Supporting Vitellius on either side, Piso and Afer began to edge around the wagon. The dumbstruck carter, who had been watching from a safe distance, not yet certain that the trouble was over, ventured towards his oxen.
‘Piso.’
Piso looked back.
‘Were your winnings worth it?’ asked Tullus.
Piso ached all over. His friends must too, he thought, in particular poor Vitellius. ‘No, sir.’
‘Think before you play dice the next time, eh? The First Cohort might be arrogant whoresons, but they’re tough.’
‘Yes, sir. We’re grateful you happened upon us.’
Afer and Vitellius were quick to add their thanks.
‘Just as well I did.’ To Piso’s amazement, Tullus handed him the bronze fasteners. He chuckled. ‘After a fight like that, a man should hold on to what he won.’
VIII
Tullus and the rest of the party left Vetera soon after first light, every man relishing the clear sky, the crisp, fresh air and the dew on the roadside grass. Varus had dressed like Tullus, in a simple, off-white tunic and sturdy hobnailed sandals. Rather than a sword, he wore a dagger on his belt. Anyone who didn’t know him would have had no idea that he was the most important man in the whole province, thought Tullus. That, he suspected, was something that Varus was relishing. No doubt he was also looking forward to – as Tullus was – a day without the grinding routine of army life. Today would be a chance to forget the drudgery, the aggravation of dealing with malingering soldiers, self-important quartermasters and arrogant officers such as Tubero.
Arminius had with him Maelo and a dozen men, two of whom were driving a cart that carried six caged hunting dogs. At Vala’s insistence, Varus had brought along a century of legionaries, extra personal protection. It was awkward enough for men in civilian dress to pursue a boar through woodland, thought Tullus, let alone those who were in full armour, carrying javelins and shields, yet he wasn’t against the idea of the escort. Arminius was a trusted Roman ally, but Tullus didn’t know him well yet. Arminius aside, there were plenty of people east of the Rhenus who regarded Governor Varus if not as an enemy, then as an oppressor.
With the legionaries and tribesmen following, Arminius and Maelo guided Varus and Tullus to a forested area some eight miles from the bridge over the Rhenus. Tullus knew the location well – to see. He had passed it many times over the years, on his way to and from Aliso or further afield, but had never had cause to leave the road. If the truth were told, he’d always thought the forest a potential spot for an ambush. Left to his own devices, he would have had the beech trees cut back further from the road, reducing the chances of any attackers falling upon unsuspecting patrols. The location had been deemed ‘low risk’ by the legate, however, and Tullus had given up mentioning it. Despite the jovial atmosphere, therefore, and the fact that this was likely to be a good place to start the hunt, he felt a tickle of unease.
‘How is it that the trees haven’t been chopped down for firewood, or to increase grazing?’ he asked Arminius. ‘We passed a settlement not far back.’
‘The Usipetes believe that it would bring them bad luck,’ said Arminius, touching the little hammer amulet at his neck. ‘This ground is sacred to Donar, the thunder god.’
Tullus spotted Arminius’ reaction. ‘Is he important to you?’
Arminius’ grey eyes darkened. ‘Aye, he is. Do you favour a deity?’
‘No single one. I pay my respects to Jupiter, Mars and Mithras, but I don’t rely on any of them to get me out of trouble, or Fortuna. I count on my soldiers, and this.’ Tullus tapped the gladius that hung from his belt.
‘A sensible approach.’ If Arminius thought it unusual for a man to take a sword on a hunt, he didn’t say. ‘And you, governor?’
‘I believe that the gods are all around us, but it’s rare for them to interact with humankind. I’ve also found it best to depend on those whom I can see with my own eyes,’ replied Varus.
‘If this area belongs to Donar, is it wise to hunt here?’ Tullus enquired.
‘As long as we enter the trees with respect in our hearts, and make an offering of whatever we may kill, the thunder god will be content. So I have always been told by our priests.’
Maelo muttered something unintelligible in German. Never fond of not knowing what was going on, Tullus threw an enquiring glance at Arminius.
‘Maelo said that it wouldn’t be a good idea for us – or more particularly you Romans – to enter the sacred grove,’ continued Arminius with a smile.
‘I can understand that,’ said Varus. ‘And I have no wish to upset your god, Arminius. Let us ask that any quarry we find stays well away from it.’
‘It’s odd, but even the animals seem to give the place a wide berth.’
‘Perhaps it’s the smell of blood,’ suggested Maelo, in Latin this time.
A look passed between him and Arminius, which Tullus couldn’t read. It made his unease grow. ‘Where shall we begin?’
‘This is a good place,’ answered Maelo. ‘I’ve seen boar and deer tracks around here before.’
They dismounted and led their horses off the road. The legionaries came to a halt and waited for orders, while the cart carrying the dogs was last to trundle up alongside. A frenzy of whining and barking went up the moment that the vehicle’s wheels stopped turning. The dogs leaped out, allowing their handlers to place leashes around their necks with the greatest reluctance. They were of two types: a tall, rangy trio with shaggy grey hair and deep chests, which would be excellent at chasing down deer, and three stocky-framed dogs with broad heads and massive jaws, bred to face charging boars.
‘They’re even more eager than we,’ said Varus with a smile.
‘Aye, sir.’ The prospect of a chase was exciting Tullus too. He cast his eyes over the trees once more, and saw nothing. There’s no one out there, he told himself, and we have a century of legionaries with us. Relax. Enjoy the hunt. ‘What are we to do with the men, sir?’ he asked Varus.
‘I told Vala that they’d be useless in the forest, but he wouldn’t listen. “Your position as governor requires you to have an escort, sir.”’ Varus was silent for a moment. ‘We leave them here, and pick them up when we return.’
Tullus was thrown by Varus’ casual attitude. Unbidden, Caedicius’ words ran through his head. ‘Expect the unexpected. You must always be prepared to fight.’ Arminius only had a few men with him. And, thought Tullus, they were Germans, not Romans. Their loyalty could not be guaranteed. ‘Beg your pardon, sir, but I agree with Vala. We should take some of them at least.’
‘What could happen?’ asked Varus, frowning. ‘We’re on Vetera’s doorstep, and Arminius’ warriors will be with us.’
‘You need have no cause for concern, Tullus,’ Arminius murmured.
‘You mistake me. I’m not concerned. It would be a good idea, that’s all,’ replied Tullus, smiling to show he meant no offence. Inside, he was thinking: Ally of Rome you might be, but I’d rather have some of my own to guard my back, and the back of the most important man in Germania.
Finding a deep patch of shade under the branches of an impressive beech, Tullus stopped. ‘Thirsty, sir?’ He slipped one of his two water skins off his shoulder and offered it to Varus.
‘My throat’s as dry as a Judaean riverbed.’ Varus wiped his brow with his tunic sleeve and paced over to accept the bag. Taking a long pull, he grimaced. ‘Nothing like the taste of oiled leather, eh? It reminds me of being on campaign.’
‘It’s pretty foul, sir, but better-’
‘-than nothing,’ said Varus, interrupting with a smile. ‘I know.’
Seeing that they had paused, Arminius also came to a halt. ‘I hadn’t expected it to be quite this warm.’ He slapped at a biting fly, just one of clouds that hung in the muggy air, plaguing them at every opportunity. ‘Perhaps it wasn’t the best day to track down a boar.’