Arrows of Fury: Empire Volume Two (22 page)

He drained the beaker and slapped it down on the table with a calculating glance at Frontinius.

‘I’ll tell you what else, he’s absolutely fixated with some fugitive that’s evaded the imperial strangler. He’s always on about it, how he’ll pay a big reward to the man that finds him, how much prestige he’ll get if he’s the man to bring the fellow to justice. I ask you, how likely is it that some runaway aristo is going to be hiding up here with us, in the middle of twenty thousand Roman troops, eh?’ He looked across the table at Frontinius, his eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘Not even you could be that stupid, and you did some monumentally daft things when we were young recruits, as I recall …
eh, Sextus
?’

Frontinius’s face froze into immobility.

‘How long have you known?’

Neuto shook his head disbelievingly.

‘Jupiter’s
tits
, I prayed I was wrong! That bright young lad with the two swords?’

‘The same. He’s the one that found the supplies waiting for Calgus’s western attack and burned them out back in the spring. Remember that? If not for him we’d have had ten thousand of the bastards at our backs as well as the warband to our front. The boy’s good, Neuto, and I can’t just abandon him now that he’s made a place with the cohort. How did you work it out?’

His friend shook his head, taking another sip of his broth.

‘I didn’t. My
least
favourite centurion seems to have worked it out after meeting your man at Arab Town. These things have a habit of finding their way back to a man who keeps his ear to the ground, as well you know. Does your prefect …? No, on second thoughts I’m better not knowing. Cocidius’s sword and fucking spear, Sextus, how long do you think you can keep this quiet, now that we’re tucked up close with half the bloody army? The next thing you’ll know is Furius will be calling for the carpenters again, except this time it’ll be you tied up ready for the scourge.’

Frontinius frowned.

‘I’ve got an idea to get him out of the fort tonight, and tomorrow.’

‘That’s fine for today and tomorrow, but we’re going to be in the field for weeks. Mark my words, Furius is offering a bag of gold to the man that unearths him; and rumour has it that one of my centurions is on the scent. Knowing the man in question, he’ll be all over your cohort trying to get some proof. And if that bastard Furius gets a sniff of your boy he’ll be dog meat inside a day. As will you.’

He sat back, shaking his head at his old friend. Frontinius nodded grimly.

‘And that’s my problem, and not one for you to get dragged into. Although I’d appreciate any warning you can give me, I guess it’s for the best that we never had this conversation.’

Neuto nodded grimly.

‘Agreed. Now, let’s talk about the reinforcement century Prefect Furius seems to have procured out of the Arab Town docks for me.’

‘No fucking way! Those men are mine and I’m keeping them.’

If the mood in Furius’s tent had darkened with the departure of the first spears, it had turned distinctly ugly once Scaurus had raised the subject of the stolen century. He held a level gaze on Furius, watching his eyes intently.

‘You knew very well that those troops were earmarked for my cohort, didn’t you, Gracilus Furius? We’re still significantly under
strength, and yet you bribed them out from under our noses without a second thought. And now you tell me that you’re going to hold on to them no matter what …’

Furius leaned back in his chair, a faint sneer playing across his face.

‘That’s right, and there’s not much you can do to get them back. I’ve got a requisition document signed off by the replacements officer, all nicely legal, and the century in question is already distributed into my cohort. So, unless you’ve got some shiny new sponsor that I don’t know about, you haven’t even got the clout to take this up the ladder. You do know how I got this command, even after Thunderbolt Gorge and the best part of ten years of enjoying the pleasures of home, don’t you? It was simple. I just asked my father to get me back into uniform. If you thought he was well connected ten years ago, well, you should see him now. He may be a wrinkled old bastard, but he’s got more money than he knows what to do with. If he’d wanted to become a senator he only had to ask, he’s got ten times the money required for the favour, and he knows where to spend it. That bread-nibbling beanpole Ulpius Marcellus is a friend of the family, and I can tell you what his reaction will be if you take the problem to him – he’ll just laugh in your face. Senior officers like their commanders to show some initiative, or hadn’t you heard? They find this sort of squabble amusing to watch but irritating to deal with, so you’ve got as much chance of getting that century back as you have of being promoted to legatus, you pipsqueak. Apart from that, you also got two centuries in the place of one. I’d say everyone should be happy.’

