Текст книги "Give me back my Legions!"

Автор книги: Harry Norman Turtledove

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

“Vetera,” Aristocles echoed. Varus heard the longing in the slave’s voice, as he’d heard it in his own.

“We’ll be back here come spring, you know,” Varus said.

“Yes, sir,” Aristocles replied with a martyred sigh. He was part of the price of empire himself. Prominent Romans needed clever Greeks to help run their affairs. The pedisequuswas better off than he would have been as a free man in poor but proud Greece. Well, he was except for the mud on his ankle and between his toes.

“We can leave the savages to their own devices for a while,” Varus said. “We made a decent beginning here, anyhow.” He clucked like a worried hen. “I do hope Augustus will see it that way.” No, Augustus had never set eyes on Germany. But his will would be done here all the same.

VI

Arminius had seen that, inside the Roman empire, steadings tended to clump together in villages and towns. In Germany, holdings were more evenly spread, here was a steading In itself in the woods; here were three or four together, perhaps formed by the descendants of someone who had farmed by himself a few generations earlier; here were a pair of brothers and their households side by side; here another lone farm; here six or eight steadings in a large clearing. His folk did have villages, though not large ones by Roman standards. He’d never seen a town till he took service with the auxiliaries.

Towns had their advantages. He understood that. If you brought news to a town, you had to tell it only once, everybody in town, or in the market square, anyhow, would hear it at the same time. So would farmers who’d come into town to sell whatever they had, and then they would spread the news through the countryside.

Towns were . . . efficient. The word and the idea existed in Latin, but not in the Germans’ tongue. Roman armies were efficient, too. Arminius wished his own people grasped the concept, tor it was as much a weapon as the edge of the sword.

But the world was as it was, not as he wished it were. It he wanted to spread news, he couldn’t do it by traveling to a few towns. He had to go to one steadily alter another, talk with one farmer or minor chieftain after another, and persuade or cajole or jolly the man and the lesser followers at each place to his own way of thinking.

That way of thinking was simple enough. Very often, so was getting the Germans to his side. All he had to ask was, “Did the Romans collect taxes from you this past fall?”

More often than not, someone would say, or snarl, the word “Yes.” More often than not, that same man or someone else would curse the Romans.

Then Arminius would ask, “And do you want to pay taxes again next year?”

That commonly produced gasps of horror or fury or, most often, both commingled. “They were lucky to get it from me once – they caught me by surprise. Demons drag me down if they’ll do that again,” was an answer he heard again and again, in almost identical words.

“But they intend to,” he would say. It was no less than the truth, either. “They intend to, and they will try to kill you if you don’t let them rob you. What do you propose to do about that?”

People didn’t always say the same thing then. A lot of them didn’t believe him, or didn’t want to believe him – the notion was as far outside their ken as efficiency was. He had the advantage over them, though. He’d seen how things in Pannonia worked. He knew the Romans collected taxes there every year.

And he knew something else. “The Pannonians have given the Romans as much fight as thev ever wanted, and then some,” he would say to anyone who wanted to listen. “Are the Pannonians stronger than we are?”

“No!” Anyone he talked to would say that. The Germans were convinced they were the strongest folk in the world.

Arminius would nod and agree: “You’re right. I fought them. They’re strong enough, but they’re no stronger than we are. Are they braver?”

“No!” That question was guaranteed to affront any German ever born. His folk prided themselves on their courage.

And he would nod again. “That’s right – they’re not. They’re plenty brave – no doubt about it. But thev aren’t any braver than we are, either.

So if they’re brave enough to take on the Romans, why can’t we do the same?”

Hardly any Germans who’d been taxed by the Romans – -plundered by the Romans – saw any reason why they shouldn’t go to war against the legions. Arminius began to think his biggest problem would be holding the tribesmen back, not leading them forward. They wanted to march on the Rhine and burn every Roman fortification on this side of the river.

Strangely enough, much of the help he got in restraining the Germans came from Segestes and others who were pro-Roman. There weren’t that many of them, but they had influence beyond their numbers. One of the things the Romans did to win the land to their side was to get chieftains to go along with them. The chieftains, and the retinues of warriors they supported, helped sway the views of ordinary folk.

Quite a few of them told the Germans what an idiot Arminius was. He didn’t mind. Not many Germans who’d been taxed thought Arminius was an idiot. But the ordinary tribesmen did hesitate instead of rebelling too soon. Arminius found that blackly funny. Irony was one more concept he’d learned among his enemies.

