Varro and Salonius were deep in hushed conversation when they arrived in the corridor outside Catilina’s room. Two black-clad guardsmen stood at attention outside. Varro held his hand up to Salonius and their conversation halted for a moment as the captain addressed the guardsmen.
“Varro and Salonius of the Fourth to see the lady and her doctor.”
The man saluted. “Just a moment, sir.”
While the second guard watched the two of them carefully, the first knocked quietly.
“Yes?” Came a testy male voice from within.
The guard announced the two visitors, and Varro distinctly heard Scortius swearing and Catilina berating him for it. After a brief whispered conversation, the lady spoke clearly.
“Send them in!”
The guardsman opened the door and, stepping to one side, saluted smartly. Varro gave him a sloppy, half-hearted salute that he knew would irritate the man and sauntered in with Salonius hard on his heels. Catilina was sitting upright in her bed, fully clothed, as Scortius arranged what was clearly her medicine on the table close by.
“How are you?” the Captain asked with concern.
She smiled lightly and stretched her right arm out behind her. It swung back until it was out to the side, but as it passed straight and moved behind her, she bit her lip and Varro could clearly see the pain it was causing her.
“Oh, I’ll live, Varro. Actually it’s not really that bad.”
Varro glanced across at Scortius, who nodded absently. Without taking his eyes off the medicines before him, he muttered “Young lad did a good job.” Pushing the collection of small parcels towards Catilina, the doctor stood.
“I’ll get out of your way.”
Varro waved his hand.
“Actually, it was you I wanted to see first, Scortius.”
The doctor shook his head.
“Sorry, Varro. I’ve been researching every text I can find, and experimenting with everything I can think of, but I’ve found no solution so far.”
Varro waved this aside, but Scortius went on “Don’t give up, though. Mercurias is here… the Emperor’s chief physician, and he’s helping me research. He’s even brought some eastern works on the subject.”
Varro continued to wave at him.
“That’s not what I need to see you about. I’ve got a fresh damn wound!”
As Varro took a seat and removed his tunic, Scortius walked over to him with a look of interest. Catilina frowned.
“What happened?”
Varro growled and began to peel the fresh dressing from his neck.
“Cristus gets to us, even here.”
“What?” Catilina swung her legs over the side of the bed.
“Petrus.” Varro paused and sighed. “They got Petrus. A Pelasian assassin. Nearly got me too.”
Salonius leaned toward the doctor and said quietly “He’s just had some of your last-resort intense medicine. Thought you’d want to know before you give him anything else.”
Scortius nodded and Salonius returned his attention to Catilina, who was now on her feet, her exquisite face full of concern.
“Not a Pelasian, Varro.”
The captain shook his head and winced at the pain.
“I’m pretty sure he was a Pelasian. Dressed all in black, using a Pelasian weapon, quick and quiet, and gone before I could pin him down.”
Catilina shook her head defiantly.
“I don’t care, Varro, it wasn’t a Pelasian. No Pelasians ever come inside Vengen except as ambassadors.”
Varro grumbled.
“It’s not as secure as you think. Pelasians can get anywhere. It’s what they do!”
“Not here,” she repeated with infuriating calm. “When Prince Ashar signed his treaties with the Emperor, one of the stipulations of freeing the borders was that Pelasian assassins would never violate certain locations, and the fortresses of the marshals are on that list.”
Varro growled.
“I think you’re being a little naive, Catilina. Ouch!”
He glared at Scortius, who merely tutted and turned the patient’s head away again.
Catilina bridled.
“No Pelasian would break that accord. You know how they are about Ashar; he’s more than a God to them.”
Varro frowned. “You’re right, of course.” He turned to Salonius. “I think we’ve got a problem.”
The young man nodded.
“Someone masquerading as a Pelasian to lay the blame with them,” he grumbled.
