‘They’re here, Centurion, Excingus has them both!’
Rapax nodded at the man he’d set to watch for his colleague’s return, getting up from the fallen tree on which he’d been sitting.
‘Good. Once this Felix tells us who witnessed the death of Perennis’s son we’ll be able to finish the job and get out of this shithole of a province and back to some sunshine. Come along, my lovely, let’s you and I get ourselves out of sight before your boyfriend gets here. You two, come with me. The rest of you can provide the centurion with a suitably warm welcome once I’ve got his woman squawking.’
He pulled Felicia into the trees, retreating far enough into their cover that he could see out into the clearing without being visible. The remaining soldiers spread out in a half-circle to receive the riders, who rode into their midst and stopped at the corn officer’s command, the two praetorians who had escorted them in peeling away to either side. Rapax dragged Felicia deeper into the forest’s cover, his hand clamped over her mouth to prevent her from calling out to Marcus.
‘All in good time, he’ll hear you screaming for me to stop soon enough, but let’s not spoil the surprise, eh?’ He turned to the guardsmen following him. ‘You two, stop gawking and stand guard. I don’t want anyone creeping up on me while I’m otherwise occupied. Now then, Doctor, let’s get down to…’
In the moment of his distraction Felicia, knowing that she could wait no longer, reached under her skirts and pulled the razor-sharp blade free from its scabbard. As Rapax turned back to her, and before the watching soldiers could shout a warning, she struck with all the speed and strength she had, plunging the knife up into the soft skin beneath his jaw until only the bone handle protruded. The praetorian staggered backwards, his eyes flickering as the weapon, stabbed up through his tongue and palate, ran with blood that streamed down the bone handle and on to his boots. He reeled back another step with his eyes rolling up to show only their whites and then straightened, gripping the knife and tearing it free from his jaw with a terrible groan.
Slack jawed at the sight of their officer’s wound, the guardsmen failed to notice that their prisoner had turned and run deeper into the trees, wrenching their attention back to the fleeing woman only when the stricken centurion pointed after her.
‘Ged ’er!’
Turning away from their officer as he swayed and staggered, blood running down the front of his armour in rivulets, the praetorians did as they were bidden, Rapax’s plight quickly forgotten as they chased the running woman into the forest with the smiles of men who intended to fully enjoy the fruits of their hunt when they ran her to ground.
Marcus looked about him at the praetorians gathered in a half-circle around the three horsemen, shaking his head wearily.
‘Eight of you? To kill one tired soldier?’
Excingus shrugged, gesturing for his prisoner to dismount.
‘My colleague Rapax is a thorough man, and your reputation with a sword goes before you. Now do get down and meet your fate with a little composure. The decurion and I will provide an audience for your commendable stoicism.’
Marcus frowned and spread his empty hands before him.
‘If I had a sword I could understand your colleague’s caution. But then if I had a sword you’d already be face down with your guts hanging out, and this scum would be in the fight of their lives, rather than putting an unarmed man to death.’
One of the praetorians stepped forward, resheathing his gladius with a slow metallic scrape.
‘Well then, sonny, why don’t you come down here and show us how tough you are without a weapon in your hand. But keep your ears pricked for the sound of your woman squealing her lovely little lungs out, our centurion should be putting it to her any time now. Beating you to death with our bare hands will give you more time to appreciate the thought that we’ll all be taking a turn at her once he’s done.’
Marcus climbed slowly down from his horse and turned to face the men gathered in a loose half-circle around him, his face white with anger both at the guardsman’s words and the look of satisfaction on his face. Taking up a loose stance with his hands hanging by his side, he looked the praetorian up and down, shaking his head slowly and sighing loudly.
‘Very well, then, come and put me out of my misery!’
He watched through eyes slitted in concentration as the guardsman turned to his mates with a confident smile.
‘Hold off, boys, I’ll take first turn at him. It isn’t every day that I get the chance to knock an officer about.’
He stalked towards his would-be victim, clenching his impressive fists in readiness to fight.
‘You see, Centurion, the advantage I’ve got over you is that I fought my way up from the gutter to where I am today. I’ve beaten hundreds of men into the dirt in my time and you’re going to be just the same as all of them once you’re on your back seeing stars. I’m going to…’
He leaped forward in mid-sentence, clearly intending for his words to have distracted Marcus sufficiently for the sudden attack to take him by surprise, throwing a fast punch at the Roman’s face with the intention of putting his opponent on the defensive. Swaying back to evade the blow by the width of a finger, Marcus hooked the guardsman’s forward leg with a swinging boot and dumped him on to his back, the breath audibly knocked from the praetorian’s body as he hit the ground. Reaching into the neck of his tunic, following the thin leather cord that ran down across his chest, he grasped the handle of the hunting knife that Martos had slipped over his head during the act of removing his armour and ripped it from its hiding place. Then, dropping to one knee, he thrust the knife’s blade up under the praetorian’s jaw and ripped his jugular open in a spray of blood, pulling the dying man’s sword from his scabbard and jumping back to his feet. The remaining guardsmen gaped for a moment before one of them drew his sword, prompting the others to reach for their own weapons. His knife-hand red with blood, Marcus turned to face them, speaking to the wide-eyed corn officer without turning to face him.
‘If I were you, reptile, I’d run while you still can…’
Excingus backed his horse away from the knot of men, shaking his head in amazement as his erstwhile prisoner stepped forward to meet the armed soldiers, raising the bloody knife for them all to see and nodding at the dead guardsman’s corpse.
‘You can all either run now, and save yourselves, or you can add your blood to his.’
One of the soldiers shook his head, raising his sword to fight.
‘You can’t fight all of us, not if we come at you together.’
Marcus smiled, shaking his head at the man who’d spoken and pointing the sword at him.
‘Well volunteered, you can be first in that case.’
