by Mark Tiro
I spent more than any man’s fair share of time out on the porch. Both my real porch, and the one I went to in my mind, where—just as Quintus had before me—I worked to traverse Xeno’s stoic path through my darkness and out to the other side.
I knew peace of mind was possible because I had seen it in Quintus that last night we were together.
Those were three long years for me in Tusculum.
Three long years, and one long, cold journey into my own dark night of the soul.
One long journey—that I went very deep into.
It got worse before it got better.
But I kept on, and as I trusted in the process—slowly, little by little—it did get better.
Then one day, I received a letter from Quintus.
It reached me the same day I’d also gotten the news that my commission to the army of the North had gone through. I’d be off to join my brother there very soon.
When I’d read Quintus’ letter, however, I’d felt a twinge of anger. He’d mentioned the situation in Germania. That wasn’t what’d done it. What had was his mention of the army’s new commander.
Publius Varus.
It was just a twinge I felt, nothing more. I wouldn’t have even thought anything of it, except that I’d made quite a bit of progress, and now I rarely felt anger at all most days.
Over time here on my porch, I’d practiced, and practiced and practiced. I’d worked hard at laying my judgments aside, no matter how right I was. There’d always be time enough to be right later, I’d thought. Now was the time I needed to learn how to be happy.
So much of what used to annoy me was now just little stuff. But when I got Quintus’ letter that day, when I’d read about the situation on the ground there, and about Varus—all that practicing just seemed to fly out the window.
Varus.
I felt a pang of unease in my stomach. How many years had it been since I’d thought of that name, less yet, of that man? I couldn’t remember now.
I couldn’t exactly place what I felt. What was certain though, is that whatever it was I felt—it was not nothing.
And so here Varus was again. Back in my life apparently, just as soon as I’d get up to camp to take up my commission. I’d been pining for the position up North so that I could be nearer to Quintus.
Now it occurred to me that he’d been spot on when he’d said everything in this world is just like a coin: struck on both sides. The price it would cost me to be close to Quintus was that I would now have to be close to Varus.
Two sides to every coin.
5
Five
Quintus rode out to greet me with the advance party of scouts who met us about a half day before we made it to the camp.
“Brother!” He ran up to me and threw his arms around me as soon as we stopped to water the horses. “It’s good to see you. How was the journey here?”
“We didn’t meet any crazy bands of Gauls on the road, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He laughed easily. It made me relax a little, as I hadn’t quite known what to expect. We’d had our ups and downs over the years, and I hadn’t seen him in a few very long ones. Also, I figured that being in any army camp for years on end, out on the periphery, on constant edge from barbarians, and with no real decisive victory ever—it has a way of bringing out the dark parts in a man.
Which is why I was much relieved to see that Quintus seemed to be doing well.
“I hope you were able to enjoy the landscape during your journey up. We get a bit of a chill up here, once the winter sets in. But in the fall, with the colors and change of season and all—it can be absolutely spectacular.”
“I think I’m more of a spring person,” I said.
I managed to keep a straight face for a second before we both burst out laughing.
“You’re right though,” I said. “These tribes up here, they’ve got a fine land to work with. They just need a little culture.”
“Well, maybe we should show them how to plant vines and ferment it into drink?” he quipped.
I laughed of course. The thought of these barbarous tribesmen going out to tend to fields as if they were actually civilized farmers just about had me rolling around in stitches.
Instead of laughing with me though, Quintus seemed to consider this a moment. Then he said, “I suppose you’d need some hardy grape types. And of course, it’d be a shorter growing season here than back in Italy. But all in all, I think it just might work!”
I stood slack-jawed. I wasn’t sure if he was being serious or joking.
“I’ll talk about it with Segestes when we see him in camp,” he said. Then he grinned. “And I’ll be sure to tell him it was your idea. That way, all three of us can go into business together. What do you say Marcus?”
Okay. Now I was sure. He was being serious. And so I decided to give him a serious-sounding answer to his obviously-ridiculous idea.
“Sure!” I said jovially, and probably just a little over-the-top. “We’ll call it Rhineland wines. They won’t be able to get enough of the stuff back in Rome. Tell me, by the way—wasn’t Segestes the one you spent those years in Rhodes with, drinking the place dry and making immodest wenches of their women?”
“Just to set the record straight,” Quintus interjected, contorting his face into a look of mock earnestness, “Their women were some of the finest, most hospitable I’ve met anywhere. We couldn’t help but get to know them better. But mainly our focus was on the serious study of philosophy and rhetoric. Oh, and also—you do know that as long as the sun continues to rise each day, no one will be able to drink Greece dry.”
That much at least was true. We both smiled.
I was just really happy to see my brother again.
“You know, Segestes is from here. And actually, his daughter is married to Arminius, the closest you could come to a leader for their motley bunch of disparate tribes. He’s quite close with Varus.”
“Arminius is their leader’s name then? Sounds exotic. Maybe he won’t mind if we borrow it then, for our wine? For marketing purposes? You know, we’ll stamp a big ‘A’ on the amphorae. Do you think ‘Arminius’ would make a better name for a red or a white?”
