“I am Arminius.” Arminius wanted everyone to know who he was and how wonderful he was. Like the Romans, his folk reckoned a proud reputation one of the most important things a prominent man could have. What made you prominent, if not fame among your neighbors?
He impressed the unknown German less than he’d hoped. “Well, maybe you are,” the man repeated. “But two other fellows already told me the same thing.”
“Point them out to me, so I can kill them,” Arminius snarled. No one would rob him of his glory. No one would cling to his good name and suck the blood from it like a leech in a swamp, either.
“Don’t seem em now,” the other German answered. Maybe he didn’t. Or maybe he didn’t care to watch a fight among his own folk. That might be wise. Arminius realized as much even before the poor man continued, “We ought to be killing these gods-hated Romans instead.”
“Well, you’re right. So we should,” Arminius agreed. “Let’s go do it.”
A legionary down with a leg wound stretched out an imploring hand and called, “Mercy, comrade!” in Latin.
Most of Arminius’ comrades wouldn’t have understood the words, though they probably would have figured out the gesture. Also in Latin, Arminius said, “Here’s all the mercy you deserve.” He drove his sword into the Roman’s neck. The man gasped and choked as life gushed from him, then slumped over to lie still.
Arminius knew he had been merciful. Already Germans were leading or dragging chained Roman prisoners away from the field. After the uneven fight finally sputtered out, they would offer the captives to the gods. How many interesting and unusual ways to kill legionaries would they find? All of them, Arminius was sure, would make harder deaths than a cut throat.
Here and there, individual Romans and a few stubborn knots of them still showed fight. Maybe they knew what would happen to captives and aimed to make the Germans kill them. Maybe, like brave soldiers anywhere, they were simply too stubborn to give up. Arminius admired their courage. But it would do them no good. They’d had no chance to form up, the head of their column was destroyed, and their foes had got in amongst them. If they wanted to die fighting, die they would.
Other Romans wanted to live. They stumbled out into the swampy mire that lined the track to the right. Quite a few of them got stuck in it. The Germans had a high old time throwing spears and stones at them. Men made bets with one another - who could hit the most Romans, or the ones farthest away, or who could hit a particular soldier with a particular cast.
A few legionaries managed more progress than the rest. Some were liable to get out of the swamp and have to be hunted on better ground. A few might even escape. Others staggered up onto higher, drier patches of ground within the swamp. A couple of those groups, perhaps led by hard-bitten underofficers, tried to ready themselves for defense. They would die in due course, too, but finishing them off might prove costly.
First things first. The Romans at the rear of their column hadn’t even been attacked yet. Arminius shouted and sent more of his men after them. “Their baggage train will be back in that direction, too,” he added. That got the Germans moving, all right. They did everything but slaver at the prospect of three legions’ worth of booty.
“You don’t fight fair,” a wounded Roman moaned as Arminius trotted past. The German chieftain almost stopped and bowed. He couldn’t imagine finer praise, even if the legionary hadn’t meant it that way.
Something else struck Arminius. “Take Varus alive if you can!” he bawled. “We’ll give him to the gods. They deserve to feed well for what they’ve done for us today. What would make them happier - what would make them fatter - than a fat Roman with the gall to call himself governor of Germany?”
How the warriors all around shouted and cheered! That acclaim tasted even sweeter than a woman gasping and quivering under Arminius. Most men could pleasure a woman. How many, though, ever won fame like this? As long as the German folk endured, men would remember Arminius. What greater immortality could a man claim?
“Come on!” Arminius said. “We won’t just beat them. We’ll slaughter them. They’ll never dare set their toes on this side of the Rhine from now till the end of the world. In fact, we’ll go take away their land on the far side!” The Germans cheered him again.
Give Me Back My Legions!
XVII
Lucius Eggius lurched through the mud. He had a nasty wound on the outside of his right thigh. Blood soaked the strip of cloth he’d tied around it and ran down his leg. It hurt like a bastard. So did several lesser gashes. It wasn’t often given to a man to know the date of his own death. Though not dead yet, Eggius knew when he would die.