He smiled tightly, but the smile turned to a thin-lipped glare as Scaurus stared at him for a moment longer before speaking again, his direct gaze making the other man uneasy. This wasn’t the sort of behaviour Furius remembered from their last spell as colleagues.

‘If you’re determined to do this, then so be it. Just don’t be surprised if you end up regretting it. I believe you’ve regretted one or two things you’ve done recently, if the words I’ve heard are true.’

‘Regret it, why am I going to …?’

Scaurus got to his feet, ignoring the other man’s spluttering.

‘Thank you, Gracilus Furius, for your hospitality, and for the conversation.’

He turned to go. Furius caught his arm, his sense of superiority picked to threads by something for which he had no real concept.

‘A moment, Rutilius Scaurus. I asked you a question, and you haven’t answered me yet. Your sponsor? Who
is
your sponsor these days?’

Scaurus turned back, easily taking the other man’s hand from his sleeve.

‘You’re right, I didn’t answer you, did I?’

He turned away and walked out into the drizzle, leaving Furius with a bemused, almost worried look as he watched his colleague walk away into the cold autumn afternoon. He stared about him until his gaze alighted on one of the soldiers standing guard.

‘You, take a message to Centurion Appius. Tell him to report to me immediately.’

First Spear Frontinius hurried back to the cohort once his discussion with Neuto was done, and spent a few minutes talking urgently to Scaurus before going to look for the 8th Century. He found them marching wearily back on to the exercise field in readiness for another long session with their swords, and called Marcus and Dubnus to him with an urgent wave.

‘A change of plan, Centurion Corvus, we need to get you out of camp. One of the Second Cohort centurions you met at Arab Town last week seems to have worked out who ‘Centurion Corvus’ really is, and I don’t want you around when he comes looking for proof. The prefect of the Second Cohort is looking for you, and it won’t take very much more deduction on his part to put us all in deeper water than we can swim in. Get your men some bread to eat and then take them out for some night familiarisation. You can take the Fifth Century with you, they’re good at night work, and the prefect has asked me to send his man Arminius out with you as well. Apparently he grew up in the German forests, so he
should be a handy man to have along for the night. This way we can show our Hamian brothers what it’s like to patrol in the open countryside after dark, and as a side benefit I expect you’ll be able to work out who among them is suitable to send out on listening patrols in future. Just get them out of the main gate as quickly as possible without making it look like you’re in a hurry.’

The two centurions led their men north from the fort without fanfare, with the archers dressed in their heavy woollen cloaks to provide as much anonymity as possible, striking out from the north road into open country as soon as they were out of sight of the walls. They conferred for a moment, and then Dubnus went forward with a pair of tent parties to scout the ground in front of their line of march. The 5th Century men took turns to trot forward and then go to ground, searching their surroundings intently for any sign of the enemy. The remainder of the two centuries marched forward at a gentle pace behind the scouts, and Marcus was pleased to see that the Hamians were coping with the terrain well enough, even if many of them were still clearly footsore. The prefect’s bodyguard strode forward in silence, always staying within a few feet of him, and Marcus quickly realised that his presence was more to do with his protection than any benefit the German might gain from the exercise.

Less than ten minutes after their departure Centurion Appius strolled into the 1st Cohort’s lines. Promptly challenged by the guard sentries, and having asked to speak to one of the centurions he had met in Arab Town the previous week, he found himself staring into the barrel chest of an officer he had not previously met. Titus stared down at him with an unreadable expression for a moment before speaking, his voice a growling rumble.

‘You’re looking for one of my brother officers?’

