The Eagle's Vengeance

by Anthony Riches

  ‘But I gave specific orders for it to be guarded at all times!’

  Castus smiled tightly.

  ‘I know. And hurtful though it may be for you to realise it, when an officer with thirty years’ service and a dozen scars to bear witness to them requests the assistance of his legion’s senior centurions, they tend to take somewhat more notice of him than of a military tribune whose most dangerous exploit seems to have been escorting the emperor’s favourite catamite on his daring shopping expeditions into the Subura.’ He strolled forward, patting Marcus on the shoulder. ‘You see, the Centurionate has an endearing tendency towards the preservation of their legion’s honour above all else, and so when I revealed to the first spear that your marvellous rescue of the eagle was in fact a sham, it was all I could do to prevent him from taking his gladius to you, and bugger the consequences. Moving the gold, once I told him that it was intended for use in setting his legion on a path to treachery and possible disaster, was a relatively easy sell.’

  Scaurus nodded sagely.

  ‘And after all, it’s an integral part of my plan.’

  ‘Your … plan?’

  Scaurus waved a hand at Marcus, and turned his attention back to the captured eagle. The young centurion stepped closer to the terrified tribune, one hand tapping on the hilt of his gladius.

  ‘This sword belonged to the Sixth Legion’s legatus. He left it for me when he was killed, hidden beneath the body of the last man to carry that eagle, because he was my birth father. His legion was betrayed by another of Prefect Perennis’s sons, which means that both of my fathers were killed as the consequence of the praetorian prefect’s plans to take the throne. Now that we have all the proof we’ll ever need to see him executed we’re going to deliver that evidence to Rome, and alert the emperor to the danger he faces from his right-hand man.’

  Sorex shook his head in amazement.

  ‘You can’t just march on Rome; you’ll be stopped before you even reach the south coast of the province. Once the new legati arrive and find out what you’ve done they’ll send the legion cavalry after you with orders for you to return, and if you fail to obey then you’ll be hunted down and then put to the sword in very short order.’ He shook his head at Castus sadly. ‘And you, Prefect, will find yourself on your way home as a civilian if you’re lucky!’

  ‘You’re right, of course …’ Scaurus shrugged easily. ‘If Perennis’s placemen find out what we’ve done then they’ll certainly bring the full weight of their authority to bear on us in order to get that gold back. The thing is, Fulvius Sorex, you have to ask yourself one simple question.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper, bending close to his colleague. ‘Who’s going to tell them?’

  The younger man stared up at him for a moment before the realisation of Scaurus’s explicit threat hit him, his eyes widening in horror.

  ‘You don’t mean …’

  ‘You have to admit there’s an inescapable logic to my question.’ Scaurus raised an eyebrow at his colleague. ‘There are only a very few people who might alert the legati to what’s happened here, when they eventually arrive. The Sixth’s first spear is most unlikely to do so. He’s already made sure that the men who moved the gold are in no position to tell anyone else where they took it, since he had them marched off up the road to the Wall to strengthen one of the more remote garrisons the moment the job was done. Which leaves you, Fulvius Sorex. And if you’re not here to tell them that we’ve taken the gold with us then they’ll be none the wiser, will they?’

  He stood in silence, waiting for Sorex to respond while the young tribune looked about him as if searching for some way out of the situation.

  ‘But surely … I mean …’

  ‘Don’t panic, colleague, I’m not ready to put a fellow officer to death quite yet, we do have civilised standards of behaviour to maintain after all. But I’m sure you can see my quandary. If I leave you alive you’re sure to inform the legati of what I’ve done, aren’t you?’

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  ‘Really?’ Scaurus looked at him sceptically. ‘What guarantee do I have that you won’t renege on whatever we agree just as soon as I’m no longer a threat to you?’

  ‘My word as a Roman gentleman, Rutilius Scaurus!’ The younger man jumped to his feet, holding out a hand palm uppermost. ‘I’ll swear to you now on whichever god you choose that I’ll tell the praetorian prefect’s men nothing!’

  Scaurus nodded, turning to Castus with a questioning look.

