Ovid

'Go on.'

Arminius took a single sip and set the cup aside.

'Very shortly,' he said, 'I will break with Rome. I will begin to gather support first among the young men of my own tribe, then among other tribes. I will tell them that only by banding together can we Germans resist you Romans and live as we have always lived outside your boundaries.'

I was staring at him, too shocked even to interrupt.

'When the peacemakers shout, I will shout louder. I will keep on shouting until the hotheads believe that I am more against Rome than they are, and give me their trust and their allegiance. And you, sir, will help me.'

I got up; what I intended to do I am not sure, because at that moment I was incapable of thinking clearly at all. Call the guards, perhaps. In any case he pulled me back.

'Hear me out,' he said. 'Please.'

I sat down, as did he. When he spoke again it was in the same quiet, reasonable voice he had used to condemn himself.

'Believe me, sir. I am no traitor to Rome. The fact that I've told you this proves it. Give me a free hand between here and the Elbe and I'll unite the tribes into a federation which I control. I control!'

My brain was spinning.

'Arminius. You are telling me — me, the Roman governor — that you are planning a rebellion?' I expected him to deny it, but he said nothing. 'You're mad!'

He shook his head sharply.

'No. Not mad. And rebellion is not the proper word.'

'What is, then? Treason?'

'Not that either,' he said stubbornly. 'There will be no trouble. No real trouble. I promise you that.'

I was at a loss for words. I simply stared at him.

'Think, Varus!' he bent towards me, his eyes shining. 'Rome wants Upper Germany and a secure northern border. The Germans want to be left alone to govern themselves. At the moment the objectives clash. The Germans provide a constant threat, we Romans haven't the forces to take and hold the territory we need. Stalemate. I'm offering Rome a solution. I'm offering a way out.'

'By uniting the tribes and increasing the threat?'

'No!' His hand came down so hard upon the desk-top that I thought the wood had split. 'I told you! To break the stalemate in Rome's favour! In the long term Rome can only benefit.'

'And in the short term? You'd be a rebel. Any Roman who helped you would be a traitor.'

To be honest, I was quibbling for appearances' sake. He already had half of me convinced; and the other half (ah, me! I may as well admit to it now, and make of it what you will) scented gold, which is the most exciting smell on earth…

Oh dear, oh dear! What it is to be venal! Yet blessed is the man who will admit to his infirmities, and indulge them when in good conscience he can. After all, what Arminius was proposing was for the good of Rome, was it not? And who was I to balk him of his laudable ambition? Especially if in the process I could turn an honest penny for myself.

'In the short term, Varus,' Arminius said in answer to my question, 'you must simply trust me.'

I remembered Vinicius's words at the dinner party, and how the young man had reacted to them.

'So,' I said, 'it comes down to trust.'

'Yes, sir,' Arminius said carefully, his eyes on mine. 'It comes down to trust.'

I stared at him for a long time, weighing him. Not simply his words on this occasion, but what I recalled of our conversations in the past. Then I weighed his manner, his conviction, and last but not least his indefinable aura. I may be greedy, but I am not a fool; and if the rewards of treachery are high then so are its corresponding dangers.

Finally I nodded.

'Very well, Prince Arminius,' I said. 'You have your traitor.'

Neither of us had mentioned payment, of course. That came later, when the terms of my treachery were discussed in a civilised fashion, as if they were unimportant. Which, to him at least, I am sure they were. As I said, the lad has good breeding, and in this if nothing else Arminius the German is a better Roman than I am.

23

When Harpale had gone I sent the wine slave for another jug. After what she'd told us I needed it.

'You didn't know that Fabius had killed himself?' I asked Perilla. 'You never even suspected?'

'No.' She still looked grey. Shit, she'd had enough shocks that day to floor anyone with twice her guts. 'Aunt Marcia never even hinted at it. I thought that Uncle was found dead in his study, which would have been true enough I suppose. I don't think even mother knew the death wasn't natural.'

'You think Marcia would confirm the story if you asked her straight out?'

'I doubt it. And don't ask me to try, Marcus, because I won't. It would be terribly painful for her. If she's kept the secret for so long she must have a good reason.'

'Oh, yeah,' I said. 'She's got a good reason all right. If what Harpale says is true the Wart has at least two deaths on his conscience that he wouldn't want made public. Sure, Postumus had to go. As Augustus's last male relative he'd be about as welcome politically as a flea in a barber's shop, and if he was the bastard they say he was then nobody would shed many tears to see him chopped. But Fabius is different. He wasn't guilty of anything. And if the news had got out that Augustus had talked to his grandson just a few months before he died then as far as the Wart was concerned it'd be embarrassing as hell.'

'Why should it be embarrassing? After all, if Augustus gave the order himself for Postumus's death then…'

'Oh, come on, Perilla! Act your age! It would've shown that he didn't give the order, that killing Postumus was Tiberius's own idea. Why do you think the old guy went to Planasia anyway? Just to make faces at his grandson through the bars?'

'You tell me.'

'Okay. We'll take it slowly. Augustus was old and sick yet he took the trouble to visit Postumus in person. So why should he do that?

'Because what he had to say was too secret to trust to a messenger?'

'Right. And possibly too personal. Say he wanted to apologise. To admit that he'd made a mistake, a bad mistake.'

'But he'd exiled Postumus himself! Why should he change his mind?'

'I don't know, but one gets you five I'm right. He went to patch up the quarrel and give his grandson his personal assurance that he'd put things right as soon as he could.'

'You mentioned a mistake. What kind of mistake?'

'Maybe Postumus wasn't the bastard he was made out to be. Maybe Augustus found out that someone had been bad-mouthing him all along and wanted to make amends.'

Perilla looked at me, appalled. 'Tiberius?'

'Sure. It makes sense. The Wart got rid of Postumus pretty smartly as soon as he got the chance. And your Uncle Fabius had to die too because he was the only one still alive who knew the truth. The secrecy angle's pretty obvious, too. As Augustus's heir Tiberius'd be chewing bricks if he thought Granddad intended bringing little Postumus home. It all fits. It fits perfectly. And it explains what Julia and Paullus were up to as well.'

'Julia was exiled six years before all this happened. How could Postumus's death have had anything to do with the Paullus plot?'

'Listen. Postumus is the missing strand. With Gaius and Lucius dead he was Julia's only surviving brother and Augustus's only direct male descendant, right?'

'Yes, but I still don't see what…'

'You gave me the idea yourself, that first night we were together. You said that a husband has certain rights. Sure, Julia may've been the emperor's granddaughter but she was still a woman. She couldn't hope for any sort of power through her relationship with Augustus, not direct power, anyway. But her husband could!'

'Corvinus, we know Paullus conspired against Augustus. There's no secret about that.'

'Yeah, but what chance would he have on his own? Augustus had been the kingpin for two generations. You think Paullus only had to put himself forward with Julia beside him for the whole state to fall into his lap like a ripe plum? A political lightweight whose only claim was that he'd married the emperor's granddaughter?'