Celer snorted. ‘In Dacia, the troubles are never over. It’s just a matter of what troubles are going on at the moment. The Sarmatians crossed into Dacia, and when they did a number of Dacian peoples began to rise in revolt alongside them. The memory of Dacia as an independent kingdom is never far from the local’s minds, you see. Dacia has not been a settled province for decades, if it ever was. The Marcommanic Wars drove tribes east and south into Dacia repeatedly over the years. It’s not just the Sarmatians – everyone has a go at the border. It’s a constant rolling threat. Anyway, Pescennius Niger and his Fifth Legion set to securing the north, and we – the Thirteenth – drove out the bulk of the invaders and put down most of the risings further south. But the legion was so heavily depleted in the process we moved into Moesia to recoup the numbers and rebuild the Thirteenth.’
‘Yes, I’d heard that in Viminacium. It seems strange that the governor there was so agreeable to such a thing?’
Celer nodded. ‘You know how governors are with scratching each other’s backs. I have no doubt Legate Albinus had to make some laden promises in return. Anyway, we recouped the numbers but it has left us with a lot of green recruits. We returned to Drobeta to train them, but news came to the governor of another local rising up near our home fortress at Apulum. Well, that’s close to the gold mines, and we can’t allow such a rising to threaten gold production, so Clodius Albinus took the best part of the legion, including almost all the veterans, and marched off to Apulum. I was left in command of a cohort of men mostly only two or three weeks into their career. You have stumbled upon a little more than a training camp, master Rufinus.’ His wry smile looked weary. Rufinus found himself feeling for the man, left in charge of new recruits while his commander marched off north to the real fight.
‘You paint a worrying picture of Dacia,’ Rufinus said quietly.
‘Dacia is one long headache, Rufinus. It’s a thousand square miles of trouble. And because we keep having to deal with incursions and put down the rebellious elements, those natives who remain loyal are beginning to lose confidence in our ability to protect them. That, in turn, makes them rebel. And so on, ad nauseam. We lose troops in Dacia on a weekly basis. Never in huge numbers as you do in a war, but there is a constant nagging rate of attrition. And Albinus cannot trust the natives enough to recruit them. Hence the deal with Moesia.’
‘So how long are you in Drobeta, then?’ Rufinus asked.
‘As little time as I can possibly manage. The troops here have had three weeks of training now. Some of them can just about hit the side of a granary with a pilum. Some can march twenty miles without falling apart. Some even know the difference between triplex acies formation and a latrine ditch. They’re months from being an effective legion, but I’m planning on giving them one more week of basic training and then moving out. My senior centurion reckons they’ll be able to manage on the march by then.’
‘And then you return to Apulum?’
Celer made a noncommittal gesture with his hand. ‘We have been left the task of clearing out the few remaining noted pockets of resistance on our journey north, at places like Sarmizegetusa and Micia. The governor left them to us to deal with to avoid delaying his return to Apulum. Might I see your documents?’
Rufinus nodded and withdrew the scroll case, emptying the papers onto the table. Celer slid them toward him and sipped his wine as he looked down the documents.
‘I see you are a veteran of the wars in the north?’
Rufinus nodded. ‘With the Tenth.’
‘Our sister legion. Good. Have you any command experience?’
A shake of the head sufficed. Celer huffed. ‘Yet you seem to be extremely competent and experienced. I’m afraid this is the end of your journey for now, Rufinus. It would be remiss of me in the extreme to send you and your lovely lady, even with that monster behind you, up into the Dacian mountains, through rebellious territory, on your own. And I cannot spare the men to escort you, sadly. I have only one veteran century and five more of green recruits. You will have to stay with us until we move on. You can then accompany us to Governor Albinus at Apulum.’
Rufinus nodded. It made sense, and given Celer’s fairly stark appraisal of the province, he had no wish to wander deep into its wilds unprepared. Albinus could hardly argue with any further delay when it was caused by his own tribune, after all.