  ‘What do you think, Prefect? After all, I’ve no desire to spill blood in a legion headquarters.’

  The older man shrugged.

  ‘I share your reticence to dishonour this place. And it’s hardly Fulvius Sorex’s fault if he happens to find himself a victim of unhappy circumstance.’

  ‘Very well colleague, we’ll let you live. There is, however, the small matter of making your silence on the subject of our whereabouts look convincing. Surely the record of our presence in the headquarters tonight will leave you open to the question as to why you didn’t simply call out the guard to take us captive, if you had even the slightest suspicion as to our intentions? No, we have to make this look more convincing …’

  Castus held up a hand, reaching into a belt pouch for a small bottle.

  ‘One of the curses of thirty years’ service is that I tend to be troubled by the ghosts of men long dead. On those infrequent occasions when I find myself unable to sleep, a few drops of this extract of certain medicinal herbs puts me to sleep as quickly as a lamp being snuffed.’

  Scaurus turned back to his colleague.

  ‘There you have it, the perfect answer. You will consume enough of the Prefect’s draught to put you to sleep for the night, and I’ll tell the duty centurion that you’re so drunk that I couldn’t get any sense out of you. After all, it isn’t every day that a man gains the glory of having regained his legion’s eagle, is it? You could be forgiven for having taken a cup or two of wine on board, I would have thought?’

  Sorex nodded, the relief he was feeling transparent to every man in the room.

  ‘And a good night’s sleep thrown into the bargain. Of course, it’s an excellent idea.’

  He reached for the wine flask, pouring two cups of wine and handing one to Scaurus, then turned and offered the other to Castus with a small bow. The camp prefect carefully tipped his medicine bottle to allow three drops of the dark, oily mixture to drip into the cup, chatting to the tribune as he did so.

  ‘I must warn you, even this diluted the draught is almost revoltingly sweet. The best way to consume the drink is to tip it straight back, or you may find yourself so put off that you’re unable to force the rest down your neck. Here’s one more drop for good luck, eh? Gods below but you’ll sleep well tonight, and I have to warn you that you may have a bit of a headache when you wake up …’

  Every man in the room started as the sound of a sword being pulled from its scabbard rasped out, and all eyes turned to Marcus as he stepped forward with Legatus Sollemnis’s eagle’s-head-pommelled sword shining in the lamplight.

  ‘You’re going to let him live? The traitor who sent us north to The Fang with the intention of having the Venicones overrun an entire cohort in the hope of killing just one man? The bastard who’s been trying every trick at his disposal to put my wife on her back despite knowing her to be an honourable Roman matron?’

  He advanced towards the terrified tribune with a look of unbridled fury, raising the gladius until its point was aimed squarely at his face. Scaurus raised a hand to Julius, who was readying himself to leap at his friend from behind, forestalling the attack as he stepped into his centurion’s path.

  ‘Centurion Corvus, lower your sword. You know that there is no honour to be gained from revenge taken in this way. And besides, you can console yourself with the knowledge that Fulvius Sorex will have a lifetime to regret the choices he made in this matter.’

  He stared at Marcus steadily, watching as the young Roman looked first
at Sorex, still rooted to the spot with fear, and then darted a glance at Castus, who simply raised his eyebrows in reply. Nodding slowly in recognition of the tribune’s order, he sheathed the sword and stepped back into the shadows alongside Julius, ignoring the glare that the first spear played upon him. Heaving a sigh of relief, Scaurus beckoned the camp prefect forward, and watched as Castus handed the wine cup to the red-faced Sorex with a wink.

  ‘Remember, down in one’s the only way to tolerate the sickly taste.’

  He watched approvingly as Sorex upended the cup. The tribune shrugged at them, his face baffled at the absence of any unpleasant taste.

  ‘A little fruity, but there’s really nothing to it. So, how long will it take to have effect?’

  Castus smiled at him, indicating his chair with a hand.

  ‘I’d sit down now, Fulvius Sorex, if I were you. The drug works quickly at that concentration.’

