Arrows of Fury: Empire Volume Two

by Riches, Anthony

  The first spear smiled thinly.

  ‘So I see, Prefect. I must admit that I wasn’t expecting such a welcome addition to our strength. Reinforcements have been hard to come by with six full legion cohorts needing replacement.’

  The prefect smiled broadly, either ignoring or simply missing the slightly disapproving note in his senior centurion’s voice, and spread his hands like a conjuror soliciting applause for his latest trick.

  ‘Then it’s a good thing for our cohort that I happened to be in the right place at the right time and with the right, ah … influence, shall we say? I suggest that we get these three centuries into quarters, and you and I can have a discussion as to how we’re going to demonstrate some old-fashioned Roman military justice to this cohort. There’s an officer-killer at large in this cohort, and we’re going to find him and make him pay for his crime with his blood.’

  He smiled into Neuto’s suddenly expressionless face before turning to the men unloading his effects from the wagon behind them.

  ‘And now, let’s get my kit off that wagon and safely into my tent, shall we? Be careful with that jar, it contains enough naphtha to burn down a legion fortress!’

  The Tungrians reached Noisy Valley shortly before dark that evening. Passing The Rock an hour before, Julius had shot a hard scowl at the smirking 2nd Tungrian soldiers standing guard at the entrance to their earth-walled marching camp. Pausing for a moment to allow Tiberius Rufius to catch up with him, he’d tipped his helmeted head to the 2nd Cohort men, his face sour with disgust.

  ‘Look at those smug bastards. There’s nothing those thieving arse bandits like better than to get one over on us, and there they are with a century that belongs to us happily camped fifty paces the other side of their turf wall.’ He spat on the ground, his face hardening as the sentries nudged each other, clearly barely restraining themselves from hysterics as the Hamians hove into view. ‘I’ll fucking …’

  Rufius restrained him with a hand on his arm, shaking his head in gentle admonishment.

  ‘You’ll only regret it. Their first spear will be forced to send you packing, and from what I’ve heard he’s a good enough sort. And his prefect will probably send a complaint to Frontinius and make it all our fault …’

  Julius shrugged off the older man’s hand, but to the veteran centurion’s relief simply stood and stared at the sentries until they decided that discretion was the better part of valour in the face of his obvious anger and slunk off behind the section of turf wall that masked the fort’s entrance. Marcus strode past alongside his struggling men, a jaundiced glance at the fort’s walls the only sign of his disgust.

  ‘See, young Marcus has it right. Save your anger for a time when it can be put to good use.’

  The big man grunted, shaking his head as he turned back to the march.

  ‘I’ll have blood for this. Just not today …’

  The 6th Legion’s temporary headquarters was a sea of tents clustered around the partially rebuilt ruins of the northern command’s Noisy Valley supply depot. Rufius, having strolled back down the marching column to walk a while with Marcus and Qadir, wrinkled his nose. ‘This place still stinks of burnt wood, even now they’ve cleared away most of the wreckage. At least the Sixth is getting on with putting it back to the way it was.’

  Despite the hour, the warm late summer air was filled with the sounds of hammering and sawing, as the legion’s troops laboured to restore the camp to its former magnificence from the burned-out shells of armouries and supply sheds torched to prevent their being looted by the triumphant barbarians three months before. The wooden bridge at the foot of the quarter-mile slope from the camp to the river had already been completely rebuilt, and the valley’s slopes on both sides of the fast-flowing River Tinea had been stripped of most of their remaining trees to supply wood for the reconstruction. The result was a bare landscape studded with tree stumps, their removal a low priority compared with the work of reconstruction, and across which half a dozen bonfires etched their sooty stains into the late afternoon sky as conscripted Brigantian labour collected and burned the unwanted debris left behind after the trees had been felled and cut up into usable sections by the legions’ artisans. Marcus nodded distractedly, his attention focused on his men. The replacement Tungrians marching in front of them under Dubnus’s command, accustomed to marching from their recent training, were still relatively fresh. By contrast, most of his Hamians looked fit to drop. They had taken almost all of the day to cover the distance from Arab Town, and the centurions’ faces had grown darker by the hour as the archers struggled to maintain even the standard marching pace.

