Governor of Germania and commander of the Nineteenth Legion, Publius Quinctilius Varus, sat behind the table in his command tent and looked up at the young man standing with his arms crossed. He was tall for a Roman, which always reminded Varus that the officer was Roman in name only. Keeping his hair shorn did not hide the fact that he was fair, which further reminded the Legate that Arminius was from Germania, Varus’s domain, by dint of hard work and loyalty. The Legate had served Emperor Augustus well, and the governorship of Germania was his reward. Despite little Roman success east of the Rhenus, the Emperor trusted Varus to defeat the savage tribes of the dark forests that swathed the landscape like some out-of-control fungus on a poorly maintained caldarium.

Augustus trusts me as I trust this one, he thought, studying the young man with his eye for talent and loyalty. Varus prided himself on the ability to read his subordinates. In all his years of service, indeed, since Augustus appointed him quaestor, he had never been wrong. More than thirty years of impeccable choice in those who served him proved there was no better man to govern Germania.

I did not choose this man, though.

The thought made him smile. It also made him wonder how much he had changed over recent years. Typically, he would be wary of the northern barbarians, good for nothing except paying taxes and crucifying. Not that Arminius signified much of a change. He was taken as a hostage at the age of ten by Drusus and raised as a Roman patrician. He dressed like a Roman. He spoke like a Roman. In fact, his tutors had indoctrinated him so profoundly into Roman culture that he had even been admitted into the equestrian class and commanded a unit of auxiliary cavalry, which had performed valiantly in Pannonia. The same unit had just returned from patrolling the forests to the west.

“What is it you propose exactly, Arminius?” Varus asked.

The youth hesitated before saying, “The Angrivarii are planning a rebellion. We would do well to march through their lands on our return to the winter camp—it will keep them subdued, Lord. It would also mean a shorter road to Moguntiacum.”

Varus studied the young man as he thought about the report. He would be loath to deviate from a planned withdrawal through well-fortified terrain, except he spent his summer campaign negotiating and fighting off ineffective raids instead of conquering new territory. Augustus watched his governorship with an eye on progress and would not consider such a summer much of a success.

“How would you proceed?”

Arminius once again hesitated before he answered, which pleased Varus immensely. He hated subordinates who spoke without due care. That the boy was educated in Rome was evident and appreciated. True, he was only ten when Drusus took him, but despite that youth, he knew much about the ways of the Cherusci.

And now he loathes much about the ways of the Cherusci, Varus thought—a thought he had often of late.

If not for his intuition about people, he might consider Arminius a little too forceful in his hatred, like he was trying to hide his true feelings. Still, there was no hiding his love for Rome and all things Roman.

“It would be foolish to march three legions blindly into Teutoburg,” he finally said. “I can scout with my auxiliaries. Prepare the way for the legions to follow.”

Varus shook his head and said, “If I agree to march, I would need your cavalry as a screen?”

“I can leave several turmae with the main body, Lord. However, I will be back long before the legions reach Teutoburg.”

Varus tapped his teeth with the stylus he had been using to compose the report for Augustus when the young equestrian arrived. His choice was easy. Either withdraw southward using the fortified route and disappoint the Emperor or march into the forest to the west and subdue the latest rebellion.

“It would also allow me to raise more levies from the Cherusci,” Arminius added.

“Taxes?” Varus asked. He might yet be able to turn a profit from this venture. Officially, any taxes raised belonged to the Emperor. That said, Augustus was generous with profits made through conquest, and there were ways to hide the actual tallies.

“And auxiliaries, Lord.”

“All right, Arminius, prepare, and I will issue orders when I have made my decision.”

The young man punched his chest and strode out of the command tent.

“What do you think, Publius?” Gaius Numonius Vala, his second-in-command and commander of the regular cavalry, asked from behind Varus, causing him to shudder involuntarily. He hated that the man insisted on calling him by his name. He was a man who had risen through the ranks and should know his place.

Another I did not choose.

Trying to recover from his visible shudder, he said, “I know little of this tribe, the Angrivarii.”

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“Nor I,” his subordinate admitted. “They’re barbarians, though. One legionary is worth three of them.”

“Segestes, how many warriors can the Angrivarii muster?” Varus asked of the older man hiding behind the curtain that kept the Imperial Legate’s cot out of sight.

He did not attempt to hide his distaste when the chief came to stand before the table. Unlike the youth who just left, this man was Germanic through to the marrow in his bones. When he had come forward to offer his services, Varus was skeptical. Unlike Arminius, this barbarian did not show any allegiance to Rome. He dressed as a savage, and his Latin was poor at best. He claimed he had been banished from the Cherusci because he advised against raiding the summer camp, advice the barbarians considered to be cowardly. When the guards announced Arminius’s arrival earlier, Segestes skulked into the shadows, out of sight of his daughter’s husband, which Varus considered cowardly.

His motives are plain, but Numonius is right for once.