“Not just that,” Varro growled. “That someone was within the Palace. That means he’s one of our own again. Maybe a Pelasian could sneak in to Vengen. They train all their lives to do things like that. But if it’s not a Pelasian assassin, then it’s realistically got to be someone who was already in the military compound of Vengen. And that makes it ninety per cent sure he’s a soldier! Either Cristus has friends in the First, the Fifth or the Eleventh, or among Sabian’s own men, or…”
Salonius’ face hardened. “Or Sergeant Corda brought traitors from the Fourth with him!”
The two shared a look.
“Betrayer” they said in unison.
Catilina walked a few steps and then crouched in front of Varro.
“We have to go see my father straight away.”
Varro nodded.
“I agree, but just let Scortius finish here first.”
Beside him, the doctor sighed as he cleaned the wound.
Varro, Salonius and Catilina arrived at the office of the marshal just as the great bell in the tower at the edge of the complex tolled eleven times. Salonius had been sceptical that the marshal would be available to see them, but Catilina had assured him that Sabian would still be in his office, deeply involved in his work.
The two guards outside the door moved into a defensive posture as the three figures emerged from the corridor, though as soon as they identified the marshal’s daughter, they stood to attention and saluted.
“I take it my father is in?” Catilina asked, idly drumming the fingers of her left hand on the back of her right hand, which rested in a sling to aid the healing of her shoulder wound.
One of the guards cleared his throat.
“The marshal is unavailable, I’m afraid, ma’am, even to yourself. We have strict instructions for total privacy.”
Catilina glared at him, and the guard shuffled nervously.
“You will announce me this instant or by morning you will find yourself cleaning latrines on a border post. Do you understand me?”
The guard risked a glance at his counterpart, who stared rigidly ahead with an air of relief.
“Erm… The marshal gave orders…”
Catilina smiled a horribly vengeful smile at him and walked across to the door. The guard fumbled with his sword and dithered, unsure of where he stood in these circumstances. The young lady twisted the handle on the door and swept in regally without a further glance at the guards. As Varro and Salonius followed her in, the captain patted the guard on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry. They’ll both have too much on their plate shortly to even think about you.”
The guard look unconvinced and returned to attention as the door to the marshal’s office closed.
Varro walked straight into the back of Catilina, who had stopped immediately inside the door, and Salonius consequently bumped into him too. The pair of them peered around the lady’s lustrous black curls and stared for a moment before they remembered where they were and came to attention. Varro had been expecting Sabian to be poring over maps, or perhaps writing furiously. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the Marshal being draped over his seat, with a cup in his hand and an almost empty bottle on the table. He recognised the smell of cheap northern spirits from the doorway.
“Father?” Catilina’s voice hovered somewhere between prim disgust, worry and anger.
Sabian hauled himself upright with some stiffness of muscles. Varro heaved a sigh of relief; the marshal had been drinking, but was still compos mentis at least.
“Ah, Catilina. I thought of sending for you, but I was sure you’d come once Scortius had finished with you. I thought you’d come alone though. I wasn’t planning to see these three until the morning.”
Salonius and Varro shared an unspoken look behind the lady as Varro held up three fingers.
“Father, can we put aside your disappointment in me and your anger, and assume that you’re not going to punish me in the end anyway. It’ll save a lot of time, and this is too important to mess around with family squabbles.”
Sabian’s face hardened.
“Catilina,” he growled, “you are not ingratiating yourself with me.”
His daughter merely folded her arms defiantly, thought with some difficulty, given the sling, and gave him a patronising look.
“Catilina,” the marshal’s voice raised slightly and dangerously, “don’t play games with me, girl. I’m not drunk but I am angry.”
The young lady sighed and allowed her arm to drop back down to her side.
“Very well, father. You can shout at me, withdraw my privileges, restrict my movement or whatever the hell it is you want to do to punish me, but be angry later; there just isn’t time now!”
Something about her words sank in and Sabian seemed to deflate slightly. His eyes wandered behind her and rested for a moment on her two companions.
“I assumed Petrus would be with you?”
