I rose early the next morning. My night had not been as late as I feared, and I’d become accustomed to awakening early. So it was with some surprise that I discovered, from a slave in Varus’ home, that the governor had already left and could be found in the headquarters building, where he was to spend the day listening to plaintiffs and settling the disputes of the local inhabitants.
I supposed, as Marcus and I were to be aides to Varus, that this was something we should observe, to see if we could be of any assistance. We both ate a quick meal of millet porridge, prepared by the slaves and sweetened with honey, and then donned our armour and walked next door to the camp headquarters.
As soon as we left Varus’ home we noticed the queue outside the headquarters. A whole host of local tribesmen and women were lining up to see the governor. It stretched right down the Via Principalis, even this early in the morning.
We walked through the main courtyard and into the main hall of the headquarters, which was flanked by two legionaries standing guard. Inside, Varus sat on a large throne and was listening to the plea of a local farmer who was having to speak through an interpreter. Marcus and I sat on a small bench to one side, where two scribes were busy taking notes on proceedings.
The interpreter, also a scribe dressed in a simple blue tunic, was a small wiry man with a long nose and a balding pate. He pointed at the farmer –a tall man with a very prominent Adam’s apple –over a mournful face with a drooping moustache. ‘He claims that the tribune, who visited his village, assessed the size of his herd incorrectly. They claim he owned twenty sheep and four cows, but he says ten of the sheep and one cow actually belonged to his neighbour.’
Varus leant forward and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. ‘No doubt he claims that the tax owed to us should reflect this.’
‘Exactly, sir.’
Varus sighed. ‘Tell him that I’m very sorry, but the tribunes were made very clear when they visited the villages to gain accurate figures on each farmer’s livestock. If some of his herd was owned by his neighbour, he should have made that clear at the time.’
The interpreter explained this to the farmer who responded, in their guttural language that always made them sound angry, supplemented with many desperate hand gestures. It didn’t take an expert linguist to realise that the farmer wasn’t happy with this explanation. The interpreter turned back to Varus. ‘He says that when the tribune came to the village, he had no idea that the herd was being counted in order to calculate tax revenues.’
Varus chuckled. ‘Now there’s a surprise. No doubt if he had known, he’d have hidden half his herd in the forest. It’s quite simple really. Whether the sheep or cows belong to him or his neighbour, the amount of tax we extract will be the same – the value of one sheep in ten, or one cow in twenty. He can pay and then extract the coinage from his neighbour afterwards – that’s if this neighbour really exists, of which I am very sceptical.’
The interpreter translated and the farmer started arguing back, this time in a raised voice.
Varus’ eyes rolled up to the back of his head and he signalled to a centurion and two guards. ‘That’s quite enough of that. Remove the man.’
The two guards each grabbed hold of the man and ejected him quickly from the room, the man still shouting all the while. Then another plaintiff took his place;this time a very stout middle-aged women with blonde plaited hair framing a plain blunt face.
This woman was also complaining about the tax she owed the collectors, except she didn’t even bother to come up with a story as to why the calculation was incorrect. Her argument was that she: ‘never had to pay it before, so why should I pay it now?’
Varus looked on thoughtfully. ‘Tell her that Rome needs to exact money from each province just as it does from any of its subject nations. It is the price you pay for us bringing peace to the region, new roads, and new structures that benefit the whole population –the new aqueduct for example.’
The interpreter explains this before getting a blunt response. He turned back to Varus. ‘She says she doesn’t want any of that stuff, so she should be able to keep her money.’
This brought laughter from the court, and even Varus smiled. ‘Unfortunately, she doesn’t have a choice. Please tell her to leave. Next.’ The woman was led away and another took her place.
It was clear that the Germans were not taking too kindly to the new tax laws. They were finding out the hard way that Roman rule came with a price attached. I was mystified why Varus was bothering to listen to all these pleas personally. Surely he could get some lesser minion to do all this for him. Maybe he thought the governor should be seen to be dispensing justice personally. I was at a loss as to how I could possibly be of any assistance here, and by the time the tenth plaintiff came up to complain about his tax demand, I was thoroughly bored. I noticed Marcus was beginning to doze off, so I gave him a nudge and gestured that we were leaving.