Felix stepped Hades sideways, the coal-black horse responding easily to the familiar pressure of a knee in his ribs, then nudged the animal’s flanks with his boots, telling him wordlessly to advance a few steps while he made a show of pulling back on the beast’s reins as he goaded him forward with his feet. As the closest of the guardsmen turned to face the big horse, raising his sword to threaten mount and rider, Hades responded exactly as he’d been trained, rearing up and kicking out with a powerful forefoot which sent the soldier flying backwards in a spray of his own blood, his face smashed by the sharp edge of the animal’s hoof. Stepping down from the saddle, Felix slapped Hades’ rump, sending the horse cantering away from the vengeful swords of the two guardsmen who had turned to face him, and stooped to retrieve the dying soldier’s gladius.
‘I’d suggest you men get on with it and finish these two off, before they kill any more of you.’
The remaining soldiers advanced in response to Excingus’s goading, spreading out into a semicircle around the two men. One of the older guardsmen looked Marcus in the eyes, speaking to his comrades as he balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to attack.
‘When I give the word, we rush them. Nothing fancy, just mob the pair of them and get your iron into them. On my command… ready…’
As the praetorians readied themselves to storm their victims, each of the soldiers looking to his comrades for the signal to attack, a one-eyed barbarian warrior, covered in sweat and panting as if from a long run, broke from the trees behind the two prisoners. His sword was held ready to fight, and he weighed up the situation as the praetorians gathered around the two officers stared at him in surprise, panting out a question to Marcus.
‘You’ve not… killed them all… yet, then?’
The Roman shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face, and another warrior burst out of the forest to stand alongside the first, his chest heaving with the effort of their pursuit. He glanced around the men encircling Marcus and Felix, a wheezy chuckle fighting its way past his efforts to drag air into his lungs.
‘You made… me run… all this way… to fight… these children… Martos? He could have… managed this many… on his own.’
The last man to emerge from the trees topped the first two by a head, but he was barely breathing heavily despite the effort of the run. A massive war hammer was held loosely across his torso, its heavy iron head still smeared with blood and hair. Hefting the huge weapon on to one shoulder, he clenched his other fist and stepped forward into the ring of praetorians, his face a mask of snarling hatred as he gazed about him and spat out a challenge in his own language.
‘At last! Romans I can fight!’
While the praetorians were still staring at the newcomers with growing uncertainty, Lugos swung the brutal weapon in a wide single-handed arc, his massive strength making light of its dead weight and smashing the hammer’s wicked beak against a hapless soldier’s chest, dropping the man writhing to the grass with his ribcage smashed. Lifting the pole arm high over his head, he roared in triumph and smashed it down through the crippled man’s helmet to break his skull with a sickening crunch of iron and bone. The other two warriors exchanged a look and stepped forward alongside him, raising their swords to fight, but as they did so the praetorians broke and ran for their lives despite their weight of numbers. Lugos went after them with a bellow of rage, running down the closest man in half a dozen strides and snagging his shoulder with the hammer’s hooked counterweight blade, dropping the praetorian to the ground in a flurry of arms and legs and leaving the downed man to his fellow warriors as he chased after another panic-stricken soldier. Excingus took one look at the fleeing guardsmen and turned his horse away, spurring it away from the clearing and on to the road south.
Marcus sprang forward, running down the slowest of the soldiers and tripping him, kicking away his sword and dropping his own gladius before pouncing on him to grip his throat in one hand, raising the bloody hunting knife to tear out his windpipe. His voice was a feral growl, snarled through bared teeth, and the helpless guardsman went rigid with the threat of impending death.
‘The woman! Where did your officer take the woman!?’
The soldier pointed into the forest with a trembling hand.
‘Th… that way!’
The Roman jumped to his feet, dropping the bloodied knife and picking up both swords.
‘Stay down and they might let you live…’
He ran for the trees with a speed born of desperation, hurdling a fallen trunk and tearing through the undergrowth to find himself in a small clearing. Propped up against a massive oak on the open space’s far side was a man in the armour of a praetorian centurion, his chest covered in the blood that was still running from the small but deep wound under his jaw. Marcus stepped forward, raising both swords ready to fight in case the wounded officer were part of some trap, but there was no movement in the tiny glade other than the slow dripping of the other man’s blood. Struggling to focus, the wounded praetorian shook his head and laughed painfully, the movement causing the flow of blood to accelerate for a moment. His voice was almost inaudible, and Marcus had to lean close to hear the words, made almost impossible to understand by the praetorian’s horrific wound.
‘Young Aquila, is it? The things you see when you don’t have a sword in your hand…’
Marcus stepped forward and put the blade of one of his swords to the centurion’s throat, watching as the blood streaming from under his jaw ran across the polished metal.
‘Where’s my woman?’
Rapax studied him from beneath drooping eyelids for a moment before speaking, his eyes fighting to stay open from shock and blood loss.
‘No idea. Bitch stuck me with a knife and then made a run for it. Sent my men after her…’ The wheezy laugh came again, and with it a hardening of the dying praetorian’s face. ‘One little girl alone in the forest with two big soldiers? I doubt she’s enjoying that very much…’
Marcus locked eyes with Rapax for a moment, then ran the gladius up into the wound in his throat, pushing the blade upwards until it stopped against the back of the praetorian’s skull. Ripping the blade free, he ignored Rapax’s slumping corpse and turned away, stepping silently into the trees.
Felicia ran blindly through the trees, hearing the sounds of pursuit behind her as the two praetorians burst through the undergrowth in her wake, remorselessly closing the gap she had opened on them with her initial burst of speed from the clearing. She ducked into the shelter of a towering oak at the edge of a small glade, pulling her stola tight to her legs in the few seconds she had before the soldiers charged past a few feet to either side of the tree. The sounds of their pursuit died away, and she stared into the forest for a long moment, torn between staying out of sight and putting more distance between herself and her pursuers. The sound of their voices reached her faintly, and she realised that they must have stopped chasing her and started thinking through where she could have given them the slip. Their words were becoming clearer, and to her horror she realised that not only were they coming back towards her, but that they clearly had a good idea of where she was. A voice called out into the forest’s quiet, and she had no difficulty seeing the face behind it in her mind’s eye, the legionary whose stare had so disturbed her over the previous days. Maximus.
