Give Me Back My Legions(97)

And Varus went on, “You must love it, too - you’re soaked.”

“Rain happens at this season in these parts,” Arminius said. Evidently he still looked soggy. “We go on as best we can. It is better on the far side of the hills. Not perfect, maybe, but better.” He didn’t want the Roman to expect too much, especially since there was no real difference in the weather up there.

“It couldn’t be much worse,” Varus muttered. Arminius didn’t think that was true. Near the sea, it was definitely cloudier and rainier, with fogs that sometimes lasted all day even in summer. But Varus didn’t need to hear such things.

Aristocles returned. He served the beer with as much ceremony as if it were finest Falernian. Arminius raised his mug in salute to Varus. “Health, your Excellency.”

“Your health,” Varus echoed. They drank. It was, Arminius thought, plenty good beer. The Roman governor sipped gamely. He didn’t screw up his face the way his folk often did after tasting beer. “I’ve certainly had worse,” he said.

“Nothing wrong with beer,” Arminius said. “Not so sweet as wine, maybe, but nothing wrong with it.”

Barbarian. Quinctilius Varus didn’t silently mouth the word. Aristocles did. Arminius was more amused than affronted. Aristocles looked down his nose at Romans, too. To him, anyone who wasn’t a Greek was a barbarian. The Romans had conquered his folk and ruled them for lifetimes? He himself was a Roman’s slave, as much his chattel as the writing table? Details. Only details. They dented his conceit not at all.

Quinctilius Varus drank again, and again managed not to wince. “You must tell me more about the route we would take if we went north of your hills. A bad rain just as we were on our way to the river on the old route could ruin us. We’d bog down in the mire, and the wild Germans might swoop down and cause us no end of trouble.”

“They do not understand that they and their children and their children’s children will be better off under Roman rule,” Arminius said. He didn’t understand any such thing, either, but Varus didn’t need to know that . . .yet.

The Roman governor beamed at him. “That’s just it! They don’t. Well, they’ll come to see as time passes. Gaul needed a while to get used to things, but the people there are happy enough now.”

“I believe it, sir.” Arminius wasn’t lying. Germans had a low opinion of Gauls. His folk had thumped them time after time till the Romans reached the Rhine - and, worse, crossed it.

If he could do what he wanted to do to Varus’ legions, he didn’t intend to stop there. How many troops would the Romans have left along the Rhine after a disaster in the heart of Germany? Enough to stop a triumphant army blazing with righteous rage - and hungry for all the good things Romans and Gauls enjoyed? Arminius didn’t think so.

“Speak to my military secretaries,” Varus told him. “Describe the route you have in mind in as much detail as you can. Tell them of the distances involved and of ways to keep the legions supplied on the march. If what you’ve been talking about seems at all feasible to the secretaries, to the crows with me if we won’t try it on the way home this year.”

“Your Excellency, I will obey you as if I were your own son,” Arminius said. Varus’ eyes went soft and misty. Arminius realized he’d come out with just the right thing. The Roman had talked about his son before, and how Arminius reminded him of the young man. Under most circumstances, Arminius would have taken that for an insult, not praise. As a matter of fact, he still did, but it was an insult he could use. Anything - anything at all - to make Varus trust him.

There stood Mindenum, an island of Roman order and discipline in the middle of Germany. Segestes eyed the encampment’s ramparts from perhaps a mile away. “By the gods, I don’t know why I’m bothering to do this,” he said mournfully. “That fat, bald fool won’t listen to me.”

Masua gave him a sidelong glance. “I know why you’re bothering,” his retainer said. “You’re a Roman citizen. You’re a friend and ally of the Romans. If you walk away from a promise you made, what kind of friend and ally are you? Not the kind you’d want to be.”

Segestes grunted. “Well, you’re right. But it seems to me that this stupid Roman is walking away from me. Why he’d want to listen to gods-cursed Arminius . . .”

“Maybe he wants to stick it up his ass,” Masua said. “Everybody knows the Romans enjoy those games.”

But Segestes shook his head. “Varus likes women. He likes German women, in fact - all the gossip from Mindenum and Vetera says so. I suppose the ones he got used to in Rome seem little and skinny next to ours. No, he doesn’t want to bugger Arminius. But he doesn’t see that he’s being played for a fool, either. I don’t know why not, but he doesn’t.”