Harry Turtledove - Give Me Back My Legions!

That led to another thought. If I don’t do my job, what will Augustus do to me? Varus had already brooded about some of those possibilities. Disgrace. Exile. A desert island miles and miles from anything but another desert island. Even if he escaped all those, failure would bring Augustus’ disapproval down on him, and Augustus’ disapproval was colder than any blizzard on the Rhine.

I’d better not fail, then, he told himself.

“Did you ever hear it rains less up on the other side of the hills than it does down here?” Lucius Eggius asked Ceionius.

The other camp prefect shook his head. “No. But I never heard it rains more there than it does here, either. So that should be a wash. These Germans are like so many Syrian fig-sellers: they’ll tell any kind of lie to get you to go their way. But I think it’ll work out all right.”

“Hope so,” Eggius said. “This stinking trail sure isn’t everything it ought to be. We had what was almost a proper path—not a real road, on account of it wasn’t paved, but a path, anyhow—going straight west from Mindenum. This scrawny little thing isn’t anything like it.”

“It’s all right as long as we’re in the meadows. I just don’t like it when it twists through the woods.” Ceionius returned to his previous theme: “Don’t worry about it, Lucius. Like I say, Germans lie all the time. Do you know what that old fox of a Segestes said to blacken Arminius’ name while you were out on patrol?”

“Tell me,” Eggius urged.

“He said warriors were heading off to jump us somewhere.” Ceionius laughed. “I’d like to see ‘em try.”

“I wouldn’t.” Eggius wasn’t laughing. “I passed through a bunch of half-empty villages and steadings this summer. The old men who’d stayed behind claimed their fighters were off getting ready to go to war against the Chauci. If they were getting ready to go to war against us instead…”

“You always were more jittery than you need to be,” Ceionius said.

“I’ve got more experience with the Germans than you do,” Lucius Eggius replied. “No such thing as being too jittery around them. They always try to come up with sneaky new ways to screw us over. I’d better talk to Varus.”

“He won’t listen,” Ceionius predicted.

That struck Eggius as much too likely. Even so, he said, “I’d better…”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Ceionius warned him as he booted his horse forward. A stubborn man, Eggius nodded and pressed on.

He had a demon of a time catching up to Varus. The trail did dive into a forest. Tree trunks pressed close on either side. Marching legionaries could hardly squeeze in close to make way for him, no matter how he shouted and swore. Regardless of his rank, they swore back at him.

There was the governor’s Greek slave, up on his donkey. And there was Quinctilius Varus himself, laughing and joking with Arminius. Eggius was no courtier, but even he could see this wasn’t the time to beard Varus. As well tell a man his dog killed ducks while the beast was licking its master’s hand.

Eggius sat his horse between two massive oaks till Ceionius finally came up. Ceionius eyed him. “You didn’t say anything.”

“That’s right,” Eggius admitted. “How could I? He had Arminius right there with him. You think he would have paid any attention to me?”

“No.” Ceionius couldn’t help adding, “Told you so.”

“Ahhh—“ But Eggius didn’t say anything about the other officer’s mother. You could do that with a close friend, but Ceionius wasn’t one. He might think Eggius meant it, and things could end in blood if he did. “Maybe I’ll try again later,” Eggius said.

“Sure.” Ceionius didn’t believe a word of it. Since Eggius didn’t, either, he couldn’t even call him on it.

Arminius wanted to caper like a colt. He wanted to dance for joy. The Romans were doing exactly what he wanted them to do. If not for the training in duplicity they’d given him, he might have betrayed himself. He couldn’t believe things were going this well.

The only person he could talk to was his father, and then only in tiny whispers at night in their tent. “Just don’t get too excited, that’s all,” Sigimerus said. “It may not work as well as you hope.”

“I know,” Arminius answered. “Believe me, I know. But it may, too. And if it does, by the gods—!”

“Worry about it then.” In his own way, Sigimerus was as practical as a Roman. “In the meantime, get some sleep.”

Most of the time, Arminius would have had no trouble sleeping. What else could you do after the sun set, especially without a warm, friendly woman to keep you awake for a while? He could hear legionaries snoring in the encampment. He could hear mosquitoes buzzing, crickets chirping… and sentries exchanging password and countersign as they patrolled the rampart they’d built a few hours earlier. Yes, Romans were hard to surprise, curse them.

A couple of days later, Chariomerus rode up as the legionaries were readying the night’s camp. Arminius’ clansmate clasped hands with him and with Sigimerus. “What are you doing here?” Arminius asked the other German. He was ever so conscious of the listening legionaries, and hoped Chariomerus was, too. The wrong words, even in their own language, could mean disaster.

“When you left for Mindenum, you left Thusnelda with child,” Chariomerus said.

Sigimerus allowed himself a rare smile. “I shall be a grandfather!” he exclaimed.

“If the gods grant it,” Chariomerus said. “The confinement has been rough. The midwife is worried about Thusnelda—she fears her hips may be too narrow for an easy delivery. And Thusnelda wants nothing more than to see you again, Arminius.”

“I would be there soon enough anyhow,” Arminius said, frowning. “The governor counts on me to show him the way north and west.”

“Go to your woman, son,” Sigimerus said. “I am here. I can bring the Romans along as well as you can—I’ve known the way longer than you’ve been alive.” He used his own tongue, as he almost always did. The legionaries would have wondered why he suddenly started spouting Latin with his son and the other German. Some of them would follow what he was saying now regardless of the language he used.

“I promised his Excellency that I’d do it,” Arminius said.

“Go talk with him. Take Chariomerus with you. Let him tell the governor what he just told you. Varus will give you leave to go home. He is a fine man, an understanding man.” Sigimerus spoke with a perfectly straight face. Arminius admired his father. He hadn’t thought the older man could act so well.

He had to hide his own admiration. The Romans shouldn’t see it. Dipping his head, he said, “I will do as you say. Come on, Chariomerus.”

Arminius wasn’t surprised when Aristocles greeted him with “This must be your fellow tribesman” outside of Varus’ tent. News flashed through a legionary encampment quick as lightning, as it did through a German village.

“Just so.” Arminius introduced Chariomerus to him, then went on, “He brings news from my home. We need to speak of it with his Excellency.”

“Let me find out if he can see the two of you,” the Greek slave said. Chariomerus looked worried. Arminius reassured him with his eyes. Aristocles always said things like that—they made him seem important. But Arminius was confident Varus would meet with him and Chariomerus.

Sure enough, when the pedisequus came back he beckoned them on without another word. Maybe someone could have made something of Chariomerus’ relieved grin, but Arminius didn’t think so. Anybody would take it to mean that Chariomerus was glad he wouldn’t have to waste his time standing around outside. If Arminius hadn’t known the circumstances, he would have taken it that way himself.