‘Me too, sir,’ added the leg-wound legionary.
‘I was there as well, sir,’ said Piso as Tubero’s eyes fell on him and his jug of wine.
‘You’ve come with refreshment for your comrades, I see. I like that.’ Tubero held out his hand, and the servant passed over a small amphora. ‘This fine vintage, from my own supplies, is also for you brave men wounded in the empire’s service. You fought well at the settlement. Rome is proud of you.’
A chorus of ‘Thank you, sir’ echoed from every corner of the room as Vitellius accepted the gift.
‘I’ll expect you all back on duty soon. There’s to be no shirking!’ said Tubero. With that, he was gone.
Pompous little prick, thought Piso. He could see the same opinion mirrored in Vitellius’ eyes, but neither of them knew the others well enough to risk saying so out loud.
‘He’s the one who went wild on that mission to Aliso, isn’t he?’ asked a middle-aged soldier with a bandaged head.
Piso and Vitellius exchanged another look. ‘He is,’ said Piso.
‘I heard that if it hadn’t been for him, the Usipetes would never have raided over the river. He and his officers killed four warriors for no reason, or so they say.’
Piso threw caution to the wind. ‘That’s about right.’
‘Aye,’ muttered Vitellius.
‘So what was he like on the patrol you’ve just come back from?’ asked Bandage Head.
Piso shifted beneath the weight of seven men’s gaze. ‘A little reckless, perhaps.’
‘Bollocks to that. He’s a glory-hunter, pure and simple,’ said Vitellius. ‘He threw us into an ill-prepared attack against a fortified position. Plenty of men died before he realised his mistake, or more like before our centurion intervened and told him how to do it better. Even then, he didn’t listen. Twenty of us got sent to take the enemy in the rear, when it should have been a half-century or more. We two’ – he indicated the leg-wound soldier – ‘and another seven of our comrades are lucky to be here.’
Men pulled faces, and asked the gods that they never had to serve under Tubero.
Vitellius read Piso’s wariness. ‘I was only speaking the truth. Besides, we’re all comrades here. Now, are you just going to stand there holding that jug, or pour some for our friends?’
Telling himself that there was no need to be concerned about gossiping, Piso offered the wine around.
‘What about the good stuff?’ asked Bandage Head with a sly grin.
Vitellius made an obscene gesture at him. ‘You heard the tribune. That’s just for us three, who risked our lives for Rome.’
XII
Varus leaned back in his chair, admiring the gilded candelabra over his head and thinking about what Tubero had told him. The patrol had returned to Vetera not long before, and the tribune had been quick to come to his office in Legate Vala’s house. He would have Tullus and Bolanus report to him later, but the tribune’s account of his mission seemed straightforward. There was little doubt in Varus’ mind that it would be corroborated by the two centurions. Tubero wasn’t just an arrogant, smooth-cheeked pup from Rome: he did have some ability. His task hadn’t been that difficult, but he had completed it with some style. ‘Burning the boats was clever,’ Varus said.
Tubero’s face went pink. ‘Thank you, sir. As it happened, the measure proved unnecessary, but at the time it seemed the best thing to do.’
‘What were your casualties?’
‘Thirty-one legionaries, sir, and ten auxiliaries. Half that number of wounded. I’ve just been to the hospital to check on them; the surgeons say most will-’
‘Those numbers are higher than I would have expected,’ said Varus, frowning for the first time.
Tubero’s colour deepened. ‘More than a third of the legionaries who died were lost by Centurion Tullus in his attempt to take the compound gate from the inside.’
‘A pity. His soldiers are veterans. Hard men to replace.’ Admiring the candelabra again – Vala really did have good taste – Varus missed Tubero’s look of relief. So too did Aristides, who was tidying away documents in the background.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you say that there are a dozen or so Usipetes prisoners?’
‘Correct, sir. It’s unfortunate, but none appear to be men of rank.’
‘That’s to be expected. Tribal leaders are like centurions. First to put themselves into danger, leading by example – you know how it is.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Tubero stood a fraction taller.
‘Did the troops perform as they should have? And Arminius’ Cherusci?’
‘Our men did, sir. The Cherusci were …’ Tubero hesitated before saying: ‘… a little undisciplined. More prisoners might have been taken if it hadn’t been for them. Arminius apologised to me afterwards; he said that they had lost the run of themselves.’
‘That’s unsurprising,’ said Varus with a shrug. ‘I hesitate to call Arminius’ people “savages” – they are our allies, and much of the time they’re an agreeable lot. But they are not Roman. Arminius is more civilised; he won’t have been at fault. I doubt that there’s a leader alive who could rein his people in during a fight. It’s something to bear in mind when you meet the German tribes in battle. They lack self-control, but they have the courage of lions.’
‘I’ll remember, sir.’
‘The interrogations have started, I presume?’
‘Yes, sir. Nothing interesting so far. The captives are all saying the same thing – that their chieftains had nothing to do with the raid.’
‘Have any died yet?’ asked Varus.
‘I don’t think so, sir.’
‘Time for that to change. See to it that two – at least two – die under questioning. In brutal fashion. It’s important that the other prisoners witness it.’
Tubero blinked. ‘Yes, sir.’ Behind Varus, Aristides made a faint sound of disapproval.
Their distaste amused Varus. ‘Unpleasant it may be, tribune, but the method is tried and tested. Men are quick to reveal all they know when their comrades’ guts have been spilled on the floor before them.’
Tubero’s chin firmed. ‘I’ll see that it’s done, sir. Any new information will be brought to you at once.’
‘You may go.’ Tubero was at the office door when Varus said, ‘Tribune.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Well done.’
Tubero’s cheeks turned crimson. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Varus felt satisfaction as the senior tribune left the room. Scant praise worked best, he had always found. He sensed Aristides behind him. ‘You disapprove of torture.’
There was a sniff. ‘I don’t like it, master, no.’
‘Is it acceptable if the information obtained saves Roman lives?’ There was no reply, and Varus said, ‘I too find the practice repulsive, but a lifetime’s experience of power has taught me that nothing is ever black or white. Instead, things tend to be a dull shade of grey, which means that when it comes to obtaining useful intelligence, torture can be acceptable.’
‘I am grateful to be spared the need ever to make such decisions, master.’
For once, Varus was envious of his slave’s position. He shoved away the uncomfortable feeling. ‘There must be paperwork that needs signing while I wait for Tullus and Bolanus to arrive.’ He chuckled. ‘Don’t answer, just bring it to me.’
‘Of course, master,’ replied Aristides with a faint tone of smugness.
While he scrawled his signature over and over, Varus considered Tubero’s performance since his arrival. It wasn’t uncommon for tribunes to be haughty, spoiled brats who needed constant monitoring for the first period of their service. After the incident with the cattle-herding Usipetes, Varus had been convinced that Tubero would fall into that category – and was perhaps even an extreme example thereof. This concern had for the most part been laid to rest by the mission to wipe out the raiding party. Tubero still had much to learn, but he had done a good job. With the right guidance, he would develop into a fine leader. When that quality became clear, it would reflect well on him with Augustus, Varus mused, and that could only ever be a good thing. Until this appointment, he had spent years in the political wilderness. It wasn’t impossible that the same could happen to him again. Better to mentor Tubero, rather than put him down.