We left the military headquarters, which was full of scribes, tribunes, and centurions all busily scurrying around, fulfilling the military administration for a camp approaching twenty thousand men. Marcus asked, ‘Where are we going now?’
It was actually a good question. I’d been sent to Germany by the imperator’s wife on the presumption that I could be useful, but in reality I had no idea what my duties should be. I held a military rank of senior tribune, but as I wasn’t assigned to any legion, I commanded no men – well, except for Marcus – so my previous experience in the army was of little help. I needed to find some role in the military machine where I could be of use.
I looked up into the sky and judged it still shy of midday. ‘Let’s see if I can’t put you through your paces on the training yard.’ If I couldn’t think a way of being useful, at least working on the training field would prevent me coming across as idle.
A smile broke across Marcus’ face. ‘Great! This is just like back home.’
The training yard was outside the military camp, and we walked there with the sun bursting through the clouds. ‘Summer has reached us. A pleasant day to be working outside,’ I commented to Marcus.
The training ground was being used by two cohorts of men who were practising with weighted wooden blades against wooden posts whilst being screamed at by supervising centurions. The routines were as common a sight as any in the army;the men learning by rote the techniques that in time might save their lives. Marcus and I stood by the side and admired the men’s preparation.
‘One, two and thrust!’ bellowed a centurion in a loud voice as the men first struck blades against the base, then the top before thrusting at its centre.
‘And again, one, two and thrust!’
Other centurions walked up and down the lines of men, cracking their vine staffs against any man they deemed guilty of not giving his all. ‘Do you still work the drills in the Praetorian camp?’ I asked Marcus.
‘Of course. The Praetorians are more than just a guard for the imperator– they are an elite legion.’ Marcus sounded defensive that I should question that.
I’d worked with some of the Praetorians myself and knew them to be slightly short of the elite legion Marcus thought them. Although made up of veterans, the men were stationed near Rome and therefore out of any combat zone. You could train for wars as much as you liked, but nothing focused the mind more than knowing that these techniques were worth learning if you wanted to remain alive – far greater motivation than the risk of a rap on the knuckles by a centurion’s staff.
‘Come on, let’s get to work.’ I picked up a wooden gladius and tossed another to Marcus.
One of the reasons I was always at odds with Numonius Vala was my insistence on training in full view of the lower ranks. He didn’t think it was befitting a man of my station, but I disagreed. In my experience if the men could see you prepared to work as hard as them in the training field, you gleaned their respect, and the gods be dammed to any supposed loss of dignity to my rank.
We exercised in full armour, and before long we were clacking the wooden swords against one another. The training yard where we sparred was near the small knoll to the north-east of the encampment where I knew Numeria’s husband to be buried. It reminded me of her unfortunate husband and the diminished state my childhood friend now found herself in.
‘Ha! I have you again!’ shouted Marcus as he cracked his wooden blade against my thigh. ‘You’re not at your best today.’
It was Marcus’ fourth easy victory in a row and I dropped my sword and removed my helmet. ‘I’m sorry, Marcus. I think I will have to leave our training until later. There is something I need to do.’
Marcus shrugged but didn’t enquire of me further. He could tell I was distracted and of little use as a training companion. I left him as he started to work the drills against a wooden post, reflecting the drills practised by the legionaries in the field opposite.
I rubbed my sore shoulder – a reward from a heavy blow I received there from Marcus – and made my way into the town. I was seeking Numeria. I needed to see her again and hopefully make her see sense and persuade her to return to Rome. This extended mourning for her dead husband needed to stop – it was time to let his shade go, and leave Varus to govern the land without her interference. Numeria always was stubborn – I remembered the storming rows we’d had as children – but she could normally see sense eventually; surely she must see the folly of her remaining here?
I wandered into the town and enquired into the whereabouts of the Lady Numeria’s residence. It didn’t take long;she was obviously well known in the town. Who could forget the disgraced officer’s wife? I was directed to a modest but well-constructed house in a quiet quarter of the town which had been built in the shadow of a large silver birch, with long branches, that overhung the main courtyard of her home.
