“Arminius” Sneak Peek

Prologue

“Armin, come quick.” Thusnelda’s pale cheeks had turned a pretty, pink color in her rush. I jumped to my feet to follow her. She always found the most unusual insects. The back of her wool skirt flapped wildly as she hopped across the rocks in the stream and climbed over the dead oak. I smiled at her courage, no other girl in the village was as brave as she was—the motive behind our fast friendship two years ago. She stopped near the ravine and pointed to the base of a large tree trunk. “I think it’s still alive.”

I knelt down and scooped the baby bird up with my hands. Its tiny beak parted in gasps as its head rolled easily to the side. “I don’t think it will be for long.” I stepped backward just enough to squint upward and catch the jagged outline of the sticks and leaves that must’ve been its home. If I stood real still, I could hear additional chirps from above.

“We need to put it back.”

“I don’t think I can, Nelda.”

“You’re the best climber around.” She wiped her face with her sleeve just after I caught the tears welling in her eyes. “He needs to go home.” She sniffled.

I shook my head and glanced at the low hanging branches. “I could climb up, but it would be for nothing.”

“Please, Armin, please.” Thusnelda’s sea-green eyes pierced me from beneath her unruly brown hair. Since we met, there was little I refused from her. She had this little dimple that appeared on the right side of her mouth when she smiled, and I often worked hard to make it appear. We had much in common, though not all of it good—both of our mother’s had died when we were infants, and now only raised by our noble fathers. Our survival somehow unified us.

I placed the tiny bird in my hat. If I folded the edges inward, it made a tight basket. Clenching it in my teeth, I reached up and gripped the highest branch allowing my feet to navigate the lower ones. Step by step, branch by branch, I wiggled my way upward and closer to the nest. Once I got a peek, I noticed two other baby birds inside and no mother bird.

Settling easily over a thick bough I pulled the hat from my teeth, scooped the bird in my palm and set it back inside. It laid there quite motionless.

“Is it okay?” Nelda cried from below. Her eyes as wide as the sun on a clear day.

Glancing to the nest, I knew the bird would die. “It’s alright.”

Relief blanketed her cheeks and she smiled wide. The dimple appeared, bordering a toothless grin where one of her front teeth had fallen out and left a space. Placing both of her tight little fists on her hips, she hollered again. “Now hurry down, let’s go save more animals.”

I tore my eyes from hers as a flash of red came into view. I maneuvered up another branch and saw a bright crimson feather bouncing through the trees, then another and another. Once the sound of metal clanking and feet marching connected with the sight, I gasped. “Soldiers.”

I peered downward. In an instant, I felt a surge of fear for my friend. Did she not hear them coming this way, would they stop for a child or trample her? Over the years, I’d witnessed more bloodshed than a child of ten should. Ruthless battles between our tribe, the Cherusci and other tribes in the land known as Germania, had existed for as long as the record scrolls could note, but this was no tribe dressed in leathers and brass. No this was the polished armies from the south, the ones no one ever dared face in a battle.

“Nelda!” I cried.

She looked up at me, but swiftly drew her eyes to the sounds I had already heard.

“Run!” I shouted, but the sound drowned me out.

I don’t remember climbing down, only that I somehow reached the ground in seconds, the scrapes on my hands and arms hardly obstructed my aim. I lunged for Thusnelda. Clutching her arms and pulling her down to the ravine a mere moment before the men arrived. We tumbled clumsily across the uneven ground before we came to a stop at the bottom.

She lay still.

Did she get hurt? I scrambled to her side and brushed the dirt off her face. “Nelda? Nelda?”

Her eyes fluttered open. They remained wide and fearful. “You saved me Armin,” she whispered.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head but didn’t move. I scanned her form and only found blood oozing out of a cut on her knee. I reached for a wide leaf and pressed it down upon it. “Wait here.” I clambered up the gully side enough to watch the men march past. They didn’t see me or at least they didn’t appear to see me. My eyes popped, catching sight of the long staff with the golden eagle and the men in perfect precision with their shiny silver breastplates and helmets, red fans of feathers protruded from the top, and they wore short skirts! A square shield bowed slightly in the middle secured in their left hands and sharp spears in their right. The exactness in which they marched, mesmerized me. No deference n their features or their manner. They were the epitome of perfection.