Varro stepped out beside Catilina.
“That’s the problem, sir.”
“What? You can’t have lost him?”
Varro sighed.
“Petrus has gone to the Gods. About fifteen minutes ago” he said sadly.
“Nearer twenty, I think,” corrected Salonius.
Sabian pushed himself upright, slapping the cup down on the desk and sweeping it aside.
“What happened?”
The three visitors stepped forward and relaxed their posture slightly.
“Assassination,” Varro announced bluntly. “Someone killed Petrus and tried the same with Salonius and me; thinks he got Salonius, too.”
Sabian blinked. “Assassins? In Vengen? That’s outrageous!”
“But true. I saw him in the garden outside the guest wing. He was kitted out like a Pelasian, but your daughter assures me that there’s no way he could actually have been a Pelasian?”
The marshal nodded in a distracted fashion.
“Sir?” Varro prompted.
“Hmm?” Sabian turned and focused on the captain again. “What? Oh, yes. She’s right. You’ll not find a Pelasian here unless he’s staying in the guest wing and wearing official regalia. Prince Ashar is a good friend of both mine and the Emperor’s.”
“Then someone in Vengen is dressed like a Pelasian and using one of their hand bows; someone in the fortress.”
The marshal frowned.
“Assuming this is Cristus playing his hand, who could he have his hooks into here?”
Varro shrugged.
“Sadly, just about anyone. I…”
Suddenly the captain groaned as his eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped. Salonius, quick as a flash, grabbed Varro around the torso as he fell, lowering him gently to the floor.”
The young man looked up to see Catilina staring in horror and Sabian rushing around the side of his desk towards them.
“It’s alright,” Salonius reassured them, “he’s breathing. It’s just a reaction. Scortius warned me about this. About fifteen minutes ago he had some very strong medication. He’s supposed to be resting as much as possible anyway, but he’s overdone it. Two wounds, running around and, of course, his blood pressure’s pretty high even normally.”
Catilina’s face continued to verge on panic as she knelt beside the unconscious captain. Sabian, approaching, stood above her and looked down on her and the captain with a curious look on his face. The marshal crouched and grasped Varro by a shoulder. With a nod to Salonius, the two men hauled Varro up and dragged him across to Sabian’s couch, followed closely by the worried Catilina. They gently lay the captain on the soft velvet and tucked a cushion behind his head.
“He’s lucky to have you looking after him,” the marshal noted, giving Salonius an appraising glance.
“Just my duty, sir.” Replied the young man modestly.
Catilina crouched by the divan and gently mopped Varro’s brow with a soft cloth. Sabian gave her a quick concerned look, grasped Salonius’ shoulder and guided him away across the room. When they were a considerable distance away from Varro and Catilina, he let go and rubbed his hands together thoughtfully.
“I don’t think this is a duty thing, lad. I’m very much under the impression that the only people Varro can trust are in this room right now. We have a problem and we need to work out what we’re going to do about it.”
Salonius frowned.
“With respect, sir, we need to find this assassin.”
“Agreed,” Sabian nodded. “The question is: how to go about it?”
Salonius glanced briefly towards the door.
“We could perform a search, sir? The assassin was in Pelasian blacks and carrying a hand bow. I would assume that anyone leaving the military compound will be logged, so there are three possibilities as I see it.”
Sabian raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Well, sir,” Salonius answered quickly, “either the assassin fled the compound, in which case he’ll have been logged by the guards at the gate, or he’s still got the equipment stashed somewhere, in which case we can find it, or…”
“Or what?”
“Well, if it was me, sir, I’d have thrown the clothes and weapon over the walls. Removes any link with the guilty party.”
“Damn it, your right.” Sabian ground his teeth. “I’m going to have my commander organise a search of the compound and of the ditches below the walls, but if he’s thrown them away we’re going to have serious trouble pinning anyone down.”
“Perhaps, sir, but perhaps not. It all depends on what the search turns up.”