I knocked on the main door, and after a time it was opened by a middle-aged man with a bald head, simple tunic, and pleasant cheerful face. ‘May I help you?’
I removed my helmet and inclined my head slightly. ‘I seek an audience with the Lady Numeria.’
‘I am afraid that Lady Numeria is not in attendance today. I am very sorry. Maybe you can try again in a couple of days.’ He gave me an agreeable smile.
My eyes widened. ‘A couple of days? Where has she gone?’ This newly built town was in the middle of nowhere. She could hardly be away visiting an elderly aunt.
‘The Lady Numeria does lots of work with the local tribes women of these parts,’ he replied in a resigned tone that he clearly didn’t expect me to understand, ‘she will be back in a couple of days. You can come again then.’
He was right. I didn’t understand. ‘The local tribes women? You mean she is out visiting the German villages?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ His good-natured smile returned.
‘What does she do with them?’
‘She listens to their concerns, speaks to them of Roman rule, explains Rome’s new tax laws and helps in any way she can.’ He sounded proud but also concerned.
‘But by the gods, who with? Does she have a military escort?’ Even the friendliest of allied tribes was no place for a woman out alone.
‘No. The Lady Numeria declines military protection – they would only alienate her from the people she is trying to help.’ He sounded almost embarrassed saying this, as if he knew how stupid that sounded. ‘Now, if you please, I have lots of work to be done.’ He started closing the door. ‘Come back in a couple of days.’
I put a firm arm against the door, preventing it closing. ‘Don’t you dare shut the door on me, slave.’
He stood up straight, obviously affronted, and said, ‘I’m no slave. I’m a freedman!’
It made little odds to me;he was still obviously just Numeria’s servant. ‘My apologies. Now, can you tell me which village she is currently visiting?’
His tone changed to one more apologetic. ‘I am very sorry. Numeria never tells her household where she intends to travel. It is a terrible nuisance. We never know when to expect her back.’
So if she was to die out there, after being butchered by roving wild tribesmen, nobody could even tell the Roman army where she’d gone: she would just simply disappear. ‘How can you let a lady in your care behave so irresponsibly?’ I demanded.
He lowered his eyes. ‘I am afraid the Lady Numeria has a will of her own and cannot be swayed on this issue.’
We will see about that, I thought, but realised there was little to gain by taking it out on her freedman. ‘Tell her that Tribune Aprilis came to visit and I will return in two days’ time.’ I forced myself to add, ‘Please tell her I would be most grateful if she remained in residence until that time.’ I knew there was no point in demanding anything from Numeria –that was a sure way to make her do the opposite to what you wanted.
The middle-aged man sighed. ‘I surely will. It is nice to see someone from the military still has her welfare at heart.’
He slowly shut the door and I left, steaming at the stupidity of her. How many Roman women were crazy enough to roam the German countryside? It was ridiculous. Apart from the obvious dangers of rape, robbery and death from bandits, the tribes themselves probably took umbrage at an interfering Roman noblewoman playing at diplomacy. She could stir up a hornets nest in no time. Then they would kill her, and nobody would even know which village did it – absolute madness!
I trudged back into the military camp and gave myself a soak in Varus’ bathhouse to settle me down. As I entered the hot water I leant my arms along the tiled side of the bath and tipped my head back, closing my eyes, and letting out a deep sigh. This was turning into a frustrating day: my two childhood friends, Julius and Numeria, were both supposed to be here but I was prevented speaking to either of them as they were gallivanting about the place trying to be heroes. Why couldn’t I have normal friends?
Another lavish dinner was put on that night by Varus for his high command. His nephew Asprenas had already left for Mogontiacum so it was attended by Avitus, legate of the XVII, his lead tribune, Paullinus, the camp praefect, Ceionius, and a man I hadn’t met yet, Selus, the legate of the XIX. He seemed a likeable enough man, with a trimmed beard and slightly thinning hair, he spoke with a gravely voice and was quick to compliment Varus on any particular dish he enjoyed. His lead tribune also joined us, a slender man named Grapper, so the only notable absentees were Numonius Vala, legate of the XVIII and his lead tribune. No one seemed surprised that they hadn’t turned up, so Marcus and I paid it no mind.
