7
Marcus woke again to find Sanga lying asleep on his bed, and he quietly climbed off his own mattress, standing still for a moment to allow the slight feeling of dizziness to pass. Walking quietly on bare feet, he made his way up the corridor to the latrine, then went in search of his wife. Felicia was delighted to see him on his feet, despite her immediate concern for his well-being, which were quickly dispelled when he waved her away and turned a full circle with his arms out.
‘Well, you seem to be spry enough that I think we can assume the effects of the mandrake have completely worn off. You won’t be able to speak or eat solid food for some time yet though.’
‘And that’s why I brought this for him.’ They turned to find the tribune standing in the doorway with a smile on his face, a small iron pot dangling from one hand. ‘There’s a food shop at the end of the street whose proprietress was only too happy to lend me the pot in the likelihood of getting your business for the next few weeks. Pass me a cup and I’ll pour you some.’ Marcus found his glass drinking tube and took a sip at the soup, nodding his thanks to the tribune. Scaurus sat in silence until the cup was empty, watching as the hungry centurion consumed the soup as quickly as its temperature would allow.
‘That’s better, eh? There’s more in the pot for when I’m gone. I’d imagine you’ll be spending another night in here just to be sure you’re over the worst of it, but that ought to keep you going until morning. And now, Centurion, to business? First Spear Frontinius tells me that you passed a message requesting a conversation with me, although from the look of things most of the speaking will be done by me.’
Marcus nodded, reaching for his tablet and writing several lines of text. He handed the wooden case to Scaurus, who read the words and stared back at his centurion with his eyebrows raised in astonishment.
‘Really? You’re sure of this?’
After thinking for a moment, Marcus held out his hand and took the tablet back. He smoothed the wax and wrote another statement. Scaurus looked grimly at the text, shaking his head.
‘You got that close to him?’
Marcus wrote in the tablet again. Scaurus read the text aloud, a wry smile on his face.
‘“Take a tent party with you.” A tent party? I’ll need a damned century if he’s as dangerous as you say. And the nastiest, most bad-tempered officer in the First Cohort. Do any names spring to mind, Centurion?’
Julius was on the point of setting out into the city, the key to Annia’s secret door tucked away in a pouch on his belt, when a knock sounded at the door of his barrack. Opening it, he found one of the men assigned to guard duty waiting with a small scroll in his hand.
‘Delivered to the duty centurion just now, sir, with your name written on it.’
Julius frowned, taking the scroll and turning it over to read his own name in tidy handwriting.
‘Delivered? Who by?’
The soldier shook his head.
‘Just some kid or other running an errand for a coin. He gave it to the men on the gate and legged it before anyone could ask any questions.’
Julius nodded, dismissing the man with a distracted gesture. By the light of his lamp he unrolled the paper, squinting in its dim illumination to read the short message.
You are no longer welcome in my establishment, Centurion. Do not visit again, or it will end badly for you and for the woman. This matter is now closed.
Shaking his head, the hulking centurion muttered angrily into the room’s silence, his fist clenched around the paper.
‘Closed? Not by a long way it’s not. You’ve just signed your own death sentence . . .’
Squaring his shoulders he turned to the door, only to be brought up short by another knock. Wrenching the door open he drew breath to bark out his irritation, finding himself toe to toe with the tribune, dressed and equipped for battle. Snapping to attention he stood under his superior officer’s scrutiny for a long moment before Scaurus spoke.
‘Interesting, Centurion. I thought I’d have to get you out of your bed, given the hour, and yet here you are fully dressed and ready for duty, from the look of things. And you seem to have a piece of paper screwed up in one hand.’
He held out a hand, and Julius reluctantly surrendered the note. Smoothing out the paper, Scaurus turned to read it by the light of the nearest torch.
‘It seems that your liaison with the mistress of the Blue Boar is at an end, Centurion.’ Julius frowned, his puzzlement evident, and Scaurus laughed dryly at his bemusement. ‘If you were first spear of this cohort, Centurion, you’d be very sure to know anything and everything that might compromise the performance of your officers, wouldn’t you?’ He waited for Julius to nod before continuing. ‘Exactly. So when Sextus Frontinius received reports of one of his centurions heading off into the city after lights out, and not returning until the small hours, you can be assured that his interest was sufficiently strong to override your colleagues’ initial reluctance to enlighten him as to exactly what business you were about. And whilst the company you keep in your own time is your own business, when it starts to affect your performance in the role for which the empire pays you a quite generous amount of money, then it becomes his business, wouldn’t you agree? Not to mention mine.’
Julius nodded again, his face stony under the tribune’s scrutiny.
‘So, all things considered, it shouldn’t be any surprise to discover that your attempts to regain what you lost when you left the city are known to your superiors, should it? And for the time being at least, whoever wrote this note has the right of it. If, as it appears, you were about to head off into Tungrorum on a one-man mission to hack your way through the Blue Boar’s doormen and rescue the woman in question, then I’ve arrived at just the right time. You are absolutely forbidden to go anywhere near that blasted place, on pain of reduction to the ranks and enough administrative punishment to keep your head down in the latrines until the end of your term of service. Is that understood?’
