‘The execution today?’
‘That’s perceptive of you. Yes. The man that started shouting.’
Frontinius shrugged.
‘There’s often one man who can’t meet his end without letting everyone within earshot know how he’s feeling about it, you know that. Not everyone’s a stoic.’
He regarded Scaurus over the rim of his cup, and to his relief saw that the other man was shaking his head in bemusement at the comment.
‘It wasn’t the fact that he was shouting that bothered me, Sextus Frontinius. They could all have begged for mercy at the top of their voices and I wouldn’t have turned a hair. What was of concern to me was what he was shouting.’
Frontinius raised his eyebrows in question, sipping at his wine again.
‘I wasn’t really listening, if I’m being totally honest, Tribune. I recall he was trying to tell us all about his innocence though.’
‘In point of fact, he was apparently trying to tell us that we had by far the greater perpetrator in our midst. First of all he shouted, “There are men here with more blood on their hands than me!” and he followed that up with, “He’s the one they’re all terrified of! I know! I heard his . . .” But we’ll never know what it was he heard, since Caninus’s overzealous deputy promptly silenced him. I heard our colleague ripping into him afterwards for silencing the man in mid-revelation, but done is done. The fact remains, however, that in that moment of utter clarity some men get just before their death, that condemned robber was trying to tell us that we have an enemy within. He couldn’t point out the man he was accusing, but he was looking squarely at the senior officers and the men around us while he was shouting the odds. Which leaves us with two questions.’
‘Who he was looking at?’
‘Yes. That, and exactly what he meant by “He’s the one they’re all terrified of”.’
4
‘Right, that’s one apiece for keeping your mouths shut about this.’ Morban handed every man in the new barracks’ cramped room a coin, staring into each pair of eyes as he did so. ‘If anyone asks you where I am, tell them I’ve gone to find some new boots.’
One of the soldiers crowded around him pulled a face at the single coin resting on his outstretched palm, making no effort to pull his hand away and claim the payment.
‘I’m not sure one sestertius is enough. What if the duty centurion comes looking for you? If we get caught lying to cover up for your whoring we’ll find ourselves on the business end of the scourge, with some big crested bastard striping us all up as the price of your fun.’
Morban glared at the speaker, shaking his head in disbelief.
‘You just stick to blowing your trumpet when you’re told to, sonny, and leave those of us with a head for business to enjoy the fruits of our hard work. After all, this is really just a scouting expedition I’m going on. I go out and spend my money working out where the best whores are to be found, and then when we have a pass into town I can take you straight to them. The way I see it, everyone’s a winner.’ He smoothed his tunic across his ample belly and then reached for his cloak, pinning the heavy woollen garment about him. ‘Be good now, lads, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t . . .’
As the standard bearer opened the barracks door to leave, he found his exit blocked by a shadowy figure that towered over him in the unlit street outside. He recoiled, one hand going to his purse and the other reaching under the cloak for a small blade hanging round his neck. The other man was faster, clenching a big fist around both hand and weapon.
‘It’s never wise to pull a knife on a man twice your size, little man, especially when he’s on your own side.’
Morban puffed out a quick breath, shaking his head in a mixture of irritation and relief.
‘What do you want, Arminius? I’ve no time to bandy words with you.’
The German grinned down at him, planting himself firmly in the standard bearer’s path and folding his arms.
‘I thought as much. A good friend told me that you were running a book on the results of today’s executions, and clearly I’ve arrived just in time to stop you wasting your winnings in your usual bull-in-a-field-of-cows fashion.’
Morban’s face screwed itself up into his customary expression of incredulity. With his eyes narrowed and upper lip raised in a disbelieving sneer, he opened his hands in front of him in a shrug of bemusement.
‘What? I made a modest profit by providing a service to my fellow soldiers; it isn’t as if I’ve been dipping my fingers in the burial fund.’
The men behind him nodded sagely. Morban was known to be scrupulous in his handling of their savings. Arminius snorted derisively.
‘I made no such accusation, so stop trying to change the subject. Even you’re not stupid enough to risk what these men would do to you if they discovered so much as a hint of embezzlement.’ The soldiers nodded again, exchanging knowing looks of agreement, but before Morban could respond Arminius leaned forward and whispered in his ear. ‘But then you’re more than sly enough to have fooled your comrades in other ways, aren’t you? As I recall it, you took a lot of bets as to where your cohort’s next posting would be before we were shipped over here, and almost none of that money was wagered on the cohort leaving Britannia, was it? A cynical man would wonder if you hadn’t managed to find out where we were being deployed next before you opened the book, and I seem to recall some hard words on the matter at the time, even if nobody could prove you had inside knowledge. How do you think your comrades would react to the news that you had actually overheard the first spear discussing the subject with your centurion, and in that way learned what you needed to know to make a swift and risk-free profit?’
Morban hissed his reply in a tone of disbelief, his eyes widening with fear.
‘There’s no way you can prove any such thing.’
Arminius smiled widely, delivering the killer blow to any resistance from the standard bearer.
‘Who said anything about me? I think you’ll find that the person who will be doing the telling will have a good deal more credibility than I do. He’s a good man, quite young and he wears a crested helmet.’
