Blood of Eagles: A Story of Ancient Rome

Part I

Shadows of the Aventine

1

Rhine River Frontier, Germania

Late Spring, 9 B.C.

Ten thousand Romans marched across the shallow valley in perfect legionary order, the thunderous stamping of hobnailed boots merging with the rhythmic clanking of segmented armor in an ominous cacophony as they approached the unprotected village like an impenetrable beast.

What does Tiberius want now? Inguiomerus spat as faint sounds of singing from the first cohorts reached the summit of the tree-lined hill. Whoever it was sounded like they were in good spirits.

Besides the world? Who knows? Segimerus leaned forward, dark eyes narrowing over a thrice-broken nose. They'll be making camp soon, he said, and then something else caught his eye.

What is it, brother? Inguiomerus followed the older man's gaze to a point between the crimson columns. They gasped in astonishment at what they saw.

Germans.

Hundreds of men, women, and children shuffled along, carrying bundles, flanked by Roman cavalry. Dozens of great ox-drawn carts heaped with household goods. Horses nudged slow movers in the back at the behest of their riders, driving them forward like cattle. None of them looks over thirty, Inguiomerus said, gripping the thick shaft of his heavy spear until his dirt-crusted knuckles shone white.

They will have left the old ones behind. No threat there, Segimerus said as he settled back onto his horse, hands trembling as they gripped the reins. This will be different than before, he said. Warn the village. I need to find my son, he said and galloped off into the forest.

The massive trunks of the sacred grove, wide enough to hide two grown men, stood uniformly arrayed like a great oak-and-alder Parthenon, their expansive fifty-foot canopies blocking out the sun and casting dark shadows as Arminius chased the young girl to the edge of the arboreal sanctuary and suddenly stopped.

Do you give up? she teased him with a playful smile.

If my father knew we were in here- he began, but was interrupted by a muffled beating sound followed by a rush of air. The gods are angry, he said.

Don't be silly, Arminius. It's coming from over there. She pointed to the far end of the grove, away from the raised stone altar where the Cherusci paid homage to their deities. I'm going to go look.

Thusnelda- but she was already off, the wind lifting her long blonde hair as she sprinted down the open lane between the timber columns. Feeling certain that Wodan or Donar would smite her for disturbing their peace, and knowing he would be held responsible if he allowed it, he ran after her. As he rounded the last great oak that marked the end of the sacred grove he saw her, mouth open gazing upward. He looked to see what had caught her attention, and recoiled.

Firmly fixed to the trunk by a large iron spike where the left eye had once been, the head seemed to float in front of them like a ghostly apparition. A few streaks of cropped golden hair showed through a matted mixture of dirt and blood above where the right eye was also missing, the likely victim of what Arminius now realized had been bird wings flapping loudly moments before. Only the aquiline nose remained mostly intact, while its lipless mouth contorted in a grotesque position, as if the unfortunate victim had been suddenly silenced in the middle of one final, bloodcurdling scream.

Go on, Arminius, touch it, she dared him.

His initial fear now replaced by curiosity, Arminius stared into the cavernous sockets, seeking answers.

Then the head moved.

Arminius backed away as the mouth suddenly opened wider, its jaw shifting position as if its owner had anticipated his unspoken questions and was vainly trying to answer.

The screaming echoes of the fleeing children had still not faded when the small grass snake, barely the size of a twig and heretofore undisturbed in its makeshift den, slowly peered out over the lower lip.

What did you do? Thusnelda gasped as they stopped at a small clearing to catch their breath.

Me? I'm not the one who offended the gods by invading their sacred space, Arminius retorted. Suddenly they heard a thunderous crashing sound behind them and their breaths quickened. Now they're chasing us. They started to run again as Segimerus, at full gallop, burst from the bushes.

Both ran to meet him, but he was in no mood to be comforting. How many times have I told you not to play in the sacred grove? he demanded. The gods cherish peace and quiet, and there are things there that you are too young to comprehend. Does your father know where you are? he asked Thusnelda, who shook her head innocently. Come on, both of you, he said as he snatched them up roughly, placing them in front of him as he turned the horse back toward the village, hoping to get back before the Romans arrived.

They were too late.

Segimerus arrived to find that the Romans had sent a small escort ahead, and now they sat impassively on their horses in the center of the village waiting for someone in authority to approach. All wore brass helmets and carried long spatha cavalry swords.