‘But I have no space for passengers, Rufinus,’ Celer said seriously, rapping his elegant fingers on the table. ‘I need your arm and your experience. Even my officers here are for the most part green and untried. Most of the centurions are former optios who have only been in that role for months at the most, and the optios are very much inexperienced themselves. My senior centurion, Caius Cassius Proculeianus, and his second are the only veteran officers I have. So, short of good officers and loaded with untested youths, I shall put you in command of one of the centuries.’
Rufinus blinked. ‘Sir, I’ve never even been an optio. I’ve never commanded men at all.’
‘But you have ample experience of being commanded by them in both peace and in war. You know what’s required and have lived through hardships.’ He gestured to Rufinus’ left hand, where it rested on his right arm, folded. ‘Many hardships, I would say.’ Rufinus was so familiar with the old wounds now that he was rarely self-conscious about the scars that marred him, but at the tribune’s gesture he reflexively tucked the hand with no fingernails from sight.
‘Captured by barbarians?’
‘Captured by traitors,’ Rufinus said in a small voice.
‘They paid for it?’
Rufinus nodded and Celer leaned back.
‘I would rather have in command a veteran who can handle himself than a part-trained youth with no experience. I shall have a crest and a vine stick made available by the morning, as well as a good russet tunic. Anything else you need, you can draw from the quartermaster tomorrow. Report here at first watch and I will give you your orders and documentation. In the meantime, get out of those praetorian whites, even if you have to dress like a peasant. I might have a certain grudging respect for our overpaid cousins in the capital, but you’ll find little love for the praetorians among the veterans here. Your white tunic might land you in the mire rather fast. Then there is the troublesome subject of quarters. I cannot countenance putting this lady – she is your… consort?’ he asked delicately. Rufinus nodded, flushing hot as he did so and cursing the fact that no matter how old and hardened he became, the subject of women always turned him into an adolescent.
‘His woman,’ Senova confirmed in a straight-forward tone.
Celer chuckled. ‘Your woman. Yes. I cannot put your woman in ordinary legionary quarters. It would be cramped and unseemly to jam her in at the end of a barrack block with you. Equally, I cannot really put you somewhere other than with the men, Rufinus, if you are to work as an effective centurion. You will take the appropriate quarters once I have assigned you a century, but for the lady here I will have to make other arrangements. I have a workshop that is idle. I can have it converted to temporary quarters for you, my lady. But tonight it is too late to begin sourcing all the materials. You will both have to find accommodation in the mansio in town. I will have all made ready tomorrow. When you go to the mansio, tell Drasda that I sent you. He will make sure you get the best room and meal available.’
Rufinus nodded his thanks and took another sip of his wine. It was a nice wine. Sharp, but with a spicy-sweet aftertaste.
‘I have to say I’m pleased at this unexpected arrival,’ Celer smiled. ‘You have no idea how difficult it is to train a whole cohort with only two experienced officers.’
Rufinus chuckled. ‘I suspect I will have, shortly, Tribune.’
‘Good. Then I shall see you at the first watch tomorrow, Centurion Rufinus.’
Centurion Rufinus. There was something about the sound of that which gave him a warm glow.
He rose and saluted, and Senova did the same, raising another smile from Celer.
As she stood, she looked at Rufinus. ‘Are you not drinking that?’
Rufinus shook his head. ‘You know me and wine. Moderation is essential.’
Senova shrugged. ‘I hate waste,’ she said, and tipped the rest of his wine back, smacking her lips appreciatively and replacing the cup. Tribune Celer chuckled again. ‘Thank the gods for good company. Drobeta was starting to tarnish my soul. Oh, and one more thing,’ he added, pointing behind them. ‘I would ask you to keep your hound in your quarters or with the lady here. I am not a lover of dogs, and they reciprocate in the dislike. I prefer cats.’
Rufinus turned to look at Acheron, who was scratting absently at his ear and then sniffing his paw and licking it. Delightful. Putting forth a good impression as always.
‘Yes, Tribune.’
‘Good.’
The three of them retreated from the room and out into the basilica, shutting the door as they went.
‘What do you make of him?’ Rufinus said quietly as they passed through the long hall.
