In the autumn of that year when we found ourselves in love, my brother Drusus died. We had been engaged in a two-pronged campaign on the northern frontiers of the empire. While I subdued Pannonia, advancing to the banks of the mighty River Danube, Drusus, with a mixture of prudence and audacity which was wonderful, penetrated deep into the mysterious forests of Germany through the territory of the Cherusci and the Marco-manni to the River Elbe, where he erected a trophy to mark the new limit of Roman control. This was no mere raid, for he built a chain of fortresses on the line of his march to secure his rear, while at the same time the Rhine was defended by new, well-garrisoned fortifications. No man of Rome ever deserved better, or did more for our city, than my dear brother in his German campaigns. Then, crossing a river swollen by the October rains, his horse slipped. He struck his head against a jagged rock, and was dragged insensible from the water. Word of his condition was brought to me and pausing only to make necessary arrangements for my own troops, I hastened to his bedside. I covered four hundred miles in less than sixty hours, and arrived to find his doctors ashen-faced and nervous. They were relieved to see me, however, for they knew that I would be able to testify that they had done everything that was possible. Drusus was only intermittently conscious. I sat by his camp-bed, and prayed useless prayers to the indifferent gods, while he, poor boy, babbled words that I could not understand, and threw himself about in a restless fever.
"He is so weak," the doctors said, "that we do not dare to bleed him further."
Instead they applied compresses of ice to his temples, and sponged his body with water drawn from a deep well.
The sweat dried on his forehead. He opened his eyes, saw me, recognised me, and spoke in a voice which was calm but already sounded as if it came from another world.
"I knew you would come, brother. I have been waiting till you were here… Tell our father" – even then I noticed how easily Drusus used that term of Augustus – "that I have done my duty. But I do not believe that we can ever…" he broke off. I pressed his hand. Again his eyes opened. "Look after my children, brother, and my dear Antonia. She has always liked you, and…" His voice faded and he choked. I held a mug of watered wine to his lips. "I feel like a deserter," he sighed, and closed his eyes, and in a little was no more.
I sat by his bedside as night chilled my bones. I remembered his candour and ease of manner, his probity, his easy affection. Once, he came to me and suggested we should approach Augustus and recommend that the Republic be restored in its antique form. "We both know, brother," he said, "that the restoration our father made was false, and that only a true resuscitation of our ancient institutions can enable Rome to regain its moral health, its old virtue." I placed my hand on his shoulder in agreement, and shook my head, "You are demanding what cannot be," I said. But now, as I heard an owl screech through the long night, I knew that it was Drusus' willingness to attempt the impossible, his refusal to be constrained by the appearance of necessity, which had made me love him.
In the morning his body was disembowelled and embalmed. The next day the funeral cortege began its long journey home. I marched on foot by the wheel of the waggon that carried his coffin. In every village people bared their heads as we passed, for his fame had gone before him. At night I slept on a mattress spread in the waggon beside his coffin. So we crossed the Alps, out of the rains, and marched down through Italy where the peasants were harvesting the vines, and the olive trees groaned under a weight of fruit. We reached Rome, and my brother was laid to rest in the mausoleum which Augustus had constructed for the family; I would have preferred him to lie in a Claudian tomb, but my wishes were not consulted. Meanwhile Julia had remained at Aquileia in Cisalpine Gaul at the north end of the Adriatic Sea. She was expecting another child and her doctor had forbidden her to travel. At a dinner-party Augustus spoke of Drusus. He was sincere, and embarrassing. Whenever honey enters his voice, I am aware of what has been cut off. I am made uneasy by my sense of discrepancy: my knowledge that this warm and beautiful voice has spat out orders to kill people and destroy lives. 1 find myself making excuses for him, saying to myself that it is not his fault he has been put into a position in which he has to make intolerable decisions. And then I remember that he is there because he wanted power.
Now he spoke of all those who had left him: of Agrippa, of the poet Vergil, of Maecenas who was dying, and of Drusus himself. He praised my… fidelity, a word you might use of a dog. And then he turned towards his grandsons, my stepsons, who are also – these things become confusing – his adopted sons: Gaius and Lucius. He told them they were the light of his old age, the fire that warmed his heart, and the hope of Rome. Lucius, who is the nicer of the two, and in reality a good and affectionate boy, had the grace to blush.
But the next morning the Princeps was back in charge of Augustus, the sentimentalist who embarrasses me relegated.
