly, not worried in the slightest.  “But I can see that you are troubled, Avectius.  And what of you, Chumstintus?  Do you fret over the coming of the Sugambrians?”

The two young officers, brothers only twelve months
apart in age, were born in Gaul but had been Roman their entire lives.  Due to family connections, both had risen rapidly through various administrative posts. Drusus, as governor, had seen promise in them and appointed them to serve on his staff.  Many of the tribunes who served in the emperor’s army were there only because of family connections.  Most of those lived a completely debauched life of privilege when compared to the common soldier.  Drusus saw that the brothers Gaul may prove to share both lineage and character – something exceedingly rare – and wanted them tested.

There had been many changes in his officer corps over the winter months since the fleet left Germania.  Several men of standing had fal
len to the Sugambrian spears during the battle on the Amisia River.  The deaths, while tragic, allowed more junior men to move up and gain broader experience.  Marcus and Septimus were not left behind in these shifts. Both commanded new centuries under Drusus – they would now serve one step closer to the center of the line where the general fought.

Chumstintus, confident in most interactions with those in authority,
initially showed hesitation.  Drusus, flashing a bit of arrogance wrought by the celebrations in Rome where he was praised all winter, tapped the double horns of his saddle as his feet dangled about his charger’s belly.  He waited anxiously while his tribune thought.

“Well, yes, lord.  But I am not concerned for my own personal safety.  I worry that more of our men will fall to them if we extend an
y advantage in their direction.  Adalbern, I’ve heard, is cunning.  I worry about a delay in pushing forward with the emperor’s plans for the year,” Chumstintus finally answered, returning to confidence with what he thought was a wise response.

“A fin
e political answer, Chumstintus.  You’ll go far with me if you can back up such tact with real decisions and actions,” the commander answered.  “Now build me that bridge.  Afterwards I’ll tell you why, though your concern for the men and our mission is admirable, it is wholly unnecessary.”  He trotted off, leaving the brothers to carry out his wishes.

And
so they did build him his bridge.  The two young Gallic tribunes saw to it that his massive army built a temporary fort surrounded by an earthen wall that was thrown up in a single afternoon.  Before the sun even set on that day, the eager officers had the men set to work felling tree after tree to cross the span Drusus had directed.  They piled their armor in neat stacks, carrying only their gladii strapped over simple tunics at their waists while they toiled.  They then had freedom of movement to easily swing the axes Manilius, whose duties included those of a quartermaster, had seen fit to bring on the expedition.

Over the course of the two weeks it took to complete the project, Roman scouts rode back daily reporting that they had seen small parties of
what appeared to be Sugambrian riders.  The opponents, they said, watched from a distance in groups of five men.  They didn’t seem to care that they were seen, but after shadowing or skirting the Romans for a time disappeared back into the wald.  Twice during the last three days of construction the scouts told Drusus and Manilius that as many as fifty men watched them from a ridge less than one mile away.

“Their army is close by,” Chumstintus said to Drusus after the general congratulated the brothers on their efficient work.

“It would seem it is,” Drusus answered.  “And what would you do if you were a Sugambrian and our great army was crossing this bridge into your land?” Drusus asked to test their knowledge of military tactics.

“Lord Drusus,” Avectius answered for his brother.  They often did this, responding for one another.  Manilius found it maddening.  Drusus found it charming since his older brother
, Tiberius, and he disagreed on so many issues.  The two Roman princes could never hope to answer for one another.  The commander watched the young brothers with a hint of envy.  “It matters not what I would do.  Rather it matters what the Sugambrians will do.  Julius wrote that when he encountered them over forty years ago he found that, ‘neither morass nor forest obstructs these men, born amidst war and depredations.’  Knowing this about the Sugambrians, I believe they will strike us as we cross the river, when we will be weakest.  They can ride fast to our troops and shove them against these waters.”

The general laughed.  “Avectius, you do us all proud.  Where did you get your hands on a copy of my
adopted grandfather’s words about the Sugambrians?”

The Gaul’s chin tipped up with pride.  “As a boy I had the good fortune to visit a
distant cousin in Rome.  His father worked for a senator who allowed me a day of reading.  I went to the writings of Julius first since he brought Roman rule to my people.”

The general sat atop his horse which ambled in a lazy gait across the bridge toward enemy territory.  In a typical Roman column, the legate would ride in its center with reams of protective cohorts ahead and behind him.  Not Drusus.  He led his men from the front many times just to inspire them.  The officers followed him
into what was once completely foreign territory.  The men loved him for it.  “You are wise beyond your years,” said Drusus.  “And your assessment of the situation would appear to be a correct one.  But I have toyed with you long enough by withholding information.  Manilius, give these fine brothers just a hint of why we need not worry about the Sugambrians.”

