Thunder of the Gods (16 page)

He led them across the workshop, gesturing to one of his men.

‘Fetch the shields we were using earlier.’

He turned to Julius while the man disappeared.

‘I was more than a bit doubtful that the legatus’s idea would work, so I got one of the Hamians to put a few arrows into a pair of shields at thirty paces. Ah, here’s the first of them, before we glued on all that linen and leather.’

Julius stared darkly at the damage the arrows had done to the painted wooden surface. One of them was lodged halfway through the shield’s wooden boards, but the other three had punched cleanly through. Avidus lifted the shield to allow daylight to shine through the holes.

‘Whichever one of your grunts was carrying that is out of the fight, I’d say.’

The first spear nodded gloomily at his words, turning his attention to the leather-faced shield that had been carried in while his attention had been distracted.

‘That’s …’

The pioneer centurion grinned at him.

‘Hard to believe, isn’t it? I wouldn’t have credited it myself, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.’

Where the first shield had been wrecked by the arrows’ destructive impacts, its leather-covered companion was relatively undamaged, with the missiles’ iron points wedged in its surface rather than having punched through it.

‘Three of them haven’t even fully pierced the wood.’

Julius nodded.

‘And the one that has is only a third of the way through the board. This man’s still fighting.’

Scaurus tapped the waxy leather surface with his finger.

‘So it’s not pretty, it weighs a good deal more than the usual shield, but it stops arrows shot at it from close range. What do you think, First Spear?’

Julius looked at him with a disgusted expression.

‘I think, Legatus, that you knew very well what was going to happen when our man loosed those arrows at this. Let it never be said that you lack any flair for showmanship. Perhaps you should have taken up acting as a career.’

His superior winced at the insult.

‘That’s harsh, Julius, but I take your point. Although considering the effect that our colleague’s demonstration has had on you, imagine the sense of amazement and consternation that will be experienced by the Parthians when their fearsome volleys of arrows fail to make much of an impression on our ranks?’

Julius looked at the protected shield again.

‘How quickly can we have every man in the legion protected like this?’

Avidus pursed his lips.

‘I can convert five hundred shields a day given fifty men to work with. After all, it’s just cutting and gluing for the most part. Dirty work, but not difficult, and the raw materials are already in hand. Eight days?’

Scaurus slapped a clenched fist into his palm.

‘I can’t give you eight days. You’ll just have to go faster. I want a thousand shields a day converting, and I don’t care how you make it happen.’

He grimaced at Julius.

‘There must be that many men in the legion cells after last night’s rather vigorous celebrations. Tell them that their punishment is five days of gluing linen to wood, and that the sooner they get done the quicker they’ll be freed.’

He turned back to Avidus.

‘That’s a good start, Centurion. Now let’s talk about the rest of that list I gave you, shall we.’

The African nodded.

‘Yes Legatus. Now firstly, about these other shields you wanted making? I’m still struggling to see what use they’re going to be when they’re so big they can barely be lifted.’

‘Mules, Dubnus?’

‘Mules, Morban. Four legs, big ears, nasty kick on them?’

The veteran standard bearer looked up at the man who had once been his colleague with an expression of disgust, putting down his spoon and resting his elbows on the taverna’s dining table.

‘I should have known there was more to the offer of a feed in the city with you two than met the eye.’ Dubnus smirked at him from his place alongside his colleague Otho, chewing hard at a piece of gristle. ‘And I do know,
Your Highness
, what a mule is. I was simply expressing my lack of understanding as to why you should need so many of them.’

Otho, a famously pugilistic officer with a reputation for punching first and then not asking any questions before punching again just to be sure, leaned forward and bared his gaped teeth at the standard bearer in a fearsome smile, his voice permanently hoarse from a lifetime of bellowing at recruits.

‘But if we told you, it wouldn’t be much of a secret, would it, what with your constant hunt for inside information? Before we knew it, the legion would be taking bets on what all the new mules will be carrying.’

‘I can be hurt, Centurion! You may see me as a bluff, hard-faced soldier, but—’

Dubnus laughed, tapping Morban on the chest.