"You will have to go to Germany," he said, "to take over from Drusus." I pointed out that the situation in Pannonia was still unstable.
"You have done wonderfully well there," he said, "and Gnaeus Piso will be competent to consolidate your work. But Germany is another matter. Drusus has made the breach, but all his work will be wasted if we do not follow it up. Don't you see? Germany must be subjugated, the tribes brought within our orbit, or the whole of Drusus' achievement will go for nothing. It will be as if he had never been. And you, Tiberius, are the only man able to achieve the total victory which will be the true memorial to your dear brother, my beloved son…"
The note of embarrassing sincerity returned to his voice in this last sentence. It was the sincerity of the actor.
Then he said, "I think you have doubts about the German campaign." He fidgeted while I remained silent. "Come on."
"Forgive me, I was gathering my thoughts. Drusus had no doubts…"
"Which was why I originally sent him to Germany and you, Tiberius, to Pannonia."
"Yes," I said, "the situation on the two fronts appears to me to be quite different. We have only to look at the map. Pannonia – the Danube frontier – is within a short march of Cisalpine Gaul, and though we still use the term, it seems to me that the province now differs but little from Italy itself…"
"So Vergil, who was, you will remember, from Mantua in the north of that province, used to say. And you are both right. So?"
"So we must hold Pannonia and the line of the Danube. But Germany is different. The tribes there do not appear to me to be susceptible to civilisation, while Gaul itself may be adequately protected by the barrier of the Rhine. Therefore I doubt the value of Germany, certainly in relation to the cost of subjugation. I fear some terrible disaster will one day overtake Roman arms in those savage forests. Germany is a wooded desert."
"Nevertheless," he said; and I knew when he pronounced that word that my arguments were vain, that his mind was settled. When he utters that word, it signifies that he accepts the validity of your argument, but will still have his way.
"An empire like Rome's cannot rest. The day it ceases to grow is the day we renege on our duty. The gods promised Aeneas and his descendants an empire without limits. We cannot take on ourselves the responsibility of deciding that we have gone far enough. Of course, for tactical reasons such a decision may be made – for the moment. But no more than that. Besides, it is only our expanding empire which reconciles the Roman nobility to the loss of liberty. Never forget that." "Which was lost precisely in the cause of empire." "An undeniable truth, and therefore one better left unsaid."
Augustus will present himself as an enigma to historians. Which of his utterances are they to believe? In one breath he will present himself as the saviour of Rome's liberty and the restorer of the Republic; in the next, confess that liberty has vanished and that the Republican offices are now no more than decoration. Yet he rests his power, or at least its legal expression, on the tribunicia potestas, which represents the fullest statement of Republican liberty. How much of what he says does he believe himself?
"A meaningless question," Livia would say. "Your father uses words as counters, which is, ultimately, all they are."
He is a hypocrite deceived by his own hypocrisy. Whatever he says at any moment has the ring of truth for him. This is why he is so adept at deceiving others. Germany was no place to take Julia. I had myself to hasten there in the middle of winter, for the exigencies of modern war in remote barbarian lands require a degree of preparation such as would have amazed Julius Caesar, that improviser of genius. Lacking genius, I shun improvisation. Moreover, it was necessary that I should learn as much as possible about the tribes by whom I would be opposed. There is of course a close resemblance between one German tribe and another, but not all are equally devoted to war, for that devotion fluctuates according to the temper of the different chiefs. One consequence of this is that, though they fight by tribes, a tribe may often contain a number of outsiders, for high-born youths frequently seek out service with a neighbouring tribe, if their own chiefs are disinclined to make war. Yet, on the whole, peace is unwelcome to the German peoples, and they distinguish themselves more readily in the midst of danger, for, lacking all arts and civil refinements, it is only in war that a man may obtain reputation. Besides, a great retinue, such as their chiefs delight in, since they measure their own status according to the number of their followers, cannot be maintained except by war and violence, for it is to the generosity of their chiefs that they look for the war horse and the spear. Their warriors receive no pay, which is not surprising, for barbarians despise money. On the other hand they accept presents from their chiefs, and they expect to be well fed. They are great drunkards, believing that courage in war goes with a capacity for deep drinking. They are capable of a certain swaggering generosity, but they have more of cruel savagery than wolves. They delight in torturing their prisoners before they kill them.
