When he didn’t go on right away, his pedisequus prompted him: “Well?” Aristocles was still sober, or close enough. He went on watering his wine, and wore a long, thick wool tunic and two pairs of socks for warmth.
“ ‘My dear Varus - I am glad to hear your first summer in Germany went well,’ “ Varus read, and breathed a sigh of relief that smoked in the air despite a charcoal brazier. He swigged from his goblet before going on: “‘You seem worried when you tell me what your tax collectors brought in.’ “
That made him swig again, drain the goblet dry, and fill it once more with the dipper plunged into the wine jar. He’d done his best not to sound worried, to treat the Roman soldiers’ sorry performance as nothing but routine. His best proved not good enough. Augustus hadn’t ruled the Roman world for more than a generation because he was blind to what lay below the surface.
Quinctilius Varus drank once more. His eves crossed. He knew he would have a thick head come morning, but morning seemed a million miles away. His slave made a wordless, impatient noise. Varus didn’t want to find out what Augustus said next, but knew he had no choice: “ ‘Lose no sleep over it. The idea is to get the barbarians used to paving taxes. Once they see thev have to, collecting more and more will grow easier year by year. Keep up the good work.’ “
“He really says that, sir?” Aristocles sounded astonished.
“He really does.” Varus couldn’t get angry at the Greek - he sounded astonished, too. Augustus was a notorious cheese-parer. He always had been. To have him write that he didn’t care how much Varus collected in Germany . . . proved he was also a statesman.
“What else does he say?” the pedisequus inquired.
“Who cares?” Varus said, and he laughed raucously. Augustus wasn’t angry at him! Next to that, everything else shrank to insignificance. But he finished the letter: “ ‘The weather here is tolerable - better, I daresay, than what you have. The harvest was good, for which I thank Ceres and the other gods. No danger of hunger this year. Tiberius seems to be bringing order to Pannonia at last, and that is also good news. I am as well as a man of my years can be. I hope the same holds true for you. Next year, you will go on breaking the Germans to the saddle.’“ Below that was nothing but a scrawled signature.
It sounded like Augustus: straightforward, to the point, with hardly a wasted word. The closing that got back to the business at hand was very-much Augustus’ style, too. He never left anyone in doubt about what he expected - unless doubt worked to his advantage, of course. Here, it didn’t.
“Let it snow!” Aristocles exclaimed. “We are warmed from the south, so let it snow as much as it please!”
“That’s right!” Varus said. “As long as Augustus is pleased, the whole world is pleased!” No matter how cold it was, it felt like spring already.
Varus was not a small man, not by Roman standards. All the same, he thought he’d get a crick in his neck from staring up at one enormous visiting German after another. This particular fellow, who gave his name as Masua, was even bigger than most: he stood several digits above six feet. He wore a bearskin cloak. With shaggy hair, unshaven cheeks and chin and upper lip, and blunt features, he looked like a bear himself.
“Sit down, sit down.” Varus waved him to a stool, not least so he wouldn’t need to keep looking up at him.
“I thank you, sir.” Masua spoke slow, deliberate, guttural Latin. The stool creaked under his weight. He was bear-wide through the shoulders, too. A servant brought in wine. Masua took a cup with murmured thanks. So did Varus. He didn’t mix in water, but he did sip cautiously. He didn’t want to get drunk so early. By the way Masua gulped, he didn’t care.
“You are one of Segestes’ men, you told my aides,” Varus said.
“That is right.” Masua’s big head bobbed up and down. “I am one of his sworn band. I fight for him and do what he needs. One of the things he needs now is someone to deliver you a message. He chose me.” Pride rang in the tremendous German’s voice.
“I see,” Varus said, though he didn’t, not yet. With luck, he would soon. “And this message is ... ?”
“This is message is, you are not to trust Arminius for any reason, sir,” Masua said. “He goes up and down in Germany. Everywhere he goes, he speaks against the Romans. He speaks against Roman rule beyond the Rhine.”
“I see,” Quinctilius Varus said again. “Have you heard Arminius say these things with your own ears?”
“No,” Masua answered. “I would not walk as far as I can spit to listen to that woman-stealing swinehound.”
That last had to be some German insult translated literally. Varus rather liked it. All the same, he went on, “Has Segestes heard Arminius say these things with his own ears?”
“Segestes would not walk as far as he could piss to listen to Arminius.” Masua paused, considering. “Segestes might walk far enough to piss on Arminius’ corpse. He might not even do that.”
In spite of himself, Varus had to smile. But he also had to ask an important question: “In that case, how do you know what Arminius is supposed to be saying? How does Segestes know?”
“Everyone knows what Arminius is saying,” Masua replied, as if to a half-witted child. Varus thought an oafish barbarian had no business taking that tone with him. No matter what he thought, the oafish barbarian went on, “Arminius makes no secret of it. Like I tell you, he goes up and down in Germany. He says what he says to anyone who will hear him. Many men do - too many men.”
“I have met Arminius. He did not seem anti-Roman then,” Varus said.
Masua snorted. “He would not. He was in your power. You could have killed him. You should have.”
“He fought as a Roman auxiliary. He is a Roman citizen. He has been made a member of the Equestrian Order, a rare and important honor for one who was not born to our people.” For a barbarian, he thought.
“He is a viper. If you clutch him to you like a woman, he will bite you in the balls,” Masua said.
“Segestes sent you to me,” Quinctilius Varus said. The German nodded. Varus went on, “Segestes is Arminius’ enemy.”
“Of course he is,” Masua broke in. “Would you not be, if Arminius carried off your daughter?”
If Arminius hadn’t carry Thusnelda off, Varus was convinced she would have done more to try to get away on her own. A Roman woman certainly would have. No, the truth was that she preferred Arminius to the middle-aged man to whom her father had tried betrothing her in-stead. Segestes might not - didn’t - like that, which made it no less true.
No point explaining any of that to Masua, who naturally saw things his patron’s way. Instead, Varus said, “Segestes naturally wants me to believe bad things about Arminius.”
“Yes, indeed.” Masua didn’t even try to deny it. “He wants you to believe them because they are true. And Segestes, remember, is a Roman citizen, too.”
“The enmity comes first, I think.” Varus liked Arminius and found Segestes tedious: almost a character out of an old comedy. “Without more proof than you have given me, I don’t know what you expect me to do.”
“Arminius will give you proof,” Masua said. “See how you like that.”
Varus’ face froze. “I have no doubt that you have now conveyed to me everything your principal imparted to you. That being so, you are excused. Please convey my respects to Segestes.”
Even a lout like Masua couldn’t mistake his meaning there. Get out of my sight, and don’t ever let we see you again - that was what it came down to. The German got to his feet. That meant he looked down at - looked down on - Varus. “I go. You would have done better to heed me. I will tell Segestes you are too blind to listen, too deaf to see.”