Scaurus stepped closer to his centurion, his hard stare forcing a blink from the otherwise stone-faced Julius.
‘Is. That. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
The tribune smiled tightly and stepped back, looking him up and down.
‘Good. Because I’m not minded to lose my best centurion just because he can’t recognise when he’s beaten, even if only temporarily. Apart from anything else, if you as much as show your face at Petrus’s door he’s more than likely to punish you by killing the woman.’ Something in Julius’s eyes must have betrayed his surprise, and Scaurus laughed again. ‘Yes, Centurion, we know all about Petrus’s real place in the governance of this miserable city. The First Minervia have been here long enough for Sergius to have worked it out several months ago, and unlike his tribune he’s not a man to keep useful information to himself. When the time comes I’ll deal with Petrus, and if you can hold onto your temper until then you’ll be a part of putting him in his place, but for now we’ve a bigger and more immediate problem.’
Prefect Caninus’s face was a study in perplexity, a frown of incomprehension greeting both the unexpected sight of a full century of soldiers filling the street outside his headquarters and the peremptory tone with which the Tungrian’s tribune addressed him.
‘Tribune Scaurus? I was just going off duty for the night. Perhaps we can—’
Scaurus stepped forward and cut him off with a raised hand, his voice stern and uncompromising.
‘Bring your men out and disarm them, Prefect! I won’t ask you twice! My soldiers are still frustrated after that debacle in the forest, and they’ll do the disarming for you if I slip their collars. But it won’t be pretty.’
Caninus spread his hands in a placatory manner, looking to either side at his bodyguard, then he gestured to the soldiers surrounding his small party, their spears glinting in the torchlight.
‘Best to do as the tribune says, gentlemen. I don’t want your blood on my hands, or my own, for that matter. Stand your
men down, Tornach, and drop your weapons.’
His deputy grunted an order and unbuckled his belt, easing his sword down onto the cobbles at his feet. His men followed suit, then stood in silence as a pair of soldiers came forward and picked up the weapons. Scaurus stood where he was, pointing to the prefect himself.
‘And your own weapon, Quintus Caninus.’
The soldiers tensed, visibly readying themselves to fight, and with a wry smile Caninus drew his blade, placing it on the road’s surface.
‘Have a good look, Tribune. I think you’ll find it to be standard issue, and nothing more dangerous than the sword you carry. The man you’re hunting for carries something a good deal more exotic, I believe?’
Scaurus ignored him, nodding to Julius, who was waiting for instructions beside him.
‘Accommodate the prefect’s bodyguard for me, if you will, Centurion? There’ll be no need for any rough behaviour unless they offer resistance. And you, Prefect, you can accompany me inside. I have questions for you that won’t wait until morning. And post some men to guard the door please Julius, I’ll call if I need them.’
Caninus turned back to the doorway to his headquarters and entered the building, followed by Scaurus, who had taken a torch from one of his men and kept one hand on his sword’s hilt. The prefect lifted fresh torches into the iron loops set in the wall to hold them, and Scaurus followed him around the room, lighting each one in turn. With the room lit, Caninus turned to face his colleague, his quizzical expression replaced by a look of growing anger.
‘So now, Tribune, what is it that’s so important we have to discuss it at this time of night, and with your sword very nearly kissing my throat?’
The tribune shook his head, his voice level and dangerously calm.
‘Too little too late, I’m afraid, Quintus Caninus. The time for righteous indignation was back there in the street, when I humiliated you in front of your men. Simulated anger doesn’t fool me, Prefect, so you can drop the act and assume the demeanour of a man who’s been caught out in a lie before I decide to call my centurion in here and have it beaten into you. Believe me, I’m sure there’s very little that would give Julius any more pleasure than a few moments of toe to toe with you, given the way his friend Centurion Corvus was so cruelly knocked about in the forest.’
The prefect stepped back, his face sliding from bemusement to horror in the space of a heartbeat.
‘You actually think . . .?’
Scaurus dismissed his incredulity with a wave of his hand.
‘No, Caninus, I actually know. I know who you are. I say “Caninus”, but perhaps I’d be better to start calling you by the name your men have given you. What do you think, Obduro?’
The other man shook his head slowly, his eyes widening in shock.
‘But I’m not—’
‘You took my centurion prisoner in the Arduenna, and then you spent the night telling him how terrible an enemy you are, how much you despise the prefect of Tungrorum, and how your bandit gang can never be defeated. But your disguise slipped by a tiny fraction when he fooled you into coming close enough for him to see your eyes in the daylight through your mask’s eyeholes. He’s a bright young lad is Centurion Corvus, and he recognised you instantly. Green eyes like yours are distinctive enough, but when you add in the squint they’re unmistakable. You’re the man behind the metal, I’m sure of that much, and through your vanity you’ve nailed yourself to the cross I’ll have my men put up for you in the morning.’ He paused while the other man turned away, his face blank. ‘Nothing to say?’
Caninus stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then lowered his gaze to look defiantly straight back at Scaurus, answering the question with four terse words. The tribune’s eyes widened, and his usual aristocratic reserve vanished in an instant, replaced by something much harder, that he usually managed to keep concealed.