As I had feared, the morale of our army was low. The soldiers had been cast down by Drusus' death. Moreover, I discovered that the extent of my brother's achievement was less than we had hoped. This was not his fault. It was a measure of the enormity of the task. Though he had advanced through the forests as far as the Elbe, it was only in coastal regions that he had been able to embark on the policy of civilisation which is a necessary part of any conquest that aspires to be enduring. He had constructed a canal through the lakes of Holland, and this had persuaded the tribes resident there, the Frisii and the Batavii, to become allies of the Roman people, for they saw not only our greatness but the prospect of unimagined prosperity open before them. It is trade which greases the wheels of empire, and it is the building of roads, bridges and canals which makes commerce possible.
There were no cities in Germany. Indeed the Germans scarcely live even in villages as we understand them. They prefer to live separately and scattered, and they lay out their villages with open ground, frequently extensive, between the houses. They are therefore averse from learning the arts and manners of civil society; and I saw at once that this was a great problem. It was clear to me that Germany could not be thoroughly and effectively conquered till the land was settled, till cities were built and colonies planted. However, it was difficult to persuade colonists to establish themselves there till the tribes had been thoroughly subdued and brought to recognise the majesty and order of Rome. This was a problem I was unable to solve in my three years in Germany. Indeed, I can hardly claim to have done more than define it, and take a few tentative steps by means of the engineering works I instigated. Otherwise, every summer was spent in pursuit of an evasive enemy who could rarely be brought to battle. On each occasion that we achieved battle however, the skill and discipline of our armies appalled, dispirited, and defeated the barbarians.
"It will be a slow business," I told Augustus, "and we can offer our young men no hope of glory. I demand sacrifice from them. They must be ready to shed blood and sweat, to toil long hours and to endure hardships without repining. But, if the gods are willing, we shall at last bring these accursed barbarians within the pale of civilisation."
He replied praising my efforts for Rome, "… worthy of your Claudian ancestors in their greatest hours, and of your mother's son." Our second child was stillborn. I had scarcely time to grieve. Julia was depressed by the little girl's death, and her letters were mournful. They were also brief and less and less frequent. I could not reproach her for I had to confess that sometimes days went by without thought of her crossing my mind. Then, in my second summer campaign, little Tiberius caught a fever and died. The news was brought to me as I crouched in my tent on the muddy banks of a tributary of the Elbe. It had been raining for three weeks and our advance was halted. It was difficult to bring up provisions for the troops and horses from our base fifty miles in the rear. Some scouts reported that the enemy had vanished into the uttermost recesses of the forest, but my mind was not appeased by this information. I had a foreboding of danger, even disaster. The forest was too quiet. I called Segestes, the chief of one branch of the Cherusci, a man originally taken prisoner by Drusus and persuaded to ally himself to the Roman people by the eloquence of my brother and the example of his virtue. For a German, Segestes was an honourable man. Yet I was uncertain to what extent I could trust him.
"My scouts report that the enemy has entirely vanished," I said. "Do you think that possible?"
He spat on the ground – an ineradicable German habit that has always disgusted me. "Is that a commentary on the information?" I asked.
"Your scouts are lying, or they have made a mistake," he said. "If the enemy has vanished, it is because your scouts have been looking in the wrong direction. They should have looked in your rear. That is where they would find my people. That is how they have learned to fight. They intend to cut you off as you retreat, having first prevented supplies from reaching you."
"But a messenger has come through today. I have received letters."
"They would not be interested in letters or in cutting off a small troop. It is in their interest to let you think the road behind is open." "So what do you recommend?"
"You, a Roman, ask me, a German, what course 1 would recommend?"
"I ask you as a knowledgeable man, and as one whom experience has taught me I may trust."
He looked at the interpreter as if he wondered whether my answer had been correctly relayed to him. I nodded my head and smiled.
"My noble brother trusted you," I said, "and I trust my brother's judgment."
He received this observation in silence, turned and walked to the open flap of my tent and gazed out into the mist. The rain spattered the canvas, but there was no wind to shift the mist which hung over the meadows towards the invisible river.
"If you return by the route you advanced by, you will march into the trap. Its jaws will close, and then, no Imperator Tiberius, no Roman Army, but much rejoicing among the Cherusci." "So?"
"So you must find another route, through territory which is unknown to you. You must keep the river on your flank. In that way you can be attacked only on one side. You cannot be surrounded." "Do we go up the river or down?" "Down, perhaps, for in that way you will reach the Elbe." "And if we go up?" "The mountains eventually."
"And is there a pass there by which we can cross over to the Rhine?"