  The tribune turned to walk back around his desk, but swayed where he stood as the concoction started to take a grip of him. Scaurus and Castus took an arm apiece and helped him into the chair, and the senior tribune took the replica eagle and fitted it into his hands with a faint smile.

  ‘Here, you can cuddle up to this. It’ll look all the more credible if anyone puts their head around the door. I’ll look after the fake for you.’

  Sorex opened his mouth to speak, but although his mouth moved it made no sound. Castus tousled his hair affectionately.

  ‘Lost your tongue, Sorex? It’s no surprise to me, the lady who gave me the draught told me that it often silences its victims, in that short time between ingestion and the onset of the poison’s symptoms, and it seems that she was right. So I feel it only fair to tell you that while you were gibbering at Centurion Corvus, the Prefect here added another dozen drops of that rather powerful medicine to your drink.’ He smiled down at the tribune’s twitch of an eyebrow, his body apparently already paralysed by the drug’s powerful dose. ‘Yes, you’ll be dead very shortly now, and without a single mark to hint at the manner of your death. Sat here cuddling up to your legion’s eagle, I don’t doubt that the centurions will be quick to deify you as having died of the sheer joy of your success. After all, you didn’t seriously think we were going to fall for that “my word as a Roman gentleman” nonsense, did you?’

  Sorex started, his tongue protruding from his mouth as he shuddered and fought for breath. Castus lifted his uncomprehending face, his smile hard and cruel as the younger man fought for his life, his breath coming in tiny pants as the poison slowly but surely squeezed the last vestiges of life from his body.

  ‘And now come the shakes, Sorex, the terrifying struggle to breathe and the slide into unconsciousness. Fitting punishment for a man with your delight in forcing others to your will, like my beautiful Desidra and others before her, I don’t doubt. She confessed it all to me earlier, Sorex, she told me what you’d forced her to do in defence of the last years of my career, and made me promise not to ruin my life by taking my sword to you. Fortunately your other victim had already provided me with the perfect means of taking my revenge …’ He stopped talking, realising that the last light had faded from the tribune’s eyes. ‘I think he’s gone now.’

  Scaurus put a finger to the tribune’s neck.

  ‘Indeed he is. Let’s be on our way. You can have this, Centurion, as the reward for restraining that magnificent temper of yours.’ He passed Marcus the genuine eagle. ‘I think it’s best if we keep this for the time being, and I can’t think of a man who’s better qualified to care for it until the time comes to return it to the right person. And now I think it’s time that we were on our way. We’ve a lot to prepare if we’re going to march south at first light, and little enough time in which to do it.’

  The legion’s senior centurion was waiting for them outside Sorex’s office, his pre-arranged presence clearly making the legionaries on guard nervous to judge from the sweat running down their necks, and the camp prefect took him aside with a broad smile.

  ‘It’s the best possible news, First Spear; the eagle that the tribune and his men captured yesterday is clearly genuine. You can’t fake that level of craftsmanship, and it has all of the secret marks that confirm it was made in Rome at the imperial armouries. Mars be praised, we’ve restored the legion’s good name!’ He handed the centurion a tablet bound in ash and secured with a shining brass hook and eye. ‘Here’s the record of its markings that your last eagle bearer kept which will help you to prove its provenance. I congratulate you upon the return of so important a symbol of imperial power, and the removal of the threat that has hung over this legion since the battle where it was lost.’

  The veteran centurion nodded gravely.

  ‘The best possible news indeed, sir. And the tribune, sir?’

  Castus winked in reply.

  ‘Tribune Sorex has clearly had a hard few days and, I would guess from the state of him, a few cups of wine. In truth he was half asleep when we arrived, and he fell asleep while we were examining the standard. I put it back in his hands and left him to it, and I suggest we let him sleep, rather than disturbing him. After all, he’s more than earned it.’

  The senior centurion nodded solemnly, giving no clue of his complicity with the Tungrians’ scheme.

  ‘I’ll do that, Camp Prefect.’

  Castus gestured to Scaurus and his centurions.