And he had weapons against the pro-Roman chieftains, weapons they couldn’t match. “The Romans did this in Pannonia, too,” he would say. “I saw them do it. By the gods, I helped them do it so I could learn their ways. It is what they do whenever they enslave a new folk. Our old men will tell you they did the same thing in Gaul most of a lifetime ago. And now the people over there are their slaves.”

One graybeard said, “Well, those are only Gauls. We used to beat them, too. They aren’t so tough.”

“Let Quinctilius Varus keep collecting taxes from you, then,” Arminius replied. “Fifty years from now, some Roman master will say, ‘Well, those are only Germans. They aren’t so tough.’ “

People nodded, taking the point. The graybeard bit his lip, but he didn’t argue any more. Anyone who argued against Arminius soon wished he hadn’t.

Varus was drunk when a courier brought a letter from Augustus. In summer, the weather in this northerly part of the world got warm enough for cultured Romans to drink watered wine. During the winter, though, everybody took his neat to stoke the fires inside himself. Varus thought the habit barbarous till he tried it. When he found how well it worked, he became as enthusiastic as a convert to Judaism.

A servant gave the courier a cup of neat wine. “Much obliged,” the man said, and drank it down without blinking. How many winters up here had he gone through? Enough to get him used to strong wine, anyhow. The man led him away for something to eat.

“What does Augustus say, sir?” Aristocles asked.

“I don’t know.” Varus wondered if he wanted to know. But his right thumbnail lived a life of its own. It automatically dug under and flipped off the wax seal that held the sheet of papyrus closed. Varus held the letter out at arm’s length; his sight was lengthening. The same thing must have happened to Augustus, of course, but the letter was in his own hand – Varus recognized it at once.

When he didn’t go on right away, his pedisequusprompted him: “Well?” Aristocles was still sober, or close enough. He went on watering his wine, and wore a long, thick wool tunic and two pairs of socks for warmth.

“ ‘My dear Varus – I am glad to hear your first summer in Germany went well,’ “ Varus read, and breathed a sigh of relief that smoked in the air despite a charcoal brazier. He swigged from his goblet before going on: “‘You seem worried when you tell me what your tax collectors brought in.’ “

That made him swig again, drain the goblet dry, and fill it once more with the dipper plunged into the wine jar. He’d done his best notto sound worried, to treat the Roman soldiers’ sorry performance as nothing but routine. His best proved not good enough. Augustus hadn’t ruled the Roman world for more than a generation because he was blind to what lay below the surface.

Quinctilius Varus drank once more. His eves crossed. He knew he would have a thick head come morning, but morning seemed a million miles away. His slave made a wordless, impatient noise. Varus didn’t want to find out what Augustus said next, but knew he had no choice: “ ‘Lose no sleep over it. The idea is to get the barbarians used to paving taxes. Once they see thev have to, collecting more and more will grow easier year by year. Keep up the good work.’ “

“He really says that, sir?” Aristocles sounded astonished.

“He really does.” Varus couldn’t get angry at the Greek – he sounded astonished, too. Augustus was a notorious cheese-parer. He always had been. To have him write that he didn’t care how much Varus collected in Germany . . . proved he was also a statesman.

“What else does he say?” the pedisequusinquired.

“Who cares?” Varus said, and he laughed raucously. Augustus wasn’t angry at him! Next to that, everything else shrank to insignificance. But he finished the letter: “ ‘The weather here is tolerable – better, I daresay, than what you have. The harvest was good, for which I thank Ceres and the other gods. No danger of hunger this year. Tiberius seems to be bringing order to Pannonia at last, and that is also good news. I am as well as a man of my years can be. I hope the same holds true for you. Next year, you will go on breaking the Germans to the saddle.’“ Below that was nothing but a scrawled signature.

It sounded like Augustus: straightforward, to the point, with hardly a wasted word. The closing that got back to the business at hand was very-much Augustus’ style, too. He never left anyone in doubt about what he expected – unless doubt worked to his advantage, of course. Here, it didn’t.

“Let it snow!” Aristocles exclaimed. “We are warmed from the south, so let it snow as much as it please!”

“That’s right!” Varus said. “As long as Augustus is pleased, the whole world is pleased!” No matter how cold it was, it felt like spring already.

