“We are pleased to show that, sir.” Where his father had evaded, Arminius lied without hesitation or compunction. Under other circumstances, Sigimerus would have had every right to beat him for being so shameless.
“Well, so am I,” Varus answered. “And your being my guests will go a long way toward laying to rest some of the, ah, unfortunate rumors that have attached themselves to your name, Arminius.”
“That would be very good,” Arminius said, to himself alone adding, especially since those rumors are true.
His being here might lay them to rest among the Romans who suspected him. But it also might make his fellow Germans wonder whether he was turning traitor. That could cause him problems after the Romans went back over the Rhine to winter in Gaul.
But even if it did, he could repair such things later. For now, he was inside the Roman encampment. As long as he stayed here, he would do well to act as much like a Roman as he could.
Sigimerus coughed a couple of times. What that would have amounted to had he put it into words, Arminius could imagine. Luckily, Quinctilius Varus couldn’t.
“Aristocles!” the Roman called.
“Yes, sir?” The pedisequus might have appeared out of thin air. One heartbeat, he was nowhere to be seen. The next, he stood at Varus’ elbow.
“Tell the cooks Arminius and his distinguished father will be dining with me tonight,” Varus said.
“Certainly, sir.” Aristocles vanished almost as smoothly as he’d manifested himself. He might have made a good conjurer, amusing people by pretending to pull coins or jewelry out of their ears and noses. Or, Arminius thought uneasily, he might be a real wizard, one who could snap his fingers and appear or disappear. Arminius thought that unlikely - wizards were more often talked about than seen - but you never could tell.
Or could you? Why would a true wizard let an ordinary man enslave him? That struck the German as something only a fool would do. Aristocles was no fool, which had to mean he was no wizard, either: only a man uncommonly light on his feet.
The cooks served mutton without garlic. That had to be a compliment to Arminius and Sigimerus, because the Romans doted on the stuff. Varus noticed, too. He remarked, “It’s, ah, interesting flavored with mint, isn’t it? Different from what I’m used to.”
“Good,” Sigimerus said. The amount of meat he’d put away said he approved of what the cooks had done.
“We might seethe the mutton instead of roasting it,” Arminius said. “But I think my father is right - it is very good. We thank you for it.” He sucked marrow out of a bone.
“My pleasure, believe me,” the Roman said. “And I assure you that it is also my pleasure to see Germans who trust me and my people enough to be our guests and accept our hospitality.”
“Who would not want to accept it when it is so generous?” Arminius said. He wasn’t sure his father had followed all of what Varus said. If Sigimerus had, he was better at keeping his face straight than Arminius had guessed. If he was, good; in Mindenum, he needed to be.
“Will you two spend the night with us?” Varus asked. “We can run up a tent for you. You, Arminius, will be familiar with our arrangements from your time of service with the auxiliaries. You can acquaint your distinguished father with them as well.”
Arminius went back and forth with his father in the Germans’ tongue to let him know what Varus had offered. After a moment’s thought, Sigimerus nodded. “It would be our privilege, sir,” Arminius told Varus in Latin.
“Splendid!” Varus exclaimed. Arminius reflected that he was turning into a better liar than he’d ever wanted to be.
Lucius Eggius looked back at the long column of legionaries he led. They slogged through the German forests and marshes, slapping at the mosquitoes and biting flies that plagued them and swearing at the officers who’d sent them forth.
Since Eggius felt like swearing at those officers, too, he didn’t even try to restrain the men. Let them cuss, he thought. It’ll make them feel better, and it won’t hurt the buggers they’re cussing out. . . . Too stinking bad.
“Come on, boys!” he called. “Looks like better ground up ahead.”
“If it was any worse ground, it’d swallow us up and we’d never be seen again,” one of the soldiers said.
“Oh, cheer up, Gnaeus,” Eggius said. “At least the barbarians aren’t giving us any grief.”
The legionary was not cheered. “Yes, and that’s all wrong, too,” he answered. “Why aren’t they? It’s . . . suspicious, like.”
“Quinctilius Varus says it’s because they’re finally coming to see we really are their masters.” Eggius, loyal to the idea of Rome if not necessarily to the blue-blooded chuckleheads who represented that idea in Germany, gave forth with the party line.