  ‘Before I forget, Tribune Sorex did confirm Legatus Equitius’s orders for the Tungrian cohorts. It seems that Tribune Scaurus here is to take both of his auxiliary cohorts south and cross the sea to Gaul. The legatus has word from a colleague in Lugdunum that the province is infested with bandits, and is requested to detach some of our strength to help in their suppression. Since the legion is forbidden to leave camp, the legatus deems it appropriate for an auxiliary task force to be sent in our place, and it seems the Tungrians are well experienced at dealing with thieves and robbers.’

  Scaurus stepped forward with a respectful nod to the senior centurion.

  ‘We plan to march at dawn, First Spear, but it seems we have too much baggage for our carts. Perhaps you could assist us with the procurement of some additional transport capacity?’

  The first spear’s answer was delivered straight faced, but there was no mistaking the tone of his voice.

  ‘Indeed Tribune. I’ll have the carts that carried Tribune Sorex’s cargo from Arab Town made ready. I’d imagine that should be enough to fit your needs?’

  10

  Rome, August, AD 184

  ‘Well now, if it isn’t Gaius Rutilius Scaurus! Well met once again, Tribune, even if not in quite the circumstances we might both have expected!’

  Scaurus stepped forward to meet the big man standing in the road in front of the halted Tungrian column, his armour tinted orange by the late afternoon sun and the layer of dust that coated the sculpted bronze plate. Senator Albinus was standing at the head of a group of twenty or so muscular-looking followers who to Marcus had the look of veteran soldiers for the most part, men a few years past their prime whose scars and almost sleepily calm demeanour marked them out as having been hardened in battle. Their meeting point had clearly been carefully chosen, hidden from the straggling settlements that littered the roadside at frequent intervals by trees that arched over the road to form a green tunnel, and Marcus smiled to see Julius looking about him with a look of professional discomfort, his eyes searching the greenery for any sign of movement as he addressed the men of his leading century.

  ‘All the way from Britannia and not a sign of anyone trying to stop us? If it’s going to happen anywhere then it’s going to happen here, before we reach the city, so just keep your fucking wits about you, gentlemen …’

  The tribune took Albinus’s outstretched arm and found himself engulfed in a powerful bear hug, as the senator greeted him with the same slightly disquieting enthusiasm with which they had parted in Dacia the previous year. The last time that Scaurus had seen the big man he’d been outfitted and groomed
for his position as an imperial legion’s legatus, his hair and beard cut tight to his powerful head and bull neck, but a year in Rome following his triumphant return from Dacia had clearly encouraged him to follow the latest imperial fashion. His glossy and immaculately barbered beard trailed a good four inches from his jaw, and his hair had been allowed to grow out into a tangle of artfully coiffured curls. When Albinus released him from the grip the bemused tribune stepped back with a wry smile and nodded respectfully, wincing at the dust that had transferred itself from his travel-soiled uniform to the senator’s pristine toga.

  ‘Forgive me, Decimus Clodius Albinus, something of my experience from the road seems to have rubbed off on you …’

  An admonishing finger silenced him, and Albinus held his arms wide, his voice raised to carry to his men.

  ‘I told you in Dacia, Tribune, and I’ll tell you again at the gates of Rome, you and I are beyond formalities after the terrible things we’ve seen and done together …’ Julius and Marcus exchanged glances in their places behind their tribune, the first spear raising a sardonic eyebrow. ‘… and so to you I will always simply be Decimus, your friend.’ He brushed at the soiled tunic ineffectually, raising a grubby hand with a laugh. ‘And besides, what’s a little dust when you’ve marched for three months from the edge of the world to make it possible for us to save the empire from the grasping hands of a usurper?’ Stepping closer to Scaurus, he lowered his voice. ‘I’ve arranged for your men to be accommodated in the city’s transit barracks, and I’d suggest that my men take the gold on into Rome from here. What do you say, eh?’

  The tribune looked back at him levelly, lowering his voice to match the senator’s conspiratorial tone.

  ‘Well Decimus, I think if you were to push the question I’d say that I’ve not marched fifteen hundred miles to abandon my task at the gates of the city. I suggest that your men march into the city alongside enough of mine to carry the chests, to demonstrate the part you’ve taken in bringing this matter to the emperor’s attention?’