Varus was not a small man, not by Roman standards. All the same, he thought he’d get a crick in his neck from staring up at one enormous visiting German after another. This particular fellow, who gave his name as Masua, was even bigger than most: he stood several digits above six feet. He wore a bearskin cloak. With shaggy hair, unshaven cheeks and chin and upper lip, and blunt features, he looked like a bear himself.

“Sit down, sit down.” Varus waved him to a stool, not least so he wouldn’t need to keep looking up at him.

“I thank you, sir.” Masua spoke slow, deliberate, guttural Latin. The stool creaked under his weight. He was bear-wide through the shoulders, too. A servant brought in wine. Masua took a cup with murmured thanks. So did Varus. He didn’t mix in water, but he did sip cautiously. He didn’t want to get drunk so early. By the way Masua gulped, he didn’t care.

“You are one of Segestes’ men, you told my aides,” Varus said.

“That is right.” Masua’s big head bobbed up and down. “I am one of his sworn band. I fight for him and do what he needs. One of the things he needs now is someone to deliver you a message. He chose me.” Pride rang in the tremendous German’s voice.

“I see,” Varus said, though he didn’t, not yet. With luck, he would soon. “And this message is ... ?”

“This is message is, you are not to trust Arminius for any reason, sir,” Masua said. “He goes up and down in Germany. Everywhere he goes, he speaks against the Romans. He speaks against Roman rule beyond the Rhine.”

“I see,” Quinctilius Varus said again. “Have you heard Arminius say these things with your own ears?”

“No,” Masua answered. “I would not walk as far as I can spit to listen to that woman-stealing swinehound.”

That last had to be some German insult translated literally. Varus rather liked it. All the same, he went on, “Has Segestes heard Arminius say these things with hisown ears?”

“Segestes would not walk as far as he could piss to listen to Arminius.” Masua paused, considering. “Segestes might walk far enough to piss on Arminius’ corpse. He might not even do that.”

In spite of himself, Varus had to smile. But he also had to ask an important question: “In that case, how do you know what Arminius is supposed to be saying? How does Segestes know?”

“Everyone knows what Arminius is saying,” Masua replied, as if to a half-witted child. Varus thought an oafish barbarian had no business taking that tone with him. No matter what he thought, the oafish barbarian went on, “Arminius makes no secret of it. Like I tell you, he goes up and down in Germany. He says what he says to anyone who will hear him. Many men do – too many men.”

“I have met Arminius. He did not seem anti-Roman then,” Varus said.

Masua snorted. “He would not. He was in your power. You could have killed him. You should have.”

“He fought as a Roman auxiliary. He is a Roman citizen. He has been made a member of the Equestrian Order, a rare and important honor for one who was not born to our people.” For a barbarian,he thought.

“He is a viper. If you clutch him to you like a woman, he will bite you in the balls,” Masua said.

“Segestes sent you to me,” Quinctilius Varus said. The German nodded. Varus went on, “Segestes is Arminius’ enemy.”

“Of course he is,” Masua broke in. “Would you not be, if Arminius carried off your daughter?”

If Arminius hadn’t carry Thusnelda off, Varus was convinced she would have done more to try to get away on her own. A Roman woman certainly would have. No, the truth was that she preferred Arminius to the middle-aged man to whom her father had tried betrothing her in-stead. Segestes might not – didn’t – like that, which made it no less true.

No point explaining any of that to Masua, who naturally saw things his patron’s way. Instead, Varus said, “Segestes naturally wants me to believe bad things about Arminius.”

“Yes, indeed.” Masua didn’t even try to deny it. “He wants you to believe them because they are true. And Segestes, remember, is a Roman citizen, too.”

“The enmity comes first, I think.” Varus liked Arminius and found Segestes tedious: almost a character out of an old comedy. “Without more proof than you have given me, I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“Arminius will give you proof,” Masua said. “See how you like that.”

Varus’ face froze. “I have no doubt that you have now conveyed to me everything your principal imparted to you. That being so, you are excused. Please convey my respects to Segestes.”

Even a lout like Masua couldn’t mistake his meaning there. Get out of my sight, and don’t ever let we see you again– that was what it came down to. The German got to his feet. That meant he looked down at – looked down on – Varus. “I go. You would have done better to heed me. I will tell Segestes you are too blind to listen, too deaf to see.”

He turned his back. The cloak made him seem even more bearish from behind than from before. He should have gone through polite formulas of leave taking. Arminius would have – Varus was sure of that. Masua didn’t bother. Varus didn’t demand them of him, either. The Roman governor was still trying to decide whether the German had been foolish or profound or both at once.

