The Leopard sword e-4

by Anthony Riches

  ‘A legion tribune? I’ve stood in your boots as a legion tribune, but that was years ago, in the wars against the Quadi. I know how much power a broad-stripe tribune has, Domitius Belletor, hemmed in between the legion’s legatus and the more experienced narrow-stripe tribunes and their senior centurions, all of whom expect the right to tell you what to do. I’ve been fighting for the empire for the last ten years in one province or another, and I’ve earned my second tribunate the hard way, with this.’ He tapped the hilt of his sword. ‘So, far from being your subordinate, Tribune, I consider myself at worst your equal, and, in terms of my command’s strength and abilities, my own training, and my combat experience, clearly your superior. You’re free to play the big man with the local officials to your heart’s content, and you’re probably wise to keep your men behind these nice thick walls and out of harm’s way, but if you lift one finger to impede me as I go about ridding this province of the men preying upon it you will find me a very dangerous enemy indeed. You choose.’

  Sergius nodded to Julius’s request, and before resuming the conversation he sent one of his colleagues to deal with the matter of getting the Tungrian cohorts inside the city’s walls. The two civilians were keeping themselves to themselves in one corner of the entrance hall. The taller of the two, well built and with a haughty look about him, was talking intently with his colleague, a leaner man with a look of sharp intelligence.

  ‘Our boy’s got a bit of a temper, I’m afraid.’

  Sergius’s knowing smile betrayed his feelings on the subject, and Julius found himself warming to the legion officer.

  ‘Ours too, but we hardly ever see it.’

  Sergius chuckled quietly, his voice low to avoid it being carried in the lobby’s quiet to the men at the door.

  ‘Which makes you pay attention when he displays it, eh? Whereas we’re all worn down by Tribune Belletor’s incessant rages, to the point where he’s become something of an amusement to the cohort.’

  Julius frowned.

  ‘So what’s he doing here?’

  ‘Can’t you guess? Tribune Belletor’s daddy is very well connected, and very rich. That’s how his lad got a legion tribunate, and that’s why our legatus has to tolerate him, if he knows what’s good for him. The orders to send a cohort down here provided the big man with the perfect excuse to get a bit of peace and quiet.’

  Julius’s face took on a pained expression.

  ‘But the Seventh Cohort? Surely this isn’t a job for raw troops?’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more, but you wouldn’t find the legatus signing up to that point of view. First Minervia’s still under strength, what with all the men that died of the plague and the lack of young lads to replace them, given the number of civilians that died at the same time. We’ve already had to send three cohorts off to reinforce the army in Britannia after some idiot managed to lose the best part of a legion…’ The look on Julius’s face stopped him in mid-flow. ‘What?’

  ‘We were there, First Spear. And it wasn’t pretty.’

  Sergius shrugged.

  ‘It never is. I was a green centurion when the last war with the Chauci started, and it took a lot less than a year for me to go from being desperate to get into the fight to being happy if I never saw another dead barbarian, as long as I didn’t have to watch any more of my men die. Anyway, three cohorts to Britannia, another two sent to the coast to help the “scribblers” keep our boot on the Chauci’s throat…’

  ‘Scribblers?’

  ‘The Thirtieth Legion, Ulpia Victorious. Our sister legion in this province. When the call goes out for men to help with manual work it usually gets directed our way, whereas they seem to get all the reading and writing work. If the governor’s office needs twenty clerks to sit around scratching their arses they get the job, and if there’s a forest that needs cutting down they call for us. They call us “grunts”, and we call them “scribblers”, and it’s been that way for as long as I’ve served. So, we’re five cohorts down before we consider upkeep on the fortress, men on leave and the usual long list of malingerers, which means that a cohort was all our legatus could spare. Even with that small a loss of manpower the legion will be deep in the shit if the hairy boys that live on the other side of the Rhenus decide to come across in any numbers. So he sent us, as fine a collection of half-trained soldiery as ever hid behind a shield, and he was probably happy to see the back of us. And Tribune Belletor.’

  Julius conceded the point.

  ‘Understandable. But surely five hundred of you ought to be able to scare the bandits back into their holes?’