"I believe there is. But it would be difficult with the waggons. However, if you turn towards the Elbe, you will find yourself required to negotiate a wide tract of marshland."
"And which course will your cousin, the chief for the time being of the Cherusci, expect us to take…" Segestes spat again.
"He is not a clever man. Brave but a fool. He will not be expecting you to do anything but retrace your route. However, there are wise heads among his advisers. They will conclude that you will make for the Elbe, where you have forts and a fleet waiting in the mouth. They will not expect you to take the bold path, because they do not expect boldness from Romans, and they know, general, that you are a cautious man."
I asked my servant to bring us wine. Germans are not accustomed to wine, and many of them affect to regard it as an effeminate drink, since their preference is to swig great jugs of beer or mead. However, Segestes had learned to consider wine as a mark of the civilisation to which he aspired (I had one day found him taking a reading lesson from one of my secretaries) and had even learned to do something which comes naturally to no German: to drink it without evident signs of greed.
"I am honoured, General, that you ask my advice, but how can you know that it is good advice? How can you be certain that I am not intending to take this opportunity to restore my credit with my own people?"
"Segestes," I said, "I could speak much of your honour, and utter a long speech in your praise. I could say I believe, as indeed I do, that you have come to think that it will be to the benefit of your people that they should enter within the embraces of the Roman empire. And there would be much truth in what I would say. But there is another argument which will remind you of what manner of man I am."
I clapped my hands to call back my servant, and whispered a message to him. He departed, to come back in a few moments leading a German youth, who stood before us and glowered.
"When you came over to us," I said, "you did us the honour of entrusting your son, the young Segestes, to us. That showed your faith in Rome. I am sensible of your confidence, and I shall now repay it by making the boy my aide-de-camp. He shall remain by my side throughout this campaign, eat at my table, sleep in my tent. I shall watch over him…"
"I see, General," he said. "It is a powerful argument. But I have many sons, seventeen I think, and some of them are in the other army. Why should I trouble myself about the fate of one out of seventeen?"
"Well," I said, "that is a matter for you to decide. You have given me good advice, and I shall ponder it. Do not doubt my gratitude, which I shall extend to this boy also." And so I threatened Segestes with his son's death, while the death of my own little boy lay like a dead flower pressed in the book of life. Did I give five minutes then to thought of what he might have been? I doubt it. I had been aroused to a sense of the army's danger. Comfort for Julia and mourning for little Tiberius must wait. I summoned a council, for I have never believed that a general should embark on a course of action without discussing it with his officers. The greater the danger, the more necessary it is that they understand the position. Yet, paradoxically, the greater and more immediate the danger, the more necessary it is that the commander display authority. Debate is then a luxury; yet without granting the opportunity for debate, the commander may lose the chance of obtaining a valuable suggestion. Speed is of the essence, but there is much truth in the proverb festina lente: hasten slowly.
I outlined the position, and told them of my conversation with Segestes. "What reason have we to trust in the word of a barbarian?"
The speaker was Marcus Lollius, a man whom, had I had full freedom to choose my officers, I would never have had on my staff. A few years previously, in Gaul, he had suffered a defeat at the hands of raiding Germans, brought on, in my opinion, by his neglect of security, represented by his failure to keep himself properly informed. However, it seemed the wrong moment to make reference to that episode and I knew I had to treat Lollius with kid gloves, as they say, for he was a favourite of Augustus, whom he flattered absurdly. But no flattery is too absurd for a dynast. "Drusus trusted Segestes, and I trust my brother's judgment."
This was a politic answer rather than a truthful one; in fact, I had trusted everything about Drusus except his judgment of men, for he was too easily carried away by the generosity of his nature and was therefore apt to take the word for the deed.
"Moreover," I said, "I think Segestes' interest is bound up with the success of our arms and with the fortune of the Roman people." Lollius threw back his head and laughed, a calculated gesture.
"So, the campaign plan of a Roman army is now to be dictated by a barbarian deserter. I have never heard of such a thing. You would have us march into unknown territory at his word, when we have behind us a fortified line of march, which we know well…"
"And which lies through a forest which the enemy know better, and where we cannot deploy…"
There was a shifting of feet, as every man imagined the dreams that afflicted us by night in those accursed forests.
We debated the merits of the course open to us. Some were in agreement with Marcus Lollius that we should disregard the advice given by Segestes, and retrace the route by which we had advanced. "It is only fifty miles to our first base," they insisted.