‘Don’t forget I was Chosen Man to Tribune Corvus, back when he was a centurion and you were his statue waver. Which means that what
I
see you as, Standard Bearer, is a venal bastard with an eye to his own enrichment and an unending thirst for other people’s gold. But while you’re all those things, you’re also the best man I can think of when it comes to buying three hundred mules for the legion.’

He watched as the standard bearer’s eyes narrowed in calculation. Morban took another mouthful of his meal, clearly thoughtful as he chewed energetically and swallowed before speaking again.

‘Three
hundred
mules?
Really?
’

‘Three hundred. All to be capable of carrying a heavy load, with plenty of life left in them. If you think you’ll be able to make a profit by buying animals bound for the slaughterhouse, you’re missing one critical factor from your calculations.’

Dubnus hooked a thumb at the man sitting next to him.

‘Him.’

Otho grinned at the standard bearer, ostentatiously raising his vine stick in a fist that was more scar tissue than knuckles, and Morban nodded slowly.

‘I can see the merit in your argument, Centurions. So, you want to buy these beasts of burden without the sheer size of your requirement forcing prices up?’

The veteran centurion raised an eyebrow at Dubnus.

‘You see? I told you he still possesses enough wit to see sense.’

He turned back to the standard bearer.

‘You’ve got it. That’s why if the fact we’re buying mules leaks out I’ll be forced to beat you until that’s not all that’s leaking out.’

His colleague reached out and took a handful of the standard bearer’s tunic.

‘Or to put it another way, if it gets out that the legion wants to buy that many animals, the price going through the roof will only be part of our problems. So, if by any mysterious means that should happen, once Otho here has broken your nose for what will clearly be the twentieth time, I’ll confiscate not only your profits but every coin in your purse, those held for you by your various employees, and in your various
secret
hiding places.’

Morban shook his head in irritated bafflement.

‘I can take a hint. But if it’s that important to get these beasts bought, why not just gather the city’s donkey dealers and show them the colour of your gold and the edge of your dagger? Since when did the army ever negotiate with a pack of mule mongers?’

Dubnus smirked.

‘You may know how many beans make three, Morban, but you’re not the sharpest sword in the armoury when it comes to outwitting senior officers, are you?’

He shook his head at the older man’s bemusement.

‘The governor has forbidden the legatus to take more than half the legion with him over the Euphrates.’

The standard bearer shrugged.

‘I knew that.’

The centurion turned away, looking about him at the taverna’s other clients and making sure that their conversation could not be overheard.

‘You would have been hard put not to have heard it. The governor has made a point of making it clear to one and all that he intends to protect the city with the other half of the legion. So, what do you think he might make of the news that the legatus is in the market for such a very large number of mules?’

‘Ah …’

‘Indeed, ah. So here’s the bargain, Morban. You will receive enough gold to purchase three hundred mules at the current market price. You will find those mules, you and whoever you choose to join you in the venture, and you will buy them, quietly and without a fuss, within the next two days. You will not pay other men to steal them, which will inevitably attract both attention to our preparations, and Otho’s vine stick to your nether regions.’

Otho smiled evilly, holding up his vine stick again and pointing to a knot on one side.

‘And when you’ve managed to put three hundred more beasts into the legion stables, you can share whatever money you have left with the men you chose to help you.’

The standard bearer nodded swiftly.

‘I’m your man, Centurion.’ He grinned across the table with a conspiratorial wink.

‘And just between us three … say the legatus does manage to smuggle another cohort or two out from under the governor’s nose. It still doesn’t take three hundred mules to carry that much equipment. So what’s the real need for that many animals, eh?

Dubnus beckoned Morban with a crooked finger. The burly centurion leaned closer, his voice so quiet that the veteran could barely hear the whispered words.

‘I can tell you something. Something the legatus said to me …’

The standard bearer leaned closer, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

‘Yes?’

Dubnus nodded, and his battle-scarred colleague whipped his vine stick into Morban’s crotch beneath the table, the standard bearer’s eyes suddenly bulging at its hard intrusion.

