‘He’s not a barbarian, he’s a fuckin’ soldier! He’s in your tent party for a fuckin’ reason, you pricks! You’re supposed to be the responsible men, the lads that can help the new boys to adapt . . .’ He shook his head in disgust and moved to face Sanga. ‘If I catch you pair, or anyone else in your fuckin’ century picking on the poor bastard, I’ll have your fuckin’ cocks dangling from my belt. As of now he’s your baby, so you’d better make sure you start looking after him, hadn’t you!’
The veterans nodded in swift agreement, Scarface shooting a quick glance at his mate that made Sanga shake his head in disgust. Quintus grinned evilly at him, nodding vigorously as his voice returned to a conversational volume.
‘Oh yes, I saw that. Your thick-headed mate here thinks you’re going to get away with just getting a bollocking, but you’re far too smart to agree with that, aren’t you?’ Sanga nodded, turning a jaundiced eye on Scarface. ‘So, Soldier Sanga, what punishment would you give the pair of you if you was me, eh? Get it right and I’ll let you off lightly, get it wrong and I’ll double what I have in mind.’
Sanga looked down at the buckets, then up to see Quintus nodding.
‘Good guess. And?’
Sanga thought furiously.
‘Ten times round the camp?’
‘Good guess! Get on with it then! If you’re not back here with them fuckin’ buckets still brimming by the time the centurion and I are ready to move on, then you can double the number of times each sentry gets to rip the fuckin’ piss out of you.’
The veterans took a pair of buckets apiece and hurried off, water slopping over the sides of the containers. Quintus watched them go with a smile.
‘I was only going to make them do it five times, but there’s no arguing with keenness.’
‘I wouldn’t have had you down as being soft on the new boys, Chosen Man.’
Quintus looked up at his centurion for a moment before answering, one eyebrow raised.
‘Well, sir, just because I’m a little harsh with the men on occasion doesn’t mean I’ve forgot what it feels like to be the new boy myself. I was bullied half to death before I learned that the best answer is to meet fire with fire, and started knocking men over and then kicking them until they stopped trying to get up again. That Sarmatae lad is going to be stood in line with the rest of us soon enough, and if we treat him right he’ll be trying to stick his spear in the enemy and not Scarface’s fuckin’ arse, begging your pardon Centurion.’
The Roman smiled at him with new admiration.
‘I can respect that point of view, Chosen. Shall we continue?’
Quintus nodded deferentially, then turned to stare at the veterans’ retreating backs.
‘Faster you apes! And stop spilling that fuckin’ water!’ He turned back to Marcus. ‘After you, sir. Let’s go and find out which one of the sentries it was that tipped off your pet standard bearer that we was on our way, an’ whoever it was can join those two in their fun and games.’
‘It’s not an outcome in which I can take very much pleasure, First Spear.’
Scaurus regarded Julius levelly over the rim of his cup, sipping at the wine it contained. Julius shook his head in only partly feigned exasperation, tossing back his own cupful and putting it down on the table with a bang.
‘You’ll have to forgive me, Tribune, but I’m nothing less than bloody delighted by the whole thing! I’m going to find Cattanius and get him properly pissed as his reward for making sure that his legatus knew exactly how big a fool Belletor made of himself. Between the two of you, you’ve got that prick off our backs and you’re in undisputed command of the cohorts once again. It’s a shame we didn’t keep the Sarmatae horsemen, but that’s a small price to pay.’
The tribune mused on the meeting’s conclusion for a moment, and Belletor’s incensed behaviour, as it had become clear that Albinus intended siding with his old friend.
