Relieved that he had not been found out, and angry that he had come so near to making a complete fool of himself, Tubero had thrown the letter into the latrine trench nearest his quarters.
Two days had passed, and there had been no response from Varus. Arminius was as visible as ever, drilling his men outside the camp, or leading out patrols, which told its own story. Tullus had no way of knowing whether Varus had received his note, but the coin he’d given the clerk should have ensured that he had. Why then had he done nothing? Tullus was consumed by a gnawing frustration. The least that Varus could have done was to question him about what he knew. Wary of acting above his station, he bided his time, hoping that each successive day would bring with it a messenger summoning him to Varus’ presence.
No summons arrived.
In the end, Tullus was spurred into action by a chance encounter with Arminius. A week had gone by, and Tullus was by the camp’s main entrance, talking to the centurion in charge of the sentries, an old friend of his. The pair were standing out of sight of those approaching the defences, so Tullus heard Arminius’ voice before he saw him. It was clear from the Cheruscan’s tone that he was annoyed. For reasons Tullus couldn’t explain, he placed a finger to his lips, interrupting his friend, and moved to the entrance. He poked his head around the wall, seeing Arminius riding up with a group of his men. His angry gesticulations confirmed his bad temper. It was frustrating that Tullus wasn’t able to make out Arminius’ words, but his interest – and suspicion – increased further when the Cheruscan silenced his men as they drew near. Why had he done that? wondered Tullus. Most Romans spoke no more than a smattering of German.
Despite Tullus’ suspicion of Arminius, it was illogical to ascribe a malevolent motive to his actions. Even more frustrated, Tullus returned to his friend with a laughing explanation that he thought he’d heard some of his men coming back from patrol and had wanted to hear what they were saying.
Tullus might have done nothing further but Arminius’ exaggerated reaction a moment later changed his mind on the spot. Entering the camp, Arminius greeted Tullus like a friend whom he hadn’t seen for twenty years. The scowl he’d worn outside had been replaced by a beaming smile. ‘It’s been too long since we shared a skin of wine. Come to my tent this evening and we’ll put that right,’ he cried. Tullus had muttered his thanks, and thought: The dog is up to something. I have to talk to Varus.
Tullus wasn’t sure when the best hour to visit Varus was – too early in the morning, and the governor might be angered; too late, and Tullus would have to compete with the host of officers with requests to make of Varus. Arriving at mealtimes could be considered rude, and Varus’ afternoons were taken up with more paperwork and other official duties. In the end, Tullus decided that there was no good time. Telling himself that Varus would listen to him, he made his way to the praetorium around the usual hour for the midday meal.
Varus was there, which was an excellent start. Once the sentry outside the front gate had carried word of Tullus’ presence inside, he was admitted without delay, which was also heartening. Tullus’ wait in the atrium wasn’t that long either, but that didn’t stop his palms sweating or his stomach from churning. He was escorted into Varus’ presence by the scribe Aristides, a man whom Tullus knew little, but who seemed a decent type. ‘He’s in a good mood,’ Aristides confided as they entered the central courtyard. ‘Cook prepared a venison stew using meat from a stag that Varus helped Arminius to bring down.’
Tullus wanted to pummel his fists against the wall. Arminius would be present at the meeting, even though he wasn’t here in person. There was nothing to be done about it, so he squared his shoulders and ran his fingers through his helmet crest, ensuring the feathers were all straight.
‘You look good, sir,’ whispered Aristides.
Tullus gave him a brittle smile. They were nearing Varus, who was seated at a table strewn with the evidence of a fine meaclass="underline" platters of bread, vegetables, meat and fish, and jugs of wine. Varus looked up as Aristides announced Tullus. Smiling, he indicated that Tullus should take a seat.
‘My thanks, sir.’ Tullus’ flagging hopes revived. This was an honour indeed.
‘Wine?’ asked Varus.
‘A small cup only, sir. My duties for the day aren’t over yet.’
Varus gave him an approving look. ‘Aristides, do the necessary.’
After a toast to the emperor, the pair made small talk for a time. Varus asked about Tullus’ unit, whether he was happy with how the summer had gone, and if he was ready for the march back to Vetera. Tullus would have been uncomfortable to be in the governor’s presence under normal circumstances; in these, he felt most ill at ease, and his answers bordered on monosyllabic. It didn’t take long for the conversation to peter out.
‘I don’t imagine that you came to exchange pleasantries.’ Varus’ tone was jovial but commanding.
Tullus cleared his throat and did his best to calm his pounding heart. ‘No, sir. I came to see you about Arminius.’
Varus looked surprised. ‘Arminius? What about him?’
Tullus felt as if he were teetering on the edge of a cliff, but there was no backing away, not unless he made up a story on the spot – something he doubted his blank mind could do right now. ‘I’ve had my suspicions about him for some time, sir.’
‘I remember,’ said Varus, interrupting. ‘You thought his men too bloodthirsty.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Tullus ploughed on. ‘A short while ago, I sent you a letter laying out my concerns.’
‘I received no letter.’
Tullus blinked. Fool of a clerk, he thought. Did he really think I wouldn’t check up on him? ‘That’s strange, sir. Let me explain.’ Ignoring Varus’ disapproving expression as best he could, he continued, ‘It hasn’t been anything solid, just a look here, or a comment there. In my mind, he’s just too genial, sir, too friendly to us Romans. Equestrian he may be, but the man’s a tribesman. See him with his warriors, and he’s a different beast to the one he is with us.’
Varus held up a hand, stopping him. ‘Spit out whatever it is you have to say.’
Dry-mouthed, and concerned that his efforts would be in vain, but determined to make his point, Tullus obeyed. Varus listened in tight-lipped silence.
‘Is that it?’ he demanded when Tullus had finished.
‘Yes, sir.’ Tullus held Varus’ gaze.
‘Your bravado is commendable,’ said Varus, his voice icy. ‘You stroll in here, accept my hospitality, drink my wine and then have the barefaced cheek to make unfounded, wild accusations about a personal friend of mine, a man who is a loyal servant of the emperor. You would have me believe not only that Arminius is a traitor, but that he’s planning to annihilate my army!’
‘My intent is always to serve the empire, sir, and nothing more,’ Tullus protested.
‘Arminius’ credentials are beyond suspicion. He stands recognised by Augustus himself,’ snapped Varus, his colour rising. ‘Do you question our emperor’s judgement?’
‘Of course not, sir,’ replied Tullus, realising that coming here had been a complete waste of time.
‘If you had even a single shred of evidence, I might feel inclined to listen to you, but you come to me with nothing. Nothing!’ Varus pointed, stiff-armed, towards the door. ‘Leave, before I lose my temper.’
‘Sir.’ Resigned, angry, impotent, Tullus rose and snapped off a parade-standard salute. He had almost reached the door when Varus called out:
‘Centurion.’
‘Sir?’
‘Because your service record up to this point has been exemplary, I will pretend that this meeting never happened. In return, you will speak of our conversation, and of Arminius, to no one. No one. Understood?’