Free Eagles at War by Ben Kane Page A

but when they took a vote, the majority voted against joining us.’
    ‘Pah! Was it because of their dislike of the Chatti?’
    ‘That was part of it only. I persuaded them that they need not have anything to do with each other. They could camp apart, and fight in different areas. It was more because their lands run right up to the bridge to Vetera.’
    ‘When the legions cross the river in anger, it’s their people who die first, and their settlements that are burned.’
    ‘If there was a way to guarantee victory, one priest said, they’d be with us, but without that, it pays to be prudent.’
    ‘Understandable. Nothing can be guaranteed in this life.’
    ‘Except death, and Roman taxes.’
    There was a bitter tinge to their laughter. ‘If the Usipetes won’t join us, the other tribes might not either,’ Maelo said at length.
    ‘Aye.’
    There was a silence, during which Arminius’ face grew stern and determined. When he spoke, his voice was granite hard. ‘We have the priest Segimundus’ support. His words, and his dream of the burning eagle, will convince many to join us. I know it.’

IV

     
     
    TULLUS STRODE UP to the principia in the centre of the camp. Recognising him, if not by his face, then by his centurion’s crested helmet, the sentries guarding the headquarters saluted and stood back to allow him entrance. In the passageway beyond, Tullus returned the greetings of first one officer he knew, and then another. He was further delayed in the courtyard, waylaid by one of the Eighteenth’s tribunes, a talkative type who liked to do things by the book. Bored to tears by the tribune’s droning, Tullus could do nothing but endure. He managed to extricate himself in the end, promising the tribune that he would order spare winter cloaks for his cohort at the first opportunity, and check that the other senior centurions had done so too.
    It wasn’t unknown for the tribune to remember other ‘vital’ tasks the moment one had left his company, so Tullus hurried to put a party of document-carrying clerks between them. Affecting a nonchalant walk, he made it to the safety of the colonnaded walkway before the clerks broke away, one by one, into various offices. At that stage, Tullus was far enough from the tribune to be able to saunter around the passage to the great hall, the front of which formed the courtyard’s entire back wall.
    The building’s massive, iron-bound doors stood wide open, as they did every day from dawn to dusk. They were only closed during the hours of darkness, and when important meetings were being held. The sentries here were present more to reflect the hall’s importance than the need for security. Tullus returned their salutes with a nod, and entered.
    The vast room within was dominated by a double row of massive columns that ran from left to right, holding up the high roof. In the spaces between, larger-than-life-sized painted statues of Augustus and his immediate family had been placed. There were few people about. Three ordinary legionaries in belted tunics were sweeping the floor. A priest was praying before the largest effigy of the emperor. Puffed up with his own importance, a quartermaster stalked past, accompanied by two soldiers carrying a heavy chest. No one gave Tullus, a high-ranking officer, more than a cursory glance, which suited him well. He was not here for conversation, or to be accosted by those higher, or lower, in rank. As was his custom before going on patrol, he was here to pay his respects to his legion’s eagle.
    Placing his boots down with care, so that his hobs didn’t make too much noise, he made his way across the mosaic floor to the back wall and the shrine. A pair of legionaries stood guard at its entrance, one either side of the double stone archway. They stiffened to attention. ‘Centurion,’ one murmured.
    ‘Is anyone inside?’ asked Tullus, peering in. It was often impossible, but unspoken protocol dictated that praying soldiers should be