Give Me Back My Legions(51)

Into Germany again. Quinctilius Varus could have done without that. Indeed, he would gladly have done without it. Leaving the Empire behind was harder the second time than it had been the first. The year before, he hadn’t really realized what he was abandoning. Now he did.

“Do you know what I don’t understand?” he said to Aristocles as the legions made camp one night.

“No, sir,” the pedisequus answered. “But you’re about to tell me - aren’t you?”

“Too right I am.” If Varus recognized the irony lurking in his slave’s voice, he didn’t show it. Instead, intent on his own thoughts, he went on, “I don’t understand why the Germans aren’t dropping down on their knees and knocking their heads against the ground to thank us for taking them into the Empire. The way they live now ...” He shuddered.

“Is it so bad?” Aristocles asked. “You didn’t take me along this afternoon when you visited that - what do they call it, sir?”

“A steading. They call it a steading.” Varus brought out the terminus technicus with sour relish. “And no, it’s not that bad. It’s worse - much worse, if you want to know what I think. The Germans and their farm animals all shared the same miserable room. The Germans - oh, yes, and the chickens - were the ones who walked on two legs. Past that, it was hard to tell them from the beasts of burden.”

Aristocles giggled. Then he tried to pretend he hadn’t. Then he gave up pretending and giggled some more. “That’s wicked, sir. Wicked!”

“What? You think I’m joking? By the gods, I wish I were. Fetch me some wine from the cooks, will you? Maybe it’ll wipe the taste of what I saw out of my mouth,” Varus said.

“Of course, sir.” Aristocles hurried away. When he came back to Varus’ tent, he had a cup of wine for the governor - and one for himself.

Varus didn’t say anything about that, Naturally a slaw would look out tor himself. After pouring a small libation onto the squashy German soil, the governor asked, “Where was I:

“What you saw at the steading, sir.” Aristocles did not bother with a libation. Whatever he could gather, he kept

“Oh, yes. That’s right. Of course. And this barbarian was one of the rich ones, as they reckon such things here. Poor dog! He and his weren’t hungry, I will say. Past that . . .”

“I suppose they insist they would sooner be free. Aristocles lip curled in a bravura display of scorn. “Freedom is over rated, I assure you. “

“It is, eh?” Varus said, thinking a man from the great days of Greece would have said no such silly thing. “So you’d turn it down if I offered it to you?”

“I am confident you will offer it to me, sir – in your will.” the pedisequus replied. “Till then - and the gods grant that time be far in the future - -I am content with my lot. A slave not lucky enough to have such a kind and generous master might see things differently, I confess. “

Of course slaves flattered. A slave who didn’t flatter might find his master less kind and generous than he would otherwise. But Varus had heard the same thing from other men he owned. No matter how much he discounted each individual flattery, they added up to something; when taken all together.

He’d even heard the same thing from Women he owned, and not all of those women had been too old or too ugly to keep him from bedding them. Slavery was harder on women than on men Well, what in this life wasn’t? If a nice-looking woman happened to be your property, why wouldn’t you enjoy her? Your own property couldn’t very well refuse you. And if a slave conceived, that was pure profit.

Still, Varus didn’t want his slave women hating him afterwards. He was a cautious, moderate man, and didn’t want anybody hating him. People who hated sometimes struck out without worrying about what it would cost them afterwards.

Some men Varus knew didn’t care. Some of them took extra pleasure from laying a slave girl who would have spit in their face were she free. Some men liked hunting lions and bears and crocodiles, too. And quite a few hunters died younger than they would if they didn’t go after dangerous game.

How many men died sooner than they would have if they’d kept their hands off slave girls who couldn’t stand them? Horrible things happened to slaves who murdered openly. That was necessary; it kept other slaves from getting nasty ideas. But not all poisonings, for instance, were easy to detect. If someone came down deathly ill or slowly wasted away, maybe it was fate. On the other hand, maybe it was somebody else’s revenge.

Quinctilius Varus didn’t want to worry about things like that. He also didn’t want Aristocles brooding that he might not be manumitted. And so he murmured, “You’re quite right - I’ve provided for you. I’m sure you’ll do well.”