I returned to Thusnelda. She was sitting up now, pressing her hand against the leaf and her knee.

“What did you see?”

“Roman soldiers.”

“Here?” She whimpered. “Are we in another battle?”

“I don’t know. They’re headed to the village.”

“Then we must run away, Arminius. We can’t go back.”

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere.” Her hand reached for mine. “You’ll keep me safe, you always do.”

Chapter One

Rome 1 A.D.

“You are getting slow, old man.”

The steel blades crossed wickedly to the left, right, and overhead. We were the only two competitors within the spacious gymnasia and each connection clinked a hollow echo throughout, reverberating off the magnificent columns. “Too much wine, Attilius?” I ducked to his swing and whipped my sword upward nearly catching him off guard. “Or perhaps it was the raven-haired vixen from the epulum feast last night?”

“You prattle too much, young Arminius.”

I scoffed. Another clash of unyielding moves sent us to the far corner. Expanding my reach, the tip of my blade swiped the linen sleeve of his tunic. I nearly had his capitulation.

“Diversion will be your folly one day, boy…or arrogance.” The fearless brute maneuvered swiftly and liberated himself from my accosting.

“You cannot fault a man for baring his qualities,” I taunted. “Especially in battle.” Regulating my stance, I calculated how the improved strength in both my chest and arms paralleled the speed of my sword. Not one of the other legionnaires in the Emperor’s School of Princes had bested me in the previous annus and now that the length of my reach matched my height, I need only to stretch forth my hand to wield the final blow.

A trumpet blared.

Within seconds, my back pressed horizontally against the marble floor with the razor-sharp tip of Attilius’ steel pinned to my throat. The fleeting distraction ushered in my failure.

“You must concentrate.” My instructor’s significant frame lowered over me. His square chin pulled into a deep frown, forcing the jagged scar lining his crooked nose to appear enflamed. “After two years of training, this should not have occurred.” He removed the blade. Reaching down, he gripped my forearm to assist me upward. “What haunts your mind?”

I met his clutch and the weight of my body rose back to my feet. A former gladiator, Marcus Attilius was the best Pompeii ever produced and one of the few freemen who fought willingly, earning his notoriety by unseating the veteran slave, Hilarius. His fierce triumphs earned him a celebrated position under Caesar Augustus.

“Nothing,” I insisted. I sheathed my sword and wiped the sweat off my brow. I would not readily admit to so little sleep the night before. He would lecture me to no end.

“You are lying, young sir.” Attilius replaced his own sword and motioned for a eunuch to approach with a terra sigillata. He dipped his hands inside the roseate pottery bowl to wash and wiped them dry on the linen across the slave’s arm. “Another nightmare?”

My jaw tightened.

“You still see her?”

I glared at him. Though the images from long ago still tormented me, I had only mentioned my reoccurring dream to him once. I seized a profound inhale and stepped over to the basin. Despite my adolescence—there was no purpose in speaking of childish things.

“How long has it been since your departure?” Attilius reached for a silver goblet resting on the platter of an additional slave.

“Seven years,” I whispered, ignoring the means in which he referred to my arrival. The word departure was hardly accurate.

He huffed. “It’s the work of Hades. The God of the underworld is aware of your skills, Arminius, and your talents with the sword.” He drank the entire contents swiftly and replaced the cup as a dribble of wine trailed down his neatly trimmed beard. “He knows that if he can confuse and lure your mind into darkness, you cannot lead an army of Rome.”

“Lead? I am but a simple cavalryman.”

“No!” He shouted with one large finger a tenth pedes from my face. “You are much more, and you must believe it.” He now pointed that same finger at my head. “Here.” Then moved it down to my chest. “And here.”

“There are thousands of soldiers. I am but one.”

“Caesar himself is aware of you and knows of your potential.”

“Caesar?”

“He sent General Publius QuinctiliusVarus to the school of Princes. They have been watching you these last few years. Why else would I have been retained as your instructor?”

“I assumed you met with many of the men.”

“Three.”

“Why only three?”

Attilius scoffed. “I am skilled, but mere mortal. There is nothing indiscriminate in their plans. Everything Caesar does is calculated.”

“But why me?”

He barked out a loud laugh. “You humor me, boy. One moment you are provoking your superiority and the next you are suspicious.”

