The Wald (23 page)

“Adalbern, a word!” the man called.

“Oh, shut your mouth.  Can’t you see that I’m talking with guests?  I’ve waited for two days for this time.”  He turned to Segimer, “No offence intended.”

“None taken.”

“So,” Adalbern continued to Stigr, “you can wait just a few moments for me.  The scouts say the Romans are taking their time crossing the river, so we cannot be in any immediate danger.  We have plenty of time to assemble the armies and crack Drusus’ dim skull.”

The man dropped to the forest floor, upset.  “We aren’t in
immediate danger, but . . .”

“Precisely, so you can wait.  So what was I saying?  Oh yes, we rode south and met with the Marcomannians.  I felt defeated at
the start when some of the villages said that their new chieftain had been sent to Rome for some type of education.  Why anyone would need to go to a foreign city to learn how to lead his own people is beyond me, but anyway, away he did go as a lad.  He has come home and was promptly named their leader should a time of war come.  When I heard about this fellow I said, ‘By Teiwaz!  He’s probably been tricked into believing that he loves the Romans now.’  That’s what I said, isn’t it, boy?”

Berengar answered simply.  “Yes, father.”

“But I quickly found out that I was wrong.  Once the man – Mawrobodwos is his name, itself a good omen for you know it means great raven, heard who we were, he came out to meet us and began calling all matter of curses down on the Romans and their legions and their citizens and their way of life.  Then I thought, ‘Ah, this man will make a great ally.  He knows the enemy and hates them.’  I said that too, didn’t I, son?”

“You did, father.”

“But guess what?  I was wrong again.  The man so hates them, but he refused to fight.  He said that they don’t yet threaten him and so he’ll not pick a fight.  I told him that it did not take a priestess to understand what Drusus had in store for us, all the tribes.  Look what Julius did to Gaul.  There are no tribes left – only the
Gaul
.  Look what Drusus did to us so far.  He started in the north and moves further and further south each year, covering us like our women hike the blankets up tighter and tighter in winter.  If Drusus has his way, there be no tribes left –only the
Germans
.”

“And so you must have convinced him at some point,” said Kolman to get
Adalbern to his crux.

“Oh no.  We parted company on good enough terms, but he refuses to join.  He says that he’ll not invite the wrath of the legions onto his people.  But I think if we just show him a little success against the bastards this season that he’ll join us.”

“But I thought you said this was the good part.  I thought you sent word that you have an alliance,” interjected Kolman showing his frustration.

Adalbern grunted, showing his teeth
in fierce grin.  “Kolman, ten thousand Cattans march toward us right now.  After we were rejected by Mawrobodwos, we ran to them.  They agreed to fight for us – a fine addition to our collective force.  They fight in regular order like the Roman style – I fought them once as a young man.  We won that encounter, by the way.  But with the Cheruscan and Sugambrian swift attacks and the steady center of the Cattans, we’ll crush Drusus’ army.”  He took another drink from the skin filled with ale and slapped his belly, completely pleased with the news he had just conveyed.

Segimer smiled wryly, “Adalbern, you are a good man to know.”

Even Kolman started nodding as the information sunk in.  “So we draw Drusus to us, deeper into the hills and valleys of your people, with skirmishes, until he takes a big bite and finds that he is trapped in a location of your choosing.”  The cautious noble reflected internally then added, “Some of your lands will be destroyed along the way, Adalbern, as we bring them to our combined forces.”

“Yes to both.  My land and people will be able to heal once we’ve destroyed the Roman will to invade.
  Until then, the goat tits will just milk us dry.  Until then, we’ll never heal properly.”

“You’ve a way with words, Adalbern,” chuckled Segimer.

“Adalbern,” interrupted Stigr who had finally moved to the beast-of-a-man’s shoulder.

“By Teiwaz!  Can you not let me plan for
a win, you Chaucian woman?” Adalbern scolded.  “We’ve got to know how we’ll deploy the Cattans when they come.  Must I attend to every squabble among the troops as if I am a mother?  What happened?  Have two fought over where they’ll sleep for the night?”  His guests laughed.

