The bather unhappily slunk off for a bite by himself.
I settled down with a very siok oil-lamp to study my maps. One benefit of this trip was that the Palace had equipped me with a frrst-rate set of military itineraries for all the major highways – the hrll legacy of seventy years of Roman activity in central Europe. These were not merely mileage lists between the towns and forts, but decent, detailed travel guides with notes and diagsams. Even so, I would have to rely on my wits in some places. There were huge, worrying blank spaces east of the River Rhenus: Germania Libera… Endless tracts of territory where 'free' meant not only free from Roman commercial influence, but with a complete absence of Roman law and order too. That was where the priestess Veleda lurked, and where Civilis might be hiding up.
The frontier was uncertain enough. Europe was hrll of restless tribes constantly trying to migrate to other districts, sometimes in great numbers. Sinoe Julius Caesar's time, Rome had been attempting to settle friendly groups of them in ways that created buffer zones. Our Upper and Lower German provinoes formed a military corridor along the River Rhenus between the pacified lands in Gaul and the great unknown. That was the polioy at any rate, until the civil war.
I studied my map thoughtfully. In the far north, alongside Belgica, around the Rhenus Estuary, lay the Batavian homeland, with the stronghold they called The Island. All along the river stood the Roman forts, guard posts, watch towers and signal stations which had been built to control Germany; most of them were now neatly lined through by the scribe who had brought the maps up to date for me.
Furthest north was Noviomagus, where Vespasian was planning a new fort to watch over the Batavians, but which was currently just a cross on the map; next came Vetera, scene of the grim siege. Then there was Novaesium, whose pathetic legion had defeoted to the rebels; "Bonna, which had been overrun by the Fourteenth's Batavian cohorts amid horrible slaughter; and Colonia Agrippinensium, which the rebels had captured but spared from the flames for strategic reasons (also I think Civilis had relations living there). On rhe River Mosella stood Augusta Treverorum, tribal capital of the Treveri, where Petilius Cerialis had roundly defeated rhe rebels. Where the River Moenus joined the Rhenus, lay my initial destination: Moguntiacum, capital of Upper Germany. I could reach it on a direct highway from the great Gallio crossroads at Lugdunum.
Alternatively, I could branch off the highway at a junction town called Cavillonum, and approach Upper Germany from further south. It was a good excuse to acclimatise myself to the province. I could travel to Moguntiacum and my rendezvous with the Fourteenth by water. This alternative route was no greater distance (I convinced myself) and I would hit the Rhenus most conveniently at Argenroratum, home station of a certain party whose sister I doted on.
While I was still frowning at the immense distance that lay ahead of us, the barber scuttled in looking green.
'Xanthus! Which hazard of travel has blighted your life now? Garlic, constipation, or just being fleeced?'
'I made the mistake of ordering a drink!'
'Ah! Happens to everyone.'
'It cost – '
'Don't tell me. I'm already depressed. The Gauls have a crazy standard of values. They are wine-mad, and spend like lunatios in the quest for liquor. No one who believes that a sound-bodied slave is fair exchange for one amphora of mediocre imported wine is reliable. And the vintner won't charge you less than he paid for it just because you were brought up to expect a flagon on the tavern table for half an as.
'What are people supposed to do, Falco?'
'I believe seasoned travellers carry their own.'
He stared at me. I gave him the peaceful smile of a man who had probably been drinking a private supply while his companion was out being rooked.
'You want a shave, Falco?' He sounded hurt.
'No.'
'You look like a savage.'
'Then I'll merge in nicely where we have to go.'
'I heard you were a ladies' man.'
'The lady whose man I happen to be happens to be somewhere else. Get to sleep, Xanthus. I warned you that having your pretty sandals on foreign soil would involve pain and stress.'
'I hired you to protect me!' he grumbled, winding himself into the thin blanket on his narrow bed. We were in a small dormitory. Massilia believes in packing in the customers neck to neck, like pickle jars on a cargo boat.
I grinned. 'That's the spirit! Adventures were what you wanted. They always involve suffering.'
Just before the lamp died of exhaustion, I let him see me testing my dagger and placing it under what passed for a pillow. I think he understood the message. I was a highly trained professional. Danger was my way of life. If so much as a mouse scratched a floorboard, knifing the barber would be my instant response. Given the amount of shaving-lotion he splashed on, I would smell him coming even in the pitch-dark. And I knew where to sink my weapon for the best effect. Whatever the Palace had told him, or not told him, he must be aware of that.
His first day in Gaul had made him too miserable to try anything that night.
There would be plenty of other chances. But whenever he decided to do the dirty work for Titus Caesar, I would be on the alert.
XII
We reached Lugdunum. I won't say without incident. We had fought off a gang of village urchins who thought my basket of symbolic ironwork contained something they could sell, then I hitched a lift on a wineship and nearly dropped the Hand overboard. In fact, every time we rode away from the previous night's mansio, I ran the risk of leaving Vespasian's present for the Fourteenth behind on a shelf.
The drinking-water started to affect us at Arelate; Gallic cooking oil knocked us sideways as we were rowed past Valentia; some tricky pork laid us low for a day at Vienna; and by the time we slunk into the civic capital, the wine we had gulped down to try and forget the pork had given us splitting heads. All along the route we were playing patball with the normal autumnal quota of fleas stocking up before the winter, bedbugs, wasps, and invasive little black things whose favourite lodging was up a luckless traveller's nose. Xanthus, whose pampered skin had rarely been outside the Palace, broke out in a rash whose progress he described for me at tedious length.
So, Lugdunum. As we disembarked, I favoured Xanthus with an informative travelogue: 'Lugdunum – capital of the Three. Gauls. That's as in "Caesar divided Gaul into three parts…", which every schoolboy is compelled to know, though you barbers may escape such low points of education… A handsome city, established by Marcus Agrippa as a focus for communication and trade. Notice the interesting aqueduct system, which uses sealed pipes constructed as inverted syphons to cross the river valleys. It's extremely expensive, from which we can deduce that in provincial terms the people of Lugdunum are extremely rich! There is a temple to the imperial cult, which we shall not be visiting – '
'I'd like a chance to sightsee!'
Stick with me, Xanthus. This city also boasts an outstation of the mighty Arretinum pottery. We'll go there for our treat. You and I will be following the grand tourist tradition of trying to take home some dinnerware – at twice the cost and three times the trouble of shelling out for it in Italy.'
'Why do it then, Falco?'
'Don't ask.'
Because my mother told me to.
The samian tableware factory offered A fabulous chance to make our feet hurt tramping about all morning staring at thousands of pots, not to mention the opportunity of lashing out on presents that would make our bankers wince. The Lugdunum potters were bidding to supply the whole Empire. Theirs was the big commercial success story of our time. They were cornering the market, and their compound had that atmosphere of tenacious greed which passes for business enterprise.