Thunder of the Gods (7 page)

He extended a hand to introduce his colleague.

‘Legatus, this is First Spear Quintinus. We served together in the last war with Parthia.’

The legion man snapped to attention and saluted.

‘Legatus! First Spear Gaius Quintinus at your disposal! We will do what is ordered and at every command we will be ready!’

Scaurus and Marcus returned the salute, the legatus choosing to acknowledge the first spear’s obvious look of disgruntlement when it was suggested that Cotta might be best employed finding barracks to accommodate the Tungrian cohorts, waiting until the veteran officer was out of earshot before turning to his new senior centurion.

‘Is there a problem, First Spear Quintinus?’

Quintinus shook his head.

‘It’s not right, Legatus, not when we didn’t even know that Legatus Lateranus was being replaced. Cotta and your Decurion simply barged into the camp and made their way to the headquarters building, and when they were challenged by the duty centurion they simply handed him your written orders and refused to take any more notice of him. You’re lucky that none of my officers decided to push the issue.’

Scaurus considered him levelly for a moment before replying.

‘But they didn’t, did they? Which speaks volumes for both my men and your officers. But it’s just as well.’

He lowered his voice, forcing the first spear to lean closer to hear his words.

‘Any man who chooses to disregard my orders can expect to find himself roped to a post with his back hanging off.
Any
man. It would have made for an interesting fight though. I believe Centurion Cotta’s famously short temper would have gone up like a signal fire doused with naphtha if he’d felt that his long service with this very legion wasn’t being accorded the right degree of respect.’

The first spear nodded angrily, clearly holding onto his own temper by a narrow margin.

‘And that’s another thing, sir. In this legion appointments to the rank of centurion are approved by a committee of centurions. Cotta may well have done his time wielding a vine stick, but he left the Gauls ten years ago, and under a cloud of suspicion to do with the death of an emperor. An
emperor
, Legatus. Under the circumstances I don’t think that the centurions will—’

Scaurus shook his head, his eyes narrowing with anger, raising a finger to forestall any further complaint.

‘Two points, First Spear. Firstly, the
emperor
you’re talking about was no more an emperor than you are. This legion acclaimed Gaius Avidius Cassius as ruler for the simple reason that the officers of the day expected to be handsomely rewarded for their loyalty. In removing Cassius’s threat to the legitimate emperor, Centurion Cotta did no more than was his duty, and he did it under the command of a tribune who had been placed in his role by Marcus Aurelius himself, and for precisely that purpose. A wise emperor knows where threats to his rule will come from, and positions the right men in the right places to deal with them as required. And Marcus Aurelius was no fool.

‘Furthermore, First Spear, Cotta’s
suspected
role in Cassius’s death will remain no more than suspicion, if you’re still keen to be carrying your vine stick for the rest of your career.’

He stared at Quintinus for a moment before continuing. ‘And secondly, First Spear, to whom exactly do you imagine that this legion belongs? To you and your brother officers, or to the people and the senate of Rome?’

Quintinus looked at his superior for a moment before replying.

‘To the people and the senate of Rome, Legatus.’

Scaurus nodded.

‘Exactly, First Spear. The people’s will is enacted by the senate, among whom the emperor is
primus inter pares
, First Spear, very much the first among equals. And when the emperor awarded me the singular privilege of commanding this legion, he made no mention of having to run any of my decisions past
committees of centurions
!’

He spat the words out with a vehemence that made the first spear flinch minutely despite his attempt at portraying iron self-control.

‘Centurion Cotta is an experienced officer who, as you know all too well, has seen combat on numerous occasions in the course of his career. On top of which, he’s already commanded men of this legion, and in consequence he will be of great value to me as I get to grips with my new command. If you and your fellow centurions have any complaint with that decision I will be happy to hear that concern, and any recommendations
you may have for me, in due course and in the time-honoured manner. I will not, to be very clear, be setting any store by an informal and highly irregular decision-making process that only serves to illustrate the sort of man my predecessor here seems to have been.’

