Varus had a sour taste in his mouth just thinking about it. If Tubero were an ordinary soldier, he would have had him flogged, just to start. If a junior officer or a centurion, he’d have had him demoted to the ranks. Why does he have to be a senior tribune, whose father is friendly with Augustus? Varus fumed. If Tubero received anything more than a rap across the knuckles, he, Varus, risked censure from the emperor himself, and that was not a menace he wanted hanging over his head, dead tribesmen or no. The youths’ families would have to be content with a hefty payment of cash, he had decided, and a promise that such a thing would not happen again.
Tubero attempted to speak as Varus drew near, but shut up when Varus gave a fierce shake of his head. ‘If I order you to, you will agree that what happened was … most regrettable,’ Varus muttered. ‘It was a tragedy, and the men’s families must be recompensed. Refrain from apologising, however. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Tubero replied. ‘I-’
Varus waved him away. ‘Tullus, a word if you please.’ He took pleasure in the anger that flared in Tubero’s eyes as the centurion joined him on the platform.
Tullus saluted. ‘At your service, sir.’
Varus glanced him up and down, and liked what he saw. Tullus looked as solid and as dependable as the camp ramparts. He was brave too – the gold torques, the phalerae on his chest harness and the silver bands on his wrists were proof of that. ‘I read your report.’
‘I see, sir.’ Tullus’ tone was neutral.
‘And Tubero’s, of course. The tribune accused you of having drunk to excess the night before, and of being unfit for duty on the day in question. He said fewer men would have died if you had responded to his orders faster.’ Varus let his words linger in the air before asking, ‘Is there any basis to this charge?’
‘I had a reasonable amount to drink, sir, yes. We were guests of Caedicius, whom I think you know?’
‘Indeed. He’s a fine officer.’
‘And a man who likes his wine, sir.’
Varus coughed. ‘I won’t argue with that.’
Tullus looked pleased. ‘I will not admit to being unfit for duty, though, sir. Until the incident with the Usipetes, everything had been running as well as any other day on patrol. The other centurions will testify to that.’
Varus had spoken to several of the officers who’d been present, but he made no mention of it, or of the fact that their testimony agreed with that of Tullus. Varus hadn’t been sure if they’d been telling the truth, or covering for their superior, to whom they felt loyal. ‘Tubero also dined with you and Caedicius?’
‘He did, sir, along with Aliso’s usual commander, Marcianus. He was most excited when the cattle rustlers were mentioned.’
‘Meeting them would be every unblooded officer’s dream. Did he drink much?’
‘I can’t recall, sir.’
‘I see,’ said Varus, amused by the obvious lie. ‘The following morning, how was he?’
‘He seemed all right to me, sir.’ Tullus’ gaze was fixed on a point somewhere over Varus’ right shoulder.
Varus came to a number of conclusions at the same time. Tubero had got as drunk as Tullus. Less likely to be a seasoned drinker than the centurion, he had been as sick as a dog the next day, whereas Tullus – no doubt practised at the art – might have been a little under the weather, but not much more. Tubero’s accusations against Tullus were a crude effort to cover up his mistake. Despite the allegations, which carried with them the risk of being disciplined, Tullus was unprepared to respond in kind against the tribune. It was a mark of the character of both men, Varus concluded, how they had acted. ‘Thank you, centurion. Dismissed.’
Varus had Vala, the Eighteenth’s six tribunes and the primus pilus stand close to the shrine’s entrance before the Usipetes’ chieftains arrived. Tullus and the other centurions arrayed themselves in front of the dais. It was a display intended to impress and intimidate: watched by Augustus’ statue, almost twenty senior officers in full regalia waited together, while half a century of legionaries from the First Cohort lined the chamber’s walls and the standards glimmered from the shrine. Varus was pleased with his preparations. Battles were often won by the general who got to choose the battlefield, and who used the terrain to his advantage. Here, he had achieved both of those things. All that needed to happen now was for him to deploy his forces – in this case, words and, if the time came, a suitably humble Tubero – and victory would be his.
Not long after, the duty optio from the gate led in the Usipetes’ leaders – and Arminius. The Cheruscan chieftain could not have made a balder statement of his intent, yet he continued to advance, right up to the officers before Varus. ‘I thank you for your invitation today, governor.’
Wrong-footed, Varus managed only, ‘Arminius.’
‘The Usipetes are not happy,’ Arminius said, low-voiced, in Latin.
‘I will see what I can do to remedy that,’ snapped Varus. ‘Roman justice will be done.’ Any chance to continue talking was prevented by the optio’s formal presentation of the Usipetes’ chieftains. Varus struggled to control his temper as Arminius strolled back to stand with the tribesmen.
‘You are most welcome to Vetera,’ Varus announced. ‘I am Publius Quinctilius Varus, imperial governor of the province of Germania.’ Catching the blank stares of more than one of the party, he added, ‘Do any among you speak Latin?’
Only two of the chieftains nodded. ‘I’ll make sure the others understand,’ said the nearest, a thin individual with a mane of red hair.
‘I can interpret too, if needs be,’ Arminius offered. ‘From German to Latin, or the other way around.’
Varus seethed. He wanted to rebuke Arminius – ‘Act like the Roman citizen that you are!’ – but it would look bad, so he smiled instead. ‘If it is necessary. Perhaps it would be best to begin by hearing what you chiefs have to say.’
The instant that his words were translated, several of the Usipetes began to shout.
Varus had been in his job long enough to have picked up some German. The words ‘innocent’ and ‘murder’ were repeated over and over, as were a number of choice swear words. He was pleased when Red Head managed to calm his fellows. ‘I shall speak for us all, governor,’ he declared.
Varus inclined his head, acting as if no insults had been hurled. ‘Please begin.’
In a calm voice, Red Head explained how the twenty young Usipetes, who lived near the Roman road, had been instructed to move their fathers’ cattle to fresh grazing. ‘It’s an easy job, driving the beasts just a couple of miles. The herders get paid in barley beer, so everyone wants to do it.’ What should have been a pleasant task for a summer’s day, the chieftain explained, had turned violent when a Roman officer – here he threw a pointed look at Tubero – had ridden up and started screaming in Latin at the herdsmen, all of whom spoke nothing but their own tongue.
Without warning, the officer had ridden at the nearest youngster and cut him down. Some of the group had retaliated by throwing spears, forcing the officer to retreat. In a panic, they had fled, to be pursued soon after by Roman infantry and riders. ‘Three more men were slain or wounded so severely that they died. If not for a centurion with some wits, only Donar knows how many innocent lives would have been lost,’ said Red Head, to growls of anger from his companions. ‘What happened is an outrage! The Usipetes have been at peace with Rome for years. We sell our goods and our cattle to your merchants, and are shortly to pay our taxes. We give no trouble to the empire. And our reward is for four young men to be foully slain?’