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youth,’ said Varus, thinking: There’s nothing wrong with humouring him in this matter. He’s well connected, after all. ‘What would you like to do – lead a patrol over the river?’
    ‘That would be wonderful, thank you, sir,’ replied Tubero, his face lighting up.
    ‘Fine. You can take my latest orders to the camp commander at the fort of Aliso. It’s two days’ easy march to the east, on the River Lupia. You’ll pass a number of settlements as you go. Venturing that far into Germania should give you a feel for the land and the tribes. There shouldn’t be any trouble. After you’ve delivered the letters and received the commander’s replies, you will return.’
    ‘My sincere thanks, sir.’
    ‘A cohort should be more than sufficient. I’ll have a word with Vala. He can ensure that the senior centurion in charge of the men is a solid type.’
    Tubero flushed a little. ‘I don’t need anyone to hold my hand, sir.’
    ‘Let me be the judge of that, tribune. That the imperial peace should continue in Germania is my responsibility, not yours.’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ said Tubero, the reluctance loud in his voice. ‘Had you anyone in mind?’
    ‘As it happens, I have – a senior centurion called Tullus. Have you come across him yet?’
    ‘No, sir.’ Tubero somehow conveyed in the two words his scorn for those lower in rank than he.
    Varus began to grow a little irritated. ‘Two things, tribune. The first is that it behoves you to make the acquaintance of every cohort commander in the Eighteenth. In an ideal world, you would also get to know every centurion. It’s not been long since you arrived, yet you ought at least to have heard of Tullus. He’s a highly decorated, well-thought-of officer, with more than twenty-five years’ service under his belt. Everyone esteems him, from Legate Vala to the lowest ranker. I’ve heard it said that he’s one of the best-loved officers in the legion.’
    Like so many youths, Tubero could affect a disinterested look to perfection, thought Varus, his temper rising. ‘You will treat Tullus with the respect he deserves. Clear?’
    Tubero cleared his throat. ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Secondly, a word of advice. Going about with your nose in the air while you’re here will earn you few friends, and more than one enemy. Those of lower station have to obey you, but if you treat them like dirt, they will make your life difficult. Orders will be followed at the slowest pace possible, or “forgotten”, or misplaced. Do you understand?’
    ‘I do, sir,’ muttered Tubero.
    ‘Good. You’ll receive your orders for the patrol by nightfall. Dismissed.’ Varus’ acknowledgment of Tubero’s salute was curt. When they were alone, he looked at Aristides. ‘The young always know best, eh?’
    ‘It has ever been thus, sir.’
    Varus sighed. ‘I was the same, I suppose, and so were you. If he’s tempered in the right way, Tubero will probably make a fine soldier.’
    ‘Indeed, sir.’
    ‘I’ll dictate Tubero’s and Tullus’ orders later. For now, we had best finish with this damn lot’ – Varus slapped the stack of documents – ‘or we’ll still be here at dawn.’
    Late-afternoon sun bathed the clearing where Arminius and his men had stopped, a short distance from the road that led east from Vetera to the fort of Aliso. The unit’s hobbled horses were grazing beyond the cluster of lean-tos and tents. Piles of equipment were stacked close by: standards, helmets, mail shirts, swords, spears and shields. Some of the warriors sat about on their blankets, talking and cooking, while others wrestled with one another or gathered fuel and water. From a nearby birch, a blackbird shrilled its indignation at the intruders on its territory.
    Arminius was sitting with several men by the fire outside his lean-to when a sentry arrived, looking excited. ‘Maelo is here,’ he announced.
    ‘Bring him to me.’ Arminius had been expecting his second-in-command, who had left Ara Ubiorum