‘He specifically told me to bring Otho to this discussion because he knows that you and I go back a long way, which could well reduce the credibility of any threat I might make if you were stupid enough to think in the wrong way. Whereas Otho here would be only too happy to use you for a punchbag.’

The veteran officer withdrew the stick, repeating his horrible grin as he leaned back and picked up his wine cup.

‘Buy the mules, Morban. Leave the rest of it to the grown-ups.’

The next morning saw a repeat of the previous day’s training march, with much the same result once the Tungrians hit their stride. After the lunch break, the legion was sent to weapons practice, thousands of men settling into the mind-numbing routines intended to make the use of their swords, shields and spears second nature when the time came to fight in earnest, but two centuries of the First Tungrian Cohort followed their officers away to a quiet spot between two barrack blocks. Scaurus and his first spear watched in silence as Qadir’s Hamians and Dubnus’s hulking axe men paraded on either side of him, each of the two centuries considering the other with expressions of disparagement. The Tungrians of the Tenth Century loomed over the Syrian archers, every one of them taller and more muscular than the biggest of the Hamians, and Dubnus shared an amused smile with Qadir before barking out an order.

‘Attention!’

The Tenth Century stamped to attention in perfect synchronisation, chests and jaws thrust out pugnaciously, while the Hamians stiffened into the brace with less drama, but equal speed and precision. Julius nodded at Dubnus, and the big man strolled forward, looking up and down the double line of his men.

‘Very good, Tenth Century! The Bear would have been proud of you! You’re still the biggest, nastiest and proudest century in the First Tungrians, but now you’ve got an entire legion to dominate!’

The soldiers stared fixedly ahead, their eyes shining with pride and the memory of their former centurion. Dubnus swept his gaze up and down their ranks with a knowing smile before speaking again.

‘And now, my brothers, you have the opportunity to wield a power so great that it will strike a mortal fear into the hearts of all who oppose the legion’s will. You will be responsible for striking blows into the ranks of our enemies that will demand every ounce of strength in your bodies. And you will perform this duty in combination with our Hamian brothers here.’

He pointed at the archers with his vine stick, fighting to restrain a smile as the eyes of the men closest to him widened with surprise. Scaurus walked forward, beckoning to Avidus, who was waiting with several of his pioneers beside something the size of a small altar that had been shrouded in thick cloth to disguise its purpose. The grizzled centurion nodded to the men waiting around whatever it was that was concealed, and they picked it up, carrying the mystery object forward and placing it between the two centuries. Dubnus grinned at his men.

‘You won’t be needing to lift any more weights to build up your arm strength from now on, my lads!’

The legatus nodded to Avidus, who pulled away the cloth to reveal a machine of wood and metal mounted on a wooden frame. The seam-faced African gestured to the weapon.

‘We have thirty of these beauties, the single most deadly weapon on any battlefield. This, gentlemen, is a Scorpion. It is a lightweight two-man model of the big bolt throwers carried by the navy’s ships and used to protect our legion fortresses. It can throw one of these …’

He took a bolt from Avidus, holding it up to display the missile’s sharp iron point.

‘Out to a range of four hundred paces. It is so powerful that when this bolt hits a man – or a horse – protected by armour at close range, it will tear through that armour and kill the target, quickly and without fail. And this is how it works.’

He pointed at the Scorpion.

‘Load!’

A pair of his men stepped up to the weapon, swinging it to point at three wooden posts joined by a crosspiece one hundred paces distant, the middle post rising above its fellows. Taking a whistle from his belt pouch Avidus blew a single note, and a pair of men hurried out from behind the barrack block closest to the target point. They were carrying between them a shirt of laminated armour and a standard-issue helmet, placing the armour onto the crosspiece and balancing the helmet on the nub of the middle post that rose above it before running for cover. The bigger of the two men standing by the Scorpion had grabbed a pair of winding handles, and was working vigorously to crank a ratcheted slide back down the channel that ran the weapon’s length, his biceps bulging with the effort as he laboured over the mechanism.