I shook my head. He spoke the truth. My confidence wavered like the signum pennant attached to the spar.

“You have the ability and the skillfulness of a warrior. My job is to unite that with an unyielding intellect in combat.”

“What does that entail?”

“It means you must clear your head, Arminius. Any man can be a common legionnaire, but a Roman commander must be focused wholly on the enemy. A feat that allows for no distraction.” Attilius rubbed his jaw. “Go to the baths, or a lupanar—find a woman, rid your mind of the evil that transpires to destroy you. Return tomorrow and we begin anew.”

My mind flickered to Thusnelda. Her crooked smile and charming dimple…she was far from evil.

“Thank you, Attilius, until tomorrow.”

He nodded, but his piercing stare did not leave my face until I turned away and exited the room. Descending the granite steps from the gymnasia, I departed the magnificence of Palatine Hill and headed down the path toward the forum. The further I went, the honeyed scents of opulence transformed to the stench of the market and the crush of man and beast mingled together. Grapes, figs, and plums overflowed their woven baskets below thick vines aerating the poultry and wild game—meats such as common boar, pheasants, and quail, mixed with peacock, ostrich, and flamingo—the delicacies of an aristocrat. Garum, the fermented fish sauce my brother Flavius loves on his boiled veal, alerted my senses. Sweet to the taste but foul to the nose.

Slipping past the congested stalls, I reached the baths relatively quickly and entered the caldarium with little disruption. Moving past a handful of men in the main pool, I preferred the isolation of the semi-circular exedra of the alveus—an intimate heated bath with its ornately tiled floor suspended by pilae.

Removing my robe, I lowered myself into the water. The steamed warmth seeped acutely into the cuts and bruises from today’s instruction, far more numerous than yesterday. Attilius was right. Every time I dreamt of my home and Nelda, the more I risked not only my life, but my future as a soldier.

The nightmares always settled on one specific day—the day the soldiers arrived. Thusnelda had begged me to run away, but in the end, they were not there to fight, they were there to acquire. I was the son of a chief—a nobleman. Chosen like many other princes in neighboring tribes to be raised a Roman and trained in the arts of weaponry and war. Though my father did not agree with the procurement of the sons of Germanic aristocracy, he had little say in the matter. A legion of men would not have hesitated to crucify him and leave his body on the side of the road to be viewed as an example to all who refused the emperor’s demands.

Nelda’s emerald eyes appeared—narrow and sharp like the eyes of a feline.  When the soldiers marched me and my little brother, Flavius off through the forest, her echoing cries robbed me of sleep for years. I dunked my head in the refreshing pool and remained immersed for several seconds. If a cleansing is what I must do, I will drown out those haunting images from my head.

When I reached the surface, I was no longer alone.

“Arminius…” The low, breathy voice of Livia, Captain Tatius’ wife, reached my ears before I could clear the excess water from my eyes.

I ran a hand down my face and shook the droplets from my short blond hair though they stuck to the week-long scruff on my chin. I should not have been surprised that she ignored the customary bathing rules in regard to gender. This would not be the first time she disrupted my bath and much like the previous times, I had no intention of receiving my commander’s wrath for lying with his wife.

I met her gaze. Her approach came slow, seductive.

She stood up leisurely, allowing the water to swirl around her slim waist. Droplets trailed down her neck and past her bare chest as she closed the distance. “How fortunate to find you here,” she whispered. I glanced to her hand maiden who knelt at the edge of the pool, her head lowered precisely how an obedient servus should.

“I must go, Livia.”

Her hand reached out and pressed flat against my chest. Her fingers tingled against my skin. Both her touch and her intent stirred severe thoughts. “Why must you leave now,” she licked her lips. “For I have only just arrived.”

Placing my hand over hers, I removed it, and pulled myself from the water much to her surprise and obvious disappointment. When I retrieved my tunic, I glanced back long enough to see her cunning eyes perusing my body.

With only a nod, I walked out disappointed in how short my cleansing turned out to be. However, knowing Livia’s history with other legionnaires, if she had but another moment to pounce, I would not have made it out of her grasp quite so easily. There was no doubt her long legs and curvy figure could not have pleased, but one thing I refused to do was have my way with a fellow soldier’s woman. I had much more to risk in my future and much more to lose having not been born a Roman.

