‘That one, training with the one-eyed soldier. Front rank.’
The imperturbable chosen man made a mark on his writing tablet and followed Marcus down the line. When they compared notes with Julius, Dubnus and Rufius, their combined findings made uncomfortable material for discussion with First Spear Frontinius when Marcus met up with him to discuss the morning session’s results.
‘I’ve got about a dozen men that I can put in the front rank with a clear conscience, and another thirty or so with a fighting chance of surviving their first fight. After that it’s a lottery, the rest of them are just so much padding ….’
Frontinius nodded gravely.
‘Work them harder. You’ve got a day, perhaps two.’
Soon after midday another cohort arrived at the fort, and was directed to establish their camp alongside the Tungrians. Once the soldiers realised the identity of the newcomers they quickly entered into the usual spirit of the two cohorts’ encounters, exchanges of abuse quickly giving way to exchanges of news and gossip. Scaurus and Frontinius waited for the appropriate period of time, then made their way into the 2nd Tungrian cohort’s camp and presented themselves at the command tent. Escorted inside, they found First Spear Neuto and Prefect Furius bent over an equipment list, working out what to raid the fort’s stores for. Furius turned, and, recognising Scaurus with a heartbeat’s pause that was imperceptible unless the watcher was looking for it, he took the offered hand and shook it vigorously.
‘Rutilius Scaurus! I hear you’ve got the First Tungrians, and here I am with the Second Cohort! Just like old times with the good old Twelfth, eh? Here, meet my first spear, Neuto. Neuto, this is my old comrade Rutilius Scaurus, from my days in Germania with the Twelfth Legion. Scaurus and I were both thin-stripe tribunes with the legion when we were sent to root out the German tribes, both of us not much better than callow youths with no real idea of soldiering, and yet here we both are with independent commands to play with.’
The first spear gave Scaurus and Frontinius a look that spoke volumes for his relationship with his prefect, offering his hand to Scaurus before clasping Frontinius’s and slapping him on the shoulder with his other hand. The two men were clearly glad to see each other, and at Neuto’s suggestion they headed off to the fort’s officers’ mess to share information, and work out whether either could help the other with supplies or equipment. Outside the tent Neuto gave Frontinius a look that told him even more about Prefect Furius, his voice kept low but with a distinct edge of anger.
‘I’m glad to see you, old comrade, although I wish it were under happier circumstances. Let’s get a beaker of something warm inside us and I’ll share my news with you … not all of it good.’
With the first spears’ departure the two prefects stared at each other in a long moment of silence. Furius spoke first, his eyes suddenly hard as he faced his former comrade.
‘Well, Gaius Rutilius Scaurus, it’s been a long time since Moesia. What have you been up to for the last ten years?’
Scaurus shrugged.
‘I stayed with the Twelfth for three years after you left to return to Rome, until we’d finished off the Quadi in fact. A year after that I was back to Moesia for the war with their neighbours the Marcomani, this time with the Fifth Macedonica, and now I’ve been sent here to help put down another barbarian uprising. I’ve spent the occasional few months in Rome to remind me why we fight, but mostly I’ve been in the field.’
‘A warrior’s life, then. Still dedicated to Mithras, eh? And yet here we both are, both of us with an equal status after all those years, despite my little slip at Thunderbolt Gorge. Don’t you find that galling, eh, Scaurus? You toil away on the borders of the empire for a decade while I enjoy the comforts of home, then in six months I go from enforced retirement to command of a thousand-strong infantry cohort. Doesn’t that rankle just a little?’
Scaurus shrugged, without any visible sign of concern.
‘Not really. We come from different worlds, you and I, our families couldn’t be much more different if we’d tried. I do what I do, and you … well, you do whatever it is that you do. Still fond of the odd crucifixion, are you?’
Furius nodded slowly.
‘I’m still a firm believer in keeping discipline nice and taut, if that’s what you’re asking. While we were out over the wall I managed to find and punish the man that killed this cohort’s previous prefect. I had him …’
‘Whipped to death, from the rumours flying round the camp.’
Furius’s voice took on a note of self-justification.
‘He went on the cross as well.’
Scaurus shook his head gently.
‘You crucified a dead man?’
Furius bristled, his temperature clearly rising.
‘It served as an example.’
Scaurus kept a straight face, seeing the signs he had long ago learned to recognise in the other man’s reddening features.
‘I’m sure it did.’
