Read Online The Iron Hand of Mars by Lindsey Davis - Free Book Online Page B

blank spaces east of the River Rhenus: Germania Libera  … Endless tracts of territory where “free” meant not only free from Roman commercial influence, but with a complete absence of Roman law and order too. That was where the priestess Veleda lurked, and where Civilis might be hiding up.
    The frontier was uncertain enough. Europe was full of restless tribes constantly trying to migrate to other districts, sometimes in great numbers. Since Julius Caesar’s time, Rome had been attempting to settle friendly groups of them in ways that created buffer zones. Our Upper and Lower German provinces formed a military corridor along the River Rhenus between the pacified lands in Gaul and the great unknown. That was the policy at any rate, until the civil war.
    I studied my map thoughtfully. In the far north, alongside Belgica, around the Rhenus Estuary, lay the Batavian homeland, with the stronghold they called The Island. All along the river stood the Roman forts, guard posts, watch-towers, and signal stations which had been built to control Germany; most of them were now neatly lined through by the scribe who had brought the maps up to date for me. Furthest north was Noviomagus, where Vespasian was planning a new fort to watch over the Batavians, but which was currently just a cross on the map; next came Vetera, scene of the grim siege. Then there was Novaesium, whose pathetic legion had defected to the rebels; Bonna, which had been overrun by the XIV’s Batavian cohorts amid horrible slaughter; and Colonia Agrippinensium, which the rebels had captured but spared from the flames for strategic reasons (also I think Civilis had relations living there). On the River Mosella stood Augusta Treverorum, tribal capital of the Treveri, where Petilius Cerialis had roundly defeated the rebels. Where the River Moenus joined the Rhenus, lay my initial destination: Moguntiacum, capital of Upper Germany. I could reach it on a direct highway from the great Gallic crossroads at Lugdunum.
    Alternatively, I could branch off the highway at a junction town called Cavillonum, and approach Upper Germany from further south. It was a good excuse to acclimatise myself to the province. I could travel to Moguntiacum and my rendezvous with the XIV by water. This alternative route was no greater distance (I convinced myself) and I would hit the Rhenus most conveniently at Argentoratum, home station of a certain party whose sister I doted on.
    *   *   *
    While I was still frowning at the immense distance that lay ahead of us, the barber scuttled in looking green.
    â€œXanthus! Which hazard of travel has blighted your life now? Garlic, constipation, or just being fleeced?”
    â€œI made the mistake of ordering a drink!”
    â€œAh! Happens to everyone.”
    â€œIt cost—”
    â€œDon’t tell me. I’m already depressed. The Gauls have a crazy standard of values. They are wine-mad, and spend like lunatics in the quest for liquor. No one who believes that a sound-bodied slave is fair exchange for one amphora of mediocre imported wine is reliable. And the vintner won’t charge you less than he paid for it just because you were brought up to expect a flagon on the tavern table for half an as.”
    â€œWhat are people supposed to do, Falco?”
    â€œI believe seasoned travellers carry their own.”
    He stared at me. I gave him the peaceful smile of a man who had probably been drinking a private supply while his companion was out being rooked.
    â€œYou want a shave, Falco?” He sounded hurt.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou look like a savage.”
    â€œThen I’ll merge in nicely where we have to go.”
    â€œI heard you were a ladies’ man.”
    â€œThe lady whose man I happen to be happens to be somewhere else. Get to sleep, Xanthus. I warned you that having your pretty sandals on foreign soil would involve pain and stress.”
    â€œI hired you to protect