"You can destroy an army in less time than it takes to march five," I answered.
My reasoning carried weight, though Lollius continued to sneer. After all, everyone knew that the responsibility was mine, that they would themselves be free of blame even if I chose wrong. Then I outlined the merits of the two courses Segestes had proposed.
"It's clear, isn't it…?" the speaker hesitated, with habitual diffidence. This was Caius Velleius Paterculus, an honest man whose grandfather had fought by my father's side in the terrible siege of Perugia, and then fallen on his sword when all was lost. "It's clear," he repeated. "Segestes thinks you should follow the high route because they will not think of it. But he thought of it himself, and so it seems likely that one of their chiefs will also do so. Therefore we should go downstream to join the Elbe."
"No," said Cossus Cornelius Lentulus, speaking sleepily as was his wont, "have you never played the game the soldiers call 'spoof? It's a matter of guessing how many coins you each hold in your hand. Well, we are in the same position. We must always take the guessing game one stage further. For that reason I say we take the high road…"
There comes a time in war, as in political affairs, when argument falls away. It is a matter then of decision. All courses have been examined, and all found to have their own virtue and their own danger. None possesses any transcendent merit. Very well, the man in command must act and he must follow his course as if there had never been an alternative. I looked round my staff. I saw hesitation, uncertainty, fear. I thought of how both Paterculus and Lentulus were men worthy of the highest admiration. I said:
"Gentlemen, you have considered the problem wisely. You have laid out the arguments for either course with a lucidity which I commend. I will ponder these matters, and issue orders in the morning." I spoke with an assurance I did not feel – precisely the circumstances in which assurance is necessary. I retired to my tent. I sent for the soothsayer, and drank a cup of wine while 1 was waiting. The German boy, the young Segestes, crouched in a corner of my tent. He had pulled a blanket round his shoulders and buried his face in it. A mop of yellow hair emerged from its folds, and though the rest of him was hidden I could sense the tension in which he held himself. I put my hand on his head. "Don't be afraid," I said. "Do you speak any Latin?" He shook my hand off.
The soothsayer entered. I asked him if he had taken the omens. "But not yet interpreted them," he said.
"Good. We shall march by the high road. I trust the omens will be favourable."
There is relief in decision. I retired and slept soundly. But I woke in the darkest hours having dreamed of little Tiberius and of Julia grieving. A whimper came from the corner of the tent where young Segestes was stretched out. I called to him and there was silence. Then I called again and heard him rise to his feet. He stumbled as he crossed the floor and fell on top of me. I held him close and felt him relax and then spring to life. We rejoiced and took comfort in each other's maleness. He smelled of the stable. In the morning he held his head high and smiled at me. For two days we saw no sign of the enemy but, keeping the river ever on our left hand, climbed high into the mountains. The track was poor, disappearing in places, and very early I gave orders that we should abandon the heavy waggons. For the first day I rode at the head of the column, but on the day following, judging that we had outstripped the enemy, and taken them by surprise, I transferred to the rear, from which direction I now judged an attack most likely to come. It is, moreover, the way of barbarian tribes to wage irregular war, and to try to cut off the rearguard of an army rather than risk frontal assault and wholehearted battle. Meanwhile the scouts who scoured the skirts of the forest reported no movement from the enemy. Our troops grew cheerful, and exchanged the opinion that we had given the Germans the slip. I could not share their confidence and when I consulted the elder Segestes, he declined to commit himself.
Towards evening on the second day it began to rain. The mist closed in upon us and soon we could see no further than a man can throw a spear in battle. Then one of the light waggons which we had retained slewed across the path, blocking our way. The accident happened in a narrow defile. While men struggled to free the cart, I sent a messenger after the main body of the army to warn them that we should be delayed. At that moment huge rocks descended from our right, blocking the pass. The crash was succeeded by silence broken only by the curses and heaving of our men trying to clear the way. A handful of them scrambled over the rocks, but the main body of the rearguard was held pressed together, unaware of what was happening, in the grip of incipient panic.