‘Nothing good will come of this I’m afraid. He’ll be writing a long letter to Rome even as we stand here discussing the matter, telling his father how he’s been robbed of the command he was granted by Legatus Decula only as a result of my political connections with Clodius Albinus. And don’t forget he can play on his famous victory over the Sarmatae, and how he defeated the bandits in Germania before that. I’ve already told you that my family is still under something of a shadow given our previous history, and then there’s the fact that he’s from a senatorial family while I’m only an equestrian. No, my instincts are telling me that Albinus has perhaps missed his judgement in this matter.’ The tribune shook his head, reaching for the wine flask. ‘Boyhood friend or not, I suspect he would have been wiser to have stuck with the status quo in this case.’
Julius shrugged, accepting the offer of another cup of wine.
‘You did know that the legatus would take your side though, didn’t you?’
Scaurus nodded his agreement.
‘In truth, I did. From the moment that Cattanius mentioned his name I knew that I could do what was needed to defend the mines, because Albinus would ultimately protect me from Belletor’s sense of inadequacy if I stepped too hard on his toes in the process. I just didn’t realise he’d be that harsh with the man. And I don’t expect that Cattanius has made any friends in the matter either.’
He winced at the memory of the beneficiarius’s unequivocally expressed opinion on the matter of Belletor’s command of the mines’ defence.
‘He tried to avoid being too blunt, but once Clodius Albinus ordered him to stop dancing around the issue he was positively scathing about the man. “It was self-evident that the tribune was keener on his bath than on the welfare of his men” was one of the kinder things he said.’
He took another mouthful of wine, shaking his head as if to dismiss the matter from discussion.
‘Anyway, here we are again, masters of our destiny more or less. If we forget for a moment the two legati at whose whim we’ll be dancing over the next few weeks. Yes Tertius? There’s no need to raise your hand with me man, just spit it out like your colleague here does.’
The Second Cohort’s senior centurion was slowly but surely gaining confidence in the presence of his tribune, and was now willing to venture an opinion where a month before he had been content to allow his brother officer to do the talking.
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but given that there’s snow on the ground shouldn’t we be setting up for winter quarters? Surely there won’t be any more fighting now until the spring?’
Scaurus smiled ruefully.
‘And so you might think, First Spear, but that would be to underestimate Dacia. This is the land of the wolf, you see, it’s literally the meaning of the name in the natives’ language, and the wolf hunts all year round. The tribes won’t be pulling back from the frontier, and consequently neither shall we. Legatus Albinus has arranged for the legion stores here to issue us with the appropriate cold weather clothing, after which we’ll be declared as fit for duty.’ He raised an eyebrow at the two senior centurions, shaking his head slightly. ‘But whether the gear we’ll be getting will genuinely be fit for the weather we’ll be facing is another question entirely.’
‘Well now, Centurion, do come in. Can I offer you a cup of wine?’
If Tribune Sigilis was surprised by Marcus’s presence at the door of his quarter he managed to hide it well enough, pulling up a chair for his fellow Roman and waiting while the other man shrugged off his cloak and sat down. Waving away the offer of a drink with a smile, noting that the bottle was stoppered and that Sigilis was drinking nothing stronger than water, Marcus took a moment to compose himself before speaking.
‘Thank you for your time, Tribune—’
The younger man raised a hand, shaking his head in gentle rebuke.
‘No. I won’t sit here and allow you to show deference to me when we both know that you’re easily as wellborn as I am. On top of which, you’re the one with the scars and experience I so badly need if I am to make a success of this way
of life. When we have the privacy necessary for you to drop your mask, I would be honoured if you would use my first name.’ He gave the centurion an appraising stare. ‘In truth I’d long since decided that you and I would never have this discussion.’
Marcus nodded.
‘And in truth, Lucius, so had I. When you told me about your father’s investigations into my family’s downfall I quickly decided not to pursue the matter. I decided that I would be wiser to be content with the life I have here, and to cherish and protect my family, than to go hunting shadows and risk losing everything.’
Sigilis raised an eyebrow.
‘So I had assumed, when we marched all the way from the Ravenstone valley to this frozen extremity of the empire without exchanging a word on the subject. So what changed your mind?’
Marcus smiled wryly at the question.
