His thoughts hardened. Karus loved the Ninth. The legion was his home, and she was going into danger—mortal danger, if Karus was correct. How could he abandon her now?
“Did you know that the emperor is on his way to the island?” the legate said.
“Hadrian is coming here, sir?”
“It is not widely known yet, but indeed he is.” The legate picked a cup off of the table and sloshed the contents around a moment before taking a liberal sip. “Before I left Rome, barely three months ago, he told me himself.” The legate paused. “I fully intend to present him with a victory. You, Centurion Karus, will help me deliver that victory.”
“Yes, sir,” Karus said stiffly. The legate saw only the glory of a victory, the adoration of Rome, and further advancement waiting within his grasp; perhaps that even included the purple toga. Julionus would not be the first legate to crave the emperor’s chair. He was gambling with the legion and their lives on a fool’s errand, and Karus did not know how to stop it.
“I have no doubt we will bring the enemy to battle,” Julionus said, a fervent look in his eyes. “I have had the omens read. They are auspicious for a victory. The gods are on our side.”
Karus said nothing.
“Have no fear. We shall prevail.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door opened, and both men turned.
“Ah,” the legate said in a delighted tone. “Tribune Saturninus, I am so pleased you could join us.”
The tribune had arrived with Julionus. He was young, in his twenties, and handsome. The tribune had a ready smile and wore an expensive, thick fur robe over his tunic. He was no different than many of the other tribunes who came to serve with the legion—rich, powerful, and well-connected. For Saturninus, serving with the Ninth was a stepping stone to public office or higher military command.
“It is I who am pleased, sir,” Saturninus said. A clerk closed the door behind him. “Why, Karus, my favorite centurion, it is good to see you.”
“Sir,” Karus said neutrally. Since the first moment he had met Saturninus, the tribune had been nothing but friendly to him. That worried Karus, for Saturninus was clearly a player of politics, and such games were dangerous. Roman patricians rarely played nicely with each other. When their politics became violent, bystanders frequently suffered in their stead.
“I trust I have not missed anything?” Saturninus turned back to the legate.
“No, no,” the legate said, waving a negligent hand. “It is nothing we did not cover last evening. I’ve just explained my plan to the centurion.”
“And what do you think, Karus?”
“It is a bold plan, sir,” Karus said, and Saturninus turned his gaze on Karus, regarding him curiously. He was half tempted to bring up his objections again, but common sense intervened. He remained silent.
“Yes, well,” Julionus said, “I do have a talent for strategy.”
The legate went to a side table, where there was a fine ceramic pitcher, and poured some wine into two cups. He then walked back and handed one to Karus and the other to Saturninus before picking his own back up from the desk.
“A toast, to our success and victory.” The legate held up his cup and drank deeply. Karus hesitated a moment before taking a sip of the fine wine the legate had provided. He found it tasted like ash but, not being one to ever waste any type of wine, forced it down with a single gulp. The legate took back the cup with a disapproving expression.
Saturninus sipped his own. “A very fine vintage, sir.”
“Thank you,” Julionus said, looking down at his own cup. “Sentinum is my favorite wine. I brought it with me all the way from Rome.”
“Sentinum, really?” Saturninus took another sip and appeared to savor it. “Perhaps you would be kind enough to spare me some? Good-quality wine is hard to come by on this miserable island.”
The legate looked uncomfortable with the idea, and then caught Karus’s eye. He flashed another insincere smile Karus’s way.
“Fear not, Centurion,” the legate said, returning the cup to the table with the pitcher. “I have planned everything out. We even have the benefit of local guides to show us the way. Between the legion and my overstrength auxiliary cohorts, we will have over thirteen thousand highly trained men. With such a powerful force at my command, the enemy cannot hope to stop us.”
“Yes, sir,” Karus said. He wanted to object, but it was not his place. The legate had made up his mind. Karus, no matter how much he disagreed, was bound to support Julionus in his mad fantasy.
“Serve me well, and when we return, the position of camp prefect will be yours,” the legate continued.
“Thank you, sir,” Karus said, almost biting the words out. If we return, he wanted to say.
“Very good,” the legate said, seemingly pleased with himself. “I will have orders issued within the next few hours. We march in two days.”
Two days? Karus was rocked by this news. His mind raced over all that would need to be done. Supplies had to be drawn from the depots. The legion’s train had to be put together and packed. That alone usually took a week of careful planning, supervision, and work, especially after a long winter with little activity. Not to mention the time needed to check equipment and ensure that anything found deficient was repaired or replaced. There were a million things that needed doing, and with his new responsibilities, much of that would fall on his shoulders.
“Now, I am sure you have a lot to do,” the legate said with another smile that Karus felt had been intended to reassure. It had the opposite effect. “You are dismissed.”
Karus drew himself back up to a position of attention and saluted crisply. The legate did not bother to return his salute, but had turned back to his map and his fantasies. Karus eyed Julionus for a long second, then turned on his heel and left the office, remembering to close the door behind him. Before he closed the door, he saw Saturninus, cup in hand, walking over toward the fine ceramic pitcher.
Karus passed the clerks, barely noting their frenetic activity, and stepped out of the headquarters and into the street. The chill snap of the wind was a shock, yet Karus paid the cold no mind. He glanced around and saw Dio waiting for him just a few feet away. The other centurion had been leaning casually against the cracked, plastered wall of the headquarters building, flipping a silver coin into the air. A brown cat nosed its way around Dio’s feet, rubbing itself on one of his legs before walking off. Clearly his friend was hoping for a scrap of news.
“That bad?” Dio pushed himself off the wall and approached with a trace of a lopsided grin. He rolled the coin absently over his knuckles. “You look like your pay was just docked.”
“He promoted me to ‘acting camp prefect’,” Karus said. “And we march in two days.”
“What?” Karus could see Dio was genuinely shocked at this news. “Is there trouble to the south?”
“No,” Karus said and gestured in the direction the legion would be going. “We march north.”
Dio was silent as he absorbed this new information. “In two days? The entire legion?”
“Yes,” Karus said unhappily, and began making his way back toward his quarters. Dio fell in beside him, looking as troubled as Karus felt.
Karus’s mind raced as they walked. He had to get not only his own cohort as ready as possible, but the entire legion. Just thinking over all that needed to be accomplished in the limited amount of time available made him weary.
“It’s going to be a nightmare,” Dio said. “The ground is far from firm. Add a few thousand sandals, carts, horses, and hooves … it will be a bloody quagmire. We won’t be moving anywhere fast.”
“I know,” Karus said.
“Does the legate understand that?”
“I did my best to convey my concerns,” Karus said. He was unhappy with himself for not being more assertive. However, he also realized that had he done so, the position of camp prefect would have gone to someone else. At the very least, the position was his, even if it w
as only in an “acting” capacity. As camp prefect, in the days ahead he might be able to do some good. Perhaps he might even be able to mitigate some of the potential disaster that he felt was in store for the legion.
“Are we to have any support?”
Karus stopped and looked over at his friend. There was genuine concern in the other centurion’s eyes.
“No,” Karus said heavily. “We will be on our own, with only our auxiliary cohorts.”
“Madness,” Dio whispered.
“Nevertheless,” Karus broke eye contact, turned away, and started moving again. “Those are our orders.”
Dio did not follow.
Karus took a deep breath of the cold bitter air as he walked. He resolved to make an appropriate sacrifice to the gods. If he did right by them, hopefully they would do right by him. A little fortune, he reasoned, might just come in handy.
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