Sabian glanced back across the room to where his daughter continued her ministrations.
“What’s best for Varro right now?”
“If it’s alright with you, sir, I think we should leave him where he is for now.” Salonius answered. “Perhaps we should send for Scortius?”
Sabian nodded.
“I’ll have him and Mercurias both attend.” He glanced over at his daughter again. “Catilina? Salonius and I have business to attend to. I’m sending the doctors to have a look at Varro, but I think you should stay with him.”
Catilina gave him a weak smile.
“Out of trouble, you mean father?”
It was mid morning when Salonius and the marshal made their careful way along the deep grass ditch below the walls of Vengen. They had spent the morning organising the search, watching the darkness slowly give way to the dawn somewhere in the process. The compound had been sealed with the exception of the particular unit of Sabian’s guard that had been given the task of searching below the walls. The names of everyone who had left the compound between the time of the attack and the sealing of the gate had been taken, and each one of those individuals had been tracked down in the civilian settlement and brought back to the military compound. They numbered eight soldiers from the army, three from the First, two from the Fourth, one from the Fifth and two from the Eleventh, four members of Sabian’s guard, six of the Vengen garrison, and nine of the ancillary staff. Tracking them down in the crowded town must have been a monumental task, but the marshal’s guards had carried it out efficiently and without complaint.
As Salonius and Sabian went about their work throughout the morning, they’d watched with growing impatience as black-clad guards methodically turned the palace upside down, searching every room and corridor systematically, with the exception of Sabian and Catilina’s quarters. Once they’d finished with the palace, they moved on like a plague of very organised locusts, tearing apart the barracks of the four army cohorts, moving on to the garrison barracks, the stores, and so on. Even the granaries had been emptied and replaced. Salonius had been impressed at the level of activity and the effort put into this and wondered why Varro was so important that the marshal himself would turn Vengen upside down to aid him.
And finally he had come to the conclusion, as he watched the marshal at work, that Sabian was the kind of man who simply wouldn’t allow inefficiency and corruption within his demesne, and the young man found a new level of respect for the older man by his side. Sabian controlled Vengen, and therefore felt himself responsible for anything that happened within its walls. Perhaps he even felt a personal responsibility for Petrus’ death.
He simply wouldn’t rest until this was put right.
And throughout the morning’s activity, that single-minded need had driven him to push his men constantly. And all of it had led to the two of them traipsing through the grass, still damp with morning dew where the high walls had kept the ditch in shadow throughout the morning.
“It’s taken you all morning to search this?” Sabian demanded irritably of the black-clad captain who had led the exterior search.
“This ditch and the next outer one, sir, to be certain.” Salonius glanced at the guard and was surprised to see a sympathetic half-smile rather than the irritable defensiveness he’d expected. The marshal and his men shared a bond that the had been lacking between Cristus and the Fourth. “We were very much hampered by the conditions sir. The search has been much faster since the sun came properly up.
Sabian sighed and nodded.
“My apologies Captain. It’s been a hard night. I understand what you’ve had to deal with.”
The marshal rubbed his tired eyes and straightened his shoulders.
“So tell me about this” he said, gesturing with an outstretched arm toward a knot of black uniforms surrounding a small area.
The captain cleared his throat.
“One of the men found them around fifteen minutes ago sir. The bow had been broken into small pieces and both it and a heavy brick had been wrapped in the clothes, tied with cord and thrown from somewhere up there.” He pointed to an area of wall high up.
“Have you examined the items close up?”
The captain nodded.
“It’s not good news, sir.”
Sabian raised an eyebrow.
The guard cleared his throat. “I believe it was one of the army cohorts, sir.
“Explain?”
“Well, sir, the clothes aren’t Pelasian, for certain. What they are is a military tunic and breeches dyed black. The head covering’s just a standard soldier’s cloak cut into strips and dyed. As for the bow, it’s a genuine Pelasian bow, but looking at it closely shows a few anomalies.”