The one in the middle wore a large red cloak fastened at the shoulder as he inched his mount forward. He was in his late-twenties, his brown hair cropped close to his head in the classic Roman style and his polished armor shone brightly in the rays of the retreating sun. He held a heavy white baton in his right hand, which he lifted high into the air. Above my head and yours, he said in a thick, solemn voice.

Segimerus recognized him instantly. What do you want, Tiberius?

Segimerus, Tiberius greeted him formally as he removed his traverse-crested red-plumed helmet. I request your presence in order that we may discuss your tribe’s contribution to the latest initiative from Rome.

What initiative is that? Segimerus asked, feigning ignorance.

Tiberius leaned down so that only they could hear. Let us not play at riddles, my friend. I know your men were watching us. My scouts have excellent eyes. It may have even been you. He glanced at the growing crowd around them. This is not a discussion for public consumption.

I need to summon the elders, Segimerus said tactfully. It will take time for them to arrive.

Time is one commodity I do not currently possess, Tiberius said. I trust you are able to negotiate on their behalf.

I am chief of the Cherusci, not its emperor, Segimerus said flatly, and he could tell by the look on his face that he had irritated the Roman general. The elders must be present.

If any of them are within shouting distance they are welcome to attend, Tiberius said. I am confident the others will accept our arrangement.

Segimerus noticed Inguiomerus at the front of the crowd and sighed. Excuse me, general. Arminius, take Thusnelda and run home to your mother, he said as he drew up in front of his brother and let them down. He leaned over, speaking in a low voice so Tiberius could not hear. Send someone to inform her father of our meeting. He can take her home after.

Segestes is no use to us here. He is more Roman than some Romans, Inguiomerus protested.

He is still one of our elders, and for us not to invite him would be to arouse suspicion. That is what the Romans want.

Do not keep me waiting, Tiberius warned as Inguiomerus nodded reluctantly to his brother.

It is settled, then. Some food and drink for our guests, Segimerus said.

***

It was a script they had all followed before. Tiberius, flanked by a cadre of senior Roman officers, faced the three Germans sitting stoically across the table in the large circular meeting hut with an air of carefully measured indifference. Segimerus noted the white baton with which Tiberius had made his introduction earlier resting on the table in front of him, signifying its bearer’s authority on behalf of the Senate and people of Rome.

In truth, it conveyed the authority of one man alone. Above my head and yours.

Your wine has improved, Segimerus, Tiberius said as he took a short sip from a small earthen mug. You should be pleased.

Segimerus was in no mood for feigned niceties. You did not come here to discuss our wine, general. You needn’t concern yourself with decorum here.

Very well, Tiberius set the cup down and leaned forward, resting his arms deliberately on the table, hands folded. I have it on good authority that you and your tribe were involved in the Lollius affair this past year.

A regrettable incident, which I can assure you we took no part in, said the man sitting to Segimerus’ left, and the chief regarded him with a contemptuous eye. He was older than Segimerus and lacked the hardy build even of men his own age as he moved with a gingerness bordering on frailty. His dark, wispy hair was pulled over to cover the greater part of his head that had already gone prematurely bald. Sunken eyes peered out over a hawkish nose, and his voice was flat and uninspiring.

That is not what the leaders of the Sicambri told us when we interrogated them. Nor the Tencteri, nor the Usipetes, Tiberius said calmly. When Rome loses a legionary eagle, you can rest assured she will brave the bowels of Hades to recover it, and so we have. You may not have participated in the attack, but by virtue of your location you did provide safe passage and provision to those who did, for which you stand just as guilty.

I cannot speak for, nor condone, what some other tribe might have done, but the Cherusci have never sought hostile relations with Rome, Segimerus said calmly but defiantly, and we certainly would not attack one of her legions unprovoked.

Then explain the heads we found nailed to trees in one of your groves.

Segimerus kept calm while thinking of an answer. He had made sure the corpses were stripped of all armor and identification, and while most had decayed sufficiently as to cast doubt upon their origin, perhaps some had been recognizable. Those were not Roman heads, general, but those of our enemies.

Do all of your enemies have olive-skinned complexions and aquiline noses? Tiberius pressed.

You are not the only such men in the world, Segimerus replied. However, so that there is no quarrel or confusion between us, I shall have them taken down upon conclusion of our business.

Tiberius suspected he was lying but smiled in mock gratitude just the same. I have always taken you for a man of good judgment, a man of peace, he said, almost chewing the words as he spoke them. Still, I cannot ignore the evidence of your involvement with respect to Lollius. Too many good men are dead. Therefore, I have decided to re-settle some of the tribes west of the Rhine.