‘He’s fucking what?’
Caninus continued to look at the tribune, his jaw set hard.
‘You heard me right the first time, Tribune. He is my brother. Obduro is my brother. My identical twin, as it happens.’
Scaurus stood open-mouthed and stared at Caninus for a long moment, then lowered his head and put both fists on the table between them, his knuckles white against the wood’s age-darkened surface. When he looked up, his face was dark with barely controlled anger, but his voice was calm and steady.
‘And, assuming that I can make the huge leap of faith required to swallow this story, you’d seriously have me believe that this wasn’t worth telling me before?’
The prefect shrugged, his expression downcast.
‘If I’d told you at the start you would have removed me from all of the discussion and the decision-making, without a second thought.’
Scaurus laughed hollowly.
‘You’re not wrong there! It won’t surprise you to know that’s exactly what’s going through my mind at the moment, even if you are telling me the truth at long last.’ He shook his head. ‘So, from the beginning, tell me the story of how you and your twin end up in such violent opposition. And on such very different paths in life, for that matter.’ He picked a chair close to one of the torches illuminating the room and sat down, his eyes so deep in shadow that they were impossible to read. ‘And this had better be spectacularly convincing, or you’ll be feeding the crows by lunchtime tomorrow.’
Caninus leaned back against the wall behind him and rubbed his tired eyes with a finger and thumb.
‘It’s a relief to tell someone, if I’m honest. I’ve been keeping this from the men around me for so long that it’s started to eat into me. His name is Sextus. He was born less than a hundred heartbeats after me, and for all practical purposes we’re identical, right down to the squint. You can prove it easily enough; just have a copy of the relevant census records delivered from the governor’s office and you’ll find us both. We were born here in the city, just over thirty years ago, so we’ll be detailed in the census that fell between then and the day we both left to pursue our separate destinies.’
He gestured to a chair, and raised his eyebrows in question. Scaurus grunted his assent, his hand still firmly placed on his sword’s hilt. The prefect slumped into the chair, leaning back with the air of a man relieving himself of a heavy burden.
‘Thank you. We were just like the twins you read about in the histories as we were growing up, closer than two peas in a pod and just as indistinguishable. Our mother had pendants made for us when she realised we were identical, discs with our numbers punched into them on chains left deliberately short, and by the time we were of a mind to exchange them they were impossible to remove without breaking the links. And she always told us there’d be hell to pay if that happened.’ He pulled down the neck of his tunic to reveal the circle of metal hanging at his throat, holding it up for Scaurus to examine. ‘You can see the number five punched into the metal. It’s not pretty workmanship, but it is my only link with my mother. The plague took her a few years ago, although I expect it was only taking advantage of all those years of backbreaking work she put in to keep the pair of us fed.’
He shook his head, tucking the pendant away beneath the tunic’s smooth wool. ‘She was right to take the precaution, and to drum into us that breaking those chains would bring us more grief than any fun we could have by pretending to be each other. We were forever proving our mutual bond by exercising the same stupidities and getting into the same trouble, but for all that we were a good pair of lads, more or less. We learned to fight early, of course, our squints made sure of that, although he was always better at it than me, whereas I was the one who always managed to turn around whatever wit was thrown at us and throw it right back, only harder. That got me a few hidings, as you can imagine, so by the time we were ten we were a right pair of hard little bastards, but harmless enough. Harmless enough until our balls dropped and the hair started sprouting, and I was first at that as well, even if it was only by a few weeks. Before that happened we were inseparable, and
you’d never see one of us without the other; but as we began to enter manhood that closeness started to cool off. We were looking for our own paths in life, I suppose, and we started to push each other, competing where we used to cooperate. Inside a year we weren’t “the cock-eyed twins” any more, we were Quintus and Sextus, each with our own friends and our own ways of doing things. He was the real hard man, whereas I was the smoother of the two of us, with more of a way about me, and while I was never what you’d call a religious man, he turned to the worship of Arduenna with all the zeal of a forest hunter. We still knocked about together, of course, but we were developing different ways of getting what we wanted, him with his fists and me with my wits. Gods, what a team we’d have made; we’d have gone through the local gangs like shit through a goose long before now, but it wasn’t to be. It was a girl that ripped us apart . . .’
Scaurus nodded his understanding, his initial incredulity cooling towards curiosity.
‘Just like the histories, eh? What was her name?’
‘Lucia. I forget the family name, although it wouldn’t be hard to dig out of the records. She was the daughter of a wealthy family but she liked to slum it with the poor boys, if you know what I mean, and we both certainly qualified for that description. She liked the hint of danger, I guess, although she ended up getting rather more than she’d bargained for. We both fell for her, you see, and for the first time in our lives there was something we both wanted that couldn’t be shared. She made a choice, and that choice was to be with me. It wasn’t much, only a few nights when she could sneak out of her family’s house, but she was my first proper love, and so of course I was convinced we’d find a way to be together for the rest of our lives. I expect she would have dropped me soon enough, and broken my heart for a few weeks, but she didn’t get the chance.’
The Leopard Sword Page 25