“Anomalies?” Salonius asked curiously.
The captain gave the young man a quick appraising look and then answered with a surprisingly deferential tone.
“The bow is made the traditional Pelasian way: a wood core for flexibility with horn and sinew all bound to the wood for strength and birch bark for protection from the elements. The problem is that the condition shows that this bow is an old one. It’s got to be three or four decades old if it’s a day, sir. On top of that, it’s been repaired at least a half dozen times and the string on it is new. This kind of thing appears on the black market every now and then, sir. I’ve seen it before. This has been nowhere near a Pelasian for decades. Someone bought it and recently restrung it.”
Sabian smiled.
“Good work, captain. Pass that along to your men. I’ll make my appreciation felt once I’ve finished dealing with it.”
They arrived at the huddled group of guardsmen. As Sabian crouched and began to examine the items, Salonius instead stood with his hand shading his eyes from the glare of the bright sky and stared up at the top of the walls. Briefly he scanned to left and right along the parapet, from the walls facing the civilian settlement to the far end where the ditches curved around the cliff-like walls below Sabian’s palace. He frowned and studied the face of the wall.
“Marshal?”
Sabian looked up, the black bundle of cloth in his hands.
“Mmm?”
“Is there any time, say in a change of shift, when the guard presence on the walls is diminished?”
Sabian frowned and look at the captain next to him questioningly.
The soldier cleared his throat.
“No sir. The change of shift is given a five minute overlap for security. In fact, during the change of shift there’s briefly twice the number of men on the walls.”
Salonius tapped his lip thoughtfully.
“Thank you, captain.”
Sabian narrowed his eyes.
“What are you thinking?”
“Well, sir,” Salonius replied. “It seems to me that there’s no way, even in the middle of the night for a man to get onto the walls and throw anything over without being in clear view of at least one of the sentries.”
“You’re right.” The marshal frowned and followed Salonius’ gaze up to the parapets and then allowed his eyes to wander slowly back down.
“You’re thinking about the windows.”
“Yes, sir.” Salonius turned to the marshal, his face dark. “And I’ve been working it out. That’s the quarters of the Fourth.”
Sabian stared up at the narrow, defensive windows high above them, and let out a slow groan.
“Varro’s not going to like this.”
“No, sir.”
As the marshal and his young companion strode across the compound with the black-clad captain in their wake, Salonius let out a worried grunt; the latest of many such since they’d decided on their course of action in the ditch below.
“I’m still not sure this is a good idea, sir.” He winced and yet was astounded at his own audacity. A week ago he wouldn’t have spoken like this to the engineer sergeant, yet here he was questioning the judgement of a man who was probably the second most powerful man in the Empire, and certainly someone who could have Salonius broken on a wheel before he had a chance to blink.
Sabian, however, didn’t even bother to turn his head.
“I don’t see what other option there is, Salonius. We have to rely on traditional methods for uncovering the culprits.”
Salonius deferred to the marshal’s judgement, while remaining visibly unconvinced. Sabian sighed and turned to the captain behind him.
“They’re all in quarters?”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied. “All the officers and men of the cohorts and the garrison were returned to quarters as soon as we began the search. They’ve all been accounted for by head count.”
“Good,” Sabian rumbled. “Deploy the men.”
“Very good, sir.”
The captain turned and called out a string of orders. Three units of the marshal’s guard who had been following up some distance behind them reacted instantly, their sergeants relaying appropriate orders. In a matter of a couple of minutes almost a score of black-garbed soldiers hand filed out into a wide circuit surrounding the barracks and quarters of the Fourth Army.
Saddened beyond belief by the necessity of his actions, Salonius accompanied the marshal and the guard captain as they strode toward the door of the command building. Twenty yards from the entrance they stopped. Sabian nodded to Salonius and the captain, who drew his sword and hefted it in his hand.