‘I saw you and your man, Marcus, training in the yard today. You both look to know your gladius work,’ complimented Selus.
‘I thank you, but in truth I wasn’t at my best today. Marcus scored a few easy victories over me.’
Marcus grinned happily.
‘Don’t get too carried away with yourself, young man. Training in the field is one thing, fighting in combat something else entirely,’ he reprimanded Marcus.
‘I know that, sir. I wish to learn as much as I can from Cassius. He really is a good swordsman.’ Marcus took a bite of roast chicken.
‘As well you might. He has learnt to fight the hard way. I have heard of his exploits at Western-Gate Pass. You will do well to emulate him.’
Oh dear, another man who thought me a great hero. I smiled politely but said nothing. There was no point.
‘I intend to take my legion out on some manoeuvres tomorrow, just simple drills and formation training. Would you two care to join me?’ he asked.
‘It would be an honour, sir,’ snapped Marcus instantly.
I smiled at his eager response. It was nothing to get excited about. The legion would just be marching around in circles for the day. ‘Unfortunately, I won’t be able to join you tomorrow, but please, Marcus, you go ahead.’
Selus raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you have something planned?’
I tore a small piece of bread off and ran it along my plate to soak up some of the sauce left there. I had been thinking on what I needed to do. ‘If I am to be any use to Varus here, I need to get to grips with how this army is operating. I intend to spend some time in the reports office tomorrow to see how it is organised.’
‘Pah, you wouldn’t catch me in there. Good luck to you. Boring work if you ask me.’ Selus shook his head in dismay and Marcus looked horrified by the prospect.
‘Don’t worry, Marcus. You enjoy the training tomorrow. I’ll be with the scribes.’ I wasn’t exactly enthused by the task, but at least I thought I could be some use there.
And so it was that the next day I walked into the army’s military headquarters. Several junior tribunes were busy at work drawing up rotas, listing men on report or compiling lists of men classified as walking wounded. I asked who was in charge, and a junior tribune named Palus, came over and saluted me. ‘I am, sir. What brings you here?’ He was obviously surprised that I would take an interest in the administrative running of the army. Most people of my rank shied away from anything that was considered menial.
‘I am just here to observe and get a feel for what you do here,’ I told him, walking around and inspecting the stacks of shelves, full to brimming with reports and filed wax tablets.
‘Of course, sir,’ he said. ‘Would you like me to explain how it all works,’ he added reluctantly. Plainly the last thing he wanted was a senior aide sticking his nose in where it wasn’t wanted.
‘That would be very helpful, thanks,’ I said cheerfully, ignoring his reticence.
Much of what he explained was pretty standard stuff, similar to how my old legion used to be organised in Syria. Requisition orders for local livestock were filed on one wall, whilst lists of reports from the centurions made up the bulk of another. I painstakingly made sure he explained where each set of reports were kept and asked him to explain why they were kept. If this records office was anything like any of the others I knew, some reports would be kept for no reason that anyone here would know. By lunchtime I began to get a feel for the place, but something struck me as odd. Firstly, I noticed that nearly all the army’s food came from local farmers. ‘Don’t the legions send out hunting parties of their own?’ I asked Palus.
‘Varus believes that by buying everything we need from the local farmers, it helps the tribes benefit from our presence,’ he told me curtly.
It also made us vulnerable if they ever turned hostile towards us, I thought, but conceded that Varus’ view was a valid one: once the tribes got a taste of the wealth we supplied, they would soon become dependant on it.
‘But where are the military reports? All I see here are the lists of provisions, reports on the men, and the peaceful aspects of the army.’
‘They go into the next room, sir.’ He sounded cagey.
I looked into his eyes. ‘Show me.’