Segimerus’s smile vanished as he remembered the prisoners he had seen earlier. Which tribes?

The Sicambri, Tencteri, and Usipetes, of course. Then there is the Bructeri, the Chauci, the Chatti, the Angrivarii, and… he paused for added effect, the Cherusci.

Segimerus’ arms shook as he gripped the edges of the table. All of these tribes west of the Rhine? he asked incredulously. What will you do with all the land that’s left behind?

Tiberius, satisfied with the effect his words had caused, casually put up a defensive hand. I did not say all the tribes; forty thousand men, women and children, five thousand from each tribe. The truth is, we have no way to determine with absolute certainty who is responsible for the theft of Lollius’ eagle, so I think it only fair that you all share equal responsibility.

Segimerus couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was one thing for a single tribe to relocate voluntarily, but fragments of many different tribes in one place, all of them holding grudges against one or more of the others? If one of those started a war with another, then surely the main tribes east of the Rhine would declare as well, and Segimerus could see the disaster that would unfold, and it made him shudder. But how will you re-settle them? Who will you have to move out just so you can move them in?

Tiberius was unmoved. That is not your problem. My orders are to move forty thousand Germans west of the Rhine and that is exactly what I intend to do. If any attempt is made to hinder us, I will see to it that every German within a hundred miles in all directions is either relocated or exterminated. Do I make myself clear? He paused a moment to let it sink in before continuing. Now, there is one more thing; your sons.

Segimerus’ face hardened as he thought of Arminius. What about them?

The emperor is demanding that the firstborn son of every tribal chieftain be sent to Rome.

And why is he demanding this? Segimerus’ asked, teeth grinding together as he clenched his jaw.

There is a school there, on the Palatine Hill where he lives. The emperor wants to ensure your sons receive only the best education.

You don’t want education. You want insurance, Segimerus said wryly. How long is this Roman education supposed to last?

Fifteen years.

Segimerus abruptly stood, gripping the table’s edge, the muscles in his arms bulging. This startled the Roman officers, who jumped to their feet and quickly drew their short swords. Tiberius shook his head and the men relaxed. Is there a problem? he asked calmly.

What you are asking is illegal, general. As an unconquered province, it is forbidden to draft our sons into service. I may be a barbarian, as you say, but I do know a little bit about Roman law.

Tiberius nodded, pretending to consider this. Then you should know that Roman law is whatever the emperor says it is, and the emperor has asked for your sons. Besides, even if what you said is true, there is the law and there is reality. Even if the law said I could not draft your sons, reality says that I have two legions in camp less than a mile from where we now sit. So I propose a contest, your law against my legions. That is unless, of course, you wish to concede the point.

Segimerus knew it was pointless. Fifty village warriors versus ten thousand hardened veterans was no contest, and while he was willing to die, Segimerus knew he could not place them in harm’s way. He lowered his gaze.

Knowing he had won, Tiberius stood. See to it your son is ready to leave first thing in the morning. The rest of my men will stay and begin with the relocations. I believe this concludes our business. He snatched the imperial baton from the table and strode rigidly out of the hut, followed by his officers.

Hatred burned hotly in Segimerus’ chest as he watched them go. You know what this means, brother, Inguiomerus said.

Rome is trying to divide us, and they will, Segimerus said bitterly as he gripped the handle of his scramasax. You saw them from the hill just as I did. They’re not moving old people across the Rhine. They’re moving our young people, our future warriors, while they take my son away from me.

A Roman education might be the best thing for Arminius, Segestes hissed as the two of them glared at him with naked contempt. He smiled crookedly. Times are changing, Segimerus. In a few years, the Romans will be building cities east of the Rhine. They will build schools, temples, forums, markets, baths and statues. We must accept the inevitable.

Segimerus’s hand ran to the hilt of his sword before he steadied himself. It seems you have beaten us all to the mark, he said savagely as they heard a faint rustling from outside the hut. Segimerus threw open the door and went out, but no one was there. Your daughter is in my steading. I think it is time you collected her.

***

Arminius hurriedly rifled through the few clothes he had, placing them in a small pile.

At least it won’t be forever, Thusnelda said, her voice cracking a little.

It might as well be. You heard what Tiberius said. I will be a grown man when you see me again, if you ever see me again, Arminius said as

the anger rose in him at the thought of his father’s humiliation.