Lucius Eggius watched legionaries march and countermarch. If you didn’t keep them working through the winter, they wouldn’t be worth a moldy grain of barley come spring. “ I can’t hear you!”Eggius bawled, pitching his voice to carry through the bawdy ballad the soldiers were singing.

They made more noise yet. The song bragged about the havoc Varus would make in Germany and among the blond German women. As far as Eggius knew, the general was pretty moderate when it came to wenching. Maybe the legionaries knew that, too. It didn’t matter one way or the other. You needed a good, bouncy song to keep you picking them up and laying them down. The tune for this one went back to Julius Caesar’s day. Eggius had heard some of the old words when he was new-come to

the army. They were raunchy, too.

The men divided in half and went at one another with pointless spears and wooden swords. You couldn’t get killed in drills like those, not unless you were mighty unlucky. But you could get knocked around pretty well. A broken arm, a banged knee, a sprained ankle, assorted bruises and cuts . . . about what you’d expect from a good afternoon’s workout.

Everyone seemed spirited enough in the mock combat. That wasn’t what bothered Eggius about it. As the surgeons tended to men who’d got hurt, he said, “The trouble with this is, the Germans don’t fight the way we do.”

“Well, you can’t expect us to fight like Germans,” another officer said. “Then our men who were aping the barbarians would learn all the wrong things.”

“I suppose so,” Eggius said, “but now our men who are fighting as Romans are learning all the wrong things.”

“No, they’re not,” the other man insisted. “They’re fighting the way we’re supposed to fight, the way we’ve always fought.”

“Yes, but they’re not fighting the enemies we’re going to tight, Ceionius,” Lucius Eggius said. “A defense that works fine against a Roman with a scutumand a gladiuswill leave you shorter by a head if you go up against a German and his whacking great slashing sword.”

“As long as we fight the way we’re supposed to, the other buggers can do whatever the demon they want,” Ceionius said. “We’ll beat ‘em. We always have – we’re Romans.I expect we always will.”

Eggius started to say something pungent. Then he hesitated. No doubt the other fellow was a fool. But he was a fool who spouted stuff they tried to ram clown your throat every day of the month. Best to go at him with care. “All I can tell you is that we’ve been screwing around here for twenty years, and we aren’t much closer to putting them into the yoke than we were when we started.”

“Oh, I think you’re wrong,” Ceionius said. “We’re wearing them down a little at a time. They have a lot of savage customs to unlearn -

“Like killing Roman soldiers by the wagonload,” Eggius said dryly.

The other Roman looked pained. “They’re holding markets. Those will turn into towns one day,” he said. “They’re holding assemblies, some of them with men from more than one tribe coming together.”

“So they can plot against us better,” Eggius said. “Have you heard what that one bastard who used to be an auxiliary is doing? Going all over everywhere and trying to tire up all the barbarians against us at once.”

“I’ve heard it. I don’t believe it.” Pointedly, Ceionius added, “His Excellency the governor doesn’t believe it, either.”

So there,Eggius thought. If Varus didn’t believe something, it didn’t behoove any of his officers to believe it. Which, most of the time, was all very well, but what if something Varus didn’t believe turned out to be true? Well, in that case we’ve got a problem.

“ Ihear the fellow who accused this German has a family squabble with him,” Ceionius said in lofty tones.

“Yeah, I heard that, too. So what?” Eggius said. “Suppose somebody ran off with jourdaughter. Would you give him a big kiss? Or would you give him one where it’d do the most good?” He cupped his hands over his privates.

“Well, of course I’d pay back an enemy as soon as I saw the chance,” the other officer replied. “But that’s the point. Because they’re enemies, we can’t trust anything the one barbarian says about the other.”

“Segestes wouldn’t lie about something that big. Even in the wintertime, we’ve got people in Germany,” Lucius Eggius said. “We can get a pretty good notion of who’s trying to pull a fast one. Did the governor ask any of our people about that?”

“Not so far as I know. He doesn’t think it’s necessary,” Ceionius said.

Eggius’ sigh made fog spring forth from his mouth and nose.

“Here’s hoping he knows what he’s thinking about.”

Segestes clasped Masua’s hand when the younger German came back to his steading. “Welcome! Welcome, by the gods!” Segestes said. “Come in. Rest yourself. I hope your journey went well?”