Morban’s eyes slitted in disbelief.
You’re bluffing! He wouldn’t . . .’
Arminius nodded his head.
‘Yes, he would. He and I knew that we’d need some leverage to persuade you to deliver your promise to equip young Lupus when the time came. And that time has most definitely come. If you don’t agree to honour our agreement then you may find your future sources of revenue somewhat more limited than you like. Nobody likes a crooked bookmaker, do they, Morban?’
The standard bearer stared up at him with an expression that combined disgust and resignation.
‘How much do you want?’
‘Not me, Morban. How much does your grandson want? There is an armourer in the city who has agreed to make the boy his own sword and mail. Good stuff, mind you, as good as ours if not better.’
‘And how much does this glorified blacksmith want in return for selling me a mail coat that will fit the boy for only a year?’
‘He’ll do the job for a mere one hundred . . .’ Morban’s face brightened slightly, and Arminius twisted the knife. ‘Denarii, that is.’
The standard bearer blanched.
‘A hundred in silver? Four hundred fucking sestertii! Are you mad? I can’t . . . I mean, I haven’t got that sort of money!’
Arminius grinned in the darkness, a swift dart of his hand plucking the purse from the other man’s belt. Effortlessly holding off the enraged standard bearer with one hand he hefted the purse with the other, squeezing the top open and turning it to the light of the lamps inside the barrack.
‘Really? This does seem to be quite a generous sum you’re carrying, and most of it in gold as well. Shall we tip it out for counting?’
Morban, recognising that his guile had met its forceful match, shook his head dejectedly.
‘No need. Here, I’ll count it out
for you.’
Arminius laughed at him, turning his back and tipping out the purse’s contents into his broad palm.
‘No, no, it’ll be my pleasure! Here we go! I’ll take it in gold to make things nice and simple. One, two, three . . .’ He shook the bag to dislodge the last coin. ‘Four gold aurei. There we are, all done. Now that didn’t hurt too badly, did it?’ He peered into the leather bag, pulling an impressed face. ‘My word, Morban, you have been busy! Here –’ he tossed the purse back to the anguished soldier – ‘here’s what’s left of your treasure. Off you go and enjoy yourself, with that nice warm feeling that comes from having done the right thing. Even if you had to be helped to do so.’
Morban shook his head bitterly, turning to face the men staring at him in the barrack and replying in an affronted tone.
‘I’ve lost all appetite for an evening with the city’s ladies. Robbery with the threat of violence will do that to a man.’
Arminius smirked at his back, pulling a small coin from his pocket.
‘More like robbery with the threat of blackmail, I’d say, but no matter. Hey, Morban!’
He flicked the coin at the standard bearer, who’d turned round in response to the call and caught the spinning coin in mid-air.
‘A sestertius? What’s this for?’
The German was already walking away, and called his answer over his shoulder.
‘That should be enough for a flask of some of that rough Iberian cat piss you like so much. Have it on me, as a consolation.’
‘Well, now, if it isn’t the soldier boy again . . .’ With a clatter of bolts the Blue Boar’s door unlocked, and Slap appeared in the opening to look at Julius with an expression that combined puzzlement and pity, of a sort. ‘You’re a glutton for punishment, mate, unless you’ve got a hard-on for humiliation and hand jobs. Haven’t you realised what sort of woman she is yet?’
The Tungrian shrugged helplessly.
‘She’s a bit hard-edged, but that’s understandable given what she’s been through.’
The disbelief in the bodyguard’s answering laughter was enough to put his teeth on edge, but Julius held on to his temper with an ease that he was starting to find more than a little depressing.
‘Hard-edged? She’s razor-edged, soldier boy, sharper than any iron you’ve ever carried. She’s too smart for this profession, see, and she knows it, but she was forced into it anyway, without the choice, and you were a big part of that. She’ll be polite enough to you, but the odds of you getting past that ain’t big from what I’ve seen. In you come.’
Julius spread his arms to be searched, but the doorman waved away the gesture.
‘You’ve got more sense than to bring a weapon here. I think you know the truth of it all right, that you may be the emperor’s hard man, but on our ground we’re the professionals, and you’re the amateur.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘In you go. I’ll send word up to her that you’re here. Let me know when you’ve had enough.’
Julius stepped into the brothel casting a wary eye around the main room’s softly lit expanse. An elderly man was sitting in one corner with a pair of girls in close attendance; one sat on his lap squealing with simulated enjoyment while he toyed with the other’s breasts in a half-hearted, vaguely embarrassed manner. Apart from that the place was empty. The barman held up an empty wine cup, remembering him from his previous visit, and Julius nodded gratefully, dropping a coin on the counter. He sat at the bar and sipped at the wine, watching as the two whores jollied their elderly customer along to keep his money flowing.
‘Have you come to drink, or was there something more you wanted?’
He turned to the staircase that led up to the rooms where the establishment’s entertainment was conducted, his heart jumping at the sight of Annia halfway down the wooden steps. She was dressed in a diaphanous gown that did little to conceal her body, and he shifted uncomfortably while she smiled down at him archly.
