Fortress of Spears e-3

by Anthony Riches

  He turned away and remounted the big grey without a backward glance, meeting Felix’s raised eyebrows with a steady, expressionless gaze.

  ‘That will be the last of them, I’d say. Anyone that reached the forest deserves to live. Shall we take the survivors back to join their fellow slaves?’

  The small detachment rode back down the slope an hour later, the heads of the tribesmen they had overtaken dangling from their saddle horns and their prisoners staggering exhaustedly before them. Marcus trotted his mount over to the tribunes with Felix following him, and dismounted wearily, saluting the two senior officers before holding out what was left of Calgus’s cloak to Scaurus. The tribune took the garment and passed it in turn to Licinius. The senior officer nodded solemnly, tossing the prize to one of his bodyguard.

  ‘You took revenge for your father, then?’

  ‘I crippled him, and left him for the animals.’

  Licinius grimaced, casting a wry smile to Scaurus.

  ‘Remind me never to get on the wrong side of this young man. Still, with both Calgus and Drust dead we’ll have no more problems from the tribes any time soon, at least not until the current crop of barbarian children reaches maturity and decides to come looking for revenge, by which time it’ll be somebody else’s problem to handle. Who knows, perhaps we’ll even be able to reman the northern wall with this many of the tattooed bastards either dead or on their way to new homes.’

  Marcus looked out across the battlefield from the vantage point of his mount, surveying the aftermath of the Venicones’ disastrous attack. A mound of enemy dead was being stacked unceremoniously where the fighting had been the heaviest, at the point where the line had momentarily broken. Other soldiers were carefully collecting the detachment’s dead and stacking their corpses in neat lines, each body stripped of its armour and weapons in preparation for the funeral pyre for which the two Tungrian pioneer centuries were cutting wood at the forest’s edge. In another corner of the clearing a large group of tribesmen were huddling under the legion cohort’s spears, while soldiers pulled them one at a time from the mass of their comrades to be searched before they were roped into lines of downcast men ready for the long march south into slavery.

  ‘How many of them did we kill, sir?’

  The Petriana’s commander followed his gaze.

  ‘About five thousand of them at a guess. It was a bit of a bloodbath, if the truth be told. The killing was almost impossible to stop once we had them pinned against the forest, especially given the casualties our men took holding their first charge.’ He caught Marcus’s frown and smiled grimly. ‘We’ve lost over four hundred men, mainly in the struggle to close the line after Drust had battered his way through it. Apart from Tribune Laenas and that worthless fool Canutius, we’ve lost First Spear Neuto and three other centurions holding them back while the Sixth Legion decided whether to join in or not. If Canutius hadn’t been speared by his own men I’d probably have done the job myself. I suppose a couple of thousand slaves will make a decent contribution to the burial fund, and see the widows and children right, even if the sheer number of them drives their price down. And now that you’ve restored some measure of the Sixth Legion’s honour by dealing with the maniac that started the whole bloody mess off, I’d suggest that you…’

  He paused as a trumpet sounded. Marcus turned and looked over the heads of the labouring soldiers from his vantage point on the horse’s back.

  ‘There’s a rider coming in from the west. An officer from the look of it.’

  Licinius frowned with bemusement for a few seconds, then nodded slowly.

  ‘Of course. They’ll have followed the Venicones’ tracks. I should have expected this. You’d better come with me, gentlemen, because if I’m guessing correctly this concerns all of us.’

  Marcus and Felix dismounted, leading their horses behind them, and followed Tribunes Licinius and Scaurus across the slope, none of them noticing that Martos had detached himself from the body of his warriors and was following them at a discreet distance. The small party waited at the battlefield’s edge until the lone rider reached them. Equipped as a centurion, he was tall and thin, with a sardonic twist to his mouth.

  ‘Greetings, Centurion…?’

  The newcomer looked down at them curiously, making no attempt either to dismount or salute.

  ‘Greetings, gentlemen. You, sir, must be Tribune Licinius, if my estimate is correct. And as to these other three gentlemen, I’d guess that you’re Gaius Rutilius Scaurus, recently promoted from prefect to tribune. Your colleague Tribune Paulus at Noisy Valley gave me an excellent description of you, and I would have recognised the youngest of you without any such help, since he bears a distinct resemblance to the physical description I’ve been given for Marcus Valerius Aquila, son of an executed senator and therefore a fugitive from imperial justice.’ He stared at Felix for a moment before shaking his head with a wry smile. ‘And you, Decurion, are perhaps the most unexpected of all. You are Amulius Cornelius Felix, I presume? Tribune Paulus told me how you got that scar on your chin sparring with him as a boy. Your presence is a very welcome bonus, since your friend Paulus also told me, only after the application of quite significant personal duress, I should add, that you hold the key to a question that Praetorian Prefect Perennis is most keen to have answered.’

  The corn officer looked down at the three men in silence for a moment before speaking again, his expression one of utter confidence. I don’t suppose for one moment that you’re actually wondering who I am, since I’m sure that bad news always travels faster than good, but just for the formality of the thing, my name is Tiberius Varius Excingus. I’ve come a very long way to meet the four of you, all the way from the Camp of the Strangers in Rome, in fact, but it seems that I’ve arrived at a most propitious time, doesn’t it? A battle won, barbarians routed, everything as it should be with the exceptions standing before me, eh, gentlemen? One murdering traitor, the two most senior officers guilty of harbouring him for these last six months, and the one man who will eventually provide me with the proof of your collusion to protect the fugitive and enable me to identify just who it is that’s been writing such unpleasant letters to the prefect on the subject of his son’s death. And all in one place, which makes matters so much simpler.’