‘Seems pleasant. I thought tribunes were all supposed to be untrained posh boys.’
Rufinus laughed. ‘That’s junior tribunes. There’s five of them in each legion. Their tunics have a narrow stripe. They’re usually nobles doing a term in the legions just so they can qualify for political office afterwards. They’re not much use for anything other than running errands and delivering messages. But every legion also has a senior tribune with a broad stripe. They’re veterans and usually very competent. Along with the legate and the senior centurion they pretty much run the legion.’
‘He is good at his job, then, I think,’ Senova stated, then frowned.
‘You are a nobleman. Why are you a legionary and not a tribune?’
Rufinus sighed. ‘I’m not a legionary. Not any more, anyway. And I’m not a nobleman. either. I mean, I have good blood – patrician blood, even. The family goes back centuries, and branches of it are quite important in Beneventum. But our branch of the family fell from grace under Antoninus Pius and we are little more than Roman citizens now. We’re not counted among the patricians or even the equites now. My father does nothing but grumble about it and plot his return to importance and fortune, even though it was him who ruined the family in the first place. Our branch of the family languish in Hispania in self-imposed exile.’
Senova sniffed. ‘Then you will make a good centurion and from there climb back to being noble again.’
‘If only it were that easy, Senova, my father would have done it years ago.’
The three of them strolled out into the courtyard and Rufinus, first through the door and concentrating on the conversation with Senova, walked straight into the man coming the other way. As he staggered back, surprised, the other man stepped aside in a jingle of armour and accoutrements. Rufinus’ eyes widened as he took in the figure and he almost let out a gasp of dismay. The man was a centurion. His helmet was surmounted with a black crest, his chain shirt overlaid with a leather harness covered in medals, a vine stick jammed under one arm and a sour expression on his face. There was a one in six chance of any centurion Rufinus bumped into – literally, in this case – being the veteran one, but there was no doubt in his mind that this centurion was no raw recruit. You could tell from just one look at his swarthy face.
‘My apologies, Centurion,’ he managed, straightening. He wasn’t sure whether to salute. The etiquette was rather vague since he didn’t currently belong to any legion, let alone this one and probably outranked him by virtue of being a praetorian, though it was unlikely the centurion would see it that way.
The officer looked him up and down, taking in the praetorian elements of his gear. Thankfully, the sight of them didn’t seem to label Rufinus as the enemy, as he expected.
‘You should be more careful,’ the centurion murmured, his accent different from any Rufinus had heard thus far. Smoother, more eastern, he thought.
‘Yes, sir.’
Damn it. Why had he called him sir? That had just unconsciously defined their relative statuses and probably for good. Rufinus found himself saluting, too, before he realised what he was doing. The centurion simply raised an eyebrow and nodded, marching past, into the basilica. Rufinus hurried out into the courtyard, then became aware as he walked that he and Senova were alone. He stopped and turned. To his astonishment, Acheron was in the doorway behind him, the centurion crouched and ruffling the hair of the great animal’s head. Acheron was never that accepting of strangers. Except with Vibius Cestius…
‘Your dog?’
Rufinus nodded.
‘A magnificent specimen. I had one for a while. Lost him on campaign against Roxolani incursions. Keep him safe.’
Rufinus nodded again with a smile as the centurion gave Acheron a last rub behind the ear and then rose and strode off toward the tribune’s office. ‘This place is full of surprises,’ Rufinus muttered as Acheron padded over to join them once more.
‘I do not wish to live on my own,’ Senova said, suddenly.
‘What?’
The tribune. He will make a workshop into a home for me, and I will live there for a week while you stay with your legionaries. I do not wish to be alone in a place that smells of tools and timber for a week. I will go mad with boredom.’
Rufinus smiled. ‘I doubt that. I’ve never seen you stop long enough to get bored. But the tribune was right. If I’m to command men I can’t share the room with you. It would undermine my role. Besides, it’s illegal. And you really don’t want to stay out in the town. Anything might happen. At least here you’ll be safe.’
‘And bored.’
‘Better bored than knifed or raped in an alleyway,’ he said, trying to put an air of finality to it. They walked on.
