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Donar willing.’
    ‘Aye.’ But not if I have my way, Arminius thought, reining in his desire to let Osbert in on his plan. ‘What brings you here?’
    ‘The priest Segimundus is sacrificing at the altar, in honour of Augustus. He’s happy to accept offerings when that’s done, so a group of us are taking some rams. I know you’re not a great one for seeking favours of the gods, but the men will be pleased to receive Segimundus’ blessing before we leave the camp.’
    Attending the ceremony would be good for morale, Arminius decided. ‘I’ll come. There’s no harm in knowing that the gods are on our side.’
    The great altar to Rome and Augustus had been erected by the order of Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, the first official governor of Germania, some eight years earlier. To commemorate its elevation to a cult centre, the settlement had changed its name from Oppidum Ubiorum to Ara Ubiorum. The great rectangle of stone sat upon a plinth carved with scenes of Augustus and his family presenting sacrifices to the gods, and dwarfed the usual daises seen outside temples. It was so large that the shrine building to Augustus, which stood behind, looked small by comparison. Yet this too was built on a grand scale, with six mighty columns forming its frontage.
    The religious sector, a vast area enclosed by a low wall, sat outside the town, close to the Rhenus. In addition to the main temple and the great altar, there were smaller shrines, living quarters for the priests, classrooms for the instruction of acolytes and stables for livestock. There was even a lodging house and tavern for pilgrims who had travelled from afar.
    The place was packed with worshippers.
    Accompanied by Osbert, a score of his men and three young rams, Arminius worked his way through the multitude towards the side of the altar. In front of it were several hundred legionaries and officers, including the legate, watching the priest Segimundus conclude the offerings to Augustus. There were numerous similar celebrations throughout the year. Arminius attended only the ones he had to, when an official invitation came from the principia . The sacred days were a clever ploy, helping to reinforce Augustus’ authority and to foster the notion that he was a divine being.
    Most men would be happy as absolute rulers over half the world, thought Arminius, irritated as usual by the state propaganda. Why does he have to play at being a god too? Arminius suspected that many Romans held views close to his own, but he’d never heard anyone say so. It didn’t do for anyone in imperial service to badmouth the emperor.
    Nearer to the priest, Arminius realised that something was wrong. None of the assembled soldiers looked happy. Men were cupping hands and whispering in one another’s ears. At first glance, the pile of ram carcases – six at least – in front of the altar told him nothing. The emperor’s importance required large-scale offerings, after all. Segimundus, recognisable by his shock of unruly blond hair, was stooping over another ram, which was being restrained by a pair of acolytes. A number of others stood behind, held by more trainee priests. Blood gouted as Segimundus drew a blade across the ram’s neck. Its legs beat out a frantic rhythm on the ground as it died.
    ‘The beast met its end in fitting fashion,’ intoned Segimundus. ‘That bodes well.’
    ‘You said the same damn thing about the others,’ Arminius thought he heard one of the officers say. ‘Get on with it. Look at the liver,’ said another.
    With the ease of experience, the acolytes flipped the ram on to its back. Segimundus knelt at once and worked his knife into its belly, opening it from pelvis to ribcage. The scent of abdominal contents – thick and cloying – reached Arminius’ nostrils a few heartbeats later. Segimundus’ position blocked him from seeing the slippery loops of bowel and the grey-skinned stomachs, but he had butchered enough animals to be familiar with