  ‘Their feet must be as soft as babies’ arses. Look, that poor bastard’s got blood leaking out of his boots.’ Julius pointed to a man in the front rank as they paraded the replacements on the Noisy Valley parade ground. Both of the archer’s feet were visibly bleeding, the raw flesh visible between his boots’ leather straps. ‘This lot are going to need some serious sorting out before they can get back on the road. You go and chat up the legatus for any equipment he can spare; I’ll get them into quarters and boots off.’

  Marcus nodded unhappily, ordering Qadir to stay with his men and follow Julius’s instructions. He presented himself in front of the rebuilt headquarters, one of the few buildings already completed by the repair gangs, greeting the duty centurion with the appropriate degree of respect the man would consider his due from an auxiliary centurion.

  ‘Centurion Corvus of the First Tungrian cohort, requesting an audience with Legatus Equitius.’

  The legion officer leaned forward to put his face a foot from the younger man’s, and stared down his nose disdainfully, his jaw jutting out between his helmet’s gleaming cheek pieces.

  ‘Requesting an audience with the legatus? And what makes you think the commander of Sixth Victorious has any time for you?’

  Retaining his cool, Marcus returned the hostile stare with a calm regard.

  ‘Mainly the fact that we stood together on a hillside quite recently, while a barbarian warband battered itself to pieces on our shields.’ His eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned forward in turn to put his face inches from the centurion’s. ‘Which cohort, Centurion?’

  ‘What?’

  He repeated the question with deliberate and obvious patience.

  ‘In which one of the Sixth Legion’s cohorts do you serve, Centurion?’

  The older man saw quickly enough which way the conversation was going, and his answer was a fraction less gruff.

  ‘The Second.’

  Marcus nodded, his eyes fixed coldly on the other man’s.

  ‘I thought so. You’re a replacement, from Gaul or Germany, I suppose, and so you weren’t here for the battle of Lost Eagle. But I was, and so was the legatus, or Prefect Equitius as I knew him at the time. I served with him after his promotion too, hunting your legion’s lost eagle through the northern hills while you were still on the road to this place. So, Centurion, all things being equal, I expect the legatus will be happy enough to see me.’

  He settled into a comfortable parade rest and waited, while the officer stamped away and the headquarters sentries smirked quietly under their helmets. A few minutes later a soldier came to the door to fetch him inside the imposing building, leading him to the legatus’s office. Equitius was seated behind an impressive desk with a scroll open in front of him, one hand teasing at his thick brown beard as he read, but he got quickly to his feet when he saw the young officer and greeted him with a smile of genuine pleasure.

  ‘Centurion Corvus, you are quite literally a sight for sore eyes. Quintus!’

  A uniformed clerk appeared at the door from an anteroom.

  ‘Legatus?’

  ‘That’s it for today, my eyes seem to be getting old before their time. Clear up those papers, we’ll make a fresh start tomorrow morning. And have some wine sent in please.’

  Papers cleared and wine poured, the legatus raised his cup to Marcus. ‘Here’s to you, you
ng man, and your apparent continued anonymity. Your false identity seems to be holding up well enough so far, for all the fact that the name Marcus Valerius Aquila hasn’t been entirely forgotten yet.’

  Marcus nodded, sipping at his wine.

  ‘And you’re still in command of the Sixth then, sir? There’s no danger of the legion being cashiered for losing its eagle?’

  Equitius frowned reflexively at the question.

  ‘Oh yes, I believe there’s been plenty of talk on the subject, but I think we’re past the worst of it. No legion has been disbanded in over a hundred years, not since First Germanica and Sixteenth Gallica were broken up for joining the Batavian revolt back in the Emperor Vespasian’s day. I’m told that some of the men around the throne were all for making an example of the Sixth, to “put some backbone in the other legions”, but we’ve been fortunate in having Avitus Macrinus in command in the absence of an effective governor. Not only did he rubbish the suggestion before it was even made, but he’s also got enough influence in Rome to squash the idea flat. The Sixth Legion may have been humbled by the deceptions of a traitor, but we’ll survive to take our revenge for the loss of our eagle the only way we know, on the battlefield.’