“Flavius?” I called out to my younger brother upon entry of our domus. When we were first brought to Rome from Germania, we were most fortunate to have not been presented as slaves. At ten and eight we were hardly capable of navigating the eternal city on our own and tendered a comfortable living under the charge of an elder patrician, the honorable Horatius Decimus. Though his untimely death, one year ago, offered the occasion for Flavius and me to reap his wealth, his wise and astute teachings would be sorely missed.

I stretched my long form out on the cushions in the triclinium, reflecting on all that had transpired with Attilius. If the baths cannot rid my mind of my past, what will? Disobedient memories came forth once more. Not one day had gone by in my childhood that I did not cross Thusnelda, the only daughter of a fellow noble. Though she will be raised to marry a prince, she was unlike any other princess I’d encountered in Rome. Whether it was fishing, saving her animals, or exploring our forest, she was no weak maiden—lying about in her finery and jewels wasting the day away… no she was Cherusci…a woman born into rugged terrain, harsh winters, and manual labor. And though we were inseparable as children, my seizure at the hands of the Romans prevented any possibility of a union in adulthood.

At only one year younger, she would be sixteen now. Had she married? It was customary for her father, Segestes, to procure her husband, though many of the young men of nobility were taken the same time as Flavius and me. She may have been bartered to appease a chief from a neighboring tribe or he could have given her to an old man in trade for livestock. My lip curled at the very thought. What old man could bring a smile to her sweet face? Yet knowing the love Segestes had for the Romans, he may have used her to channel his path into the web of Roman politics—another one of Decimus’ meticulous lessons. I stretched further out across the soft cushions and crossed my arms behind my head. Would she even recognize me?

Enough! I demanded. I’m a soldier, not a dreamer! Why the thought of another man in her life troubled me, I couldn’t comprehend, it wasn’t as if she were mine. We were but children. I had no reason to believe I would ever return. My life is wherever the Roman legions take me and when I am not conquering, I am enjoying the nectar of Rome.

“You seem troubled, master.” Philetus, our head slavus, brought forth a tray of delicacies.

My brows were surely pushed together. I shook free. “Nothing that I cannot mend in time.”

“Would you prefer to speak on it?” He was the only one of our three slaves who could suggest such a notion. A Gaul captive, Philetus had served me from the very day I arrived seven years ago.

“I am plagued with spirits.”

“Spirits of the deceased?”

“No.” There was no reason to believe she was dead. “Spirits of my past.”

“If I may be so precipitous to say, sir, the Lemuria festival is next week, 13 May.”

“Lemuria?” My mind searched for recognition.

“Forgive me. My mother had always referred to it by its legendary name. You might know it as All Saints Day.”

“Yes, of course.” My mind flitted to the possibilities. I had been taught of many Roman festivals, but this particular folklore was created for the very act of warding off evil. “What is required for this ritual?”

He poured wine into a goblet and handed it to me. I inhaled the sweet juice while I waited for him to explain. “You must walk barefoot at night, throw beans over your right shoulder and recant a specific verse nine times.”

“Where do I acquire the verse.” I wasn’t much for myths or legends, but in my desperation, I would attempt anything.

“I could recite it to you if you wish to scribe it, sir.” Slaves were not permitted to learn to read and write, but there were times they arrived in captivity with varying degrees of previous knowledge. Philetus became a slave at thirteen. His mother had taught him simple words, but this was knowledge we kept discreet.

“Retrieve the parchment and ink.”

Philetus acquired the items from my desk in a separate room and placed them on the marble table before me.

He clasped his hands behind his back and paced. “It goes as such…” I sat forward and listened intently. “I send these; with these beans I redeem me and mine.”

My quill moved rapidly against the animal skin.

“Someone must follow behind you with pots, Master. If you wish it so, I could clash them nine times at the conclusion of your discourse then say Ghosts of my fathers and ancestors, be gone.”

“Do you know of its success?”

“It has been known to appease.”

“Very well, I must try. Thank you, Philetus.” Anything to clear my head and become what Rome expects of me.”

“Yes, Master Arminius.”

“By the way, where is Flavius?”

“He is with Master Pontius at the Circus.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot, the chariot races are today.”

Philetus quirked one eyebrow. I could surely read his mind. When has a Roman ever forgotten such things…then again, unless I ward off these hauntings I may never become a true Roman.