The attack came in at an angle on our rear through a beech wood. The steep slope and our unreadiness gave the barbarians an advantage. My first thought was one of shame, not fear, shame and anger. I have always prided myself on my use of intelligence, and it was our intelligence which had let us down, its failure which had exposed us to this risk. I shouted such instructions as I could, but this was not so much a battle as a countless number of individual fights going on at the same time. Only historians, secure in their studies, can make sense of such warfare. For those involved in it there is no comprehensive structure, merely a succession of encounters, one man against one, two against three and so on. It is a story of stabbing spears, swinging or jabbing swords, the clang of metal on armour, cries of anger and howls of pain. There is no possible coherence, no narrative even which can render the whole. Our men first gave way as they were pushed towards the cliff, then, here and there, the surge was checked. All at once I found empty space before me and ran forward to occupy it, shouting commands that no one heard. I thrust at a huge yellow-bearded figure and then almost fell over as I stumbled against his falling body and struggled to extract my sword. A blow on my shoulder sent me sprawling on top of him and I rolled over to see a figure swing an axe above his head and there was a smile of glee on the axeman's face. I struggled to get out of line, and heard a yell and then a shape thrust itself between me and the axe, and axeman and his assailant fell to the ground and rolled over and over. Axeman came uppermost, heaved himself to his knees, his arms rigid as he began to choke the life out of his attacker. I stabbed him in the neck. He toppled forward with a groan. His grip loosened. I put my boot against him and thrust him over, and the boy Segestes struggled out from under him. I held out my hand and raised him to his feet. There was, for a moment, a space around us, and then we were behind our legionaries who were now pursuing the suddenly fleeing enemy towards the wood. I saw worse disaster beckon, grabbed a nearby trumpeter and ordered him to sound the retreat. Legionaries hesitated at the trumpet's note, drew themselves up, drew together and, in almost orderly fashion, still facing the fleeing enemy, halted. Centurions held them in line till order was restored and we could resume the march.
"It seems," I said, to young Segestes, "that there is a new bond between us…" I have been in so many battles, and yet in my solitude it is that little skirmish – and it was no more – that comes to mind. I cannot forget it. When the youth leapt like a wild-cat at my attacker, it was in one sense no more than the sort of selfless action, performed without any reflection, which soldiers commit in every battle. And yet for me it was more than that. Other men have saved my life in other battles, and I have forgotten them. There is an anonymity in the comradeship of war. But this was different. The boy could have been honoured among his own race if he had stood by and cheered, if he had helped kill me and then run with his fellow barbarians. I could not have blamed him. He understood the ruthlessness with which I had been ready to use him, to compel his father's fidelity.
He wept that night and trembled, as I have known others do, when it comes to them that they have felt death's icy fingers. He shook with delayed terror and relief, and his legs and feet were as cold as the river below us. Then we reaffirmed life and he laughed with pleasure, as full of vigour as a young colt or pony. He slept and I stroked his dirty hair and drew sunshine back into my life.
It was tempting to keep him with me, to let myself be sustained and enlivened by his youth and strength and his ready acceptance of things as they are. But that simplicity – the simplicity of the Homeric world – has been corrupted. I could not let him grow to realise that he would become an object of scorn. He saw nothing wrong in it himself of course. Many of the German warriors have their boy-lovers and are said to fight the more bravely by their side. The Gauls too were accustomed to choose their charioteers for their beauty and courage. But, though we tolerate the love of boys, men who indulge in it are despised by others and come properly to despise themselves. Consequently the boys develop effeminate manners and become contemptible. Yet I looked at young Segestes sleeping in the crook of my arm with a smile on his face and thought that life would be better and simpler if we were indeed Achilles and Patroclus, and knew my thought to be absurd. This is not how it is now in our world.
He could not return to his own people, and I did not care to entrust him to his father who might, it occurred to me, have learned to find a use for him of which I would not approve. I told the elder Segestes of the debt of gratitude I owed his son, and of my intention to repay it by advancing the boy to a career within the auxiliary forces of our empire. He was, I said, to regard me henceforth as his patron, and in that role it seemed expedient to me that the boy should go to Rome to study Latin and then Roman Law, which would together fit him for a career either in the army or the civil service. The father was properly appreciative of my intentions and so it was arranged.
Young Segestes was loth to leave me, but I insisted. He told me, to my considerable embarrassment, that he had "fallen in love with his master as a German boy should". I made the break as tenderly as I could, supported by my knowledge that I was acting for his own good. He wept when he took leave of me, and my own eyes were not altogether dry. Unfortunately things did not work out quite as I hoped. Though he studied well, he soon fell into the habit of deep drinking to which Germans are all addicted. Soon after my arrival here, 1 heard that he had been knifed to death in a tavern brawl. It was sad; he was a boy of promise and virtue. But it would not have done for me to have acted otherwise. I still think of him with pleasure and regret.