“Well, before you get too far into your marketing plan, you should know that Segestes would be none too happy about it. He hates Arminius. It’s his son-in-law, and he was none too happy about that happening either.”
“He didn’t want his daughter to marry him?”
“Not at all. And I don’t think she was very happy about it either.”
“I don’t get your drift.”
“It was kind of a forced thing. By which I mean—Arminius kind of forced it. I’m sure Segestes will be happy to give you more than an earful about it, if you ask him once we get back to camp. So please don’t get him started on it, okay? There are many other more pleasant things we can talk about, at least for this one night, than Arminius.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Segestes has been preparing a small feast for tonight. We both have, to celebrate your arrival. I promised I’d give him credit for it though—he’s been waiting all these years to meet you. I’ve been talking you up, brother!”
“Well, thank you,” I blushed. “Listen, I’ve had a fair amount of time to think, during the ride out, and during the past few years that you’ve been up here, too.”
“That sounds like you’re getting serious Marcus. I hope you’re not planning on turning your arrival and dinner tonight into some gloomy, deep affair.”
“Not any more serious than you were about turning these barbarians into wine merchants.”
“Wine growers,” he corrected.
“Of course,” I smiled. “And don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream on turning this feast you made—”
“—Segestes made.”
“This feast that Segestes made. I had absolutely no plans to turn it gloomy. For that, I’d planned on waiting at least until breakfast tomorrow.”
“Well, there we have it then! That’s encouraging. A feast it is tonight!”
“Although,” I added—gloomily—“I was thinking a lot. And I wanted to tell you, now that we can talk again face to face, I know I’ve caused you quite a bit of pain through the years. I’ve been reflecting on it, and I wanted to let you know I’m sorry.”
I couldn’t quite bring myself to mention exactly what I was most sorry about, that it had been me who was responsible for the death of his son. I wanted to say it, to beg his forgiveness. But I figured the price of bringing it up was likely more pain for him, and so I decided I’d leave it at ‘I’m sorry.’
The whole trip up I’d been worrying, thinking more and more, of how he might react to the memory of his dead son. Now that I was there actually talking to him, I didn’t have to wait long.
“You don’t have to say a thing.” As Quintus said the words, he was gentle—tender even—like it had been me who’d lost a son and not him. “Listen, Marcus, I can’t forgive you now—because I don’t condemn you. It’s not your fault he was killed. And I think both of us have carried more than enough guilt and blame for any one lifetime. You know, those days—the proscriptions—they were terrible days. But they’re over. They’re long over. Let’s not keep the dark times alive any more than we have to by carrying them around with us now.”
I just stood there. I don’t know what I’d expected when I’d arrive, but I liked this.
“A funny thing happened when I did put it down,” he went on. “I was able to feel the love of my son again. And that’s stayed with me ever since. The only time it didn’t was when I was carrying that cloud of guilt and anger inside. That’s where the pain came from. The days of the proscriptions were not good for anyone. It’s what happens when men who want power get the means to compete with each other for even more of it. It’s just what happens in the world. Nothing more, nothing less. But I let go of my anger—you can say I forgave—but what it really was, was I just decided I wasn’t going to hate anymore. Not the people who’d killed him, not the ones who’d proscribed him. Not me, not you. And that’s when a funny thing happened. He was there again. My son. Not alive, of course, but I could feel him. I could feel his presence as if he were. Only it was something more… something wonderful.”
6
Six
“It’s best we don’t be too hasty in our assessment of him,” I said to everyone, and to no one in particular. “I might have had my issues with Varus in the past, but he is a Roman Senator, after all. We should at least give him the benefit of his command. I hardly believe he’s conspiring against Rome.”
Segestes picked another cut of meat off the coals and pushed it over towards me. All the officers had received an allotment of the sacrifice old Memor had made when he’d taken the auspices in camp earlier today. The auspices may not have been great, but after it’d been roasted, the meat from it was. Quintus, as a ranking officer, had received a share big enough for the whole lot of us for the rest of the week. I took the roasted meat and lingered over it in my mouth a while, then washed the whole thing down with half a tumbler of wine.
“How’s the drink Marcus?”
“A little on the strong side, I think. Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Though definitely not as good as the one we’re going to make together in our vineyard Segestes,” I smiled.
“And I can’t remember, what did your brother tell me we’re planning to call it?”
“Rhineland wine,” Quintus jumped in. “Because—”
“Oh, I know the answer there,” Segestes bellowed. “Because it’s exotic, right? Better for marketing that way.”
“How’d you know? It sounds adventuresome, no?” We all laughed. “Evokes romantic dreams of the untamed frontier. You know, for the people back home who will never set one foot out of Italy their whole lives.”
“Wine with a kick to it, I’d call it,” Quintus chimed in. “Just like your countrymen, right Segestes?” We all roiled around in drink and laughter. Once we’d run through the rest of the meat, a quiet fell over the tent.
