Fortress of Spears
Page 38
‘Come on, Clodia, you know he’s dead and gone. Give us a kiss and I’ll show you what you’ve been missing all these months. And I’ve got a bigger …’
Without warning, an big bearded infantry centurion loomed out of the vicus shadows and stepped in front of her, putting one massive hand on the cavalryman’s chest with the other clenched behind his back, visible to the harassed woman but not to her assailant.
‘The lady doesn’t want your pissed-up attentions, soldier. Take it away to your bed and come back for another try when you’re sober.’
The drunk staggered backwards, then bridled and went on the offensive, jabbing a finger at the newcomer.
‘Fuck you, you mule bastard! You and your mates … I’ll do the lot of you …’ Clodia looked around, and found that half a dozen hard-faced infantrymen were backing up their centurion. The senior man nodded respectfully to her, speaking quietly in a moment of silence while the drunken cavalryman swayed and smiled to himself with pride at his defiance.
‘Don’t mind us, ma’am, the centurion will put this idiot to sleep soon enough and then we can all go back to what we were doing.’
Another pair of Petriana men exited the beer shop to find out what the shouting was all about, stopping in the doorway when they saw the auxiliary soldiers waiting for them.
‘I’ll fucking do the lot of you, you sheep-shagging bastards …’
The drunkard swung a fist at the officer, who leaned back far enough to allow it clear passage, then stepped forward and pushed at the other man’s chest, sending him back half a dozen steps.
‘If you try that again I’ll be forced to put you on your back …’
The cavalryman charged forward, spreading both arms in a clear attempt to grapple with his assailant, but the centurion, rather than stepping back to avoid the attack, took a pace forward. His first punch was a jab, stopping the drunk in his tracks with a sickening pop of broken cartilage, his second and last blow a leisurely right hook that dropped his assailant senseless to the street’s mud. He looked around at the meagre audience, spreading his hands in question, while the unconscious cavalryman’s drinking partner goggled at him in drunken bemusement, and the other two men scowled their anger from a safe distance.
‘And that’s why you’re on your back. Now, does anybody else think they want a go? I’ve not had a proper fight in months, so I could do with the practice. Nobody? You two, you look like you fancy trying your luck …’ The men watching from the beer shop’s entrance blanched and walked quickly away, drawing amused looks from the soldiers behind their officer, who shook his head with something approaching genuine regret as he called after them. ‘Good choice. Now bugger off and mind your own business.’ He turned back to the woman, bowed and offered him her hand. ‘Madam, my apologies for that unfortunate scene.’ He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the task at hand, and the woman stared up at him with mute distress. ‘I cannot pretend that I’m here with good news, but I do bring something that will soften the blow I’m sure you’re expecting. My name is Dubnus, and I was the last person to speak with your man before he departed this life. Perhaps you could take us to somewhere we can speak privately.’
In the privacy of her tiny room, with the other men of his century waiting outside, he told her how she had been at the heart of the dying man’s last thoughts.
‘He died in battle, fighting to the last, but we were the only men to see it happen. He was carrying a message for the Petriana’s tribune, and he fought to the death to defend it. Your man was twice the soldier those drunken fools will ever be, and his last wish was that we should bring this to you.’
Nodding her tearful thanks, the woman looked wanly at the purse. It was somewhat heavier than had originally been the case, the product of the 3rd Century’s vigorous fund-raising throughout their cohort upon their return to Noisy Valley. Their new-found reputation, built on the back of a wild charge north to rescue the fortress’s doctor with an apparently insane auxiliary centurion at their head, had paid dividends, and reduced the number of their fellows willing to accuse them of cowardice to a foolhardy few who had swiftly found the 3rd Century in their faces and ready to fight for their reputation. Clodia opened the purse and peeked inside, her face brightening slightly at the amount of gold it contained.
‘It can’t replace your man, but it can make life easier for you for a while. It can give you time … to … well …’
Sensing the centurion’s embarrassment, she took his hands in hers, silencing his stuttering flow of words.
‘Thank you, Centurion. You’re all very kind. I’ve known he’s dead for weeks now, when the wing came home without him, but it helps to know the truth. Will you be here for very long, you and your men? I’d like to show my gratitude in some way, if only with enough money to buy you all a drink?’
Dubnus stood, looking down at the woman with a gentle shake of his head.
‘Thank you, ma’am, but we must march east in the morning. These men will have a new centurion waiting for them, and my own cohort is ordered to cross the sea before the winter comes. We’re to strengthen the defences in Germania, or so it seems, and I daren’t risk my friends taking ship without me.’
He bowed and withdrew from the tiny room, gathering his men by eye and leading them back to the transit barracks. He’d been in his centurion’s quarters for no more time than was required to light the room’s single lamp and shed his armour when his watch officer stepped through the door, a leather flask in one hand and another lamp in the other.
‘If you’ll forgive me, Centurion, I thought a drink might be appropriate …’
Dubnus waved a hand at the room’s only chair, lowering his massive body carefully on to the bed and accepting a cup of wine with a nod of gratitude. The two men drank, then shared a moment of silence before Titus raised his cup in salute.
‘To you, Centurion, pig-headed, single-minded, and the making of the Third Century. You may have been a bastard, but you were just what we needed.’