‘Not so much what, as who. My wife is adamant on the subject, despite knowing the risks involved for all of us. You see . . .’ He shook his head, as if in disbelief at what he was about to say. ‘As I think I told you, my father’s ghost haunts my dreams. He pursues me through my sleeping hours, sometimes accompanied by my family, sometimes alone. Last night I dreamt about a battlefield scattered with bloodied corpses and stinking of blood and faeces . . .’ He gave Sigilis a knowing look which the tribune answered with a minute nod. ‘And there, in the corner of my eye, I found him standing waiting for me. His toga was rent and bloodied, and the nails had been torn from his fingers. He raised them for me to see, and told me that this was the torture to which he had been subjected before he was killed, in the expectation that he would betray my hiding place.’
He sighed and put a hand over his eyes, and Sigilis reached for the wine bottle, filling a cup and passing it over.
‘Thank you. In every dream he tells me that I have to seek revenge for their murder, and that I can only exact this vengeance by returning to Rome. But the worst dreams are the ones where my younger brother appears beside him, always silent, always staring at me without expression.’ He took a mouthful of the wine. ‘Felicia tells me that I must resolve this internal conflict if I am to stay sane, and that she fears I will turn to the bottle or kill myself to find peace. She also believes that my customary loss of any sense of self-preservation in battle is rooted in the same problem.’
Sigilis frowned.
‘Your wife does not believe that this is your father’s ghost?’
Marcus smiled, shaking his head.
‘My wife is the most rational person I have ever known. Not many women could have dealt with the ordeal she was put through last year, kidnapped by an imperial assassin who was using her as bait to lure me in for the kill. He lowered his guard for a single moment and she stuck a knife through his tongue in defence of our unborn child. She never seems to have lost a moment’s sleep over the matter either. But it makes no difference whether my father speaks to me from the underworld or simply from here,’ – he tapped the back of his head – ‘I must do as he bids, and find the men who murdered my family. Only when they are cold in the ground will I find the peace I crave.’ He raised his gaze to stare levelly at the tribune. ‘So tell me if you will, Lucius, and in as much detail as you can muster, what it was that this investigator told your father and his colleagues about my father’s death.’
Sigilis stirred in his seat, reaching for a cup and filling it with wine.
‘There was much in what he told us that you will find troubling, but one name was woven through the whole sorry story. It seems that there is a group of men who do the emperor’s bidding, or perhaps more accurately that of the man who stands behind his throne, the Praetorian Prefect Perennis. When men without conscience or compunction are needed, these men step forward without regard to the consequences of their actions. They carry out the dirty jobs that require the spilling of innocent blood in pursuit of imperial aims, and if a noble family vanishes from the city, as if they have been expunged from life itself, they are usually at the heart of the matter. He named them, not as individuals but by their collective name, a title that sent a shiver of fear through the men listening in my father’s house that night. He called them “The Emperor’s Knives”.’
‘Atten-shun!’
The gathered officers stiffened their bodies as the two legati entered the room, obeying the legion first spear’s barked command without hesitation.
‘He’s a fearsome old bastard, that Secundus.’
Scaurus nodded fractionally in recognition of Julius’s muttered comment, replying in equally muted terms.
‘Yes, he’s from the old school, a throwback to the days of the republic.’
The veteran senior centurion was apparently well known for his evil temper when his instructions were not followed instantly and to the letter, and wasn’t above publicly berating an errant tribune in the most incendiary of terms without any apparent regard for social status. Cattanius had shared a story with the two men while they had been waiting for the command conference to begin, the payoff to which had been his recounting of the man’s furious beasting of an errant junior tribune for some mistake or other only the previous day. He had looked around to make sure they weren’t overheard before continuing with his recounting of the centurion’s words.