Salonius, his face bleak and unhappy, reached out and collected the two unit standards bearing the ram and lightning bolt of the Fourth. Stepping back with them, he came to attention like a standard bearer next to the marshal, who cleared his throat.
“Commander and senior officers of the Fourth Army, Second Cohort to the front, now!” he shouted, with a great deal of grit and emphasis on the last word.
There was a sudden sound of activity in the command building, and a moment later the door swung open. Sergeant Corda stepped out into the brightening sunshine, followed by the ten squad sergeants, the quartermaster, chief engineer and adjutant. With military precision, they fell into rank in order of seniority and marched out into the dusty ground before the quarters, where they lined out and saluted.
Sabian let out a menacing growl. Salonius glanced at him in surprise and, realising it had been involuntary, hurriedly returned his eyes to the front. Once more, the marshal nodded at him. Salonius feared that his heart might break.
“Officers of the Fourth!” shouted Sabian. “This is Vengen. The office of the marshal of the northern armies and stronghold of Imperial power and justice. For centuries this place has been inviolable. Even in the civil wars, this place remained peaceful in the hands of Velutio. The name Vengen is synonymous with the military, and that link has today been broken!”
Again his voice raised in power at the end. Salonius shivered as, on cue and with deliberate flourish, he cast the standard of the Fourth into the dust at his feet. The knuckles on both of his hands were white as he gripped the remaining standard tight as though his life depended on it.
“The Fourth has been dishonoured!” the marshal shouted. “I choose to believe that the fault lies with an individual or at most a few men and as such am willing to give the Second Cohort the chance to regain its honour.”
On cue and with heaviness of heart, Salonius turned the second standard horizontal and, bringing it down hard across his knee, broke it in half before throwing it to the dust next to the other. He stared down at the ram, the lightning bolt, and the ‘II’ staring accusingly back up at him from among the dirt.
Sabian growled again.
“I give you and your men twenty minutes to deliver to me the men responsible for a cowardly attack in the dark last night that resulted in the death of a respected veteran and the wounding of your senior officer. If this does not occur, I will hold the entire cohort in contempt.”
He let this sink in for a second and then went on in a low, menacing tone.
“I will then have set my guards to extracting information from you all, which will not be a pleasant task, but will be considerably nicer for them than it will for you. When I find the responsible parties, they will be dealt with, your second standard will be destroyed, the unit will be disbanded, and every remaining man will be dishonourably discharged with no pension.”
Again, a pause for effect, before his voice softened once again.
“But you know that I abhor needless violence, so use the next twenty minutes well and get me those men and you can collect your standard and bear it aloft again.”
He turned his back on the officers and Salonius could clearly see the cruel misery in his eyes. The marshal truly hated this.
There was a pregnant pause. Salonius let his eyes fall and stared at his feet once again considered the marshal’s course of action, the success of which lay in the belief that the culprit would have retained the self-sacrificing honour that informed the code of military conduct in the Imperial army. It seemed unlikely to the young soldier that anyone cowardly enough to commit an assassination against one of their own was unlikely to be willing to lay down their own life for the good of their unit. And a knock-on effect of that would be the punishment of the second cohort and the disbanding of the unit under dishonourable circumstances. He sighed and raised his eyes once more to see sergeant Corda standing several paces forward clear of the line. The interim commander of the second cohort cleared his throat.
“This is not necessary, marshal.”
Sabian turned and stared at the sergeant.
“Corda?”
“I will name the names you need, sir.”
Sabian stared at him, his mouth falling open. Corda clamped his teeth together and Salonius blinked. Corda?
Out of the corner of his eye he caught a movement and his eyes slipped behind the proud, defiant sergeant, to the sergeant behind him. Salonius vaguely recognised him. He’d been one of the squad sergeants and, by the looks of it, had been pushed up to Corda’s second in command. Perhaps the man was going to stop this madness? And then he noticed the man’s arm, hidden in the folds of his military cloak. There was a momentary flash of steel from within the shadows of the green material.