My mind wandered, and I fell to thinking about the situation that Quintus, and now Segestes, had described.
They must have been thinking about it too, for soon we were all worked up, talking over each other. All about the same thing. Varus.
Varus, and Arminius.
“I still say, it’s best not to judge the man too hastily.” It seemed like the right thing to say.
“Which man?”
“Well, Varus of course. Who else?” I thought about it, then hastily added, “Maybe Arminius too. But him, I don’t know so much about, so I didn’t want to be rash on him. I mean, hasn’t Arminius tried to help us bring civilization up to these tribes here? Isn’t that what we’re all trying to do? After I got in to camp, the Quartermaster was getting provisions ready.”
“I thought your commission was to come in and be the Quartermaster?”
“It is, but I just got here. Let me enjoy my meal first, please?”
They laughed.
“Anyway, the one in place now is a Varus man, so I have to meet with Varus himself first, to present my commission to him. A little formality, I thought, might help in avoiding friction. Even though I’m hopeful otherwise, I have a feeling that taking up my post might not be quite as easy as just walking in and saying, ‘Hi, I’m here.’”
We all laughed again. But something was unsettled, both in my brother and in Segetes.
“So what else did the Quartermaster tell you?” he asked. Both him and my brother lowered their drinks, listening intently.
“At least according to the Quartermaster,” I started, “Varus will be riding out with three legions tomorrow, to meet up with Arminius just on the other side of the pass near Teutoburg. Arminius has apparently offered to help put down some uprising out that way. Sounds reasonable enough. So I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt—”
“No,” both Quintus and Segestes cut me off at the same time.
Segestes probed further. “What’s that? What did you hear?”
The tent was suddenly quiet now, and everyone looked in my direction.
“I was saying, I think we shouldn’t judge them too quickly—”
“No before that!” my brother cut me off.
“That Arminius had offered Varus his help.”
“And?”
“That Varus is staging the legions to ride out first thing tomorrow, to meet up with Arminius just the other side of the pass.”
Segestes and Quintus looked at each other. I hadn’t been in the North long enough to get my feet under me like they had. But as I saw the horrified look on their faces, it was obvious that something was off.
“Wait, how many legions total do we have here?” I asked.
The answer, I knew, was three. Everybody knew there were three. But asking questions was the way I avoided uncomfortable feelings.
No one answered me.
Quintus turned to Segestes, though, asking, “What do you think he’s got planned?”
“Varus? Hell if I know. No commander in any army I know would ever break camp with all three legions on the cusp of winter. To do what? Chase some fool off to put down some tribe or another?”
They looked at each other in silent agreement.
“No, even if it’s just Varus being stupid—that’s stupidity so bad, it’s bordering on treason. The idiot.”
After a quiet moment, Segestes looked up. “It’s what Arminius is up to that concerns me more. I think he means to separate himself from Varus. Then he’ll be free to link up with the other tribes, unchecked. But whatever it is he does, Varus won’t have a clue about it because all his advance men are auxiliary troops loyal to Arminius—”
“—who will be right there, together with Arminius,” I interrupted, hiccuping from the wine, but proud of myself for figuring it out despite how much wine I’d already drunk.
“Exactly,
” they both blurted in unison, then glanced sideways at each other as if their slow pupil had finally come up with an answer the rest of the class had figured out ten minutes before.
“It makes sense, now that I think about it,” Segestes said. “I tried speaking to Varus earlier today, when that augur was getting ready to sacrifice this dinner for us.”
That brought a momentary smile to all of us.
“He wasn’t making much sense though. But now it’s obvious why—Varus is planning to march out all the legions tomorrow, to run off after whatever rabbit Arminius tells him to.”
“Well that can’t be good,” I said.
Segestes stared at me now. For some reason, his jaw hung open but didn’t say a word. Quintus didn’t look in my direction at all. He just put his cup onto the table and rose to his feet. Then he pulled his cloak on over his tunic.
I had been thinking about pouring some more wine, but now with this going on, I realized I’d had too much already. I drank some water and took a few deep breaths. Then I sat down and tried to focus, to shake off the wine as best I could.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To try to talk Varus out of this mad idea of his. Whatever it is.”
He left, and Segestes looked over at me.
“Maybe your brother can do something to stop that fool Varus from blundering out of camp tomorrow. In the meantime, it also might help to ride out and try to delay Arminius from leaving. If Arminius is allowed to march off tonight, he’ll be able to make contact with the tribes past the forest. But if he can be delayed just a few more hours—even just until a little closer to when Varus means to break camp with the legions tomorrow morning, then at least he won’t be off by himself. That way, he won’t have enough of a head start to be able to set up any traps.”
“Segestes,” I said, “I’ve had my fair share of misgivings about Varus over the years—but still, I think we shouldn’t jump to thinking the worst of him. I don’t want to assume that Varus is a total idiot—I mean, he is a Roman commander in the field, after all. I just think it’s important to not judge the man just yet. Anyway, why don’t you ride out to talk to Arminius? He’s family to you, isn’t he? He’d have to listen.”