He looked about him, staring with apparent curiosity at the rows of barrack buildings on either side of the street that ran to the headquarters building.

‘Now, to business. How many men do you have here in Antioch?’

Quintinus opened the tablet that had been sitting in his left hand.

‘Nine cohorts, Legatus. We’ve a large number of men on leave and on detached duties of various sorts, but this is the heart of the Third Gallic, with two thousand, nine hundred and sixty-four men available for duty.’

‘
Nine
cohorts, First Spear?’

Quintinus turned to Marcus, who had stepped forward alongside Scaurus with a look of incomprehension.

‘Yes Tribune …’

‘My name is Corvus. Marcus Tribulus Corvus. Where is the tenth cohort?’

Quintinus looked at Marcus for a moment before answering, a shadow of pain creasing his face.

‘We lost the Sixth on the other side of the Euphrates months ago, Tribune. They were killed to the last man, except for a few local scouts and a tribune who managed to evade the Parthians to bring the story of their deaths back.’

The younger man frowned.

‘He ran, rather than facing the enemy with his men?’

Quintinus shook his head.

‘Not really sir. I’d suggest you meet the young gentleman and draw your conclusions once you’ve looked into his eyes.’

Marcus nodded.

‘Fair enough, First Spear. And where might I find this man?’

The senior centurion pursed his lips.

‘In Daphne, Tribune, with the rest of the legion’s senior officers, yourself and the legatus here accepted. The legatus, Legatus Lateranus that is, arranged for himself and his young gentlemen to be quartered there when the legion’s not in the field.’

‘Daphne. I see. The place does have a certain … reputation.’

Scaurus smiled at Quintinus’s almost imperceptible flinch as a look of disgust crossed his tribune’s face.

‘Why don’t you take yourself off to Daphne, Tribune Corvus, and deliver an invitation to a briefing with their new legatus on my behalf? I’m sure you’ll find a way to make the point to them that any failure to attend this evening will result in their new legatus taking a positively violent exception to their continued occupation of their current positions.’

Marcus saluted and turned away. Quintinus was silent until he was out of earshot.

‘I can’t see our officers being all that happy to have their evening spoilt, Legatus. I believe they’ve recently become rather fond of dinner parties …’

He fell silent as Scaurus smiled and shook his head.

‘And just how many
young gentlemen
does my new legion have on its books, First Spear?’

Quintinus sighed.

‘Nine, Legatus. Two broad stripe tribunes and seven of the equestrian class.’

‘
Nine
. I see. And we are supposed to have how many exactly?’

‘Six, Legatus. One broad stripe tribune who has the role of your deputy, and five narrow stripe tribunes who are—’

‘Who
should
be competent military men, respected equestrian officers each with a cohort command under their belts and therefore respected by the legion’s centurions. They should be capable of performing the full range of administration for a pair of cohorts, and providing leadership in battle. Is that what they are, First Spear?’

Quintinus shook his head.

‘Our narrow stripe tribunes are for the most part serving for the first time. As, to be fair, are both of the broad stripe men.’

Scaurus looked at him.

‘Two senior tribunes?’

‘The legatus believes –
believed
–
that a backup for his deputy would be a positive thing.’

The legatus shot him a derisive look.

‘So, they should be experienced soldiers, instead of which they all seem to be neophytes. We should have six, and instead we have nine of them. They are the sons of rich men, I presume, sent here purely because Antioch is something of a backwater where they will be at little risk of anything as vulgar as actually having to go to war. After all, the Parthians haven’t threatened the border for twenty years after the battering we gave them the last time they tried it on, so why not send their boys to Syria, and let them spend their time chasing girls in Daphne, eh?’

He stretched.

‘And now, First Spear, I think I’ll go and inspect my quarters. After that I’ll be going to my office to examine the Third’s records, and see what sort of legion it is that I’ve been bequeathed by Legatus Lateranus. You, no doubt, will be keen to greet my cohorts into camp; they should be here soon enough now under the command of my first spear. You’ll know him easily enough, he’s a little older than me, black hair and beard with more than a little grey, and spectacularly bad tempered even for a centurion. He’s in command of two full cohorts of Tungrian auxiliaries who the emperor has seen fit to second to this legion while it’s under my command. You might want to warn your officers that my Tungrians are battle hardened, and won’t take kindly to any of the usual games that tend to get played when new units arrive in a camp. So don’t say I didn’t warn you!’