‘You can’t run from us, woman, we’re going to find you soon enough and make you sorry for what you did to the centurion.’
A new voice broke in.
‘Oh yes, we’re going to spend hours making you sorry, we’re going to…’
Maximus kept speaking, ignoring his colleague’s attempts to intimidate her into leaving her hiding place.
‘I’m good with women, you see. I’ve got a way with them.’ He paced around the small clearing, and Felicia could feel his eyes raking the vegetation, looking for her place of concealment. ‘Want to hear something funny? The same night I was jailed for killing a man in the Noisy Valley alehouse, another soldier from my tent party was brought in for the rape and murder of an old woman. “Disgusting”, they called him, and “animal”. They knew he’d done it, because his amulet was found by the body. They reckoned she must have torn it off his wrist while he was raping her. The other soldiers would have done for him there and then, but he was locked up separately and the only people that got to have a go at him were the duty centurions, when they were in the mood. I used to watch him in his cell, his face a picture of desperation, pleading that he hadn’t done it, but nobody was having any of it, not for a moment. The only person that believed he was innocent was me, because I knew he hadn’t been near her. Have you guessed how I knew that, little missy? I’ll bet you have…’
He stopped talking for a moment, allowing the suspense to build until it was all Felicia could do not to scream the answer to his question at him.
‘That’s right! I knew he was innocent because it was me that killed her! What a night that was! I jumped my watch officer and gave him a good kicking, then I followed the old girl back to her hovel and saw to her as well. I’d slipped into another tent party’s barrack and lifted his good-luck charm from his kit before I went out, you see, so I snapped the cord and left it by her body, and that was all it took to see him in prison. It almost made up for getting pissed and killing that idiot from the Fourth Century when he tried to take his knife to me. And when I find you, little missy, I’m going to do all the things to you that I did to her…’
He darted into the vegetation on the other side of the clearing with a rustle of leaves, thinking that he had her hiding place located. In the moment of his distraction Felicia was on her feet and running almost before the decision to do so was fully formed. She would stay low, run to one side of the returning praetorians as quickly and quietly as she could, and hope to get far enough away that she could hide again. Shouts in the forest behind her told her that she had failed in her hopes of escaping unnoticed, and she abandoned any pretence of stealth and ran as fast as she could, knowing that she could never expect to outrun the soldiers. So intent on escaping from the pursuing praetorians that she failed to see the soldier waiting in her path until she was only a few paces from him, the startled woman tripped over a tree root and fell to the ground at his feet. Smiling at the look on her face, he thrust his spear’s butt spike into the earth and held out a hand towards her as she shrank away from him, holding the knife out in hopeless defiance.
‘Hello, my lovely! We’ve been looking for you!’ He shouted back over his shoulder. ‘I’ve found her!’
The first of the pursuing praetorians came into sight, and drew his sword on seeing the legionary, walking slowly forward with a cruel gleam in his eye.
‘Whoever you are, you can fuck off. This one’s ours…’
He frowned in recognition as he stalked forwards, then snorted with laughter as he realised that he knew the other man.
‘Fuck me, things must be getting desperate if they’ve put the Third Century back into the field. Run away from any good fights recently, have you, old son? Now fuck off double quick, there’s a good boy, and I’ll spare you the indignity of being put on your back. Leave that to little missy here…’
He grinned broadly at the legionary, who, to his surprise, shook his head grimly and pulled his spear loose from the forest’s hard-packed earth, raising the blade to point at his face.
‘Not this time, Maximus. You’ve missed a few important things since you ran away with your new boyfriends. Habitus!’
While the guardsman was still taking in his former comrade’s unexpected show of bravado another legionary came crashing through the undergrowth, his spear held ready to throw.
‘Fuck me, there’s another one. Is that you, Decimus? Don’t say you’ve grown a set of balls as well…’
Both legionaries pointed their spears at his chest, stepping forward either side of Felicia and facing off against the baffled Maximus.
‘You can run for it now, mate, or you can stay and find out what Roman iron feels like when it’s deep in your guts.’
Watch officer Titus broke through the wall of greenery and stopped, recognising his former tormentor in an instant, his face hardening.
‘Well now, the big wheel turns in its own good time. Look what the gods have rewarded me with. I’ll have this bastard’s balls off and poke them up his backside before he’s stopped breathing! Century, to me! Habitus!’
Maximus took one look at his one-time superior’s face and turned, running for the shelter of the forest. Titus shook his head in disgust.
‘He always was too quick on his feet.’ He offered the bemused Felicia his hand, helping her to her feet. ‘And you, madam, have a friend looking for you.’
A scream of agony sounded from the trees into which the two praetorians had made their retreat, the sound cut off after only a second as whoever had struck the first blow finished the job. The soldiers stepped forward with their spears raised, only to shuffle backwards as a ragged figure in tunic, leggings and infantry boots stepped out before them, his clothes and swords dark with the blood of whichever of the praetorians he had killed moments before.
‘Marcus!’
Felicia ran across the clearing and fell upon the bloodied figure in sudden tears. After a long moment, during which the number of soldiers gathered around them had swollen to nearly twenty, he prised her loose and looked into her tearfilled eyes with concern.
‘Are you…?’
She nodded tearfully, wiping at her wet face with a sleeve, ignoring the knife she still held in the other hand.
‘All right? Yes, my love… we both are.’
A frown creased Marcus’s face.
‘You both are…?’