Maybe, but you can make a name for yourself, she said as she folded his clothes and tied them neatly together.

But for whom, Thusnelda? What if I come back and our people no longer believe I am one of them? He took the makeshift bundle and tossed it through the window.

Where are you going? Thusnelda asked.

Not to Rome, if I can help it, he said as a noise outside caught his attention. Both of them stared out the window as a line of Cherusci tribesmen entered the woods. The moonlight shone down on them to reveal painted faces and arms. All wore trousers, going naked above the waist, and their hair was pulled up in top knots. All carried swords or spears, the iron blades painted pitch black to avoid contact with the moonlight, and a small circular shield. Arminius’ face brightened. "I’m going to join the harii, become a night warrior and make my home under the stars."

"Princes don’t join the harii, Thusnelda protested, shaking her head in disbelief. They don’t go sneaking up on Roman patrols, thinking a few dead men in the night will stop the inevitable."

You sound like your father. Nothing is inevitable, Thusnelda. One day even the Romans will see that. Arminius crossed to his parents’ room and grabbed his father’s spare scramasax.

He was halfway through the window when Segimerus entered. I wouldn’t do that, son. You’d be caught before you reached the grove. You think I wouldn’t suspect you trying to leave, just like you suspect I didn’t know you two were outside the hut listening the whole time? He waited calmly while Arminius pulled himself back in. A moment later his clothes bundle came through the window and hit him in the side of the head. When he was satisfied that his son wasn’t going to run, Segimerus stepped into the room. Thank you, brother, he said.

Inguiomerus appeared in the window. I would say I’m sorry for hitting you, nephew, but you deserved it. I will miss you, though. Feel free to pass on my regards to Rome whenever the urge strikes you. With that, he disappeared into the night.

Thusnelda, your father is waiting for you, Segimerus said as he stood to one side and let her pass. You can see him tomorrow before he leaves, he reassured her as he closed the door. It was just the two of them now.

Hanging his head, Arminius began to cry softly. A prince of the Cherusci does not weep, his father said sternly. You must master your emotions, my son. The day will come when men look to you, and the last thing they will tolerate is weakness.

He paused while Arminius collected himself, saw the boy’s small body shake in soft spasms as he spoke through clenched teeth, willing his tears back into his eyes the same way he himself had learned as a boy. I do not understand, father. Why do I have to go to Rome?

Segimerus bent down and lay a hand on his son’s shoulder. Because Rome wants you, and Rome has the power to want you. Look at me. Rome is threatening war, son, a war we cannot win. The tribes are already divided, and they will be further weakened after tonight. If I don’t have you ready in the morning we could lose all that we have and I cannot risk that, even for my only son. That is what it means to be a chieftain. Do you understand? Arminius nodded, wiping his face.

Segimerus reached under the boy’s chin and lifted it up so he could look his son in the eye. Do you really think Augustus is going to all this trouble to teach you Roman law, government, and the rest only to put you in the ranks with common soldiers? You were named for a god, my son. Remember that. And not just any god, but one even greater and more ancient than Donar, who rides every thunderbolt with full rawness of power. Do right by your name, and the great Irmin, god of war, from whom it was taken. Segimerus’ hand relaxed and his voice softened a bit. The Romans will not harm you. In fact, I suspect they might teach you a great deal. Let them.

***

Later that night Arminius woke with a start. He lifted his head and saw Segimerus slip silently past the room toward the front door. Arminius heard it close softly and went to the window just in time to see Segimerus disappear into the woods. He waited several moments then climbed up onto the window again. This time, no one stopped him and he dropped lightly to the ground outside. After a quick look around to make sure no one had seen or heard him, he set off after his father.

The moon shone full, giving plenty of light even among the densely packed trees. Arminius kept his distance, knowing after several minutes of following a hundred meters behind that Segimerus could only have a single destination in mind this night.

The sacred grove.

Keeping a watchful eye on his father, Arminius cut across the wood so he could approach the sanctuary from the west, which gave a better view of what might be happening there. Once, he stepped on a small twig, which cracked sharply under his weight. He froze for several seconds as he saw Segimerus stop and look around momentarily before continuing onward.

Fifty meters further ahead, the trees took on their uniform appearance and Arminius saw a bright orange glow that he knew did not emanate from the moonlight. He circled carefully around again to his left and began looking for a suitable hiding place. Something was going on here tonight, something no one wanted him to see. That in itself was reason enough for him to be here.

