“Have you ever caught a duck with your hands?” Segestes asked.

“What on earth does that have to do with anything?” Varus asked irritably.

“You haven’t, then. I did not think so.” The German nodded to himself. “You sit by the riverbank. You sit very still, so you don’t scare the duck off right away. After a while, it grows easier at having you around. You toss crumbs of stale bread or whatever other food you have into the water. The duck swims closer and closer. It loves you now. You go on sitting still, but for when you feed it. And then, when it comes close enough, you grab it” - he lunged at Varus, who involuntarily stumbled back -”and you wring its neck!”

He could have wrung Varus’ neck had he wanted to. Both men knew it. It made them oddly complicit, there in the chilly little dining hall. With what dignity Varus could muster, he said, “I am no duck, nor is Arminius hunting me.”

“So you say,” Segestes replied. “If you kill Arminius and I am wrong, though, you do Rome no harm. But if you do not kill him, if you let the worthless swinehound live, and I am right, you do not just hurt yourself. You also hurt Rome. You may hurt Rome badly, for you do not grasp how ambitious Arminius is.”

Ambitio was a word to conjure with in Latin. Quinctilius Varus wondered whether Segestes knew. A man ambitious for himself rather than Rome was the greatest danger to the state. Ambitious men had brought down the Republic. Now Augustus, having gained all his ambitions, did his best to keep others from having any.

“Ask any man in any clan in any tribe in all of Germany,” Segestes went on. “If he knows my name, he will tell you I am Rome’s friend and ally. Ever since my beard began to grow, I have been on the Roman side. I have fought for Rome inside Germany. Arminius never has. He never will. He thinks you are a duck, sir. He throws stale bread on the water to make you swim closer. Will you let him grab you?”

He didn’t go for Varus’ throat again. From what Varus had seen of Germans that showed unusual restraint from Segestes. “Well, you may be right,” the Roman governor said after silence stretched.

In the Roman Empire, anyone with ears to hear would have understood that as Quiet down and go away. You’re boring my toes off. Segestes might be a Roman citizen, but he was no Roman sophisticate. “You wait. You look close. You . . . will see I am right.” He had to pause to remember how to form the future.

Varus just wanted him to leave. They’d played this scene too many times now. Did actors get sick of roles after performing them over and over? If they didn’t, why not?

Segestes poured himself more wine and drank it down. The red patches on his cheeks burned bigger and brighter. He reached for a candied fig, then pulled his hand back. When he looked at Varus again, his eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Ask you something, your Excellency?” he said, his speech slightly slurred.

“Of course,” Varus said, more cordially than he felt.

“You had Arminius as your guest for all that time at Mindenum,” the German chieftain said, which didn’t sound like a question to Varus.

He nodded anyway. “Yes. That’s right. He was there, he and his father both.” And if you don’t like it, too bad.

Segestes muttered to himself. Then, slowly, painfully, he brought out what was on his mind: “While Arminius was with you, did he speak of Thusnelda? Did he say she was well? Did he say she was happy?”

He loves her. He cares about her, Varus realized in surprise. He’d assumed Segestes resented Arminius for showing him up, not for stealing away someone who mattered to him. But the middle-aged chieftain wasn’t just posturing. He missed his daughter, and he worried about her.

Varus had to think back. Arminius hadn’t talked much about Thusnelda one way or the other. But what did that prove? Varus hadn’t talked much about Claudia Pulchra, either. He remembered speaking of his own son - of whom Arminius reminded him a little - but not of his wife.

He picked his words with care: “In all the time he was there, I never heard anything to make me doubt it. He is not a man who enjoys hurting someone and then laughing about it.”

Varus had hoped that would make Segestes feel better, but it didn’t seem to. The German heaved a sigh. “No, I suppose he is not that kind of beast,” he allowed. “That does not mean he is no beast. He takes what he wants and then, once he has it, he puts it on a shelf and forgets about it. Not so bad, if you talk about a fancy pot or a silver statuette. But if a girl sits on a shelf and gathers dust, it is cruel, not so?”

Plenty of girls gave their all to men who got bored with them afterwards. Varus didn’t think Segestes wanted to hear that. “I hope it will turn out for the best in the end,” the Roman said: one more sentiment that sounded good and cost him nothing.

“I always hope for this.” Segestes’ slow, deliberate Latin seemed strangely impressive. “But what I hope for and what I expect are two different things.” He sighed once more. “I cannot persuade you. I cannot, uh, convince you. All I can do is to say again, Try not to be a duck, your Excellency.” He sketched a salute and strode out of the small dining room with no more ceremony than that.

Aristocles appeared a moment later. Varus nodded, unsurprised. “Were you listening?” he asked.

“Of course not, sir!” The pedisequus sounded shocked: so shocked, Varus didn’t believe him for a heartbeat.

“He does go on, doesn’t he?” the Roman governor said.

“And on, and on,” Aristocles agreed, not caring that he’d just given himself the lie. “What was that nonsense about ducks? I couldn’t follow all of that.”

“Don’t worry - it’s not worth following. But he really is fond of his daughter.” Varus shook his head in wonder. “You never can tell.”

“With Germans, you never can tell about anything,” Aristocles remarked.

“True,” Varus said, and then wished he hadn’t.

XIII

Caldus Caelius’ caligae clunked on the timbers of the bridge across the Rhine. “One more time,” he said to nobody in particular. “Maybe we’ll finish the job this year. Then we can go do something else.”

“Or settle down in Germany for garrison duty,” said the man marching on his left. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Sometimes I think so,” Caelius answered. “Sometimes I’m not so sure.

“Silence in the ranks!” a military tribune bawled. Caelius marched on without a word. Sooner or later - probably sooner - the senior officer would find something else to worry about. In the meantime, Caelius didn’t feel like getting screamed at.

His hobnailed marching sandals stopped clunking and started thumping: dirt underfoot, not planks. “Germany,” the legionary beside him said. “Again.”

Both men’s eyes darted now left, now right. Neither was foolish enough to turn his head and risk drawing the tribune’s notice. Caldus Caelius took an extra long stride to avoid a horse turd in his path. The governor and the cavalry had gone on ahead of the legionaries . . . and left souvenirs for the unwary.

A couple of ranks behind Caelius, somebody swore sulfurously. The tribune barked at him. “What’s that all about?” whispered the man to Caelius’ left.

“He must’ve stepped in the shit,” Caelius whispered back. “I saw it coming, so I missed it. He must not have.”

“Is that why you hopped? I thought something went and bit you,” the other legionary said.

“Not yet. Give it another month,” Caelius answered.

The other man grunted. Quinctilius Varus had started them for Mindenum early. The trees that shed their leaves were just beginning to get them back. Germany seemed to have fewer mosquitoes than Italy did. But it had more midges and gnats and biting flies. When spring was a little further along, they would rise from the swamps and marshes in buzzing myriads. Spring brought forth all kinds of life, including the unwelcome.