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camp commander at Aliso, and for supplies of iron and bronze from the senior officer at the fort of Confluentes. A merchant in Bonna complained about extortions he’d been forced to pay to soldiers when transporting his goods through the settlement. ‘When I protested,’ the merchant wrote, ‘I was beaten on the street, like a stray dog. I went at once to the camp commander, who laughed in my face. In desperation, I, a Roman citizen, write to you, Publius Quinctilius Varus, representative of Augustus himself. I ask for nothing but justice.’
    ‘Gods above,’ said Varus, frustrated. ‘What can I do to remedy this?’
    Again Aristides said nothing. Like as not, the merchant was telling the truth. It was standard practice for soldiers guarding the empire’s roads to extract tolls from passing traders, and to manhandle those who objected. He knew it. Varus knew it.
    Varus thought for a moment. ‘Write to the fort commander in Bonna. Tell him that he is to receive this merchant with respect, and listen to his accusations for a second time. If the man’s charges can be proved, he is to return what was stolen, using monies from the garrison’s pay chest. If they cannot, he is to give his soldiers an unofficial warning not to be so damn greedy. You are also to send word to the merchant, expressing regret that he is unhappy with the treatment he received from my troops. Be careful not to admit that there has been any wrongdoing. Inform him that I have instructed the commander to meet him and hear his complaint again, with an impartial ear.’ He waited until Aristides had finished scribbling on his wax tablet. ‘Got all that?’
    There was a little sigh. ‘Of course, master.’
    ‘Good.’ Varus threw a baleful look at the stack of correspondence, which was still substantial. ‘Although I’ll miss the comforts of a permanent camp, it will be good to leave this place behind.’
    ‘You mean our summer march to the east, master?’ This time, Aristides made no attempt to conceal his distaste.
    ‘Yes. Three months of good weather and hunting, during which official letters will find it difficult to find me. There’ll be bookkeeping to be done, but it will be nothing compared to the volume I receive here. You’ll be able to deal with most of it. When we return in the autumn, a mountain of documents will cover this desk, but I don’t care.’ Varus saw Aristides’ expression, and chuckled. ‘You shall have your hot baths while we’re away, from time to time at least. Slave you might be, but you cannot say I do not look after you.’
    ‘You do, master, thank you,’ said Aristides, his frown easing. ‘I am ever grateful.’
    ‘I haven’t forgotten my promise to you either. When my term as governor is up, you will receive your manumission. You’ve served me well; it’s the least I can do.’
    ‘Publius Quinctilius Varus, you are the finest master that a slave could wish for,’ said Aristides, beaming from ear to ear. He bowed. ‘Gratitude.’
    ‘Are you now content to travel into the wilds of Germania?’ asked Varus with a smile.
    ‘Will there be any fighting, master?’
    Varus didn’t look down on Aristides for being afraid. He was a scholar, not a soldier. ‘I doubt it. Things seem to be quiet on the other side of the river. Besides, more than ten thousand legionaries will be accompanying us. No hostile tribesmen in their right minds would come within miles of our camp.’
    Aristides looked pleased. ‘Very good, master.’
    ‘Back to work then.’ Varus picked up a wooden tablet and broke the seal on the string that held its two parts together. Opening it, he began to read. ‘Ah. This is from the commander at Fectio. His news is good, and he asks for nothing, which makes a change from most of these wretched communications.’
    ‘What does he say, master?’
    ‘Almost his entire fleet – triremes, biremes and troop transports – is seaworthy. He places them at my disposal for the coming months, and