The other man’s face furrowed as he thought for a moment.
‘The price, Centurion? For a month of my life, for the best materials to be had, even if their expense was ruinous? For my life’s labour and experience poured into one blade? I couldn’t take less than fifty gold aurei . . .’
Marcus smiled. The price was astounding for a sword, and was more than likely intended to scare him away.
‘Done.’ The smith’s eyes widened in amazement that the Roman was willing to spend so much money on a weapon. ‘I’ll be back this afternoon with the money. I’m assuming that you’ll throw in the child’s equipment as a gesture of good will at that price?’
The armourer dithered.
‘I’ll halve the price, Centurion. Two aurei for the child’s gear will close the deal.’
Marcus nodded, then pointed to a shelf above the man’s head.
‘Before I leave, I’d like to see that helmet you have there, if I may?’
The smith reached up and pulled down a gleaming cavalry helmet. He passed it to Marcus, who looked with interest at its finely tinned face mask.
‘Sixteen layers of iron and steel, Centurion, each one hammered so flat that the mask is still as light as a feather, but it’ll stop an arrow loosed from twenty paces. Should I name a price for you?’
Marcus shook his head with a smile.
‘I’m probably in enough trouble with my wife already, thank you. It’s a nice piece though.’ He turned to leave, only to find Dubnus and a jaded-looking Julius in the shop’s doorway. They walked in, and Julius looked with a professional interest at the racks of weapons around him.
‘Qadir said we’d find you here. We’re under orders from Uncle Sextus to find you and then go to the bathhouse and get cleaned up. We’ve got an interview with the tribune this afternoon, and he doesn’t want us smelling like a pack of badgers when we turn up, apparently.’
He turned back to the door, only to find Dubnus indicating a small item on one of the shelves behind the counter.
‘Didn’t you lose a whistle on the way here, Julius?’
Dubnus kept his face admirably straight while Julius stared back at him, winking at Marcus and raising his eyebrows in unspoken warning once the older man’s back was turned.
‘Yes, I did, now you mention it. I’m surprised you remembered. How much for the whistle, smith?’
‘Over there, next to that shifty-looking type, there’s a space.’ Marcus turned to follow Julius’s hand and saw the open bench his friend was pointing out. ‘You go and take possession, and I’ll see what’s taking Dubnus so long. He’s probably threatening the bloody cloakroom attendants again.’
He stepped back into the bathhouse’s undressing room to find the muscular young centurion pressing one of the bathhouse slaves up against the room’s cold stone wall.
‘. . . and if any of our gear mysteriously goes missing while we’re bathing you’re going to wish your mother had never laid hands on your dad’s cucumber when I get hold of you, and the same goes for all your fucking—’
Julius tapped him on the shoulder, and nodded his head towards the warm room.
‘That’s enough of that. If the pricks are stupid enough to lay a finger on our gear then they’ll take what’s coming. Now come and join me and Two Knives in the warm room, before we lose our bloody seats.’
The two men walked back into the baths to find Marcus surrounded by a group of irritated locals. He was smiling serenely at the men standing around him while they gesticulated furiously at the empty spaces on the stone bench on either side of him. His hands were behind his back, as if he were stretching his spine, but Julius noticed with a practised eye that his right foot was resting against the bench’s stone pedestal, ready to thrust him up into their faces at any hint of the debate turning physical. He tapped the closest of them on the man’s bare shoulder and then folded his scarred, muscular arms, fixing the man with a hard-eyed stare before looking down ostentatiously at the eagle tattooed on his right shoulder, with the characters COH I TVNGR inked beneath it.
‘For those among you that haven’t learned to read yet, I’ll translate. This says “First Tungrian Cohort”. So I suggest you lot stop waving your dick beaters around like a bunch of Gaulish housewives and fuck off now, before you start to irritate me.’
For a moment it looked as if the local men might argue the point, but the sight of an even bigger specimen appearing at Julius’s shoulder, and showing every sign of being a man in search of a fight, was enough to turn them away, grumbling but clearly outmuscled. The two centurions took their places next to Marcus, Julius groaning in pleasure as he settled back onto the warm stone.
