Give Me Back My Legions(89)
The other man had a spear in his hand and a knife on his belt.
Germans from all tribes carried their weapons everywhere, even to a funeral. The fellow dipped his head to Arminius. “I am ready. Shall we be-gin?”
Sigimerus set an urgent hand on Arminius’ arm. “What if he kills you?” he whispered. “You can’t do this. You risk too much.”
“The gods will not let him kill me,” Arminius said calmly. “And even if they do, you can lead our folk to victory against the Romans. You know everything I’ve done and everything I aim to do. You have the name of a brave warrior, no less than I do. Men will follow where you lead.”
“If you fall, the first thing I’ll do is kill this ass with ears,” Sigimerus growled.
“I’m not going to fall,” Arminius assured him. Then he bowed to Alcus’ brother. He didn’t want to anger the Chauci; he wanted them fighting the legions alongside his own Cherusci and as many other Germans as he could gather. “I mean no disrespect to the fine fighter now lying on his pyre. But you surely are a man of honor yourself. Would you let anyone say you did not tell the truth? How could you show your face among men afterwards if you did?”
“You will do what you will do, and the gods will show us all who has the right of it,” the older man replied.
“Just so,” Arminius said. The Chauci who had been mourning Alcus now buzzed excitedly. Some of them pointed towards Arminius, others in the direction of their fellow tribesman. They argued in low voices. Arminius knew what they were doing: getting their bets down. If he weren’t in the fight, he would have done the same thing. Like most Germans, he loved to gamble. Men who’d lost everything else would bet their own freedom. And, if they lost that, too, they’d go into slavery without a word of complaint and with their heads high.
The Chauci formed a circle around Arminius and the man who’d called him a liar. “You know who I am. Tell me your name, please. I would not kill a stranger.”
“I am Vannius son of Catualda. I had heard that the Cherusci were a rude lot. I see that is not so,” the other man replied.
“We hear those things about the Chauci, too. It must come from living beside each other for so long.” Arminius raised his spear in salute. “Shall we begin?”
“Let’s.” Vannius advanced on him. By the way the fellow held his own spear, Arminius knew him for an experienced warrior. Well, he was a few years older than Arminius: few Germans reached that age without a battle or two under their cloaks. The two men were about the same size. Vannius might have been a little thicker through the shoulders.
Arminius hefted his spear as Vannius stalked closer. If he threw it and hit, he could end the fight before it began. If he threw it and missed, he’d be left with a Roman gladius against a spear with four times the reach. He’d die in short order, in other words.
Vannius had to be making the same calculations. Arminius’ foe showed no sign of wanting to cast his spear. Of course, nobody with a grain of sense would till the instant before he let fly. Why let your enemy get ready to dodge or duck? But Vannius seemed to want to fight it out at close quarters.
I told Father the gods wouldn’t let him kill me, Arminius thought. Was I right, or was I fooling myself? Before he could wonder for more than a fraction of a heartbeat, his right arm went back, then forward again.
He watched the spear fly as if it had nothing to do with him. He didn’t even reach for his sword. One way or the other, he didn’t think it would matter.
Vannius waited till the last moment to start to spring aside. Maybe he was gauging the spear’s flight. Or maybe he wanted to show how brave he was. Whatever the reason, he waited too long. As he tried to fling himself to the right, the spear caught him square in the chest.
He stood swaying for a couple of heartbeats, looking astonished. When he opened his mouth to say something, blood came out instead of words. Blood also bubbled from his nose. He slowly crumpled to the ground.
His feet drummed and scuffed at the grass. Cautiously, Arminius approached him. “Do you want me to give you peace?” he asked, ready to jump back in a hurry if Vannius went for his knife.
But the other man only nodded. He was biting his lip to hold in a shriek now. Wounds often didn’t hurt for a little while. Then, as Arminius knew too well, they did.
He drew his gladius and drove it into Vannius’ throat. The other man twisted and jerked. His life rivered out of him as Arminius pulled out the shortsword and plunged it into the ground again and again to clean off the blood. After a few moments, Vannius lay still, his gaze set and staring. Arminius felt for his pulse and found none. Setting his foot on the corpse’s chest, he jerked out the spear.