  Sergius glanced at his brother officers, a wry smile lighting up his face.

  ‘And that’s exactly what we thought when we got here six weeks ago. Send a couple of centuries out to garrison the roads and they’ll soon enough wind their necks in, but…’

  The doors to the chamber opened and Scaurus pushed his way through the curtain.

  ‘Right, gentlemen, let’s go and get our soldiers bedded down for the night.’ Pausing to fasten his cloak about him before stepping back into the cold air, he spoke to the civilians in passing. ‘My apologies, gentlemen, for rushing off so quickly, but it seems the available barracks are all full of the legion’s men, and so I must find a spot inside your walls to pitch my cohorts’ tents. I’ll be back here early tomorrow morning though, and then we can discuss how to start dealing with the thieves that have made life so awkward for you these past few months. That and what I’ll need from you to feed and shelter fourteen hundred fighting men.’

  ‘How long can we keep the men in these conditions? In this weather?’ First Spear Frontinius pulled a thoughtful face. ‘Days. A week at best. The tents have taken a bit of a beating already, and with this much moisture in the air they’ll start falling to pieces sooner rather than later. We need to get the men into proper barracks, stone built for preference, but wood will do if there’s nothing better. Perhaps the legion will help us? After all, aren’t First Minervia supposed to be good at that sort of thing? Their tribune may not be cut from the finest cloth, but the officers sound experienced enough, from what Julius told me earlier.’

  Scaurus took a sip of his wine before answering his first spear’s musing. He made a point of consulting the older man most nights, having found him a source of sound advice in the months since taking command of the Tungrians. His thin face was set in contemplative lines.

  ‘Perhaps they will help us, but I won’t be pinning my hopes on it. As for the officers, this Tribune Belletor is an idiot, pure and simple, the sort of man that gives the aristocracy a bad name. His centurions seem a decent enough lot, but I don’t see much fire in their guts. They’ve seen battle, but not any time recently. I don’t know about you, but I’ve found that combat experience has a tendency to make or break the man. It can make him stronger, and bring his best points to the fore, or it can just as easily blunt his edge. The First Minervia hasn’t seen a decent fight in ten years now, and that’s a long time for a man to brood on the things he’s seen and done. I think I’d be a bit happier if Tribune Belletor was commanding a few centurions with less friendliness but more recent scars, if you know what I mean. Anyway, it is what it is, so we’d better make the best of it. At least the governor managed to send us to a place where the name Aquila isn’t on every man’s lips. With a little luck it’ll have thrown any more imperial agents off the scent for the time being, and we can forget about that particular risk.’

  The first spear raised his cup.

  ‘I’ll drink to that. As, I’d imagine, would Centurion Corvus.’

  Scaurus drank, and then sat back in his chair, stretching wearily in the light of a pair of oil lamps.

  ‘Speaking of Corvus, did the doctor manage to keep alive those bandits we captured?’

  ‘She managed to keep some of them breathing, four at the last count. Another two died from their wounds on the way here.’

  The tribune’s gloomy expression lightened a little.

&n
bsp; ‘Good. That’ll give me something to lighten the mood when I upset the municipal authorities in the morning.’

  ‘This is simply outrageous, Tribune Scaurus! You have absolutely no right to commandeer private property in this way! I shall be writing to the governor about this, and when I’ve finished he won’t be in any doubt as to the sort of officer with which the authorities in Britannia have saddled Tungrorum. You are rapacious, unprincipled, and no better than the bandits who are bleeding us dry from outside our walls. At least we can keep them out! This city is only just getting off its knees after the plague killed a third of its inhabitants, we’re still not taking enough in tax to satisfy the empire’s requirements of my office, and now you march up demanding that a civilian population of seven thousand people should feed nearly two thousand soldiers. All of whom seem to eat like gladiators, if I’m to judge from this supply requirement of yours! No! I simply cannot agree to these demands!’

