Ben Kane: Eagles at War

Again Aristides said nothing. Like as not, the merchant was telling the truth. It was standard practice for soldiers guarding the empire’s roads to extract tolls from passing traders, and to manhandle those who objected. He knew it. Varus knew it.

Varus thought for a moment. ‘Write to the fort commander in Bonna. Tell him that he is to receive this merchant with respect, and listen to his accusations for a second time. If the man’s charges can be proved, he is to return what was stolen, using monies from the garrison’s pay chest. If they cannot, he is to give his soldiers an unofficial warning not to be so damn greedy. You are also to send word to the merchant, expressing regret that he is unhappy with the treatment he received from my troops. Be careful not to admit that there has been any wrongdoing. Inform him that I have instructed the commander to meet him and hear his complaint again, with an impartial ear.’ He waited until Aristides had finished scribbling on his wax tablet. ‘Got all that?’

There was a little sigh. ‘Of course, master.’

‘Good.’ Varus threw a baleful look at the stack of correspondence, which was still substantial. ‘Although I’ll miss the comforts of a permanent camp, it will be good to leave this place behind.’

‘You mean our summer march to the east, master?’ This time, Aristides made no attempt to conceal his distaste.

‘Yes. Three months of good weather and hunting, during which official letters will find it difficult to find me. There’ll be bookkeeping to be done, but it will be nothing compared to the volume I receive here. You’ll be able to deal with most of it. When we return in the autumn, a mountain of documents will cover this desk, but I don’t care.’ Varus saw Aristides’ expression, and chuckled. ‘You shall have your hot baths while we’re away, from time to time at least. Slave you might be, but you cannot say I do not look after you.’

‘You do, master, thank you,’ said Aristides, his frown easing. ‘I am ever grateful.’

‘I haven’t forgotten my promise to you either. When my term as governor is up, you will receive your manumission. You’ve served me well; it’s the least I can do.’

‘Publius Quinctilius Varus, you are the finest master that a slave could wish for,’ said Aristides, beaming from ear to ear. He bowed. ‘Gratitude.’

‘Are you now content to travel into the wilds of Germania?’ asked Varus with a smile.

‘Will there be any fighting, master?’

Varus didn’t look down on Aristides for being afraid. He was a scholar, not a soldier. ‘I doubt it. Things seem to be quiet on the other side of the river. Besides, more than ten thousand legionaries will be accompanying us. No hostile tribesmen in their right minds would come within miles of our camp.’

Aristides looked pleased. ‘Very good, master.’

‘Back to work then.’ Varus picked up a wooden tablet and broke the seal on the string that held its two parts together. Opening it, he began to read. ‘Ah. This is from the commander at Fectio. His news is good, and he asks for nothing, which makes a change from most of these wretched communications.’

‘What does he say, master?’

‘Almost his entire fleet – triremes, biremes and troop transports – is seaworthy. He places them at my disposal for the coming months, and awaits any orders.’ Varus rubbed a finger along his lips. ‘It’s a shame that I won’t have reason to call on him this summer. Still, never mind. Better to have ships that I don’t need rather than the other way around.’

‘True, master. Do you wish to reply?’

‘Yes. Congratulate him on his fleet’s readiness. There are no special plans for the fleet at this time, so the normal patrols of the seas and the local waterways are to continue. Inform him that I will be marching east for the summer, taking legions Seventeen, Eighteen and Nineteen. Once the taxes have been collected, and the harvest is in, we will return to the Rhenus and winter quarters. He can expect a visit from me soon after that.’

Varus was still waiting for Aristides to finish writing down his instructions when there was a rap on the door. ‘Come,’ he called.

One of the two legionaries stationed outside marched in and saluted. ‘The new tribune is here to see you, sir.’

Varus’ eyebrows rose, and he shot a look at Aristides. ‘Again?’

Aristides gave a faint, diplomatic shrug.

‘Send him in,’ ordered Varus.

A moment later, the tribune entered. He marched to within a few steps of Varus’ desk and stood to attention. ‘Senior tribune Lucius Seius Tubero, sir!’

‘Tribune.’ Varus studied Tubero’s blue eyes, blond curls and chiselled chin. His breastplate and boots had been buffed beyond even parade standard. Good looks and shiny kit don’t make you a soldier, Varus thought. Be fair, he told himself a heartbeat later. This is the boy’s first military posting. He’s young and enthusiastic, and wants to prove his worth. I was like that once.

‘Did I come at a bad time, sir?’ Tubero glanced at the mounds of paperwork.

‘There’s never a good time for a governor; perhaps you’ll learn that one day.’ It was Varus’ practice to find out everything possible about his new officers before they arrived. Tubero was only seventeen, young indeed to be a senior tribune, but his breeding was good. More important was that his father was a friend of Augustus, which explained his posting to the Eighteenth as its second-in-command. If Tubero kept his nose clean, and showed some ability over the next decade of his service and more, and if his family didn’t fall from favour, there was every chance that he might end up as the governor of a province. Varus hoped that Tubero would prove ‘easy to manage’. He had enough to do without having to nursemaid yet another spoiled brat.

‘If it’s not convenient now, sir, I-’

‘Stay,’ ordered Varus. ‘A short break from my administrative duties is always welcome.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘What brings you to my door?’

‘I’ve been here for a few days, sir …’ Tubero hesitated.

‘Are you settling in? I trust that your quarters are satisfactory?’

‘Everything’s fine in those regards, thank you, sir.’

‘Is the legate giving you a hard time?’

‘No, sir. He’s been very helpful, instructing me in my duties.’

‘Has one of the centurions been insolent?’ This was a common occurrence. Veteran centurions often took a dim view of the young aristocrats who swanned in from Rome to command them. ‘Or one of the junior tribunes?’

‘It’s not that, sir.’

Varus’ interest was piqued. ‘What is it then?’

‘It seems quiet, sir. There’s no … trouble.’

Here we go, thought Varus in amusement. ‘That’s a good thing, tribune. Peace is something to be valued. It means that the empire’s business can carry on without interruption.’

‘Of course, sir, it’s just that I …’

Remembering his early years in the army, Varus asked, ‘You want to see some action?’

‘Yes, sir!’

Varus ignored Aristides’ little phhhh of contempt. ‘Your posting here will be for at least a year, tribune. In other words, there will be plenty of time for you to draw your sword in anger.’

Tubero’s nod was unhappy.

‘Oh, for the eagerness of youth,’ said Varus, thinking: There’s nothing wrong with humouring him in this matter. He’s well connected, after all. ‘What would you like to do – lead a patrol over the river?’

‘That would be wonderful, thank you, sir,’ replied Tubero, his face lighting up.

‘Fine. You can take my latest orders to the camp commander at the fort of Aliso. It’s two days’ easy march to the east, on the River Lupia. You’ll pass a number of settlements as you go. Venturing that far into Germania should give you a feel for the land and the tribes. There shouldn’t be any trouble. After you’ve delivered the letters and received the commander’s replies, you will return.’