“Yes, legate,” answered Manilius, smiling at his commander.  He wanted to hate the man
, for he had hated almost every one of his generals over the years.  Drusus was arrogant like the rest, but his sense of humor was defeating.  If he chose to do so he could charm the wife of a newly killed Germanic chieftain into his bed without a threat.  He never chose to do so, though.  His fidelity to his wife, Antonia, was legendary.  His smile was infectious.  Liking the general was easy.  Giving up on his desire to hate Drusus, however, was difficult for Manilius.  “The Sugambrian called Adalbern should be getting word about now that his army is required elsewhere.”

Drusus laughed at that. 
“Perfectly ambiguous, Manilius.”  The general looked at the brothers while they rode south, their horses’ hooves echoing loudly on the wooden bridge.  His face returned to that of a battle-hardened commander.  “Now, this year you will learn an important rule of the strategy of war.  Why fight your battles when others are perfectly willing to bleed for you?  And it is even better when the price for hiring such help is paid by someone else.”

. . .

Adalbern, Gundahar, and Berengar sat on their horses in a lush glen untouched by direct sunlight even though it was nearly time for a midday meal.  The trees and rocks had joined, overlaying one another to form a dark, moss-filled valley.  They were in the midst of a dozen other Sugambrian nobles all mounted on horses of all colors and size.  Their people had just gotten oats and millet planted for the spring when the time came to assemble the army a week earlier.  The greater part of that force was still just over a day’s march away, slogging over an earth made damp by spring rains.  The nobles, their patience stretched thin from waiting, and a guard of fifty riders rode ahead to meet with the Cheruscans in order to finalize plans to stop Drusus once and for all.

Segimer snaked his horse’s head through a mess of trees as he and his entourage reached the meeting place.  He hopped down onto the ground, his boots making just a muffled thump due to the thick sod. 
His boy, Ermin, his friend, Kolman, and a party of twenty chieftains came with him.  When they all tied their horses off to the spindly, branchless trees that grew in the deep dale, Adalbern gave the signal for his men to dismount.

Ermin and Berengar
greeted one another as brothers, embracing.  “You seem awfully happy compared to your normal demeanor,” observed Ermin.  “What is it?  Did you find a woman to marry?”

Berengar laughed along with his friend.  “I don’t know how it is with you Cheruscans, but a boy aged twelve summers doesn’t often wed. 
Maybe a girl, but never a man.  I don’t think I should ever marry.  If I do I know my woman’s name will be Roman Tod.”

Ermin gave a knowing grin.  Roman death is what they all wanted.  “I’m glad to hear you won’t be marrying anyone.  I mean to marry Thusnelda and I don’t want you to ever jump ahead of me in the line of her suitors because she would happily choose you.  You are large to my
thin, you are older to my younger.”

At first Berengar could not remember of whom Ermin spoke. 
“Oh, the pitcher girl.  I don’t even know her.”

Ermin appeared almost offended.  “Well I’ve known her my whole life.  We were playmates from our youngest days
, but she grows more fetching with every passing growing season.  I mean to marry her.  Promise me you’ll never seek her hand for alliance, love, or lust.”

Berengar shrugged.  It was an easy promise to make.  “I won’t ever marry the girl for any reason.”

“Thank you,” said the thoughtful, delicate looking boy.  Berengar thought the tenacious, slight boy’s heart may be a little too soft for what was coming in the campaign season.  “And now,” continued Ermin, “why were you smiling so much when we came in?”

“You’ll see.  My father has superb news,” Berengar answered as he pointed to the center of the clearing.

“Thought you’d forgotten our agreement,” Adalbern said, getting to the point.

“Never,” said Segimer.  “We were delayed.”

“By what?” asked the great Sugambrian warlord.  He was beside himself with anger, having stewed about a possible breakdown in the alliance before it had even gathered.

“By numbers, Adalbern.  We bring to you fifteen thousand Cheruscans and five thousand Suebians.”

Gundahar snorted, almost giddy, “That will put the Roman general in a bad way.”

Adalbern gave a mischievous grin.  “It will.  So many?  My apologies for doubting you.”

“No apologies necessary.  Your people have bore the brunt of the Roman onslaught for years now.  You have the right to be eager for glory.  And what of you?  Your messenger said only that you made an alliance with a southern tribe.”

A
dalbern dropped down onto a log blackened from the constant moisture in the narrow valley, and took a long draught from a skin of ale.  He offered it to his guests, who drank just as enthusiastically.  “That’s the best part.”  A rider, Stigr the Chaucian, who realized he loved a winner more than he cared for even his own people, came into the hidden glen.  Shortly after the battle on the Amisia, he had decided to stay on with Adalbern.  Stigr interrupted the warlord’s story.