Frontinius took a cautious sip at his broth, pursing his lips at the taste and putting the steaming beaker down as he passed judgement on his new prefect for Neuto’s benefit.
‘So at first I thought he was just another weak-chinned amateur like most of the idiots we get as prefects, but all in all I’d say he’s probably going to be good enough, given his experience. Not that he’s been very forthcoming about exactly what he’s done in the last ten years, but he seems to have seen enough action to have knocked the corners off him, even if he won’t talk about it. What about yours?’
The two first spears had found a quiet corner in the officers’ mess and were sitting over their broth, waiting for it to cool slightly. The hot soup’s steam rose into the room’s chilly air as the steward laboured to get the fire properly lit. Frontinius had quickly recognised that his old friend needed to share his recent experiences with someone that he could trust. Having asked the question, he kept his mouth firmly shut in the hope of encouraging the 2nd Cohort’s senior centurion to tell his story. Neuto grimaced, shaking his head as he spoke.
‘At first I thought Furius might be a decent replacement for Prefect Bassus. He’s not short of money, that’s clear. He’s got a jar full of naphtha that he uses to light his brazier, just a small splash and the wood goes up like a grain store with the first spark from the flint, and that must have cost him a small fortune. He seemed to know what he was talking about too, he told a good story about his time in Moesia fighting some tribe or other, and he was brisk and businesslike in just about everything he did. “Here,” I thought, “is a man that I might be able to do business with. Perhaps not quite such a find as your last prefect – now there was an officer – but decent enough, nevertheless.”’ He sipped at his broth. ‘It took me about three days to get over that sadly mistaken first impression. First of all, he paraded the cohort at Red River and told them what a shower of bastards they were for killing Bassus, and how he was going to make them pay for it. Three months’ pay forfeit for the entire cohort, reduced to one month if he got his man before dark the same day.’
Frontinius grimaced in turn.
‘But he got his man, right? There’s simply no way a full cohort is going to stand for losing that much money to protect one man. I’d say his tactics were spot on.’
Neuto shrugged, unwilling to cede the point his friend was making.
‘Yes, he got his man, but …’
‘Then you can’t really argue too hard against his methods, can you? After all, whoever it was did kill a prefect, let’s not forget that. Anybody I know?’
Neuto shook his head dismissively.
‘No. Just some idiot soldier, a typical wooden-skulled headcase who acted on impulse and stuck his iron through Prefect Bassus’s back simply because he didn’t like the man. To make it worse, he was the older brother of one of my centurions. Something I was supposed not to know, and of course something I actually knew from about an hour after the younger brother joined up. Our new prefect had him crucified …
’
Frontinius blew on his broth and took a mouthful.
‘We heard. The cavalry lads were full of it when they pulled in last night. A little severe, for all that he killed an officer. I hear the man died on the whipping post?’
Neuto nodded, a small smile touching his lips.
‘Yes. Prefect Furius made the mistake of ordering him to receive fifty lashes.’
‘Fifty?’
‘Exactly. He’d probably have died even if my officers hadn’t contrived to open the poor bastard’s throat with the scourge, after I’d had a few quiet words in the right ears, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Then the idiot had him nailed up anyway.’
Frontinius grimaced again.
‘I still couldn’t argue that he’s unfit for command. So what if he’s a little free with the hammer and nails, the man had it coming to him, right?’
Neuto sat back, looking at his friend.
‘I can live with the carpentry fixation, just about, but he’s just not very good. We were sent out to look for the blue-noses, a roving commission for a new prefect and the perfect chance for him to get used to his new command, right? I advised him to use the cavalry to screen our movements and seek out any signs of the warband …’
‘And?’
Neuto’s face wrinkled with disgust.
‘He didn’t allow them out of sight for the entire time we were out there. The man was in perpetual fear of bumping into a fight, and he said he wanted all his spears close to hand in case of a pitched battle. I tried to get across to him that four hundred horsemen weren’t going to put any sizeable hole in a decent warband, and we’d be better finding them without being found ourselves, and then steering well clear, but he wasn’t having any of it. No, we just blundered round the hills without a bloody clue, and for all I know the only thing that stopped the blue-nosed bastards from hacking us to bits was either simple dumb luck in that we missed them or else they were too busy laughing at us. And he’s hardly walked a mile since he arrived, rides a horse alongside the cohort on the march like he’s a legion tribune!’
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 answe
r 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.
Arrows of Fury: Empire Volume Two Page 16