‘All Secundus said was this: “The Thirteenth Legion is the best fucking legion in the empire, young sir. We’re the descendants of the men the Divine Julius Caesar used to conquer the world, and ever since those famous days the Thirteenth has been led by real soldiers, from the legatus down. And if you can’t manage to behave like a real soldier then you, young sir, can fuck right off!” I don’t expect his daddy warned the young man in question to expect treatment like that when he signed the boy up!’
Under the veteran centurion’s gimlet eye the officers stood to attention while the two legati took their places by the map table. Albinus looked about him with a slightly bemused smile, while his colleague Gaius Pescennius Niger’s expression was altogether more dour.
‘Very well, gentlemen, relax, and gather round the map if you will.’
The assembled officers obeyed Niger’s command, clustering round the meticulously constructed map table while he waited for them to settle into place. Julius looked down at the plaster replica of the landscape across which the campaign against the Sarmatae would be fought.
‘Lend me your vine stick will you please, First Spear?’
Secundus surrendered his badge of office to his legatus, the look on his face indicating his displeasure at having to allow his commanding officer to make free with his most treasured possession. Oblivious to the centurion’s reproving stare, Niger looked around the circle of men with the stick held up until he was sure he had every man’s full attention.
‘So, gentlemen, here we are, two full legions, or as close as one can get to such a thing these days, and eight auxiliary cohorts, seventeen if we choose to pull in the garrisons of the forts within marching distance, two of them formed of cavalry recruited from Britannia.’ He caught sight of Belletor’s raised eyebrows. ‘Plus, of course, the First Minervia’s Seventh Cohort and a thousand allied barbarian cavalry recently recruited in the south of the province. And as of now we’re all based here, at Porolissum.’
He pointed with the vine stick at the map table’s lovingly constructed replica of the local geography, and Marcus stared with interest at the contours of the ground across which the campaign to come would be fought.
‘Our opponent is a Sarmatae chieftain called Purta, who we are informed is fielding approximately twelve thousand cavalry and another ten thousand light infantry. Against our heavy infantry the foot soldiers represent a negligible threat. First Spear Secundus and his colleagues would tear through them in an hour or two of butchery and slave-taking. The enemy horse, however, represent an entirely different and more serious proposition. Gentlemen, to be very clear, that strength of barbarian cavalry, if used decisively and in mass, would without doubt represent a very serious threat, even to a force as strong as ours
.’
He paused, looking about him again.
‘Some of you, those who haven’t ever faced barbarian cavalry of this type, will be wondering if I might perhaps be a little overcautious in that assessment. I can see it in your faces. Gentlemen, our military history is littered with cautionary tales of otherwise distinguished commanders who underestimated the capabilities of the Sarmatae, and before them the Parthians, and paid a heavy price for doing so. These Sarmatae are men raised on the great grasslands beyond these mountains, taught to ride at an age when most children in the empire are still considered infants. They do not need to use their hands to control their mounts, learning to do so purely by means of the pressure they exert with their knees. That leaves their hands free to use a bow on the move, and they are expert at hitting a target from a moving horse time after time, whether advancing, retreating or just riding round in a damned circle. As if that isn’t enough of a threat, they carry a long lance which they call the kontos, capable of spitting a man without having to get close enough that he can use his own spear in return.’
Niger shook his head.
‘So call me a pessimist behind my back if you like, but I will not risk my legion in battle with that strong a force of their horsemen on open ground. My colleague here and I’ – he gestured to Albinus, who inclined his head in grave agreement – ‘have decided that this is a battle that we will win by tempting a headstrong enemy onto well-defended and carefully prepared positions. Once we have the enemy horse nicely bogged down then we will unleash our legionaries to conduct their slaughter . . .’ He raised a warning finger and looked around the assembled officers with a stern glare. ‘But until then, gentlemen, be warned that I am determined not to give them the chance to wreak the havoc they are all too capable of inflicting upon us, if we are unwise enough to let them do so. Colleague, will you explain our plan?’
The Wolf's Gold: Empire V Page 23