The Wald (39 page)

Kolman reached to strike the boy again, but Segimer caught his arm.  “The boy is right, Kolman.  We have no leverage here.  The emperor has come all this way to dictate his terms to us.  We will have no voice.
  It is hitting me now.”

Kolman wanted to argue the point but the corridor down which they walked opened onto a large square.  Lining the outside of the courtyard were columns supporting arches for as far as Ermin could see.  Doors to stables, officers’ quarters, hospitals, and kitchens sat in the shadows under the arched walkways.  Soldiers filled the shadows and billowed out into the square
– thousands of soldiers.

A small avenue between the legionaries had been preserved
. The tribesmen nobles walked down it toward the center of the square.  After passing through soldiers standing at attention some thirty men deep, the group walked out so that all eyes could now see them.  Their guide walked to stand in front of an empty table and indicated that they should do the same.  Behind the table sat one empty chair.

They waited.

Eventually a call from a Roman officer gave some command and the path amongst the soldiers through which they had taken the men closed.  More yelling of commands occurred and a new lane in the legionaries opened behind the table.  It was wider than the one they had used.

Soon Roman officers in their rich armor
walked down the path, four abreast.  They took places on either side of the table – twenty per side – in a way that demonstrated practice.

Ermin waited.  He surprised even himself by not fidgeting, but instead took on the demeanor of all the Roman soldiers around him.  If they can wait, he thought, I can wait.  My strength will always outlast theirs.

It was a good decision, because he waited longer.  Kolman questioned the junior soldier who stood next to them and was rewarded with a fist to his eye.  Segimer let his old friend climb back to his feet on his own while the guard returned to sharp attention.  Segimer was feeling more and more like this was to result in his doom.

He caught the glance of Ermin with his eyes and gave the boy a nod that said much. 
Segimer told the boy to stand tall and proud no matter what befell them.  He told the boy to die with honor.  Segimer told his boy that he was proud of him for standing for his people and for their freedom no matter the outcome.

The familiar clop of horse hooves echoed over the dead still courtyard.  Ermin saw the form of Tiberius riding slowly through the
alley within the soldiers cut behind the desk.  The general’s horse was strong and proud.  The man looked more than a little ill at being the center of attention, as if he wanted to curl up in the cape he wore from his shoulders down across the animal’s back.  The governor of Gaul stopped his fine horse and without a word a legionary sprang forward to hold its reins at the bridle.  Tiberius slid down and walked to stand at the right side of the empty chair.

More clopping from several horses could then be heard.  First their heads, adorned with rich cloth, leather, and silver, were seen over the heads of the legionaries.  The beasts made
their way around behind the soldiers standing at attention and then into the wide channel cut between them.  They pulled a gilded chariot with two men standing in it.  The first was a highly decorated military officer of some sort with heavily muscled arms.  He served as the craft’s pilot.

The man next to him was Augustus the Caesar.  To Ermin he appeared very old, perhaps nearly as old as
Adalbern – perhaps aged fifty-five winters.  The emperor had had dark hair at one time, but most of it was now white, especially around the ears and back of his head.  It was cut short in the Roman way.  He cut a striking figure as he approached with one hand resting gently on the rail at the front of the chariot.  The other arm was crooked and held the extra length of his toga lazily across the forearm.  Augustus wore a muscled cuirass strapped over his shoulders.  The sparkling bronze was adorned with an eagle and leaves in relief.  A tunic with short billowing sleeves that ended just after his shoulders extended outward from underneath the cuirass to make his broad frame appear larger.  He was fit and impressive.

The pilot pulled the reins so that the chariot came to a slow, peaceful stop without any inertia for the emperor to overcome.  Augustus waited a heartbeat and stepped out of the back of the chariot, walking directly toward the chair reserved for him where a servant had appeared
, ready to push it in as he sat.  The Caesar fixed his stare at the tribesmen.  Ermin realized that he had to relieve an intense pressure building in his bladder, but willed the impulse away.  The Cheruscan boy then noticed a Roman boy about his age following on the heels of the emperor.

