A century of legionaries followed on behind Varus and Vala, protection and a mark of the governor’s status rolled into one. Vala was pontificating about something or other to do with the relationship between Tiberius and Augustus. Varus’ attention began to wander, helped by the wine and Porta Westfalica’s surroundings, which fascinated him. The camp’s location was unusual. It had not been built in a strong site – a hilltop, or with good views all around. Instead it had been erected on the bank of the River Lupia. The reasoning for this was sound: equipment, food and supplies could be transported from Vetera to this point, so it needed to be well defended.
Varus was pleased to catch sight of a fleet of sizeable barges approaching from the west. Like as not, their cargo would include large quantities of grain, enough to feed the legionaries for a few days, or half a month, perhaps more. That would keep the quartermasters off his back at least.
‘What do you think, sir?’ asked Vala.
Varus realised that he didn’t have a clue what Vala had been saying. ‘About what?’ he said, without meeting his subordinate’s eye.
There was a short silence, during which Vala must have been wondering where his superior’s head had been, and then he replied, ‘Whether the rift between Tiberius and Augustus has been resolved for good, sir.’
‘I have no idea, Vala,’ replied Varus, a little irritated by this, one of the favourite topics for gossip among officers. ‘I’m not in Rome. Even if I were, I wouldn’t be party to such information. Most of what we hear is gossip, remember, stories that have travelled all the way from the capital, being twisted and distorted with each telling. They’re about as reliable as the ramblings of a drunk who props up a bar. Interesting, often. Funny, sometimes. But not to be believed.’
They had reached the outskirts of the settlement, which lay a short distance to the east of Porta Westfalica. The usual sprawl of premises lined each side of the dirt road. Carpenters and blacksmiths plied their trade alongside potters and cobblers. There were vendors selling olives and wine from Italy and Hispania, pottery and ceramics from Gaul, and furs taken from animals trapped locally. If the sellers of tinctures and potions were to be believed, there were cures on sale – at ‘the best prices’ – for blisters, aching muscles, sore backs, bladder infections and every venereal disease under the sun. The off-duty legionaries who were talking to a purveyor of the last were careful not to meet Varus’ eye as he rode by. Their efforts didn’t work with the soldiers accompanying Varus. A chorus of jeers and catcalls rained upon their comrades, who were too embarrassed to retaliate. Grinning, the officers in charge of Varus’ security detail did not intervene.
Varus pretended not to notice what was going on. Prostitutes and the infections that they were prone to carry had been around since the dawn of time, and so too had their customers. Trying to stamp out the practice would be as pointless as pushing water up a hill. Besides, it was up to lower-ranking officers to ensure that their soldiers were healthy enough to complete their duties, not him.
A little further on, his attention was drawn to the selection of amber laid out by a trader who was loudly declaiming that the woman bought such a gift would love her man for evermore. Varus admired the largest piece on the counter, an orange-gold lump the size of his clenched fist, and wondered whether his wife would like it. He rode on without stopping. It was beneath his station to haggle with a mere trader, never mind the fact that the man would quadruple the price the instant he realised who Varus was. Perhaps he’d send Aristides out to take a look, and see if he could purchase it for a reasonable sum. If it could be worked into a necklace, earrings and a set of bracelets, so much the better.
Gift ideas for his wife receded as the settlement’s centre drew near. ‘They’ve been busy,’ he said, pointing at several fine, stone-built houses. With their open fronts, which were filled by a smarter class of trader, and their staircases at the side which ran up to the floor above, they stood in stark contrast to the wooden shacks used by the shopkeepers they had passed. ‘These weren’t here last summer, I don’t think.’
‘I believe you’re right, sir. Give it a few more years, and this will be a proper little garrison town.’
‘Have you visited Pons Laugona? It’s impressive.’ Official duties had taken Varus to the civilian settlement a number of times. It lay on the River Laugona, some fifty miles to the east of the camp at Confluentes.
‘I haven’t yet had the chance to, sir.’
‘It’s like a town anywhere in the empire, really. There are blocks of apartments, factories producing pottery, statues and metalwork. An aqueduct has been built. Only the centre of the settlement has piped water so far, but that will change. But it’s the forum and in particular the municipal building that are the most inspiring. It’s fifty paces by forty-five, with a central courtyard, and annexes that are respectable in size. There’s a massive gilt statue of Augustus too, which wouldn’t look out of place in Rome.’
‘The locals are trying hard then,’ said Vala.
‘Aye,’ replied Varus. They were nearing the open space that would form the proposed forum. Catching sight of a group of the town’s leaders whom he’d already met – among them the unctuous ones he had disliked – he told himself that their enthusiasm was to be embraced, not spurned. Their energy would see what had happened at Pons Laugona replicated here. It was for the good of the empire. Perhaps it was because of the wine he’d consumed, perhaps the ease with which he could become the politician, but Varus felt his annoyance fade. He raised a hand, pulling a broad smile. ‘Greetings!’
The dignitaries, chieftains of one rank or another, approached together. Their salutations filled the air. ‘Governor, you honour us with your presence!’ ‘Welcome to our humble settlement, Governor Varus.’ ‘May Donar bless you, governor.’
‘Governor, what a delight.’ Aelwird, the portly man who’d got up Varus’ nose the most, stepped to the front and bowed. His long, greasy hair fell around the sides of his face. A whiff of ripe body odour reached Varus’ nostrils a moment later, and he had to work hard not to recoil in disgust. Aelwird might have taken to wearing a Roman tunic and sandals, but he didn’t yet appreciate that regular bathing was both good for the soul and one’s social interactions.
‘Aelwird. Have you met Legate Vala, my second-in-command?’
‘I have not yet had that pleasure.’ Aelwird bent at the waist again, as much as a fat man could. ‘I am overjoyed to make your acquaintance, Legate Vala.’
‘Greetings, Aelwird,’ replied Vala, inclining his head. His eyes flickered to Varus, who muttered under his breath:
‘A sycophant of the first order.’
Vala’s lips quirked.
‘These are my fellow council members.’ Aelwird, who hadn’t noticed the exchange, indicated his companions, and reeled off a list of Germanic names. As he said each one, a man bowed.
Varus made little effort to remember who the tribesmen were. They recognised him and Vala, and that’s what mattered.
With Aelwird by his right side, and Vala on his left, and the remainder of the council behind, they walked to where most of the activity was taking place.
‘I’ve been telling Vala about Pons Laugona,’ said Varus. ‘No doubt you want to emulate what’s been erected there, or even better it.’
Aelwird grinned like an urchin who’d been handed a coin. ‘I haven’t seen the forum at Pons Laugona, but two of my colleagues have. Of course we want to outdo what their council has had built, governor.’
Mutters rose from the others, and Varus was sure he heard the words ‘Filthy Tencteri’. He’d forgotten. These men were Bructeri, with a smattering of Cherusci, if he remembered aright. ‘Would tribal rivalry have anything to do with it?’ he asked, smiling.
Aelwird chuckled. ‘Perhaps a little, governor, but do not fear. Our primary desire comes from wishing our home to become the easternmost Roman town in Germania. When it is built, we want news to reach the emperor’s ears of his loyal subjects here, so far from the capital.’