“Their numbers can be very different, Lord.”

“That is not an answer,” Varus replied.

“Is all I can say. Angrivarii have five thousand—maybe few less, maybe few more. They likely to have alliances with the other clans—”

“Like your own tribe?” Varus interrupted.

“Yes, Lord. Cherusci likely to join an alliance. All clans will oppose Romans. There are even mercenaries from north. Savage lands,” he said, waving in a northerly direction.

If this barbarian considers the north savage, it must be a real Tartarus, Varus thought.

“Numbers, man,” Numonius hissed, his anger getting the better of him.

“If clans unite, they field three times Roman legions.”

“Sixty thousand,” Numonius scoffed.

Varus frowned at the man’s uncouth demeanor. He believed what Segestes was saying in terms of numbers, but the overriding word in all that he just said was if. If all the clans unite, they could field as many as sixty thousand. Julius Caesar defeated the Gauls because they had been unable to form an alliance until the end when it was too late. When they finally united under Vercingetorix and fielded two hundred thousand warriors, Caesar had an army of sixty thousand, and no barbarian horde, regardless of numbers, would defeat sixty thousand legionaries.

“You think the Cherusci will join the rebellion, and yet Arminius has gone to get support from them,” Varus said, watching the man frown at him arrogantly.

Should I order Numonius to kill him?

Finally, the barbarian said, “Why did he not get support before coming back to summer camp?”

“What are you trying to tell me?”

“He organize alliance against Rome. He betrays the Romans,” Segestes said.

“Preposterous.”

Varus wondered what to do about the tribal chief. When he arrived a few days before, Numonius suggested using the barbarian and then discarding him. So far, Segestes had proven helpful in understanding the Germanic tribes—but his designs on the crown of the Cherusci and beyond were evident to anyone with eyes in their head. The Imperial Legate found this barbarian’s claim against the man married to his daughter confusing. Not a surprise—Segestes was, after all, a savage—just confusing.

They say he was opposed to the marriage from the outset.

“Why do you say that?”

“Herman—”

“Who is Herman?” Varus asked, one eyebrow raised.

“You Romans gave him Arminius as name after fighting so well in the Southlands, Lord. Herman is birth name…” The barbarian hesitated until Varus nodded his understanding. “His goal is king over all Germanic clans.”

“And your daughter will be queen,” Numonius scoffed. “Do you not want a queen for a daughter?”

“No. I loyal. I want return to my lands and rule my people with no wars. For peace, I bow and become vassal.”

Segestes would not keep eye contact as he spoke, and Varus read the lies in what he was saying. There could be no doubt that the man was serving his own ends and considered Arminius an obstacle. Despite a professed loyalty, he had come to the camp with the sole purpose of gaining some power over the young man. Varus was still wondering whether he should crucify him without waiting. He would not be out of place hanging among the hundred or so criminals surrounding the summer camp. Mostly, they were Cherusci tribesmen caught raiding, but not all of them. Some were legionaries who had broken the military code. There were many rules in the code but very few punishments, crucifixion being the mainstay of the army’s martial law.

At least when we march, we will leave the stench behind.

However, the chance to breathe clean air was not sufficient cause to march. He needed to talk to his senior officers before he could make a decision. He was also sick of listening to the barbarian’s brutal Latin as if his stubborn refusal to accept Roman superiority was not enough.

“Leave us,” Varus said, waving his stylus at the tent door. The Cherusci nodded and walked to the entrance. He hesitated on the threshold and looked right and left before exiting the tent.

“You cannot trust that man,” his subordinate said as soon as Segestes was far enough away.

“I thought we could use him, Numonius. Is that not what you advised?”

“That was before. Did you see his darting eyes? And he is afraid of Arminius, which can’t mean anything good. Did you see his fear?”

“Yes, I did. What do you think we should do?”

“They are barbarians. Why trust any of them? Why not crucify two thousand Angrivarii as you did with the Syrians? That will stop any revolt.”

“Do you think I should let Segestes live?”

“I think you should crucify him and two thousand Angrivarii.”

“To do that, we must do as Arminius suggests and march into Teutoburg.”

“You have three legions at your disposal,” Numonius said, strangling his sword hilt as if it had done something to offend him. Like Varus, he did not believe the barbarians could stand against the might of Rome. They were ill-armed and ill-disciplined. He might be from the lowest class, but he was a competent officer, and Varus respected his input. However, there was something about Segestes that he was sure needed uncovering. His motives might reveal a truth Varus could use. He would let the man live for now.

“Leave Segestes alive. Call the officers in, Numonius, Legates, and Banded Tribunes only. I will seek input.”

“That’s a good idea, Publius.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Varus asked, just above a whisper. He thinks me incapable of leading just because I am a good politician.

“Nothing. I just think it is a good idea to get input from the senior officers.”

“Which is why I ordered it. So, get it done.” Accompanied by a loud sniff, Numonius left the tent, issuing orders as he went.