Another soldier came and stood between the delegates and Augustus.  “Imperator Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus Divi Filius Augustus
of Rome will now hear what tribes are represented in the empire today.”  The man took a step aside so that his emperor could now look upon the envoys without tilting his head.  The boy who seemed to serve as the emperor’s shadow, stood motionlessly behind the chair.

Their
guide, or guard as the case may be, translated the words with an accent that denoted that he was from somewhere in northern Gaul originally.  The tribesmen went down the line saying their names and their tribes.  Ermin made sure he spoke clearly with his chest out, shoulders pulled back.  Augustus gazed at the boy for a moment which made him nervous, but Ermin determined that he would not show it.  The Roman boy, too, studied Ermin.

“It is as I have feared,” said Augustus with mock meekness and concern.  He spoke quietly but the legions held their place so rigidly that there was not even a shuffle to interfere with
the sound of his voice.  “I was told that one of your tribes chose not to send envoys to this meeting.  How am I to support the peace and order my general to stay his hand when all the belligerents do not see fit to assemble?”

When the interpreter finished the emperor’s question, Kolman spoke.  “We apologize for the Sugambrians.  Yet they cannot be controlled by us.
”  He laughed nervously.  “They cannot be controlled by anyone.  We are the voices of our own tribes, no more.  We hope to negotiate a lasting peace and friendship today.”

The interpreter scolded Kolman for not properly addressing the emperor as Lord Emperor and forced him to repeat his speech using the correct words.  Augustus listened, betraying no emotion.

“The terms are set.  You will allow free access to any and all Roman forces.  Garrisons will be built.  Towns and trading centers will flourish.  Roads will be patrolled by legionaries.  If the local commander requires food, shelter, or men, you will provide them.  No arms in any quadrant will be raised against a Roman citizen, soldier, or auxiliary force.  There will be no action taken against any other tribe for any of the reasons you may devise from your histories.  Do these things and be the new province to be called Germania.  Ignore any one of these requirements and my legions will finish the annihilation of your race.  I recommend that you convince these Sugambrians to fall into order,” said the emperor.

“But
, Lord Emperor,” began Kolman.

“Shut up fool,” shushed Segimer.  “Can you not see that we are being taught a lesson?”

Kolman ignored Segimer.  “But, Lord Emperor, we are mere men and cannot control the actions of other tribes.  The Sugambrians are led by one who is not as willing to see the benefits of progress as are we.”

“You speak in matters of trivia,” said the emperor as he crossed his arms and leaned forward on the table on his elbows.  “My terms are null and void if there is not a Sugambrian representative in this very barracks to bow to me within the next ten days.  After that, I depart and will allow General Tiberius to continue his campaign across all of your former lands.
  Your fields will be ash.  Your women and children will be slaves in other worlds.  In the meantime, I’ll have your oaths and see you on your knees.”

The tribal leaders exchanged glances at one another.  First the Cattans, then the Suebians, then Kolman went to their knees on the paved courtyard.  Ermin waited for his father to indicate what he must do.  For just a breath he believed that his father, the mighty Cheruscan warlord, would defy Caesar and stand – stand out of stubborn pride, stand to his death.  The emperor was surprisingly patient.

Segimer sighed heavily and bent down to one knee, bowing his head at the neck.  Ermin copied his father’s pose until their guard kicked both of their front legs out.  “You’ll be on both knees when you bow to Caesar Augustus.”

In turn the tribesmen pledged their support of the terms given to them.  They pledged fidelity to Rome and her rulers.  They pledged to support the legions whenever a request came.  They pledged all these things in the name of their tribes.