“Adalbern!” Stigr
shouted back, making the nobleman stand and raise his great paw to swipe at him, but he halted when he saw the unflinching graveness of the man’s expression.  “I have ridden for two days straight to tell you that after the Cattans crossed into your lands, they slaughtered the women and children of two of your villages.  They tear up the seeds and sprouts of your fields.  It looks as if they mean to raze all of your southern lands.”

The color drained from Adalbern’s face.  He dropped back down to his
damp seat in an instant haze, trying to understand what the new information meant for all his grand plans.

“Treachery!” shouted Berengar, the color flushing his young face.  “Don’t they understand what they are doing?  They are inviting the Romans to be their overlords!  They are trying to defeat us, only to
ultimately crush themselves.”

Adalbern muttered from his dazed state.  “Family, village, tribe.  That’s it.
”  He threw his hands into the air.  “Why do I even try to bring the other tribes together?”  His famous fighting spirit slowly returned and he looked up at Segimer who sat in stunned silence.  “And Cheruscans, what betrayal do you have in store for our alliance?  Shall we begin killing each other now?  Or do you want to pin the Sugambrians between yours and the Cattan army so that you may do the bidding of Drusus or his strutting emperor for the rest of your days?”

Kolman shouted, “I’ll not be accused of deceit!”  He rose to his feet as if prepared to fight, but Segimer jerked him back down.

“Adalbern, we join you as one in this fight against the Romans.  We remain committed.  But what will you do?”

Adalbern
punched the rotting trunk, knocking several flat, ringed slices of moss to the ground.  “What I must do if you are staying in the war against Roman aggression.  I will lead my force south and drive out the Cattans.  But now you will be short six thousand Sugambrians and the ten thousand Cattans we expected.  The question is what will you do, Segimer?”

The Cheruscan
chieftain took a deep breath, deliberating all the facts in his mind.  He looked to his son, Ermin.  “We now have even lower chances of success against Drusus in a pitched battle.  Our numbers may be close, but they employ better weapons and know battle.  So we must be more careful and draw them in to where we may surprise them.  I’m afraid that means luring them all the way across your lands and into ours, where we know every rock and tree.  It will mean that your entire northern lands will be laid to waste by the legionaries.”

“I know, but you’ll do what you must.”  Adalbern rose, signaling that it was time for the armies to begin their tasks.  He seized
Stigr by the shoulder of his jerkin.  “And if any Sugambrian or Chaucian deserts to try to protect his home and family from the invaders, Cattan or otherwise, this scout will be killed.  I will then hunt down the deserters until my death and kill them myself.  No one outside this circle must know about the danger to our lands.  No one, not any noble, not any commoner, warns his family.  We must stay together to meet the Cattans.”  He shook Stigr like he waved a twig.  “Do you all understand?”

His Sugambrian elders and other lea
ders answered in a unified, “We do, Adalbern.”

“Then let’s kill some invaders.  Segimer,” Adalbern said turning to the Cheruscan.  “May you meet success and may we find that our alliance is never needed.”

“May it be so,” answered Segimer as he scampered up his mount.

. . .

Two weeks had gone by since they had crossed south into Sugambrian lands and Septimus had only caught glimpses of the attacks that occurred on the fringes of the ranks.  It was a place where he would have been only the year before, but promotion brought him more prestige and protection.  It also brought him less chance for action from the quick attacks favored by the tribesmen.

With each assault some ten Romans would find they never again marched with the army.  But the losses were quickly limited by the exceptional discipline of the men and officers.  By the time the auxiliary cavalry moved to properly engage the enemy, the swift strike ended with the attackers fading into the dark wald. 
Each time the legionaries were thus molested they managed to drop one or two Germans from their galloping horses.  These men lying in the dust, if they weren’t dead already, killed themselves so as not to be forced to talk to Drusus.

