Give Me Back My Legions(96)

That precise, fussy voice belonged to Aristocles. Sure enough, here came Varus’ chief slave. He was fussy about his person, too, and looked even more unhappy at going out in the rain than most of the Romans did.

“What can I do for you today?” Arminius asked. He treated the skinny Greek as politely as if Aristocles were free. You had to do that with prominent Romans’ prominent slaves. Your life wouldn’t be worth living if you didn’t. Some of them ran their masters rather than the other way around. That would never have happened among Germans. Slaves here knew their place. If they forgot it, a clout in the teeth reminded them what was what.

“The governor wishes to confer with you,” Aristocles said.

He could be polite, too. Arminius had no trouble imagining what Varus had told Aristocles. Go fetch the German, he would have said, or, perhaps more likely, Go fetch the barbarian. He wouldn’t have cared whether his slave honey-coated the message or not. But Aristocles did.

“I am always pleased to confer with the governor,” Arminius replied. He can give me orders as long as I’m stuck in this terrible encampment. So many things the German and the Greek weren’t saving. Arminius wondered if Aristocles heard them nonetheless.

He watched the pedisequus flinch delicately as rain poured down on him. That almost made him laugh. A German who minded getting wet would soon go mad. Besides, Arminius could always pull his cloak up over his head. He didn’t bother here. Impressing Aristocles counted for more.

“This weather leaves much to be desired,” the Greek said.

Arminius only shrugged. “It’s often like this here,” he said, which was nothing but the truth.

“But you say it’s better north of the hills?” Aristocles asked.

“Is that what the governor wants to talk about?” Trying to hide his sudden excitement, Arminius parried question with question.

“He doesn’t tell me such things,” the slave sniffed. “ ‘Aristocles, go find Arminius and bring him to me’ - that’s what he said.” Arminius smiled - that was close to what he’d imagined, all right. Striking a pose even in the rain, Aristocles continued, “I found you, so now I’ll bring you.”

“So you will,” Arminius agreed. He followed the Greek back to Varus’ tent. If he was going to be seen as a proper Roman friend and ally, he had to act like one, no matter how it made his stomach churn.

Once under thick canvas, he shook himself like a dog. Water sprayed every which way. Aristocles squawked: some of it got him in the eye. “What did you go and do that for?” he said.

“To dry off before I see the governor,” Arminius answered. As he’d guessed, mentioning Varus calmed Aristocles down. All the same, Arminius added, “Sorry.” If you were going to act like a friend and ally, you did have to act like one, curse it.

Aristocles hurried off, no doubt to tell Varus he’d done his duty. Arminius could hear his voice, but couldn’t make out what he was saying; the folds of cloth muffled words. Then the slave came back. “This way,” he said.

As Quinctilius Varus so often was, he was writing something when Aristocles ushered Arminius into his presence. “Your Excellency,” Arminius said, and waited for the governor’s pleasure.

Varus set down the pen with every sign of relief. He got up from behind the folding table he was using for a desk. High Roman officers in Pannonia had almost identical tables. The Empire expected its commanders to read and write, which had always struck Arminius as strange.

But he didn’t need to dwell on it now. Varus advanced on him with every sign of pleasure and clasped his hand in a grip firm enough to remind him the Romans were no weaklings even if they did care too much about their precious letters. “Welcome, welcome, three times welcome!” Varus said, and then, to Aristocles, “Why don’t you bring us some wine?”

“We haven’t got any, sir, not till they unload this convoy just coming in,” Aristocles answered.

Arminius learned a couple of Latin phrases he hadn’t heard before. Then Varus heaved a sigh. With the air of a man sacrificing on the altar of friendship, he said, “Well, bring us some beer, then.”

“Yes, sir,” Aristocles said, and, sensibly, not another word.

Arminius minded beer not at all. Why should he, when he’d drunk it since he was weaned? Before he could say as much, Varus spoke first: “This ghastly weather! We’re lucky the wagons got here at all!”

“Yes, sir.” Arminius said it, too. He suddenly wished he hadn’t shaken off some of the rain. He wanted - he needed - to remind Varus how wet it was here. He swallowed his sigh. Too late to fret about it now.