‘Cocidius help me! For the son of an intelligent man you’re really quite stupid when it comes to anything but butchering everyone that gets in your way.’ The frown became a gape of amazement as the young centurion realised that Dubnus was lurking behind the gawping soldiers. His friend strode out to meet him, putting an arm round his shoulder and speaking quietly into his ear. ‘If you don’t know what a pregnant woman smells like then it’s time you took a good deep breath and found out. And it’s also time for you to make an honest woman of her, I’d say.’ He stamped on the blade of his spear twice, first bending it and then breaking it clean off the shaft before handing it to the amazed Marcus. ‘Here you go, that’ll do for the ceremonial hairstyle you lot are supposed to favour in your women on the big day. It’s not been stuck in a gladiator for luck yet, but I did one of the bastards that carried her away with it just now, if that counts.’
‘Tribunes Licinius and Scaurus! Welcome back to civilisation, gentlemen, if we can characterise the never-ending din of Noisy Valley so generously!’ Governor Marcellus advanced around his desk, his normally sombre face wreathed in a beaming smile, and clasped hands with his officers. Behind him Legatus Equitius, commander of the imperial Sixth Legion and former prefect of the 1st Tungrian Cohort shot them a wry smile, raising amused eyebrows at his superior’s unaccustomed bonhomie. I’ve asked Legatus Equitius to join me in greeting you both, given his previous connection with your Tungrians.’ Equitius inclined his head as the governor continued his greeting. ‘My congratulations to you both. You have brought great honour upon your cohorts, and extinguished a threat to Rome’s frontiers for years to come.’
Licinius saluted, handing King Drust’s heavy gold torc to the older man.
‘Governor, this belonged to the king of the Venicones. We took many more items of jewellery from their dead, but I thought you might want to take personal charge of this particular item.’
Marcellus raised the torc and admired its workmanship for a moment.
‘Indeed, Tribune, an item of such value will make a fitting accompaniment for the news of this victory when it reaches the Emperor. And now, gentlemen, you must take a cup of wine with us, and explain how you achieved this unexpected triumph.’ When the story of the previous few days’ events was told he sat back in his chair with a contented smile, nodding his head slowly in satisfaction. ‘Excellent work, gentlemen, simply excellent. Any threat the Venicones might have presented to the frontier is broken, and the Votadini are free to rebuild their kingdom without any external interference from either north or west. All of which means that we can focus our attentions to the south of the Wall, and on putting these Brigantes scum back in their place. They still control most of the country between here and the legion forts to the south, and I fear that the campaign to root them out will be a bitter struggle. They’re not coming to battle as the northern tribes did, but seem happy to fight us with a dirty little war of raids and ambushes. Which means that your cavalrymen, Manilius Licinius, will have their hands full scouring the country for them. You are to ride for Waterside Fort today, and join with the Second Legion and the western wall cohorts in hunting down and eradicating these savages wherever you find them.’
Licinius nodded his understanding, and Marcellus turned to Scaurus with a gentle smile.
‘And as for you, Rutilius Scaurus, I must presume upon your cohort’s willingness to endure hardship once again. I had originally intended sending you west with your colleague’s horsemen to strengthen the Second Legion’s forces, but I have received a request for assistance from my colleague in Gallia Belgica in the last few days, assistance I feel well suited to your particular blend of skills and experience, not to mention your cohort’s original recruiting base.’ He turned to the desk behind him and picked up a scroll, handing it to the young tribune and raising his voice to issue his formal orders. ‘Rutilius Scaurus, you are hereby ordered to march your men to the port of Arab Town at the eastern end of the Wall, and there to take ship for the mainland. Once landed, you will make your way with all possible speed to the fortress town of Tungrorum. Once there, you are to establish a secure camp and then to carry out whatever operations you see fit to disperse and destroy the various bands of bandits, both large and small, who are plaguing the region.’ He shot Scaurus a glance. ‘Of course, you will be wondering exactly why your men should be needed, when there are three perfectly good legions only a few days’ march away in their fortresses along the River Rhenus, any one of which might comfortably cope with any local problem. As it happens, not only have the German legions been somewhat depleted by the need to reinforce our losses of earlier this year, but they have also been stretched too thin by a series of barbarian incursions in the last few months. Things are not so bad that the barbarians could attack across the river in strength, but bad enough for the area around Tungrorum to have fallen prey to the worst kind of scum, deserters and brigands who are making life intolerable from the accounts I’ve received.
‘They’ve tried to deal with the problem, of course – indeed, three detachments of increasing strength from their auxiliary cohorts have been sent into the area. They were either defeated by force of arms or, as seems to have been the case with the last force that was sent to the area, a full cohort of infantrymen mind you, they’ve chosen to desert to the enemy.’ He took another sip of wine before continuing. ‘There are three reasons why I’ve chosen to send you and your men to deal with this situation, Tribune. First, the legatus here tells me that your men are the best we have for hunting down and destroying these brigands.’ Scaurus shot a glance at his cohort’s former commander, who could only shrug apologetically. ‘Second, your command is two cohorts strong, which ought to be sufficient to deal with the deserters who, I suspect, will be your main problem. And third, your men are more likely to want to protect their original settlement than the local auxiliaries, who are after all drawn from lands thousands of miles distant.’
He fixed the tribune with a level stare, tapping the order scroll in his hand to underline the significance of its contents.
‘In dealing with these matters you are to cooperate as fully as possible with the local authorities, but you are also to consider your command as independent from civilian control and make any necessary decisions required to remove the threat to civil order represented by these criminal scum.’ He smiled thinly at Scaurus. ‘Everybody, Rutilius Scaurus, is going to want you to achieve everything at once, which is why I’ve deliberately written these orders to allow you to set your operational priorities as you see fit. In the meantime, it will take at least ten days to gather enough ships to carry your command across the German Sea, so I suggest that you march your men back to their home fort and allow them time to say their goodbyes. And that, Tribunes, concludes my orders. May the gods smile upon you both.’