A centurion. He was going to be a centurion. His father would be proud. He sighed. No, he wouldn’t. His father would always disapprove of anything less than a tribune. Still, he was going to command soldiers.
Suddenly he couldn’t recall anything a centurion was expected to do.
IV – A new career
Rufinus stepped out of the centurion’s quarters – a larger room at the end of his century’s barrack block – and took a deep breath of cool morning air. The sky was a pale blue and there was the promise of a warm day ahead. Good weather for his first day as a centurion. His first day in Dacia too, for he was now north of the Danuvius and had arrived in the province that had hung heavy in his thoughts this past month.
He had left his gear in the room, still in bags. He would have time to put it away later. Senova would be busy settling irritably into her new quarters now, her own bags unpacked. Rufinus had taken only his boots, weapons and personal effects from the bags. The rest of his equipment had been thoughtfully provided by Celer and had been awaiting him in the room. He wore a good red linen tunic, with a padded subarmalis over the top and then a fine chain shirt. A red cloak hung down behind him, pinned at the shoulders to the shirt. His helmet felt heavier than usual and a trifle unwieldy with the great black crest across it, but he’d admired the effect in his reflection in the dented bronze mirror and been more than satisfied. Celer had also supplied him with his vitis vine stick, a pair of bronze greaves and a medal harness to wear over the shirt. He had foregone this last, feeling it might be silly to wear the harness with just one medal. He still had the phalera embossed with a lion’s head that had been passed to him on a dais in Vindobona half a lifetime ago, but a whole harness for one metal disc would be a laughable sight.
Instead, he had jammed the vine stick beneath his left arm as he’d seen centurions do many times over the years, and unwrapped the gleaming silver spear he had received from the hand of the emperor, gripping it in his right.
There was a slow, almost sarcastic clapping of hands, and Rufinus looked sharply to his left to see a man in an optio’s crest, a great bull of a man with muscles like melons and a face that suggested he made a habit of running into walls. The man was giving him the slowest clap he’d ever heard. Rufinus felt
anger beginning to rise up in him, but it had the unfortunate effect of colouring his cheeks, which was not what he wanted right now.
‘Optio Daizus! Fall in, you horrible weasel,’ snapped a voice that carried so much authority Rufinus found himself straightening automatically. The optio snapped to attention, turned and marched out toward the via praetoria. Rufinus spun to the source of the authoritative voice and was hardly surprised to see Caius Cassius Proculeianus, the veteran centurion into whom he’d bumped the previous evening. Cassius held his vine stick low and tapped it thoughtfully on his greaves.
‘Now you look like a soldier. Not in that godsawful praetorian kit. I have a few words of advice for you, Centurion…?’
‘Rufinus,’ the younger man replied, trying not to stand so rigid.
‘Rufinus. Firstly, lose the silver spear. I and many of the veterans know what that is and how much you must have fought to earn it, but most of these lads are new and haven’t a clue. They will only see a king’s ransom in silver and a man trying to lord himself over them. You’ll win no respect with it. A vitis is all the symbol you need. Secondly, never stand around as though you’re taking the air or enjoying yourself. A centurion needs to be in command at all times. Even if you feel like taking the air, make it look like you're examining something. Go find someone working. Watch them and nod approvingly or tell them what they’re doing wrong. The men need to be constantly reminded of what you are. Thirdly, if someone is insolent like Daizus was just then, you need to leap on that and put it down straight away. You give them room to move and they will use it against you.’
Rufinus sighed. It was all good advice. ‘Daizus is my optio, I suppose?’
Cassius nodded. ‘And don’t sigh and sag like that. You look like a woman at court. With a build like that you’re a fighter. Act like one. Daizus could be a real asset to you. He’s fairly new but one of the strongest and most confident of all the men in your century. If you get him on side, he will be the best optio you could hope for. But he had just been given word he was to command and take the centurion’s crest. Then along you come and slip in ahead of him and he’s dropped back to optio again He’ll harbour a grudge until you sort it out one way or another.’
Eagles of Dacia Page 5