  He tipped his cup back, savouring the wine for a moment.

  ‘So anyway, “Marcus Tribulus Corvus”, what brings you to this gloomy supply dump when you could be enjoying life on The Hill, or else be out in the field hunting down our old friend Calgus? I’ll warn you now that you won’t sleep a minute past dawn for the hammering of the armourers. My idiot of a camp prefect set their new forges up right next door to the transit barracks.’

  Marcus told him the story of their day, getting a smile for his impression of Morban’s indignation on first seeing the Hamians.

  ‘… and then ten miles later he’s already trying to talk his way into my new chosen man’s purse.’

  Equitius nodded sagely.

  ‘That sounds like the Morban I recall. How do you rate their chosen man?’

  Marcus pulled a face.

  ‘He’s disappointed with his demotion, I’d say, but he’s hiding it well enough. Almost inscrutably, in fact.’

  ‘He’s a politician, then?’

  The younger man shook his head slowly.

  ‘No, I’d say he’s something better than that. Call it maturity, or call it simple acceptance, he’ll serve happily enough until the time comes to take his position back.’

  ‘When you reclaim your Tungrians from the Second cohort?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Equitius raised an eyebrow, calling for his clerk again.

  ‘Ah, Quintus, I’d like any information we have on the Second Tungrian cohort’s new prefect, straight away please.’

  The clerk saluted and left the room.

  ‘One of the privileges of senior command, access to rather more information than I’m used to. Another cup of wine?’

  The clerk returned five minutes later with a record scroll.

  ‘Updated only today, sir. Prefect Furius has joined the Tungrians from the German frontier, from the First Minervia to be precise.’

  ‘I see. Anything else?’

  ‘No, sir, just the bare facts of his previous service. A spell with Twelfth Thunderbolt in Moesia some years ago, more recently six months with First Minervia, then over the sea to join us.’

  ‘Thank you, Quintus, that will be all.’

  The clerk withdrew, and the legatus raised an eyebrow.

  ‘What my clerk is far too careful to say, at least in front of a man he doesn’t know, is that serving six months with a legion before being pushed off into auxiliary service is something of a kick in the teeth for a gentleman. It certainly wouldn’t have been a step for his former commanding officer to have taken lightly, given that Furius appears to have been sufficiently well connected to be favoured with a legion tribunate in the first place. And whether auxiliary or not, cohort commands weren’t growing on trees when I was looking for mine, so he must still have influential friends given that he’s probably been quite a naughty boy. He certainly must have some pull to have snagged a tribune’s posting with First Minervia in the first place.’ He gave Marcus a cautionary look. ‘Mark my words, Centurion, the Second Cohort’s new prefect might well have a colourful recent past, so I wouldn’t bet on getting those troops back any time soon, not until both cohorts are in the same place as a sympathetic senior officer. So, let’s get down to it, eh? You’ll be keeping those archers for a while, so what do you need to get them into the field with a half-decent chance of survival?’

  3

  Later, in the evening’s chill, Marcus left the headquarters and walked slowly through the flickering torchlight to the hospital. The soldier on guard duty saluted at the sight of his cross-crested helmet, and the young Roman returned the salute distractedly. Inside the building he paused for a long moment in a darkened corridor, lost in thought. Legatus Equitius had broached the subject of Felicia Clodia Drusilla with diplomatic care, mentioning as if in passing that the doctor, kept busier than ever she had been caring for a single cohort’s medical needs now that she had several thousand men to look after, might appreciate a visit from an old friend.

  ‘The legion’s lucky that she was on hand to step in when her predecessor got himself killed on the road from the Yew Grove fortress. Luckier still that her father took the trouble to impart his surgical skills to her rather than abandoning her intellect to preparation for marriage and motherhood. I’ve requested a pair of replacement surgeons, of course, but there’s no word on when they’ll be forthcoming. Until then it’s either the good lady or nothing. Not even the camp prefect can complain at her presence under those circumstances.’