The governor nodded and turned back to his desk, and the two men saluted and began to leave, only to stop at the office’s door as he spoke again, frowning at a tablet he’d picked up from the desk’s highly polished wooden surface.
‘Ah, but there was one more thing. Trivial, perhaps, given the events of the last few weeks, but potentially serious for all that.’ Both men turned back to face him, sharing a quick glance. ‘It seems that a pair of imperial investigators rode through here a few days ago. Tribune Paulus reported the fact to Legatus Equitius when we arrived here. Apparently they were seeking some fugitive from justice who has managed to upset the praetorian prefect in some way or other
…’
Scaurus kept his face neutral, thanking the foresight that had made Licinius send a rider south in advance of the legion, taking the news to Paulus that Rapax and Excingus’s mission had failed with the death of one man and the complete disappearance of the other.
‘Anyway, gentlemen, it seems that these two officers and their escort have been lost without trace. As an essential formality I must ask you both if you made any contact with them after they left this fortress?’
Both men answered the question with blank stares, and when Licinius spoke his voice was hard with suppressed anger.
‘None of my men have reported any such encounter, Governor, although I lost two message riders around that time, left to rot where they fell by unknown assailants. When we found them one was lying unburied beside a roadside campfire, and the other was face down in a ditch five miles to the south. He had a throwing knife stuck through his neck, a knife that my armourers tell me was Roman in design. The presence of imperial spies might go some way to explaining their deaths…’
Marcellus frowned in his turn.
‘I see. Well, there’s probably little to be gained from any official comment on the matter, and since these men seem to have been operating independently of my office I intend to leave the matter where it lies. In any case they’re certainly dead. Only a fool would have ridden this far north into the heart of a tribal uprising with such a flimsy escort, never mind crossing the Wall with the northern tribes still in ferment.’ He shook his head and dropped the tablet on to the desk. ‘Dismissed, gentlemen, let’s get on with this war and leave the mystery of their disappearance to a quieter time.’
Stepping out of the principia into the supply fort’s usual bustle, the two tribunes exchanged a glace, and Scaurus breathed a slow sigh of relief before speaking.
‘It seems that young Paulus decided that he was better off having a legatus and two tribunes beholden to him than to spill the beans to the governor.’
His colleague nodded slowly.
‘Yes. But I’d still be happier knowing exactly what happened to that odious creature Excingus, and that last praetorian for that matter.’
Scaurus nodded thoughtfully as he stared down the fortress’s main street to the opened gates, watching as the guard century supervised the arrival of the first supply convoy to reach Noisy Valley from the legion fortress far to the south since the start of the Brigantian rebellion. His men had buried the praetorian dead after hunting them down through the forest, but no sign had been found of either the corn officer or the soldier who had hunted Felicia through the trees after her escape.
‘Dead, or enslaved, I’d guess. They had a long stretch of road to cover just to reach the Wall, and the tribes won’t be in a forgiving mood. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a cohort to get on the road west. If they miss any more of the time they have left at the Hill than necessary they won’t be all that forgiving either, given where I’m about to take them.’ He turned away to head for the infantry barracks, then stopped and turned back.
‘Colleague, given that I’m detached to go hunting bandits, I’d be grateful for the continued loan of your horses until we return. A squadron of cavalry could make all the difference when we’re chasing around the forests after shadows.’
Licinius gave him a jaundiced look.
‘You’ve got sticky fingers, young man. Every soldier that comes into contact with your cohort seems to end up as part of it. Hamian archers, borrowed cavalrymen. I’ll even wager you that the half-century of legionnaires Dubnus borrowed from the Sixth will end up in your establishment. And yes, you can extend the loan if you think it’ll do you any good, and you can keep that decurion you promoted to command them. But there is a price you’ll have to pay for the privilege.’ Scaurus raised an eyebrow, waiting in silence for the older man to make himself clear. ‘Given that young Aquila seems to have put the cart before the horse by getting our lady doctor with child, I’m assuming that they’ll be quietly marrying each other some time in the next few days. And don’t try to fend me off with all that nonsense about it being illegal for soldiers to tie their hands together, because we both know it happens. So, if you want to hang on to my horses a while longer, you’d better make sure that I’m there when it happens. She’ll need someone there that’s known her for more then a couple of days to stand in for her father.’
‘You’re sure that you want to go through with this, m’dear? We both know that it’s illegal for a soldier to marry. Are you sure you want your centurion to take that sort of risk, just to…’
Felicia’s stare silenced Licinius’s playful words, her voice pitched low to avoid the words carrying to the priest waiting at the other end of the main hall of the Hill’s principia. The holy man had been escorted in from Noisy Valley by two centuries of Tungrians, and had eyed the hostile hills and forests along the route with unashamed fear, making his low opinion of such risk-taking very clear to all who would listen.
‘Just to give his child a father, Tribune? Yes, I’d say it’s worth the risk, given the sentence of death hanging over all of us.’
The cavalryman smiled gently.
‘Forgive me, madam, it’s just the rough humour of an old soldier who should know better. I only meant to say that while I can see that you’ve become attached to the man, marrying him is a bolder step altogether. I was a good friend of your father, and while I have every respect for your husband-to-be, I would be remiss in my duty were I not to make sure that you understand the risk you’re taking by joining your life to his.’
Felicia smiled back at Licinius, taking his hand in hers.
‘Gaius, you’re such a sweet man beneath all that ridiculous military bluster. You mustn’t worry about me, though. I’d rather spend a year with Marcus than a lifetime regretting that I didn’t take this chance. And besides…’ She lifted a hand to indicate the knot of centurions gathered at the far end of the hall. ‘… have you ever seen a more forbidding collection of physical specimens to have between a lady and anyone that would do her harm? They wouldn’t even let me out of the gate to pick flowers for my headband without a tent party of soldiers to keep me from harm. Legatus Equitius has agreed to Tribune Scaurus’s request for me to provide medical services to his command, now that his replacement doctors have managed to reach the legion, and I can’t see very much happening to me once I’m part of this cohort, can you?’