“Shit” he muttered to himself as he noted the absence of a sword hilt projecting from the man’s scabbard by his side.
“No names!” shouted the deputy sergeant, suddenly pulling his hand out from his cloak and lunging at Corda for the kill.
The world slipped into slow motion for Salonius. Sabian shouted something; the ring of guardsmen began to move forward; Corda began slowly, ever so slowly, to turn. There was no time. Corda would die, and any information with him.
With a grunt, Salonius dropped to a crouch, grasping the standard of the second cohort in one large hand. He’d never have the time to stand and do this properly. As the muscles in his powerful arm bunched and rippled, the young ex-engineer pulled the standard back, stirring a small cloud of dust, and slung it forward in a long underarm sweep. Without an ounce of modesty, he realised how few people around this square would have the power for such a throw.
The standard, like all imperial military standards, was really a glorified spear. A wide, leaf shaped blade stood proud eight inches above the cross bar that held the flag. Below that came the decorations of the unit that glittered in the sunlight as the standard hurtled low to the ground, leaving a wake of dust.
The deputy sergeant raised his sword arm and suddenly disappeared in a cloud of dust with a shriek. The standard had been too low and slow to do any serious damage, but the point had ripped through the skin half way up the man’s calf and the cross bar hit his ankle with surprising force, enough to bring him down in a painful heap. By the time he recovered his wits and found his feet, one of the junior sergeants of the second cohort had retrieved the standard and, with a vicious and defiant grimace, he brought the iron-shot base of it down on the wounded conspirator’s head, knocking him flat and unconscious. The sergeant held the standard aloft with pride and fixed his eyes on the marshal. Sabian stared at him for a moment and then nodded.
A hand grasped Salonius’ arm and he looked round to see the captain of the marshal’s guard, his black cloak grey with grit, crouching to help him up. Nodding his thanks, Salonius stood again and dusted himself down.
Two of the black clad guardsmen had stepped forward and were standing to either side of Corda now. The sergeant slowly and carefully removed his sword from the sheath on his belt and cast it to the ground in front of Sabian. At a nod from the marshal, the two guards grasped Corda’s shoulders and bent his arms behind his back, turning him and marching him from the square, through the circle of guardsmen and toward the palace. Two more men collected the unconscious man from the floor behind him and dragged him, unceremoniously, after the others.
Sabian stared at the other sergeants of the Second.
“Justice will be served, gentlemen, and it will in no way reflect on the rest of the unit. Replace your standard.” He glanced at Salonius and the guard captain.
“However, my guards will stay here and you will continued to remain in quarters until I am satisfied that I have all of those responsible in custody.”
He straightened and squared his shoulders as the officers of the Second saluted. With a sad sigh, he turned to Salonius and the captain.
“Let’s go and find out how deep this goes, eh gentlemen?”
Corda stood in the office of the guard captain, his chin raised and shoulders back in a military stance. Salonius was impressed despite himself. Even in just a tunic and breeches, covered in dust, Corda still looked proud, haughty and thoroughly military.
Behind him stood two of the guardsmen, with another two behind Sabian, Salonius and captain Iasus, as Salonius now knew him. Corda had been stripped of all arms, armour and equipment and stood defenceless and yet so proud. Salonius glared at him. Were it not for the need to determine who else was involved, he could happily strangle Corda himself.
Sabian looked around the office at the guards and gestured to the door.
“I think we can deal with this.”
The captain looked less sure, Salonius thought, but nodded at his men anyway and placed the palm of his hand on the pommel of his sword as he stood at the marshal’s shoulder. The guards filed out and closed the door behind them.
There was a long silence and finally Sabian sighed.
“Why, Corda?”
The marshal hauled himself out of the captain’s chair and walked around the front of the desk, facing the prisoner.
“You go back all the way to the civil wars with Varro and Petrus. Hell you even served in my army back then!” He growled. “You’re supposed to be one of us!”
Salonius rubbed his eyes wearily. He’d not slept since yesterday.