  Procurator Albanus scowled across the wide table at Scaurus, his bearded face contorted with righteous anger, and he slapped his hand down on the table with a loud crack before turning away in apparent fury. Scaurus glanced across the table at his colleague Belletor, noting that the other man was unsuccessfully attempting to suppress a smirk. Belletor’s senior centurion, Sergius, was stone-faced alongside his tribune, while the procurator’s clerk was avoiding Scaurus’s eye, his head bent over his tablet as he sat in his place at the procurator’s left hand. On Albanus’s right sat his colleague of the previous evening, a wiry man with a thick mane of dark brown hair, who was wearing a long-sleeved tunic, his face shaved smooth in defiance of the prevailing fashion and his eyes hard stones in a face which seemed to be blessed with a talent for complete immobility of expression. Introduced by Albanus in a perfunctory manner as Petrus, he appeared to be the procurator’s deputy, although he had made no contribution to the discussion, apparently happy to sit and watch as the meeting played out.

  The last man at the table had slipped into the room and taken a seat between the two sides of the debate just after Albanus had started his tirade of complaint at Scaurus’s requirements five minutes earlier, and was yet to be introduced. His cloak, discarded over the back of the chair next to him, was flecked with mud, and his damp and muddied leggings bore further witness to his having recently arrived from elsewhere. As he glanced around the table with a questioning look Scaurus noted that one of his green eyes had a slight squint, an effect he found vaguely disconcerting. Shaking his head slightly the tribune got to his feet, the sound of his hobnailed boots muffled by straw matting laid out over the complex mosaic. He reached out a hand to the newcomer.

  ‘Before I reply to Procurator Albanus I ought to introduce myself. Rutilius Scaurus, Tribune commanding the First and Second Tungrian Cohorts.’

  The other man smiled, taking the offered clasp.

  ‘With passions running so high I doubt anyone will think to introduce me, so I’ll return the favour myself. I’m the governor’s prefect with responsibility for ridding the province of bandits, on detachment from Fortress Bonna. Quintus Caninus.’ He shot a meaningful glance at Albanus, who was looking at him disdainfully. ‘Procurator Albanus has a low enough opinion of me, and I’ve only got thirty men to feed and house, so it’s no wonder he’s got excited at the sight of two more full cohorts inside his walls.’

  Albanus snorted his derision.

  ‘Thirty men I can live with, and even the horses we have to feed and stable. A cohort of legionaries at least provides us with security against the thieves that the army seems unable to control. But two more whole cohorts to feed? And now this… gentleman… is demanding that we also build barracks for fourteen hundred men! I find myself-’

  Scaurus, having picked up his first spear’s vine stick from the table where it rested in front of him, and with a look of apology to Sextus Frontinius, smashed it down onto the flat surface with a terrific bang. He stared hard at the shocked procurator for a long moment of complete silence, ignoring the incensed glances that Belletor was shooting at him.

  ‘Is that it?’ The procurator goggled at him in silent amazement, while his colleague Petrus stared up at the angry tribune with a look of interest. ‘Good! Thank you, Procurator Albanus, for making your views on the subject so clear. You’ve made a most lyrical defence of your desire not to provide my men with either shelter from the elements or food in their bellies, despite the fact that they’ve been sent to protect you and your people from the bandits who have been preying upon them for months. And now I think it’s time we heard from someone other than a coin counter! Prefect Caninus, I’d be grateful to hear your views on the subject of exactly what it is that we’re facing.’

  Caninus got up from his place at the table, pulling a hanging curtain aside to reveal a detailed map of the area around the city painted onto the wall behind it.

  ‘Very well, Tribune, this is my assessment of the current position with regard to the bandit threat to this part of the province. First, consider the geography of the area. Tungrorum is here, right in the middle of everything that matters for the province.’ Frontinius frowned, and Caninus raised an eyebrow. ‘You have a question, First Spear?’

  Frontinius nodded, pointing at the map with his vine stick.

  ‘Where I come from, ground is only important if it allows the man that holds it to control something. What makes this place so important?’

  Albanus raised his eyes to the ceiling, but Caninus continued, warming to his subject.

  ‘A good question. What makes this city in the middle of nowhere of any interest to anyone? There’s a simple answer, First Spear. Roads. Look, I’ll show you.’ He pointed to the map. ‘To the west, the road runs across easy ground to Beech Forest, the Nervian capital, and from there down into Gaul. And it runs through miles and miles of fertile soil, fields of grain for as far as the eye can see.’ He indicated a spot on the map to the east of the city. ‘From Tungrorum that same road runs east for a half-day’s march to cross the river at Mosa Ford, and then continues all the way to Claudius Colony on the River Rhenus. From there the road runs along the river’s western bank to all of the major towns and fortresses on the river.’