Licinius raised a knowing eyebrow, muttering under his breath and drawing a sharp glance from the doctor.
‘Sticky fingers again… no, nothing madam, just my little joke with my colleague. I’m sure you’ll be as safe with these house-trained barbarians as if you were sitting comfortably in your father’s villa in Rome. And in any case…’ The principia’s double door opened, and Marcus stepped into the room with a smile for Felicia, the extent of his wedding finery a clean tunic and leggings, and a belt decorated with highly polished brass openwork. He saluted First Spear Frontinius and nodded to his colleagues before crossing the room to stand before her with a broad smile.
‘You look lovely.’
Felicia smiled back at him tolerantly, lowering her veil.
‘So do you. And you’re not supposed to see my face until after we’re married!’
Tribune Licinius laughed uproariously, drawing another aggrieved glare from the priest.
‘In point of fact, young lady, you’re also supposed to have a matron of honour to supervise the proceedings, instead of which you’ve got a first spear who couldn’t crack a smile if his life depended on it. Nor do we have anyone to read the auspices, much less a sacrificial animal from whose liver they might be read. And for that matter…’
‘We have each other, Tribune, and that’s all I need today.’
The cavalryman acknowledged the finality of her tone with a slight bow.
‘Indeed you do, madam, and long may it remain that way. Perhaps this mission to Germania will provide you with some respite from the fear of discovery. And since none of us are getting any younger, perhaps we should proceed?’ He held out an arm to her. ‘Come along, m’dear, I think we ought to go and stand in front of that particularly disgruntled-looking priest. We’ve got our ten witnesses, so let’s get your hands wrapped together and the sacred wheat cake eaten, shall we?’
Later, with the ceremony complete, the happy couple exited the principia beneath an arch of first the officers’ swords and then those of the 9th Century, and ran the gauntlet of dozens more soldiers happily throwing nuts into the air to cascade down on them in the time-honoured fashion. As they sat down to a celebration meal in the praetorium, with plentiful wine on the table, the conversation inevitably turned to Dubnus’s charge north to rescue Felicia. Julius, for several years the younger man’s centurion during his time as a chosen man, waved a chicken leg at his former subordinate, his cheeks flushed and his voice a little louder than usual.
‘Only you, Dubnus! Only you could have shamed a gang of disgraced road menders into following you into the teeth of a rebellion with barely enough strength to put a tent up! Not only that, but with a scar on your guts only three weeks old! A scar you earned, as I recall, by jumping into a losing fight with those tattooed head jobs!’ He raised his cup to the younger man. ‘Colleague, I salute the size of your stones, but one of these days you’ll end up face down unless you learn to think before you jump!’
Where a younger Dubnus would have bridled at the implication of rashness, the centurion simply nodded slowly, raising his own cup and taking a sip of his wine. Felicia, who had allowed much of the discussion to wash over her as she enjoyed the sensation of having Marcus beside her, watched her rescuer intently.
‘You may be right. Perhaps I do need to think a little more before I act. But I can tell you this: I will never stand idle while any friend of mine is in danger. I would have gone north alone if necessary, healed or not, to find and rescue this lady, and to Hades with the consequences.’
He locked stares with his sparring partner, a faint smile of challenge on his face. The older man nodded solemnly, raising his cup again, looking about the table to be sure he had his colleagues’ full attention
‘Gentlemen, a toast! I’ll drink to the man that made sure our brother had a bride to marry today. To my friend and brother Dubnus, the man with the biggest balls in all the cohort!’
When the officers were seated again Felicia, recognising that the time had come for the officers to celebrate the event in their own exuberant manner, stood up and begged the party’s forgiveness for her inevitable fatigue, a request greeted by a chorus of understanding and concern. Marcus took her arm and led her from the room with a grateful nod to Tribune Scaurus for his hospitality, leaving the centurions grinning knowingly at each other. Otho raised his cup, a broad grin splitting his battered face.
‘Well, it is their wedding night! And young Marcus needs to get as much sack time in as possible before the lady’s too far gone for riding!’
Dubnus leaned over and clipped him playfully around the head, ducking away from the return blow and raising his own cup in challenge.
‘A song! Come on, Knuckles, you punch-drunk old bastard, start us off!’
Otho glared at him in mock annoyance, then threw his head back and bellowed the first lines of an old favourite at the ceiling. ‘When I’m on patrol the farmers hide their chickens and their eggs,
And watch their daughters just in case I sneak between their legs,
But they forget that I will take my pleasure where I can…’
The other centurions joined in for the verse’s last line, their voices raised to a roar that put a wry smile on Scaurus’s face. ‘So I shag the sheep and the billy goat too, ’cause I’m a Tungrian!’
As the other centurions joined in Julius went to fill up Dubnus’s cup, only to find the younger man’s hand covering it. He raised an eyebrow, bending close to shout in the younger man’s ear.
‘What’s wrong with you? Losing your taste for the wine already?’
Dubnus shook his head, pointing at the cup.
‘Just half a cup, and I’ll water it. I’ve got to march east tomorrow with half a dozen disgraced road menders who insist on coming along for the walk.’
Julius raised his eyebrows in question, but Dubnus shook his head disparagingly.
‘It’s no big thing, just an errand I promised to run for a man I met on the North Road.’
Otho threw his head back again, bellowing out the next verse while his brother officers raised their cups to him and drained them. Outside, in the fort’s torchlit road, with the boisterous singing audible over the wind’s moan as it pulled at the fort’s exposed roofs, Felicia stopped walking down the steep slope to Marcus’s quarters at the end of the 9th Century’s barrack, and turned to her new husband with a gentle smile.