‘Oh yes, that’s much better. I’m going to sweat out a bucket of dirt today, and no two ways about it.’ He looked down at Marcus’s hands with a raised eyebrow, as his younger colleague brought his right hand out from behind his back, opened his fist and waggled the fingers, dropping a handful of coins into his left palm and passing them to his friend. ‘A well-brought-up boy like you knuckling up for a fight like a common soldier? You’d better not let the tribune catch you doing that.’
Marcus shrugged.
‘There were five of them, and they weren’t looking happy at being beaten to the last seats in the room.’
‘And you were just working out which one to put down first, weren’t you, you bloodthirsty young bugger?’ Julius shook his head with a wry grin. ‘And there’s the difference between the three of us, I’d say. Dubnus, when he’s not busy threatening the bath slaves with what he’ll do to them if his new cloak brooch goes missing, would just have grabbed the nearest man, banged his head on the wall, dropped him and scared the rest of them off with a smile. I, believe it or not, would rather just face that sort of idiot down, and let the scars and tattoos do their job. But you, the well-educated son of a senator and in theory the born peacemaker of the three of us, you’d have come off that bench like a whorehouse bouncer, wouldn’t you?’
Marcus shifted uncomfortably.
‘I can’t argue with you, Julius; you’ve seen me lose my temper too many times. I just can’t . . .’
He shrugged helplessly, shaking his head, and his friend ruffled his hair affectionately.
‘I know. If there’s a confrontation to be had you can barely hold yourself back, and when that last tiny bit of self-control is flicked away by some idiot’s careless words, or even the wrong look on a man’s face, you can’t stop yourself from attacking with any weapon that’s to hand. I saw it the other night, when we were dragging Dubnus’s boys off those legionaries. When everyone else was staring at Lugos and his “I fight you all” act, you were busy putting your vine stick into the guts of anyone that got in your way. I counted four of them on their hands and knees in your wake, and I doubt that most of them even saw you coming.’ The older centurion shook his head with a good-natured laugh. ‘You’re a good man for war right enough, but what will you do when the fighting ends, I wonder? Men like us find peacetime hard enough when they’ve got used to a regular diet of blood, but men like you . . .’ He paused. ‘Marcus, you can work out what will cause the most damage to a man given the tools at hand faster than anyone I’ve ever met, but you don’t have the restraint that sometimes only comes to a man after years of bitter experience, or sometimes never comes at all. I was the same at your age, all knuckles and fight, and it wasn’t until I was ten years in that I started to calm down, and learned to send men away with a look rather than breaking their faces. I never had your speed, or your fearsome temper; I was just a fight looking for someone else to join in. But you’re something else, something much more dangerous, because there’s nothing restraining you . . .’ He looked the younger man up and down. ‘I’d say there’s not much call for men with your particular mindset – call it a blessing or call it a curse – once the fighting stops and the boredom of a peacetime routine settles on us all like a cloak made of woven lead.’
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
‘Peac
e? And you think we’ll see that any time soon?’
His friend stuck out his bottom lip and shrugged speculatively.
‘There are only so many tribes. By the time we’ve found this Obduro and sorted him out the Britannia legions should have the Brigantes whipped into place. It’ll be back to the days of drill and route marching for us, and what will you do for a fight then, eh? And you with a family to care for? My advice to you, brother, is to learn to wind your neck in for the sake of those who love you, and for fear that you might leave them alone in the world without your protection. Can you do that for them, if not for me?’
Marcus returned his gaze, his face expressionless.
‘I can, but not simply for them. I have a score to settle in Rome, a blood debt with a man so powerful that I’ll only get one chance at getting it repaid. And keeping that in mind will be enough to help me stay out of trouble in the meantime. It wouldn’t do to miss my moment with the Praetorian Prefect and a sharp blade, for the sake of a few witless fools like them.’