“I’m here again.” Masua’s voice was harsh and flat. A slave hurried up with a mug of beer. Masua nodded thanks, took it, and drained half of it at one long pull. After sucking foam out of his mustache, he said, “Varus wouldn’t believe me – wouldn’t believe you. And Arminius’ friends tried to waylay me on the way home, but I gave them the slip.” He spoke with somber pride.

“Why wouldn’t the Roman believe you?” Segestes scratched his head, trying to fathom that. “Have evil spirits stolen his wits?”

“He wouldn’t believe you about Thusnelda, either.” His sworn man got to the bottom of the mug (Roman work, bought from a trader coming out of Gaul) in a hurry. The slave looked at Segestes, who nodded. The slave took the mug from Masua and carried it away to refill it.

“No, he wouldn’t.” The thought of Thusnelda lying in Arminius’ arms still filled Segestes with rage. He made himself push that rage aside, even though it was the heaviest burden he’d ever set himself against. “Not believing me there is one thing. If a man steals a woman, it’s a family affair. It is important to the people involved and to their friends. But if a man goes through Germany calling for a rising against the Romans . . . How can Varus not believe that?”

“He does not believe Arminius would ever do such a wicked thing.” By the expression on Masua’s face, he might have been smelling bad meat. The slave came back with the freshened mug. Again, Masua drank eagerly. He might have been trying to get the taste of bad meat out of his mouth, too.

“Ha!” Segestes said, a noise that was anything but the laugh it sounded like. “Arminius will do anything he thinks he can get away with. And we know what he thinks of Rome, and of Roman rule in Germany.”

“We do, yes. This Quinctilius Varus, he will not see it.” Masua sounded disgusted, for which Segestes could hardly blame him.

“Strange. He does not seem to be a stupid man,” Segestes said. “The Roman king, this Augustus whose face is on their coins, would not send a stupid man to do such an important job as this.”

“He is stupid enough. Otherwise, he would hearken to you.” As a sworn man should be, Masua was loyal.

Segestes scratched his chin. “Have you ever known a man who can-not tell red from green? There they are, plain as can be in your eyes, but they look the same to him.”

Masua nodded. “Yes, a man on the next farm over was like that when I was growing up. His belly griped him all the time, because he would eat berries and apples before they got ripe. But for that, he was a fine fellow. He was bold in the fight – I remember that.”

“Good for him,” Segestes said. A German who wasn’t bold in the fight wasn’t a man, not in the eyes of his tribesmen. The chieftain came back to the point at hand: “I think this is what’s wrong with Varus. When he looks at Arminius, he can’t see what is plain to everyone else.”

“It could he so,” Masua said after some thought. “Arminius will gripe hisbelly it he isn’t careful, though or even if he is.”

“Yes. He will.” Segestes remembered something else his retainer had said. “His men tried to ambush you?”

“They did.” Masua’s big head went up and down. “One of them showed himself too soon, though. It was early morning, and foggy – maybe he thought I would not see him. But I did. and I went back to the steading where I’d passed the night. The men there are your friends they told me of another way east. Next morning, one of those men started up the path I’d taken the day before. He was near my size. about my coloring, and he had on a cloak much like mine. Meanwhile. I used the side way they showed me. The hope was that the ambushers would think the local man was me, and so it proved. I pray the gods let him get back to his steading safe.”

“May it be so,” Segestes said, “Good to know I do still have friends here and there. With Arminius making such a racket. It’s hard to be sure these days.”

“That he witch.” Masua scowled. “He has bespelled the Roman governor. I don’t know how, but he has.”

“Oh, I know how.” Segestes sighed. The fire had died down to embers, and his breath smoked. “Arminius is young and handsome and bold. I seem old and grumpy by comparison. He can say he loves Thusnelda. Maybe he even does. But I think his course is a disaster tor Germany. That is why I tried to give the girl to Tudrus, who has belter sense.”

“I would have done the same,” Masua said. “None of my girls is old enough to wed yet, though.”

“I know. Wait till you see how lucky you will remember yourself as being,” Segestes said. “Women cause trouble. They can’t help it. It’s part of what they are.”

“Oh, and men don’t? I have learned something,’ Masua said.

The chieftain laughed, then sighed again and shook his head. “Arminius causes trouble – no doubt about that. Why would he notwant to become part of Rome? Such foolishness! Without Rome, where would we get our wine? Our fine pottery? Our own potters make junk good enough to use, but not good enough to look at. Where would we get rich jewelry, or coins, or all kinds of other good things?”

“You don’t need to tell me all this,” Masua said gently. “I already know.”