‘Go back in, Marcus. Go and join them, just for a while. I’m too tired to do anything but fall asleep the moment I get into bed, so you might as well enjoy the company of your friends. They’ve taken you into their family, so you should go and be part of it when you have the chance.’
The young centurion walked back into the praetorium’s dining room to a chorus of ribald abuse centred on the obvious fact that he had clearly been unable to satisfy his woman, smiling resignedly as he took the brimming cup offered to him by Julius.
‘Well, if you’ve come back to join the party, Two Knives, you’d better sing the next verse!’
Egged on by the raucous centurions, he stepped forward and took a gulp of wine, then roared out the lines he’d sung so often with his century on the march. ‘I’m back from bloody battle, I’ve got money on my belt,
And I’m full enough of spunk to make an armoured codpiece melt…’
Outside, standing close to the room’s window, Felicia heard his voice raised in song and smiled to herself, putting a hand to her gently bulging belly and moving off down the road’s slope to their quarters.
‘A lifetime or a year, my love, we’ll make every moment precious.’
The wind from the sea was bitingly cold by the time Clodia had finished her work at the Waterside Fort’s official guest house, her legs aching from a day spent on her feet, cleaning and cooking for the house’s guests. She stepped out into the torchlit street, shaking her head in disgust as a pair of soldiers paused in their staggering progress from the vicus alehouse back to their barracks to leer drunkenly at her, but her discouragement only seemed to encourage the pair to push harder at her misery. One of them stayed rooted to the spot, too drunk to participate in the fun, but the other man, a heavyset watch officer who had long expressed an interest in her, persisted with a staggering walk that put him firmly in her path, swaying and pointing a finger at her with a knowing leer.
‘Come on, Clodia, you know he’s dead and gone. Give us a kiss and I’ll show you what you’ve been missing all these months. And I’ve got a bigger…’
Without warning, an big bearded infantry centurion loomed out of the vicus shadows and stepped in front of her, putting one massive hand on the cavalryman’s chest with the other clenched behind his back, visible to the harassed woman but not to her assailant.
‘The lady doesn’t want your pissed-up attentions, soldier. Take it away to your bed and come back for another try when you’re sober.’
The drunk staggered backwards, then bridled and went on the offensive, jabbing a finger at the newcomer.
‘Fuck you, you mule bastard! You and your mates… I’ll do the lot of you…’ Clodia looked around, and found that half a dozen hard-faced infantrymen were backing up their centurion. The senior man nodded respectfully to her, speaking quietly in a moment of silence while the drunken cavalryman swayed and smiled to himself with pride at his defiance.
‘Don’t mind us, ma’am, the centurion will put this idiot to sleep soon enough and then we can all go back to what we were doing.’
Another pair of Petriana men exited the beer shop to find out what the shouting was all about, stopping in the doorway when they saw the auxiliary soldiers waiting for them.
‘I’ll fucking do the lot of you, you sheep-shagging bastards…’
The drunkard swung a fist at the officer, who leaned back far enough to allow it clear passage, then stepped forward and pushed at the other man’s chest, sending him back half a dozen steps.
‘If you try that again I’ll be forced to put you on your back…’
The cavalryman charged forward, spreading both arms in a clear attempt to grapple with his assailant, but the centurion, rather than stepping back to avoid the attack, took a pace forward. His first punch was a jab, stopping the drunk in his tracks with a sickening pop of broken cartilage, his second and last blow a leisurely right hook that dropped his assailant senseless to the street’s mud. He looked around at the meagre audience, spreading his hands in question, while the unconscious cavalryman’s drinking partner goggled at him in drunken bemusement, and the other two men scowled their anger from a safe distance.
‘And that’s why you’re on your back. Now, does anybody else think they want a go? I’ve not had a proper fight in months, so I could do with the practice. Nobody? You two, you look like you fancy trying your luck…’ The men watching from the beer shop’s entrance blanched and walked quickly away, drawing amused looks from the soldiers behind their officer, who shook his head with something approaching genuine regret as he called after them. ‘Good choice. Now bugger off and mind your own business.’ He turned back to the woman, bowed and offered him her hand. ‘Madam, my apologies for that unfortunate scene.’ He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the task at hand, and the woman stared up at him with mute distress. ‘I cannot pretend that I’m here with good news, but I do bring something that will soften the blow I’m sure you’re expecting. My name is Dubnus, and I was the last person to speak with your man before he departed this life. Perhaps you could take us to somewhere we can speak privately.’
In the privacy of her tiny room, with the other men of his century waiting outside, he told her how she had been at the heart of the dying man’s last thoughts.
‘He died in battle, fighting to the last, but we were the only men to see it happen. He was carrying a message for the Petriana’s tribune, and he fought to the death to defend it. Your man was twice the soldier those drunken fools will ever be, and his last wish was that we should bring this to you.’
Nodding her tearful thanks, the woman looked wanly at the purse. It was somewhat heavier than had originally been the case, the product of the 3rd Century’s vigorous fund-raising throughout their cohort upon their return to Noisy Valley. Their new-found reputation, built on the back of a wild charge north to rescue the fortress’s doctor with an apparently insane auxiliary centurion at their head, had paid dividends, and reduced the number of their fellows willing to accuse them of cowardice to a foolhardy few who had swiftly found the 3rd Century in their faces and ready to fight for their reputation. Clodia opened the purse and peeked inside, her face brightening slightly at the amount of gold it contained.
‘It can’t replace your man, but it can make life easier for you for a while. It can give you time… to… well…’
Sensing the centurion’s embarrassment, she took his hands in hers, silencing his stuttering flow of words.
‘Thank you, Centurion. You’re all very kind. I’ve known he’s dead for weeks now, when the wing came home without him, but it helps to know the truth. Will you be here for very long, you and your men? I’d like to show my gratitude in some way, if only with enough money to buy you all a drink?’