  He stopped speaking and looked at Frontinius, who was studying the map with fresh understanding.

  ‘So the grain from Gaul is shipped up the road to Tungrorum, then on to the fortresses on the Rhenus?’

  ‘Exactly, First Spear. The journey’s too long for carters in Gaul to go all the way to the Rhenus, so they bring the grain here to the grain store — ’ Albanus snorted again, but the prefect continued speaking without any sign of having heard him — ‘where it can be collected and shipped to the east. Without grain from Gaul the fortresses on the Rhenus would be unsustainable, and without the legions camped on the river the Germans would be across the border and raiding deep into our land in no time.’

  ‘And without Germania Inferior the whole of Gaul would be wide open. Not to mention the road to Rome.’

  Caninus smiled broadly.

  ‘You’ve a sharp mind, First Spear. As you say, without the supply of grain to the fortresses on the Rhenus, the empire’s entire north-western flank would be wide open to barbarian attack. Within fifty years they’d have settled Germania Inferior and be knocking on the door of Gaul. Not to mention the fact that not defending the lower stretches of the Rhenus would put the defences along the upper reaches of the river under threat of attack. Tungrorum is absolutely critical to the maintenance of control over the German tribes. And Tungrorum is under a threat whose severity Procurator Albanus seems determined to underestimate in favour of commercial concerns.’

  He looked directly at the procurator, waiting for him to deny the accusation, but the administrator stared intently at the table, clearly determined to ignore the provocation. Scaurus waved a hand at the wall.

  ‘Tell us about the bandit threat, Prefect. I’m curious to know why it hasn’t already been stamped out, if the supply route to the frontier is of such crit
ical importance.’

  Caninus pointed to the map again, indicating an area to the south and east of the city.

  ‘March to the east for ten miles and cross the River Mosa, and you’ll find yourself confronted with a vast forest that rises from the river’s edge to form a range of hills. It’s impossible ground to police, riven by deep river valleys and covered with dense woodland where the light of day barely reaches the ground. When it’s not raining the hills are wreathed in mist, and it’s as cold as the grave at this time of the year. And that is the root of our problem, Tribune. The locals call it the Forest of Arduenna, after their goddess of the high woods. She rides a boar to hunt, they say.’

  ‘A German Diana, then?’

  ‘Yes, Tribune, apart from her association with high ground. The forest is littered with shrines to her name, hunters invoking her good favour in the main, although there are rumours of a darker side to her worship. Human sacrifices…’ He paused, touching an amulet that hung from his right wrist. ‘Not that we’ve found any sign of the kind of sacrificial altars you’d expect if the rumours are based in fact, but…’

  Scaurus nodded, his face set hard.

  ‘When we had men captured in the war with the Quadi it wasn’t unusual for the tribesmen to sacrifice them to their gods, usually slowly, and often within screaming distance of our camps. Let’s hope your amulet brings you protection. So, tell me, what have you achieved against these bandits?’

  Albanus jumped to his feet, suddenly livid at the question.

  ‘Nothing! Exactly nothing at all! We house these men at the governor’s request, we provide them with stabling, and yet-’

  ‘ Procurator! ’ Scaurus’s voice was cold, and his tone not that of a man likely to brook any argument. The civilian looked at him, his mouth open. ‘I promise you, in fact I swear to Mithras Unconquered, that if you interject your nonsensical gabbling into this conference one more time I will have you ejected from the room. Keep your mouth shut, so that those of us who have to go outside these walls and hunt down the men putting the empire’s entire northern frontier at risk can work out what is to be done!’ He held the administrator’s gaze until the other man looked away, while his clerk stared with even greater intensity at his notes. Petrus, the first spear noted, didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid; he simply watched Scaurus with the same closed expression. The tribune waited another moment to make sure his point had been made, then gestured to the waiting Caninus. ‘Prefect? Do please continue.’