Satisfied, the emperor straightened himself upright and, even though his soldiers had stood in complete order for the entire duration of the proceedings, they snapped to greater attention in a single clip.  Augustus turned and smiled at the boy behind him and was reminded of something.  He spun to address the tribesmen.  “Segimer, say your goodbyes to your son.  I will see that he receives proper education and training from this point forward.  He will return to Rome with me and my grandson here who is called Gaius.  I believe the boy said his name was Ermin.  Henceforth, he will be called Arminius.  Fear not, one day he may be able to return to his people.  However, I guarantee that the knowledge he brings on that day will be of more benefit to you and your wald for the next two thousand years than if he returned to your current hovel at the present time.”

Augustus and his entourage departed in the reverse order in which they had arrived.  Ermin saw none of it.  Had he heard the interpreter correctly?  He must not have.  If he was to be
taken from the wald, his father would have erupted to protect him.  Most certainly, Segimer would have at least raised his voice, right?  The interpreter had misspoken.  Or, Ermin had misheard.  All would be well.  They would return to the forest, tell Adalbern to come and make nice with the emperor, then when the Romans were basking in their victory, their united tribes’ armies would at last sweep the legions away.  All was most certainly well.

Ermin blinked from his thoughts and saw
his father kneeling before him. A tear filled one of his father’s eyes but was not unleashed.  Segimer spoke words, but Ermin could not understand them.  Angry soldiers placed a firm grip on Ermin’s shoulders while other legionaries began shoving his father away.  The warlord let them.  The Cattans and Suebians were already walking away with their heads hanging low.  Segimer gave a last look at his son and turned away to follow the others.  Kolman followed him after giving Ermin a smirk that said, “Who knows how to negotiate now?”

. . .

Adalbern, Gundahar, and Berengar rode unescorted into Oppidum Ubiorum eight days later.  It had taken more than a little cajoling to get the Sugambrian men to agree to leave their village.  At first, hearing of the news of Ermin’s capture or education or imprisonment or whatever it was to be called, Berengar demanded an all-out attack across the bridge into the city.  He insisted that they bypass the summer camp of Tiberius to rescue the Cheruscan noble.  But it was not to be.  So, after shouting and even a fistfight between Kolman and Adalbern where the old Sugambrian broke the Cheruscan’s nose, they agreed to pay their respects to the emperor to avoid another year of razing.

To the Roman soldiers and citizens of Oppidum Ubiorum, the motley crew of three German tribesm
en riding into town across the bridge was nothing unusual.  Like Ermin before them, the travelers silently marveled at the buildings that had been built in such short order.  “Why do they do all this work?” asked Adalbern as he craned his neck back to follow the columns to the sky.

Without any instruction on what to do
or where to go once they arrived in town, Berengar suggested they ride to the main gate of the white brick fort.  “They’ll at least know where to send us to meet this Caesar,” he said with a frown.

Using a local who sold
hard bread outside the stronghold’s doors as an interpreter, they spoke to the legionaries who stood watch with long spears.  “We’re here to see Tiberius and Augustus,” Adalbern said.

The guards tried to suppress a laugh, but couldn’t help themselves.  Finally, one said, “That was rare humor.  Now move along
, you filthy ale-drinkers.  We’ve got work to do.  I don’t feel like troubling myself to have you imprisoned today.”

From constant persuasion by
the three tribesmen, they were able to get the interpreter/shopkeeper to properly introduce them and state their business.  Yet, it still took much back and forth between the guards and the Sugambrians to get one of the sentries to huff and then to walk inside to talk with his superior.  Berengar worried that they weren’t expected and said as much.

“I’d not fret
, son.  The man who went inside has been gone awhile.  That means that they are scurrying around to prepare for us.  Otherwise, the little priss would have come out immediately to send us away,” said Adalbern.

Gundahar snorted, “Don’t worry
, Berengar.  We’ll bow to this arrogant queen and be back to gutting the bastards by next season.”  He turned to the bread lady and politely asked her not to translate the last part.  She said she was barely able to understand him when he spoke anyway due to his lisp, and so she wouldn’t try.  Gundahar took it well enough, having heard the same countless times.