Dubnus stood, looking down at the woman with a gentle shake of his head.
‘Thank you, ma’am, but we must march east in the morning. These men will have a new centurion waiting for them, and my own cohort is ordered to cross the sea before the winter comes. We’re to strengthen the defences in Germania, or so it seems, and I daren’t risk my friends taking ship without me.’
He bowed and withdrew from the tiny room, gathering his men by eye and leading them back to the transit barracks. He’d been in his centurion’s quarters for no more time than was required to light the room’s single lamp and shed his armour when his watch officer stepped through the door, a leather flask in one hand and another lamp in the other.
‘If you’ll forgive me, Centurion, I thought a drink might be appropriate…’
Dubnus waved a hand at the room’s only chair, lowering his massive body carefully on to the bed and accepting a cup of wine with a nod of gratitude. The two men drank, then shared a moment of silence before Titus raised his cup in salute.
‘To you, Centurion, pig-headed, single-minded, and the making of the Third Century. You may have been a bastard, but you were just what we needed.’
Dubnus raised his cup, drinking again before he spoke.
‘Cocidius knows I hate to admit it, but I’ll miss your miserable shower of fight-shy soap-dodgers too.’ He leaned back on the bed with a broad smile, waiting for the watch officer to reply. Titus nodded wryly, offering his own cup up.
‘And we’ll miss you. Being part of a legion cohort is going to be dull as ditchwater without your inventive turn of phrase and compulsive need to fight anything and everything that moves.’
Dubnus snorted derisively.
‘You poor fools must have led quiet and boring lives. I’ve a colleague by the name of Otho who’ll put a soldier to sleep the hard way if the man as much as looks at him sideways. It was one of his boys that carried good old King Drust’s torc all the way to the fortress of the spears, and when dear old Knuckles found out, he beat the poor bastard half to death in less time than it takes to tell the story.’
A long silence fell, both men looking into their cups at their remaining wine.
‘Take us with you.’
Dubnus started from his reverie, his eyebrows shooting up at Titus’s sudden plea and his voice acerbic with barely restrained humour.
‘Oh yes, I’ll just have it away with forty-three legionaries to Germania, nobody will miss you for a few weeks…’ He met the watch officer’s eyes and saw the certainty in them, his voice softening with something between surprise and respect. ‘Bugger me, Titus, you’re serious, aren’t you?’ The other man said nothing, his face hot with embarrassment. ‘You’re actually serious. You want to walk away from a place with your legion, seventy denarii more per man a year than our lads earn, an extra five years to serve, and getting the shitty end of the stick every bloody time there’s a choice between getting the legion’s hands dirty or sending in the second-class soldiers. Are you fucking mad?’
The watch officer shifted uncomfortably.
‘We understand all that… but the last few weeks have made us feel part of something different. We all feel like real soldiers for the first time in a long while.’
He stopped talking, aware that the centurion was staring at him with something close to amazement. Dubnus shook his head slowly, staring hard at the other man in astonishment.
‘I’ve genuinely seen it all now. You want to turn your nose up at the best job a man can have in the army and pitch your luck in with a bunch of rough-arsed country boys? And it’s not as if your officers are just going to say “Very well, Tribune Scaurus, off you go with half a century of our men”. Even your legatus, decent bloke though he is, will be hard pushed to justify that to your new first spear, not to mention that complete prick of a camp prefect. No, you’ll just have to…’ He stopped speaking, tipping his head to one side. ‘Did you hear that?’
The sounds of raised voices reached them, and Dubnus grinned happily, draining his cup and heaving his body off the bed, making for the door with Titus just behind him. In the gap between the two transit barracks a dozen or more angry men were gathered, some of them armed with staves and practice swords, and their leader stepped forward when he saw Dubnus in the barrack’s doorway, raising a wooden sword to point at the Tungrian.
‘You! You broke one of my men’s jaw, and you’re going to fucking pay double for that!’
Dubnus stretched his massive frame, rolling his head and flexing both arms’ biceps to their full girth before stepping out into the confined space.
‘And you might well make me pay for teaching your idiot some manners, but if you’re stupid enough to come at me with weapons I’ll have half of you in the hospital for a month or more before you put me down. If you’re ready to pay that price, let’s get on with it.’
Titus stepped out beside him, muttering out of the side of his mouth.
‘If we fight these bastards off, you, me and the boys, you’ll take us with you?’
Dubnus held up a hand to the cavalrymen, his voice harsh with authority.
‘One moment, gentlemen, my watch officer wants to ask me a question.’
The infuriated cavalrymen seethed, but none of them was yet brave enough to be the first man to rush the intimidating centurion, and so they contented themselves with indignant looks while he turned to the watch officer with a raised eyebrow, his voice softened so as not to cross the gap to them.
‘You’re telling me that you want to fight for your place with the cohort?’
Titus nodded slowly.
‘There’s fifteen of them, and seven of us. If we send them away with a spanking, and the cohort’s honour intact, you agree to get us on to your boat for Germania?’
Dubnus nodded slowly.
‘Very well, you cheeky bastard, you’re on. I have no idea how, but if we send these donkey wallopers home to Mummy with their arses kicked, I’ll find a way for you to be Tungrians. And may Cocidius forgive me.’
Titus smiled happily back at him, putting two fingers to his mouth and blowing a piercing note. After a moment’s pause the barrack door behind them burst open, and the five other men who had accompanied Dubnus to Waterside Fort crowded through it, led by the grizzled soldier who had made the impassioned plea on their behalf at Fort Habitus. Their watch officer flicked his wrist, allowing a heavy leather-lined cosh to fall from his sleeve, pointed at the cavalrymen and bellowed a single word, lifting the weapon and stepping forward to find his first victim.
‘Habitus!’