Appius nodded, suddenly conscious of the fact that, even less than fifty paces from his own men, he was very much on another cohort’s turf.

‘I met some of your mates last week on the coast. … I just thought I’d come and say hello to them again …’

He stopped speaking, aware that the giant standing in front of
him was looking decidedly uninterested.

‘They’re out on detached duty. Come back another time. Bring a century of Tungrian infantry with you if you’re hoping for any sort of welcome.’

The big man turned away, leaving Appius standing alone in front of two unfriendly-looking sentries. He turned away, inwardly cursing his luck. Furius had made it very clear that he expected quick results from him, given his certainty as to the young Roman centurion’s real identity.

The Hamians and their escorts made steady progress across the open land to the fort’s north-east, skirting round isolated copses and crossing the open farmland in a long column under a cloudless sky, their cloaks long since removed in the warm afternoon air. As the sun dipped towards the horizon the centurions called a halt, bringing their 250 men together in the cover of a large copse of oak trees. Marcus gathered them all in close so as to be heard without having to shout.

‘We’ll be staying out overnight, so you can eat half your bread now if you want to, but keep the other half for the morning. What we’re going to do now is advance across the ground in front of us as quietly as possible, taking as much time as we need to make sure we do it silently. We’re going to try to get within a hundred paces or so of one of the wall forts without being detected. As an incentive for you all, if we do manage to get in and out without being noticed you’ll all get an afternoon’s free time when we get back into camp, and I would imagine that those of you with bows would be welcome to join the Hamian cohort at shooting practice to find out if you still know how to use them. Eat your bread and take a rest, we’ll be on the move again once the sun’s below the horizon.’

The soldiers waited patiently, some of the men passing the time with quiet games of Odd or Even, while others simply talked softly among themselves. The older and more experienced soldiers rolled themselves up in their cloaks and slept, Dubnus among their number once he knew that Marcus had no intention of resting.
Arminius lounged on the grass underneath a massive gnarled oak close to Marcus and Qadir, and listened in silence to their conversation until a lengthy pause developed. Both men turned to him in surprise as the previously taciturn German addressed the Hamian chosen man.

‘You seem very much out of place here, Chosen Man, you and your men. Might I ask how you came to this province?’

Qadir shrugged in the early evening’s half-light.

‘There is very little to tell you, but I will share what there is. We were recruited from our home in the city of Hamath, which means ‘fortress’ in my native tongue, by the occupying troops of the Third
Gallica
legion. For some of us it was a choice between desperate hardship or imperial service; for others it was a simple desire to see the world beyond our limited experience …’

The German nodded knowingly.

‘And for you?’

The big Hamian stared at him for a moment before answering.

‘I committed a crime that would have seen me dead within a day, had I waited for what passes for justice in Hamath to catch up with me. I knew that once I was sworn to service I would be beyond the reach of my pursuers.’

He stared at the ground for a half-minute before continuing, both Marcus and Arminius respecting his reverie.

‘Anyway, I am sure you both know that my people have a certain ability with the bow, and for as long as we have been subject to other nations we have provided their armies with archers. Many of us were already blessed with more than acceptable skill with the weapon, but our Roman instructors drilled us in one task and one task only; to hit a man-sized target at a distance of one hundred paces time after time. We would shoot hundreds of arrows a day, and do so day after day, until we could all put an arrow into a man at a distance of one hundred paces, no matter whether it was the first or the one hundred and first shot of the day. We developed the strength in our shoulders, punishing our muscles until they were strong enough to bend our bows hundreds of times a day, and our backs and bellies became hard, with ridges of muscles
where soft flesh had been before. Finally, when we were deemed ready to serve the empire, we were marched north through a succession of countries, destined to serve on the frontier in Germania in a war with a vicious barbarian enemy, or so we were told. But by the time we arrived on the northern frontier the fighting with your people was already at an end, and we were put into service in hunting game to supplement the standard rations, rather than killing other men.’