He smiled down the room at the glowering locals, opening his hands in a gesture of goodwill. Julius gestured to a wine vendor, raising three fingers in the universal signal.
‘I’ll drink to that. Let’s use those knuckledusters of yours for their intended purpose and buy ourselves a cup of wine and something to eat, and then get into the hot room for some oil and a scrape. The tribune’s expecting us to be nice and clean for tonight’s briefing, and I don’t intend to—’
He stopped talking, watching as a familiar figure stepped into the warm room and looked about him until he spotted the Tungrians, then walked across to join them.
‘Greetings, Marcus, and greetings to you all, gentlemen of the First Tungrian Mule Cohort.’
It was an old joke, but never seemed to wear thin as far as Silus was concerned. Julius nodded, a wry smile twisting his lips.
‘Greetings, Silus. I was just saying to Marcus that I could smell horseshit, and then in you came.’
Silus tipped his head to acknowledge the retort, then looked about him again.
‘This place is full enough. I suppose the good citizens are getting their bathing in early, before your horrible soldiers take the place over once they’re off duty. Not that I blame them. And now, I suppose, you’re wondering what I’m doing here, given the place is off limits to all soldiers until sunset?’
Julius shook his head.
‘Not at all. Our assumption was that you’ve been told to come and get clean as a mercy to all those men that don’t live for the smell of month-old sweat, stale horse piss and fresh manure.’
Silus smiled, briefly and patently insincerely.
‘No, I’m here for the same reason I reckon you are. There’s a briefing with the tribune tonight, and your first spear wants me there in my best tunic and with polished boots. A bath was suggested, and in a manner which didn’t make it sound optional, so here I am. Old Frontinius didn’t say as much, but since you three are also here and busily ignoring the locals’ indignant stares, I’m going to presume that you got the same marching orders. And, given the looks you boys are getting from the men sitting next to you, it’s not a moment too soon.’
Dubnus swivelled his head to look at his neighbour, whose affronted gaze flicked away from him just a moment too slowly. He shook his head, standing up and stretching his heavily muscled body, then he bent to put his face inches from the now thoroughly alarmed civilian’s.
‘Didn’t your dad teach you that it’s rude to stare at soldiers in the bathhouse? Not to mention dangerous, because if I catch you looking at my cock one more time I’m going to bang your stupid fat head on that wall behind you.’ Shaking his head in disgust he turned back to his brother officers. ‘Right, let’s go for a sweat, shall we, and upset some more of these sheep?’
‘The contents of this briefing are utterly confidential, gentlemen, and are not to be shared with anybody outside this room. Our colleague Caninus here has every reason to believe that there are men within the city who are providing information to this “Obduro” character, and if wind of what I want you to do for me gets out we’ll lose what might be the only chance we’ll have to catch these people.’
Scaurus looked at each man in turn to make sure his message was completely clear. The first spear nodded, turning his gaze on Silus, Marcus, Julius and Dubnus.
‘I’m detaching the four of you for some independent duty. As far as your men are concerned you’ll have gone to Fortress Bonna to liaise with the First Minervia. I expect the camp to presume that I’ve sent you in search of reinforcements, which is a good enough cover for what you’ll really be doing. Decurion Silus will provide horses from the mounted squadron, and you will indeed ride east as far as Mosa Ford. When you get there, you will present papers authorising you to travel on to Claudius Colony on the Rhenus, and from there up river to Fortress Bonna. However, once you’re out of sight of the Mosa Ford walls you’re going to leave the road, and head south-west into the Arduenna forest. Using whatever paths you can find you will then get as close to the objective as you deem possible on horseback before making camp somewhere quiet. Silus will stay there with the horses while the rest of you will scout along the edge of the forest, quietly and methodically, until you find some sign of what I want you to look for. When you’ve got the information I need you’ll pull back, making sure you remain undetected, and bring it back here as quickly as possible.’
‘And exactly what is it that we’ll be looking for, Tribune?’
‘A camp, Centurion Corvus.’