“Yes, yes. Anyone with sense enough to cover a mustard seed would know,” Segestes said. “But that leaves Arminius out. And it leaves a lot of young Germans out. They don’t think of anything but fighting and killing.”

“Fighting is good. Killing is good,” Masua said. “Of course, when you’re young you don’t think you might get killed instead. That’s not so good.”

“No, it isn’t,” Segestes agreed, his voice dry. “If we rise up against the Romans, how many will get killed?”

“Lots, chances are,” Masua said. “Wars are like that.”

Segestes came over and kissed him first on the right cheek, then on the left. “You can see this. You are not a blockhead. I can see this, too. I hope I am not a blockhead.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Masua said quickly, as a sworn retainer should have done for his chieftain.

“Well, I thank you for that,” Segestes said. “But Arminius can’t see this. He’s going here and there and everywhere, telling people we can drive out the Romans without breaking a sweat. What kind of blockhead is he? Those runty little dark bastards don’t fight the way we do, but that doesn’t mean they can’t fight.”

“I have seen them do it,” the younger man replied. “You are right. They know how.”

“Why does he think we can beat them so easily, then? Why?” Segestes said. “Even if we win a battle, they will just bring in more soldiers. That is what they are doing in Pannonia. Their king, this fellow Augustus, is as stubborn a man as ever was born. He will not let go because he burns a finger. Isn’t it better to ride the way the horse is already going instead of trying to turn the stupid beast around?”

“I think so,” Masua said.

“I told you – you are no blockhead. And we have a lot to learn from the Romans, too. This whole business of writing ...” Segestes regretfully spread his hands. “I wish I would have come to it when I was young enough to learn it. It seems to me a very large idea.”

“It could be,” said Masua, who had no interest whatever in writing. “But I will tell you something else.” Segestes made a questioning noise. His retainer explained: “That Varus, he has a lot to learn from us.”

Serving as an officer in the Roman auxiliaries made Arminius a sophisticated man in Germany. Command meant more among the Romans than it did with his own folk. In Germany, a chieftain had to persuade to lead. If his retainers didn’t like what he was doing, they wouldn’t follow him.

A Roman officer who gave an order expected to be obeyed because of his rank. If the men under him said no, the Romans made them pay. Having authority like that made Arminius more persuasive, even if he couldn’t use it all. If you tried to give a German an order he didn’t fancy, he would up and tell you no. Either that or he would walk away and ignore you from then on. Arminius the German chieftain didn’t have the coercive tools Arminius the officer of auxiliaries had enjoyed.

But he still spoke as if he expected to be obeyed. Because he did, he got more Germans to follow him than he would have if he’d begged for support the way a lot of would-be leaders did.

“You sound like a man who knows what he wants to do,” was something he heard again and again.

“I am a man who knows what he wants to do,” he would say whenever he heard that. “I want to throw the Romans out of our country. The more men who follow me, the better. But if I have to fight them by myself, I will.”

He would do no such thing. Fighting the legions singlehanded was exactly the same as falling on his sword. It sounded bold, though. It sounded better than bold: it sounded heroic. And the more he said it, the more he repeated it, the less likely it became that he would have to follow through on it.

The Romans had been pushing German customs in their direction a little at a time, so slowly that only old men noticed things weren’t done now as they had been in the days of their youth. Had the invaders kept on with that slow, steady pressure, they might have turned a lot of Germans into willing – even eager – imitators of their ways without the locals’ even noticing.

But paying taxes the way Roman subjects did was not to the Germans’ liking. Arminius seized on that. “Who knows what this Varus will want from you next? Who knows what he will take from you next?” he asked, again and again. “You can’t trust him. You don’t dare trust him. If you give him a finger, he’ll take an arm. If you give him an arm, he’ll take all of you. Then you’ll be one more Roman slave.”

He wanted to talk about Roman soldiers stealing German women.

He wanted to, but soon found out he couldn’t. It would have been lovely if he could; to the Germans, every Roman alive was a natural-born lecher, a threat to their women’s virtue. Whenever Arminius tried that tack, though, a pro-Roman German would sing out, “What about Thusnelda?” A man who’d stolen a woman himself couldn’t very well accuse others of wanting to do the same thing.

Oh, he could, but he got no profit from it if he did. And so Arminius, a practical man, soon stopped trying. He found plenty of other bad things to say about Varus and the Romans that didn’t leave him open to heckling. His own folk were glad enough to listen to him when he steered clear of talk about women.