  While he had kept his face straight and his feelings to himself, in truth Marcus had thought of little else since their last meeting, or at least during those times when his mind had not been occupied by the duties of his command. Given both the circumstances of that brief encounter, and those of her husband’s death, he had been prey to a host of doubts in the intervening weeks. And so the young centurion lurked in stealthy indecision. He and Felicia had briefly been close, but that was before …

  ‘Centurion?’ Marcus jerked out of his reverie, realising that he had been close to dozing in the quiet warmth of the hospital. An orderly stood before him with a dim lamp, the oil almost exhausted. ‘Can I help you, sir? Do you require treatment?

  ‘Marcus shook his head, removing his helmet. ‘No, thank you, I have come to visit Doctor Clodia Drusilla. I’m told that she is here, and I would appreciate a moment of her time, if the hour is forgivable.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I will pass your request on. Your name, Centurion?’

  ‘Corvus. Just that.’ He waited a moment, the fears of a thousand dismal reflections on their situation crowding back down on him. She must see that his life was not for her, she would have met another man, a safer man, she would be dismayed with his unheralded arrival, she …

  ‘Marcus!’ Felicia hurried down the corridor with her skirts flying, and wrapped her arms around him in a warm embrace that dispelled his fears in an instant. ‘I’ve missed you! I’d almost given up on you as a lost cause, it’s been so long. Come into my office.’ She took his arm and drew him down the corridor, pulling him into the privacy of her room and closing the door before pressing him up against the wall in a long searching kiss. Breaking away after a long moment, she held him out at arm’s length in the flickering lamplight, appraising him as if in comparison with her memories before poking his armoured chest. ‘I’m sure I promised myself that you wouldn’t be quite so sturdily dressed the next time we kissed. It’s been so long, Marcus, I was sure you weren’t coming back for me.’ Her voice sounded small, almost lost, and her eyes moistened with repressed emotion.

  He took both of her hands, her fingers warm between his. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been tied up patrolling the border area. The locals have reacted badly to not being liberated by their northern brothers, so they’v
e taken to hit-and-run raids on Roman outposts and farms. The only way I might have seen you earlier would have been to get in the way of a blue-nose arrow. Besides, last time we met you were …’ He dried up, not wanting to say the words for fear of offending her.

  Felicia sighed and shook her head, staring at the floor. ‘I know, I was distant, and I’ve cursed myself a thousand times since. I suppose it was just a reaction to my husband’s death … That and being told that he was killed by a wound in the back.’

  Marcus trod carefully. Prefect Bassus had been stabbed in the back at the height of the pursuit that had followed the barbarian rout at the battle of Lost Eagle. He was widely reputed to have brought his death, presumably at the hands of his men, upon himself. His harsh leadership, combined with an inability to see his soldiers’ growing anger with their treatment, had seemingly driven them to deal with him in the only way left open to them. ‘You know he was …?’

  ‘A difficult man to like? Of course, who knew that better than I did? Why else would I have run away from him, although I thank the day I made that choice every time I pray to Fortuna. He didn’t deserve to die that way, though …’ She was silent for a moment, her hands clenched in her lap. ‘And I still feel guilty. When I heard he was dead my first reaction was joy, joy to be free of him, and to have my chance to be with you.’ She turned her head away, staring into the room’s shadowed corner. ‘Nobody with a calling to healing should be able to take even the slightest pleasure in death, and he was still my husband. I felt so … ashamed of myself.’

  Marcus put a finger to her chin and turned her face back to his own. ‘He spoke to me on that bloody hill, when the Second Cohort pulled our chestnuts out of the fire at the last moment, before the barbarian charge, and I swear he knew what had happened between us, or at least guessed. He made it very clear that he was going to call me out after the battle, but I couldn’t have fought him. I would have been forced to kill him, and that would have brought disaster on both of us. Whoever put that spear in his back saved me from taking my own life to avoid implicating us both, me for treason and you for adultery.’ He paused for a moment to stare into her eyes. ‘Anyway, he’s gone. We can either decide to make the most of where we find ourselves, or just waste our lives worrying about our mutual guilt. I know which I prefer.’