Dubnus raised his cup, drinking again before he spoke.
‘Cocidius knows I hate to admit it, but I’ll miss your miserable shower of fight-shy soap-dodgers too.’ He leaned back on the bed with a broad smile, waiting for the watch officer to reply. Titus nodded wryly, offering his own cup up.
‘And we’ll miss you. Being part of a legion cohort is going to be dull as ditchwater without your inventive turn of phrase and compulsive need to fight anything and everything that moves.’
Dubnus snorted derisively.
‘You poor fools must have led quiet and boring lives. I’ve a colleague by the name of Otho who’ll put a soldier to sleep the hard way if the man as much as looks at him sideways. It was one of his boys that carried good old King Drust’s torc all the way to the fortress of the spears, and when dear old Knuckles found out, he beat the poor bastard half to death in less time than it takes to tell the story.’
A long silence fell, both men looking into their cups at their remaining wine.
‘Take us with you.’
Dubnus started from his reverie, his eyebrows shooting up at Titus’s sudden plea and his voice acerbic with barely restrained humour.
‘Oh yes, I’ll just have it away with forty-three legionaries to Germania, nobody will miss you for a few weeks …’ He met the watch officer’s eyes and saw the certainty in them, his voice softening with something between surprise and respect. ‘Bugger me, Titus, you’re serious, aren’t you?’ The other man said nothing, his face hot with embarrassment. ‘You’re actually serious. You want to walk away from a place with your legion, seventy denarii more per man a year than our lads earn, an extra five years to serve, and getting the shitty end of the stick every bloody time there’s a choice between getting the legion’s hands dirty or sending in the second-class soldiers. Are you fucking mad?’
The watch officer shifted uncomfortably.
‘We understand all that … but the last few weeks have made us feel part of something diff
erent. We all feel like real soldiers for the first time in a long while.’
He stopped talking, aware that the centurion was staring at him with something close to amazement. Dubnus shook his head slowly, staring hard at the other man in astonishment.
‘I’ve genuinely seen it all now. You want to turn your nose up at the best job a man can have in the army and pitch your luck in with a bunch of rough-arsed country boys? And it’s not as if your officers are just going to say “Very well, Tribune Scaurus, off you go with half a century of our men”. Even your legatus, decent bloke though he is, will be hard pushed to justify that to your new first spear, not to mention that complete prick of a camp prefect. No, you’ll just have to …’ He stopped speaking, tipping his head to one side. ‘Did you hear that?’
The sounds of raised voices reached them, and Dubnus grinned happily, draining his cup and heaving his body off the bed, making for the door with Titus just behind him. In the gap between the two transit barracks a dozen or more angry men were gathered, some of them armed with staves and practice swords, and their leader stepped forward when he saw Dubnus in the barrack’s doorway, raising a wooden sword to point at the Tungrian.
‘You! You broke one of my men’s jaw, and you’re going to fucking pay double for that!’
Dubnus stretched his massive frame, rolling his head and flexing both arms’ biceps to their full girth before stepping out into the confined space.
‘And you might well make me pay for teaching your idiot some manners, but if you’re stupid enough to come at me with weapons I’ll have half of you in the hospital for a month or more before you put me down. If you’re ready to pay that price, let’s get on with it.’
Titus stepped out beside him, muttering out of the side of his mouth.
‘If we fight these bastards off, you, me and the boys, you’ll take us with you?’
Dubnus held up a hand to the cavalrymen, his voice harsh with authority.
‘One moment, gentlemen, my watch officer wants to ask me a question.’
The infuriated cavalrymen seethed, but none of them was yet brave enough to be the first man to rush the intimidating centurion, and so they contented themselves with indignant looks while he turned to the watch officer with a raised eyebrow, his voice softened so as not to cross the gap to them.
‘You’re telling me that you want to fight for your place with the cohort?’
Titus nodded slowly.
‘There’s fifteen of them, and seven of us. If we send them away with a spanking, and the cohort’s honour intact, you agree to get us on to your boat for Germania?’
Dubnus nodded slowly.
‘Very well, you cheeky bastard, you’re on. I have no idea how, but if we send these donkey wallopers home to Mummy with their arses kicked, I’ll find a way for you to be Tungrians. And may Cocidius forgive me.’
Titus smiled happily back at him, putting two fingers to his mouth and blowing a piercing note. After a moment’s pause the barrack door behind them burst open, and the five other men who had accompanied Dubnus to Waterside Fort crowded through it, led by the grizzled soldier who had made the impassioned plea on their behalf at Fort Habitus. Their watch officer flicked his wrist, allowing a heavy leather-lined cosh to fall from his sleeve, pointed at the cavalrymen and bellowed a single word, lifting the weapon and stepping forward to find his first victim.
‘Habitus!’
By the same author in the Empire series
Wounds of Honour
Arrows of Fury
About the Author
Anthony Riches holds a degree in Military Studies at Manchester University. He began writing the story that would become the first novel in the Empire series, Wounds of Honour, after a visit to Housesteads Roman fort in 1996. He lives in Hertfordshire with his wife and three children. This is his third novel.
Table of Contents
Fortress of Spears
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Map
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12