Several harii stood clustered near a gigantic stone altar at the front of the inner sanctuary. Twin torches tied to trees on either side provided light for the occasion. Arminius’ eyes quickly shot to the two young men who kneeled at the side of the altar. Both were bound and gagged, and looked to be in their early twenties. But what caught Arminius’ eye the most was their short cropped haircuts and matching tunics.

These young men were Romans. And then Arminius understood.

His father had known about the ambushed Roman patrols, because he had been the one ordering the attacks on them. The fact that Segimerus had lied about it didn’t bother him. It was just that his father had seemed more the diplomatic type, not one suited to cold-blooded killing. His uncle Inguiomerus, however affable and easygoing, was a different story.

Arminius watched as Segimerus entered the grove and strode to the altar, speaking briefly with a member of the harii whom Arminius assumed was their leader. He strained to hear what was being said but he was too far away. He saw Segimerus nod and assume a place at the front of the altar. Now, all eyes in the grove were upon him.

Almighty Donar, hammer of the gods, we thank you for the opportunity to worship you with sacrifice. Arminius noticed the two bound young men shaking visibly. He couldn’t even imagine the terror they must have been feeling. Segimerus continued, These two gifts we offer to you, so that you might bless our harvests, our families and our people in their struggle against the invader.

Two harii jerked one of the men roughly to his feet and dragged him toward the altar, one on either side, where they maneuvered him onto the great stone slab. The Roman struggled mightily and two more harii came to hold him down so that each man was assigned an arm or leg. The struggle continued until one of the harii rammed his sword handle into the man’s mouth with a sickening crunch, causing him to spit blood and broken teeth onto the altar.

Segimerus reached out to the harii leader, who handed him a bone-handled knife with a long, curved blade. With the others holding the Roman securely, Segimerus placed a hand on the doomed man’s forehead and then, in one quick motion, drew the knife cleanly across his throat. Blood bubbled from the wound and spilled down both sides of his neck and onto the altar. He gasped, shook violently for a few moments, and finally lay still. When he finally stopped bleeding, they repeated the same ritual with the second prisoner, who was too terrified to resist his fate.

Arminius was appalled. He had watched men die before, but this was the first time he had seen someone sacrificed. He had heard about it, of course, but people tend to exaggerate things and he paid them little attention. He regretted that now.

Segimerus returned the ceremonial knife and the harii finished their grisly work. Each man’s head was chopped off at the shoulder and held against a nearby oak tree while a harii drove a two-foot iron spike though the eye socket with a crude hammer, fastening it to the trunk. A short series of ceremonial chants followed as the men, arms raised, offered praise to the gods. When this was done, Segimerus solemnly dismissed the meeting. As they began to leave, Arminius turned and ran for home as fast and silent as he could.

He climbed through the window and back into bed without too much noise. Several minutes later, the front door opened and Segimerus passed the room without looking in. Arminius, the excitement of the night now past, suddenly fell into a deep sleep.

***

At sunrise, Arminius was roused from bed and told to dress. His mother wept quietly as she bundled his clothes and stuffed some cooked meat and bread into a pouch for the journey. Arminius, not wanting to see her cry, went outside.

Do you think this will be enough? she asked Segimerus, who stood in the doorway, all attempts at reassuring her having predictably failed.

The Romans will see to it that he is fed. Come, he said gently, laying a hand on her shoulder, but she just shook her head and would not move. I will tell him goodbye for you.

As he emerged he saw a wagon pull up in front of the steading. The driver, in his late fifties with a mass of curly gray hair, got down and approached, nodding respectfully. Is he ready?

Arminius nodded as Segimerus handed the packages of clothing and food to the driver, who set them in the back of the wagon and reached down to help Arminius up. But the boy shook his head and started to climb up himself when the sound of shuffling feet from behind made him stop. He turned to see Thusnelda holding what appeared to be a leather strap in her hand. He looked at the driver. Go on, the old man said. We still have a little time.

Arminius walked over to where she was standing. Her face was streaked where she had obviously been crying, and she swayed back and forth on both feet, holding the strap behind her back. Her long blonde hair fell around her face, almost obscuring her azure blue eyes. Thusnelda, does your father know you are here? Arminius asked, and she shook her head. As she held out her hand, Arminius realized that what she was holding was not a strap at all, but a necklace with a crude wooden figure holding a hammer attached through a small hole poked through his head. Did you make this? Arminius asked, and she nodded.