Marcus turned to face the man who was waiting quietly in the deep shadow of the room, beyond the lamps’ meagre illumination. Scaurus beckoned Caninus into the full light of the lamps set around the table.
‘Prefect Caninus has a theory that you’re going to test, Centurions.’
He gestured to Caninus, who walked over to the map on the wall, putting a finger on the north-western fringes of the huge forest on the opposite bank of the River Mosa from the city.
‘It’s logical to assume that Obduro and his band are operating from somewhere on this edge of Arduenna. If I were him there’s no way I’d want to risk a night in the open after a robbery big enough to bring out the whole Tungrorum garrison after me. Look at this cluster of robberies, the ones we think his men carried out.’ He pointed at a cluster of crosses on the map close to the forest’s edge on the northern side of the Mosa. ‘And this attack on the detached Treveri century that led to their mass desertion. All of them within a few hours’ march of this part of the forest, and so close to the city as to defy belief.’ He stabbed a finger at the forest, indicating a point roughly equidistant from the attacks. ‘I’m willing to gamble that he always makes sure he can be inside the trees before nightfall, and doubtless there’s a camp somewhere round here. That ease of access cuts both ways, of course, since it also makes it easier for us to find, and less of a problem to attack than a camp that’s hidden away in the deep forest. The big question for me is how he’s getting his men back across the river, given that the only bridges we know about are at Mosa Ford to the east, and where the road to the Treveri capital crosses the river further to the west at Arduenna Ford.’
He studied the map for a moment before looking up at the men gathered around him.
‘Apart from that, a man as wily as Obduro isn’t going to put all of his marbles in one bag; he’ll have somewhere to fall back on if the camp on the forest’s edge is compromised. It’ll probably be built on a hill, almost certainly heavily fortified, the ground around it will be littered with mantraps and nasty surprises. If they’ve built the kind of stronghold I’d expect, five hundred men could probably face off ten times their number in the absence of any artillery to batter the walls down.’ He paused for a moment, and Marcus saw the look of frustration that crossed his face. ‘My bitter experience with bands like this one is that the moment they see soldiers coming they’ll scatter in a dozen different directions, and fall back into the deep forest. And,
once they’ve disbanded, catching them will be like trying to nail piss to a wall. If we give them time to run they’ll be snug inside their fortress, wherever it may be, long before we can find it and bring our strength to bear.’
Scaurus stepped forward again.
‘Which means that the secret of our success has to be in surrounding them with a nice thick ring of troops before they get the chance to retreat. And that means that we’ll need to find this camp at the edge of the forest, but without them knowing we’ve done so. If we can manage that smart trick, then when we attack the camp we should be able to feed a cohort in behind them before the rest of the detachment marches up and knocks at the front door.’
Julius nodded to the tribune.
‘At which point they’ll make a dash for the back door, only to find it locked and bolted. After that they can either surrender or die on our spears. Neat. And all we have to do is scout the edge of the forest until we find them.’
‘Indeed, Centurion.’ Caninus raised an eyebrow. ‘But do you think you can manage that delicate task? These are men who have had years to get used to the forest, whereas you, with no disrespect intended . . .’
Dubnus spoke, his voice sober yet powerful.
‘I was raised in the great forest that runs down the spine of Britannia. I am a woodsman and a hunter, and when I go into the forest I move in silence. I will find your bandits and they will never know of my presence.’
Caninus nodded.
‘Good. Although I suggest that I provide you with a local guide, a man who has called the forest home for as long as he’s lived.’
Scaurus raised an eyebrow.
‘Isn’t there a risk he might be their man in your camp?’
The prefect winced.
‘He’s one of the very few men of whose loyalty I am absolutely sure, and I implore you not to mention any such idea in his presence. His family were taken by this gang last summer while he was serving me as a tracker, and he does not know whether they still live. I’d advise you against making an enemy of him, but he does know every path through the forest, and if you treat him well I’m sure he will be an asset to you.’
The Leopard Sword Page 13