He led me into the next room, which was piled high with military reports written by centurions after patrols. Straightaway I noticed two things: firstly, most of the reports were compiled by centurions from the XVIII legion, that of Numonius Vala, and secondly, most of the reports were still sealed. ‘None of these have even been read,’ I said aghast.
‘That isn’t down to us,’ replied Palus defensively. ‘Legate Asprenas is in charge of military intelligence. It is for his team to access all this stuff.’
That explained a lot. No doubt Asprenas couldn’t be bothered with this boring intelligence work. It probably got in the way of him whoring in town. ‘But Asprenas left the army yesterday, who is taking responsibility now?’
‘I couldn’t tell you, sir,’ he answered.
‘By the gods, what a way to run an army. I’ll be back.’ I left him and decided to find out who was taking control of the intelligence reports.
The first man I tried was Ceionius, the camp praefect. I reasoned that he would want to know who was ensuring the welfare of his camp. I was wrong. ‘What, by Hades, does it have to do with me?’ he told me incredulously. ‘I run the camp, not the whole army. Ask the legion commanders, or better still, Varus himself.’
I didn’t want to approach Varus. Any interference from me might be construed as criticism and I wasn’t quite sure of my footing with him just yet. I left Ceionius in his small office in the headquarters and decided to speak to one of the legates. My first thought was to speak to Legate Selus, whom I’d spoken to the night before. He seemed a reasonable man, but then I remembered that he was out on a training exercise with Marcus. I supposed I could approach my old colleague Numonius Vala, but I was loathe to do this – his sanctimonious spirit was so tiresome. Besides, that would mean informing him that nobody had been reading any of the reports his legion were posting – I doubted that Varus would appreciate me giving Vala anymore reason to have a grievance against him. That left Avitus, the stocky thick-necked legate I’d been introduced to at the dinner the other night.
I enquired to his whereabouts and was directed to first one area of the camp, and then another. Each time I arrived at his supposed location, I was told he had just left. It seemed as if Avitus was a restless man who never stood still for more than the time it took him to shout some orders at someone. It was with increasing frustration that I finally found out that he was now in a meeting with Governor Varus back at the company headquarters – which was the point I started at! I knew the prudent thing to do was to wait outside Varus’ office and speak to Avitus when they were done, but by now my frustration at being directed from one end of the camp to the other made me impatient to get this over with, so I asked the guard at Varus’ door to announce me at once.
Governor Varus looked up as I entered. He was standing over a table with Avitus, poring over a sales ledger of merchant goods. ‘Cassius?’ He looked surprised. ‘What brings you here?’
I cleared my throat. ‘I was actually looking for Legate Avitus, my lord.’
Avitus turned round and furrowed his eyebrows. ‘What business do you have with me?’
There was an edge of irritation to his question. I knew I should have waited till he’d finished his meeting. ‘I’ve just been inspecting the records office next door,’ I said carefully.
‘What by mercury for?’ he looked at me suspiciously. ‘What did you find?’
‘I was just acquainting myself with the military records. It seems that since Asprenas left, nobody knows who is in charge of the military intelligence.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I was wondering if you could tell me?’
Both Varus and Avitus looked at each other blankly. I thought so. Nobody had even given it a thought.
Varus was the first to speak. ‘Well, Avitus. As you are now my senior legate, I suppose the job goes to you.’
‘What! Don’t be ridiculous. I have enough on my plate. Give it to Selus or Vala.’
Varus sighed. ‘Selus spends most of his time on the training yard or out on manoeuvres. Can you really see him bothering with it?’
‘Vala then?’
‘What? And give him more reasons to criticise me? No chance.’ Varus swept his arms apart crossly.
Varus’ and Vala’s relationship was so bad that it would be pointless Vala being given the role anyway, as the governor wouldn’t listen to anything he said. ‘I didn’t mean to cause any disruption. There is no need to let me know now.’ I started edging to the door – why did I get involved? It was nothing to do with me.
Both of them looked over at me and gave me an appraising look. Avitus spoke up. ‘You’re an aide to Varus. You do it.’
Varus smiled. ‘Yes, what a good idea.’