So that Donar will protect you in your new home, she said, lowering her eyes. He put a hand on her shoulder.

This will always be my home, Thusnelda. Always. He clutched the wooden figure tightly as she threw her arms around him before disengaging and running into the woods. Arminius watched until she was completely out of sight.

Segimerus smiled as he knelt down until the two of them were face to face. Remember what I said last night. Arminius nodded, still finding it difficult to reconcile the good man he knew his father to be with the killer he had seen as Segimerus pulled him close. Then it was time.

The inside of the wagon was fairly clean, and there was even a small

pile of straw in one corner. In case you want to sleep, the driver said. It was all I could find on short notice.

Segimerus extended his hand. Thank you for your kindness, Mr.…?

Glabius, the man said, taking it. Quintus Metellus Glabius.

The Roman vanguard arrived just then. The advance cavalry passed with barely a glance to each side, their sheathed spathas smacking the sides of their leather saddles. Then Glabius clicked his teeth and snapped the reins and the wagon began moving slowly westward.

Arminius glance back one last time at his father. Their eyes met briefly before the wagon rounded a bend and disappeared from sight.

2

Castra Vetera, German Frontier

Atop the imposing Furstenburg Hill, Castra Vetera overlooks the confluence of the wide, languorous Rhine and the narrow, fast-flowing Lupia Rivers. The Romans had designed it so that the only way into the massive fortress that doubled as the legions’ winter quarters was a long, arduous trek up the hill’s steep southern slope.

On the way up, Arminius noticed a long line of Germans hunched forward, carrying bushels of wheat on their shoulders. As they passed one man, Arminius looked into two of the emptiest eyes he had ever seen. The man’s coal-black gaze seemed to move past him, without a hint of pride or passion as he stepped monotonously up the hill, and then the wagon had passed him. He’s a Cugerni, said a young prince who had moved to sit beside him. They were once Sicambri, like me.

What happened to them?

Tiberius relocated them several years ago, before I was born. I’ve never actually seen one, but my father told me all about them.

None of them are carrying weapons, Arminius observed oddly.

Romans won’t let them.

Why is he carrying the wheat to the fortress?

The Romans force them to bring in their crops to feed the troops here.

Arminius noticed other men like the one he had seen lining the side of the road, some hurrying to move out of the way to avoid the oncoming wagons. Why do you call them Cugerni?

The other boy spat. They are neither Sicambri nor Roman, though they might as well be, domesticated lot they’ve become. Little better than slaves, they are. My name is Activarus. He held out his hand and Arminius shook it hurriedly.

Arminius, Cherusci tribe. As they approached the gates, the ground leveled out and Arminius wondered at the sheer size of the fortifications. The imposing rectangular wooden walls stood fifteen feet high, with a shallow moat running down the entire length and twenty-five-foot guard towers at every gate. Inside, barrack blocks lined the perimeter, and Arminius noticed smoke rising from the north end of the camp. He turned to the cavalryman beside him. Is the camp on fire?

The man looked at him and chuckled. No little man, it’s just the ovens Arminius shook his head. We got several of them all along the north end, making everything you can think of.

How long will we be here? Arminius asked.

The man shrugged. Not as long as me. This is my post. He pointed at a tattoo on his left arm.

Arminius tried to make out the design, which appeared to be an X followed by a V and two I’s. What is that?

Seventeenth Legion.

What is a legion? Is it like an army?

Something like that.

Does it fight on its own like an army?

It can. I have fought in battles with only my legion and with as many as five other legions at once.

Did you win?

The man nodded with an air of supreme confidence. We always win.

Lollius didn't win, Arminius said curiously, with a hint of triumph,

and the man’s expression clouded over and he tensed in his saddle.

Lollius was a suckling fool who should never have commanded a century, let alone a legion. No matter, though, we still got his eagle back.

Arminius felt a bolt of excitement as he realized he had struck a nerve. How many legions do the Romans have?

More than enough to conquer the world, little man, the legionary said, his expression relaxing. Two legions here in Vetera, another at Novaesium further up the Rhine, and two more at Moguntiacum, and that doesn’t include the frontier garrisons. Do you know why I am telling you this? Both boys shook their heads. Hopefully, when you boys are of age to rule your tribes, you will realize that there is no escaping Rome’s shadow. You can either live in it, or die beneath it.

The wagons pulled up in front of the principia, which served as double headquarters for both the 17th and 18th Legions. All right, time to get out, Glabius said as he