He turned away, then spun on his heel.

‘I almost forgot. Doubtless you’ll also want to arrange for the traditional demonstration of your men’s abilities? Let me know what time tomorrow morning you’ll be parading the men, I’m looking forward to seeing if my new command has the skills to deal with what it’s going to be facing a few weeks from now.’

He walked away up the street, leaving the first spear staring at his back with a disquieted expression.

Marcus walked his horse through Antioch’s teeming crowds with a watchful group of legionaries detailed to escort him through the busy streets by Quintinus, men well accustomed to the variety of tricks and ruses employed by the city’s thieves and pickpockets. Hemmed in by the mass of humanity brought so close together by the lure of the city’s sophistication, he allowed himself to progress at the pace of the street, his senses still reeling at the rich smells of the taverns and spice shops after so long at sea, exotic scents underlaid by the deeper, richer stench of too many men and beasts packed into a confined space.

As the group of soldiers neared the southern wall, the city’s magnificent agora opened out to his left with the gaudily painted bulk of an amphitheatre rising behind it, the wide open space thronged with men gathered around a troupe of gladiators who were demonstrating their abilities to the admiring crowd. Halting his escort, Marcus mounted the horse so as to get a better view of the scene, watching through the colonnade that lined the street as matched pairs of fighters went through their mock-antagonistic routines to enthusiastic applause from the watching multitude. Most of them were no better than average, but among them were a few men who moved with crisp purpose, the arena killers against whom their hapless fellows were dead meat.

‘You like the games, do you, sir?’

The question broke his reverie, and the young tribune looked down at the soldier holding his horse’s bridle with a faint smile.

‘I was trained to fight by a man like that.’

The man’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

‘Gladiator, was he, sir?’

Marcus nodded, feeling an almost physical pain at the sudden, brutal reminder of the events that had led to the Tungrians being posted to Syria.

‘He was the finest gladiator ever to fight in the Flavian Arena, some say. To me he was more like a second father …’

He dismounted, gesturing to the gate rising over the crowd, two blocks distant.

‘Shall we?’

The soldier nodded, turning to the people nearest to them with a sudden flash of anger as a man stretched out a finger to touch Marcus’s sculpted breastplate with a look of awe.

‘Oi, get your fucking hands off the officer, unless you want me to cut them off and stuff them up your arse!’

The man looked at him uncomprehendingly, and with a sigh of irritation the soldier switched from Greek to Aramaic, backing up the threat with the highly polished blade of his dagger. ‘Fucking peasants. Anyone’d think you was Achilles himself from the looks they’re giving you.’ The soldier shot him a swift apologetic glance. ‘Not that you don’t look proper hard, Tribune. Be nice to have some men with scars and hard faces leading the legion for a change.’

The young tribune reflexively put a hand to the freshly healed cut across the bridge of his nose, the legacy of a frantic escape from the heart of a barbarian fortress, and the ensuing hunt across northern Britannia’s lethally treacherous marshes. At the Daphne Gate he ordered the men to wait for him, smiling as they immediately gathered around in the wall’s shadow and started a game of dice. Trotting the beast down the road to the south, he mused on the contrast between the teeming city thoroughfares and the lightly trafficked street that ran along the mountain’s shoulder. After five miles or so, the reason for the road’s relative emptiness became apparent, as he rode around a bend to find his way barred by a wooden gate, a military checkpoint manned by legionaries.

Seeing his lavishly decorated equipment, the soldiers jumped to attention, saluting at the detachment commander’s barked order while Marcus climbed down from the horse’s saddle.

‘Tribune Sir! We will do what is ordered and at every command we will be ready!’

Marcus looked round at the men of the detachment.