‘I came . . . for you. I mean . . .’
She shook her head in apparent despair, beckoning him up the stairs.
‘I told you this isn’t going to work, Julius, but for old time’s sake I’ll take your money just this once. You do have money?’ The look on her face was enough to have him on his feet without conscious thought, just the way it always had in days when they were little more than children discovering each other in the secret places where they’d taken refuge from the world around them. Draining his cup, he walked up the stairs to meet her, raising his eyebrows at her outstretched hand.
‘How much.’
Her face softened into something close to sadness.
‘I’m the most expensive woman you’ll ever enjoy, Centurion. A gold aureus for one hour, but it’ll be an hour to live in your memory for a long time. I’ve had a lot of practice since you took my virginity.’ He handed her the coin and she tossed it down to the waiting barman, who dropped it into the cash box beneath the bar. ‘Good, now that we’ve got that slightly sordid transaction out of the way, let’s see what we can manage by way of entertainment.’ Taking him by the hand she led him up the stairs and through one of the doors around the first-floor landing, closing it behind him and putting a finger to his lips, whispering in his ear almost inaudibly as she nuzzled at his neck. ‘Don’t say anything; these rooms are watched by my associate’s men. Touch my breasts like a man who wants to get his money’s worth . . . that’s it. Once you’re on top of me put your hand under the pillows and you’ll find a key for a secret door on the east side of the building. The lock’s hidden behind the shrine to Venus Erycina set into the wall. It leads to my private quarters, but you must only use it after dark. Come tomorrow night.’
She pulled away from him, opening her gown to reveal her naked body and running her hands over nipples that were already stiff from his attentions before dropping to her knees in front of him. Her voice was loud when she spoke, loud enough to be heard by any hidden watcher.
‘Now lift that tunic and let me give you pleasure. Let’s make sure you get your money’s worth.’
‘It’s nice stuff, all right, I’ll give you that.’
Arminius was holding a mail shirt up to the morning light that was falling through a thin window, examining its thick iron rings with a critical eye. The armourer came out from behind his counter and folded his meaty arms; they rippled with knots of muscle and were criss-crossed with the burns and scars of decades spent working with hot metal and sharp iron. He raised an eyebrow at the barbarian’s apparently lacklustre praise.
‘I told you when you came here yesterday that it’s better than nice; it’s the best you’ll find this side of the River Mosa. Even the legion smiths up on the Rhenus don’t make their gear to my standards. Look at that mail coat properly. The best leather backing, cut from top-quality hide and not split to make the leather go further, mind you. The rings are twice as thick as the ones in your standard-issue mail, thick enough to stop a thrown spear, and there isn’t a sword blade made that could cut them, with only two exceptions. You put the boy in my gear, you’re providing him with the best protection there is.’ Arminius raised an eyebrow at the man’s sales pitch, and the armourer spread his arms. ‘I’m just saying that you have to pay for quality. Look, here’s the deal we discussed: four hundred sestertii to arm and armour the boy here. Look at this.’ He fished under the shop’s counter, pulling out a bundle of equipment. ‘See, a mail shirt made for a lad not much bigger than the boy, made to my usual standard and with room for him to grow into it, and a helmet, and a two-thirds size sword. Look at the sword’s quality.’ He passed Arminius the weapon, and the German held it up to the light. ‘Don’t touch the blade, it—’
The German gave him an amused look.
‘I know. Sweat will make the blade rust. It’s nice work though. Look at this, Marcus.’
He passed the sword to the Roman, who looked up and down its length with an approving eye, testing its weight with an expression of surprise.
‘Very nice
, armourer. How did you make this?’
The smith smiled knowingly.
‘Ah now, you can’t be expecting me to reveal the secrets of my trade to two men I barely know, can you? But I can see you have an eye for a blade, Centurion, so I’ll let you see something even better.’
He ducked behind the counter and came up with a full-sized weapon in a dull metal scabbard, pulling out the weapon to reveal its blade. Marcus reached out and took the sword from him, looking closely at the sword’s edge while the smith proudly watched in silence.
‘This pattern . . .’
The armourer nodded.
‘The pattern reveals the secret of the blade’s strength. It is made from a mixture of finest-quality steel from Noricum on the River Danubius, combined with good iron. They are heated together to make them workable and then folded together time after time after time until the resulting sword has many layers of the two. This weapon took me more hours than I’d care to count, heating and cooling, and always forging the two metals together, and then I spent another week polishing it to bring out the pattern you can see along the blade. It will cleave an iron sword in two if you swing it hard enough, and there is no mail made that can resist its blade. It is my masterpiece.’
Marcus looked at the sword, and instantly knew he had to possess the weapon.
‘And your price for this sword?’
The smith started.
‘In truth I’ve never thought to sell it. It is of incalculable value to me.’
The Roman raised an eyebrow.
‘That would be a first, a tradesman unwilling to sell his work.’
The armourer protested, raising his hands and shaking his head.
‘It is my finest work, Centurion, the perfect blade. I could never—’
‘And you’ll keep it behind that counter for the rest of your days, rather than allowing it to be used for the purpose for which it was forged? Name your price.’
The Leopard Sword Page 12