The total
number of the emperor’s soldiers killed when compared to the wild German cavalrymen was clearly unfavorable.  No one, not from the lowliest cook to Drusus, however, fretted that the colossal army cutting a road through Germania’s heart would be irreparably harmed by dwindling numbers.  The miniature battles that came sometimes twice in one day, other times every other day – sometimes at dawn or dusk, other times at the meridian – brought no real harm to the Roman multitude.  With each pass they brought more anger, more resentment.

Somehow the cunning tribes
would slip past the Roman scouts.  A cornu would sound its string of notes telling the men an attack was imminent.  The column would halt and prepare to do battle.  The men of Septimus’ century grumbled more about the repetitive motions caused by the enemy strikes than about digging the nightly temporary fort which usually brought up most men’s ire.  Twice, when the men had settled down around their tents for the night, Septimus had to have junior men flogged for excessive complaining.  He hated to do it because he loved them all, but an officer had to keep his men in line.  He had to maintain respect for his rank and the army structure even if Septimus himself was often guilty of skirting the expected decorum of a centurion.

They found
many small hamlets along their path.  They burned them.  The long wooden houses burnt rapidly, spitting black smoke into the sky to warn those further on toward the horizon that a dark force was coming to cover their land.  Cattle, sheep, and goats were slaughtered for men to eat.  The small fields of the Sugambrians were destroyed as the men stomped through them or decided to use them as a camp for the night.  Women and children from the first few towns were taken as slaves to be used by the officers or sent to administrators in Gaul as a gift.  Few were taken from the later settlements since warnings had spread throughout the region for people to flee if they were able.  Some – the old, infirm, or addled – could not flee and so they usually found themselves smoldering in their beds after their bark and thatch roofs, ablaze, toppled inward.  The new slaves were marched naked and in manacles at the rear of the army among the long baggage train that transported the rest of the army’s chattel, every supply Drusus’ men would need.

After several days, the general ordered his army, two cohorts at a time, to launch out to the south or north.  He wanted all Sugambrians
, not those just on his direct path, to feel utter devastation so that they would know the weight of their new rulers’ fists.  It was the best, the only way, he believed, to quell any resistance – to finish an enemy quickly was to be merciful.

Septimus and Marcus marched out to the south on one of those missions through
the mysterious forest the tribes all called the wald.  The flanks of the cohort were supported by fifty Batavian horsemen who probably felt like kings, with their newly given mobility and chance to bring death to the mightier Sugambrian tribe.  In two groups of twenty-five, the marauding riders or scouts looked for nearby villages to raze and for the sneak assault that may come from behind every hillock.

Soon the wald grew dense and the cohorts strung themselves along a narrow path, well worn by the locals.  They meandered
their way through the dark, old-growth forest with very little in the way of underbrush growing on its floor, allowing them to see a fair distance to the left or right.  Only a thick bed of soft-leaved ferns covered one area fifty feet from the trail up a hillside.  So thorough was Septimus that he dispatched ten of his men with spears facing downward to rummage through the growth just to see if anyone used it as a hiding place.  They did not.

Marcus and Septimus
had arranged for their centuries to lead the column.  It was an easy task since the more senior men, jaded from years of experience, preferred to allow any trouble to find the young, vigorous officers while they lingered in the rear.  The two centurions marched side by side in front of Marcus’ men followed by those of Septimus walking four abreast.

“Beautiful country,” Septimus said.

“It is if you like to be isolated.  I don’t know how these people live so far from civilization,” Marcus huffed.  He was from Rome and would always be an urban dweller at heart.  Marcus grew up the son of a merchant who had spent his life trying to make money and political connections so that his son could enter into the patrician ranks with the equestrian status.  The senior Caelius also saw his son’s future filled with the wealth and prestige that would one day come from finally attaining the vaunted senatorial class.  His father set into a fit of rage when the fruits of his life’s work were discarded by the boy in favor of the army.  Marcus still attained the equestrian class, but it was through his own achievements, not those of his father.  The two men had not spoken since the younger left home many years earlier.  “For me, I’ll be glad when we are done subduing these barbarians and can fight some real civilizations.  I’d love to have a go at the Parthians!  I bet they’d be a chore.”