Corda cleared his throat.
“I have no excuses, marshal. I am at fault.”
“And yet you give in without a fight? Explain!” Sabian’s voice rose an octave.
Corda sighed.
“It wasn’t meant to be like this, sir. I found out about Cristus’ secret a couple of months ago, quite by accident. I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I heard something I wasn’t meant to.”
The sergeant’s eyes dropped to the floor.
“I made a judgment call. Then worst in my life.”
“I said: explain!” shouted Sabian. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and tell me!”
“I didn’t see the point in bringing it all out into the open. It would have destroyed the Fourth Army and brought dishonour on all of us. And it would have done no good. Nothing would have changed; those men at Saravis Fork would be just as dead. The prefect pointed out that he would soon be leaving the military and moving into politics. Varro would be next prefect and I’d take Varro’s place. Why rock the boat? Surely it was all for the best now.”
He sighed sadly.
“Cristus is a persuasive bastard, sir. Before I knew it I was transferring some of his men into my units. He even put me in charge of his honour guard when he came here a couple of weeks ago. I assumed to keep an eye on me, but I suspect now for other reasons. I never expected any of this.”
Sabian growled.
“It might just be that misguided foolishness is as bad as open treachery, Corda!”
The sergeant raised his eyes and locked a defiant gaze on the marshal.
“Is that truly always the case, sir? I seem to remember that even you made bad judgement calls once upon a time?”
Salonius stared at the sergeant in shock. Marshal Sabian was known for his sharp mind, his quick wit and his code of ethics. He growled. His hatred of Corda was growing with every comment. Sabian, however, seemed to take the comment in his stride and captain Iasus, by his side, never even blinked.
“But Varro? And Petrus?”
Corda shook his head.
“I realise it sounds like a feeble excuse sir, but I had nothing to do with either. I wasn’t aware of the captain’s poisoning until he told me himself, and if I had known I’d have done something about it. Likewise I wasn’t aware that the men with me had been sent here as assassins, though I should have guessed. It doesn’t surprise me. I have seven men with me that came from Cristus’ personal guard, including the sergeant you already have. I will gladly give you their names.”
He sighed.
“There was supposed to be no harm done. No harm,” he muttered, largely to himself.
Sabian swept a hinged wax tablet and stylus from the table and held them out for Corda.
“Start writing and we might rule against death as a penalty.”
The sergeant grasped the writing implement and began to mark down the names of the conspirators on the tablet.
“That won’t be necessary, sir. I have no wish to go on with this.”
As he concentrated on his writing, Sabian glanced across at Iasus and Salonius. Both men wore hard, unforgiving expressions as they glared at Corda. Sabian sighed inwardly. Somehow, despite everything, there was a tinge of sympathy in him for the sergeant. Twenty five years ago, he might have made the same decision. Finishing scribbling, Corda folded the tablet shut and passed it back with the pen to the marshal.
“I realise that I’m in no position to ask for favours, marshal, and yet I’d still beg two…”
Sabian quickly glanced at the contents of the wax tablet and then passed it on to the captain to deal with. Corda took a deep breath.
“I would ask, sir, that I be allowed to take my own life without the humiliation of a public execution…”
Sabian frowned. He concentrated on the prisoner, aware of what the other two men in the room were thinking. After all, it was standard practice for a traitor to be broken in front of his peers. This decision wasn’t going to sit well with Salonius or Iasus.
“Very well.”
Corda nodded curtly. “And I’d ask that I be allowed to do it before Varro finds out.”
Sabian’s piercing stare stayed on Corda. He could almost feel the two men behind him seething.
“Once I confirm these names, I’ll make the arrangements.”
Sabian turned and nodded to captain Iasus. The captain, an unreadable expression on his face, went to the office door and, opening it, admitted the guard detail once more. The marshal cleared his throat.
“For now, you’ll go with these men to be detained.”
Corda nodded and gave a final salute.