‘I must do nothing!’ erupted Varus. ‘You are no one to command me, old man.’
‘The tribes’ cohesion will fade away without Arminius. Have the bastard clapped in chains at least,’ Segestes pleaded.
The notion of imprisoning Arminius because of one man’s testimony, even if that man was an ally, was inconceivable. ‘I’ll do nothing of the sort. Not only is Arminius loyal to Rome, he’s a personal friend of mine.’
Segestes laughed. ‘I’d hate to see your enemies.’
Varus stopped dead. ‘Enough! Find your own way to the gate.’ Beckoning to his escort, he strode back towards the principia. He was going to meet Arminius, and hunt down a fine stag.
Tullus sat on his horse at the edge of the parade ground beyond the camp’s perimeter, drilling his cohort. The moves were an age-old routine, performed every three to five days, wherever they were. Just because they had done the same manoeuvres hundreds of times before didn’t mean that they didn’t need to keep practising, he bawled whenever he heard a soldier grumble. If there was a war on, they might be excused, but there wasn’t, so they could shut their damn mouths or feel the weight of his vitis across their backs. Tullus would have been worried if they hadn’t complained – that, and his tough response, were part of the ritual.
Shouting by the gate drew his eyes from his toiling legionaries. He squinted, making out a number of tribesmen leaving the camp. There had been no trouble for months, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen now. Tullus was preparing to summon one century of legionaries to his side when the altercation ended. Raining insults down on the sentries, the tribesmen, a party of ten or so, rode away. Tullus studied the group as it drew closer. The leader was a silver-haired, well-built older man – a chieftain – and the rest were his retainers, professional warriors, confident men with good-quality arms and armour. Tullus didn’t recognise any of them. The chieftain was busy giving vent to the remnants of the anger that had taken him at the gate. Tullus heard the name ‘Varus’, and the German for ‘idiot’, and then the tribesmen had passed by.
Tullus’ curiosity was piqued. Telling Bolanus to take charge for a short time, he rode to the main gate. There he found the usual complement of sentries, and a flustered-looking optio. When Tullus reined in rather than pass inside, he didn’t quite manage to hide his dismay. He came to attention. ‘Sir.’
‘Who was it that just rode out?’ asked Tullus.
A look of disgust. ‘Segestes, sir, a chieftain of the Cherusci.’
Tullus knew the various factions of Arminius’ tribe, but had never clapped eyes on Segestes before. ‘What was he so pissed off about?’
‘I’m not sure, sir. A while back, he rode up to the gate, demanding to speak to Varus. He wouldn’t be fobbed off, so in the end I took him to the principia myself, minus his warriors of course. Varus happened to come out of his quarters just as we appeared, and they had a short conversation, which didn’t go well. There was a lot of shouting, most of it by Segestes, but at the end, Varus lost his temper and ordered him to leave. Segestes muttered to himself the whole way back, but I could only make out the occasional word. He kept mentioning Arminius, though, I heard that. He’s a traitor, Segestes said, a snake that couldn’t be trusted.’
The words came to Tullus as if down a long, dark tunnel. ‘Say that again.’
The optio blinked. ‘He kept saying that Arminius was a treacherous dog, sir, things like that. I have no idea why.’
Tullus’ original suspicions mixed with Degmar’s story in his head, but he kept his focus. ‘And the disturbance at the gate?’
‘That wasn’t anything much, sir. When Segestes’ men realised how angry he was, they threw a few insults at my boys, who gave it back in kind. Segestes got his lot under control quick enough and rode out, still griping about Varus.’ The optio stared after Tullus, who had ridden away, into the camp. ‘What did I say, sir?’
‘Have no fear, optio, you told me everything I needed to know,’ Tullus called out. He would seek an audience with Varus. The half-suggestive tale that Degmar had chanced to hear wasn’t much in the way of evidence, but Segestes’ behaviour confirmed its veracity. He had to act.
At the principia, Tullus was infuriated to discover that Varus had already departed, and wouldn’t be back until nightfall, perhaps even the next day. Demanding a writing tablet and stylus, he scribbled a short note to the governor about what Degmar had said, and how he’d heard Segestes shouting similar things. He had just sealed it with a lump of wax when, to his surprise and displeasure, Tubero emerged into the courtyard, a surgeon in tow behind. His brow furrowed. ‘Centurion Tullus.’
‘Tribune.’ Tullus snapped off a professional if uncaring salute and, in a casual move, dropped his hands, which were holding the tablet and stylus, to his sides.
‘What has you here, away from your men?’
‘I’ve come to see Governor Varus, sir.’
In response, a humourless smile. ‘He’s not here.’
‘So I found out, sir,’ said Tullus, trying not to show his irritation.
‘The place is empty, apart from a few clerks. When Varus left, everyone went about their tasks for the day. What did you want to see him for?’
‘Nothing important, sir,’ lied Tullus. ‘I’ll come back another time.’
Tubero sniffed and walked off, the surgeon scurrying behind.
Prick, thought Tullus, saluting again. He glanced about, and caught the eye of a passing clerk. ‘You there.’
The clerk, a scrawny youth, pointed an ink-stained finger at himself. ‘Me, sir?’
‘Come here.’
With shuffling feet, the clerk obeyed.
‘You work for Governor Varus?’
‘Yes, sir. Well, Aristides, his scribe. Both.’
‘Is Aristides about?’
‘No, sir. He’s gone for a bath.’
Bloody Greek, thought Tullus. ‘Give him this. Say that it’s a note for Varus from Centurion Tullus. Understand?’
The clerk looked from the tablet to Tullus and back again.
With a curse, Tullus rummaged in his purse. He flicked a silver coin into the air. ‘This, if you see it into Aristides’, or Varus’, hands.’
‘Consider it done, sir.’ The coin vanished somewhere into the clerk’s tunic. The tablet he gripped against his bony chest.
‘About your business then.’ With Segestes’ accusations backing up Degmar’s story, Varus would act at last, thought Tullus. Content that he had done enough, he watched the clerk hurry into a nearby office.
Tullus was most of the way back to the parade ground when Tubero returned to the principia in a foul mood, the surgeon still with him. ‘Without Varus’ official stamp, the damn quartermaster won’t release the medicines and equipment we need,’ he barked.
‘I could have come back for it, sir,’ said the surgeon.
Tubero threw him a contemptuous look. ‘I wouldn’t trust you with it.’ He stormed into Varus’ office, past a pair of soldiers who were sweeping the floor and a clerk who was carrying bundles of letters from one room to another. The place was otherwise empty of the usual throng. A second clerk sat at Aristides’ desk, transferring figures from one document to another. He jumped up as Tubero entered. ‘Sir!’
‘Tribune Tubero. I’m looking for Varus’ stamp.’
‘It’s here, sir.’ The clerk pulled open a drawer and passed over the stamp, a solid lump of brass. An image of an imperial eagle and the words ‘QUINCTILIUS VARUS’ were etched into its base.
Tubero took it with a grunt. He had half turned to go when something made him regard the clerk again. ‘What’s that in your other hand?’
The clerk flushed. ‘Nothing, sir.’
Tubero sensed his reluctance with the speed of a predator smelling blood. ‘It’s a letter.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Who wrote it? Who’s it for?’
‘A centurion gave it to me, sir. It’s for Governor Varus. “Tell him it’s from Centurion Tullus,” he said.’