  He sat back on the horse with a smile, waiting for one of the men facing him to speak. Scaurus put a hand on the hilt of his sword, stepping forward and glaring up at the corn officer.

  ‘You do realise that you’re surrounded by soldiers who were fighting for their lives less than an hour ago? Men with their comrades’ blood still drying on their armour, and who have killed so many times today that one more death would make as little difference to them as swatting a fly? And you’re a long way from the Camp of the Strangers, Centurion. Doesn’t that make you feel a little vulnerable?’

  Excingus snorted, shaking his head in amusement.

  ‘I was told that you would be the pugnacious one, Rutilius Scaurus. And to answer your question, I feel as safe here talking to you as if I were walking through the forum in Rome. For one thing, I’m sure that neither you nor your colleague Tribune Licinius will want to jeopardise the lives of those you hold dear in Rome by any intemperate action. You might have been away from home for too long to know just how far the praetorian prefect has risen in the estimation of the throne, but suffice it to say that he’s been permitted to grant certain members of the Guard quite extraordinary powers. More than that, he’s provided them with sufficient latitude with regard to their personal conduct that they’re more than adequately motivated to carry out whatever orders he passes down to them. Let me stress that, gentlemen, whatever he orders. No matter how bloody, or distasteful. Given that I knew exactly who you were, do you doubt that I have already provided my associates with sufficient information to point these men of dubious honour at the very people you hold most dear?’

  A long silence hung in the air between the four men before Excingus spoke again.

&n
bsp; ‘In addition, should any further explanation of the threat my presence here poses both to you personally and to your loved ones at home be required, I should also point out that my approach to the scene of your triumph here is being witnessed with great care by the two horsemen that you’ll see waiting for me some distance away. Should any violence be done to my person here, they will ensure that the truth of it is known to both the governor and the Emperor…’

  ‘In which case Ulpius Marcellus would have no choice other than to have us put to death immediately.’

  ‘Exactly, Tribune Licinius, both succinct and correct. Which would leave your family here in the province somewhat at the mercy of anyone minded to make them pay for your treason, wouldn’t you say?’

  Licinius stared up at the corn officer with murder in his eyes, and then shook his head in slow, angry resignation, his eyes burning with hate as he spread his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  ‘Very well, Centurion. You have us all by the balls. What do you want?’

  Excingus nodded gravely.

  ‘Very pragmatic, sir, and just as I expected. What I want is very simple, Tribune, and without either choice or alternative. Put simply, both Decurion Felix and Centurion Aquila, to use his former name, will divest themselves of both weapons and armour, and then ride with me and my escort to a place not very far from here, where Aquila will be executed for his treason by my praetorian colleague. This will be carried out quickly and cleanly, for we take no special pleasure in this duty, and when sentence has been carried out then Felicia Clodia Drusilla will be released and indeed escorted to join you here…’

  Scaurus raised a hand to restrain Marcus as he tensed to leap at the corn officer.

  ‘No! Unless you want her dead, or worse, you must restrain yourself! Explain yourself, Centurion!’

  Excingus leaned forward on his saddle horn and smiled down at the hostile faces gathered around him.

  ‘There’s not really all that much to explain, Tribune Scaurus. Having gathered that the centurion here has something of a reputation as a fighting man, we thought it best to have an additional means of subduing him for our short ride to justice. If I fail to return within a specified time period then the lady will find herself on the receiving end of some rather degrading behaviour on the part of my praetorian escort. It’s just a precaution, of course, I’m sure there’ll be no need for any unpleasantness. Now, given that time is passing, shall we proceed, or would you rather keep the centurion here and allow all the consequences of non-cooperation that we’ve discussed to come to pass?’

  Marcus shook his head, fumbling with the buckle of his belt.

  ‘There’s no choice. I’ll go with this reptile and face the “justice” that’s been stalking me ever since the throne decided my father’s estate would make a nice contribution to the treasury.’

  He met Excingus’s eyes with a contemptuous stare, but the corn officer’s shrug was eloquent in its indifference.

  ‘I don’t judge the men on whom I’m ordered to exercise the imperial will, Valerius Aquila, I’m simply an instrument of my master. If Prefect Perennis says that you have to die, that’s simply the way that it is. Shall we? You too, Decurion Felix, although obviously you’ll be staying with us for a while longer. I have so many questions to ask you.’

  Marcus tossed his belt and swords aside, and tried to lift the heavy mail shirt over his head but was frustrated both by the armour’s weight and his own sudden exhaustion in the face of his impending death.

  ‘Let me help you, Centurion.’

  Martos stepped forward with a look at Scaurus, and took a firm grip of the heavy mail coat’s shoulders, lifting the armour over the Roman’s head. As he did so, Scaurus stepped forward with renewed anger, putting a hand on his sword’s hilt and sliding the weapon halfway from the scabbard before Licinius caught his arm and stopped the movement. Excingus, momentarily startled, resumed his confident pose as he watched the two tribunes’ momentary battle of wills, grinning smugly as the older man tightened his grip on Scaurus’s arm and clamped his other hand on to his incensed colleague’s sword hand. Shaking his head firmly, Licinius pushed the blade home into its scabbard, ignoring the rage in his colleague’s eyes and speaking to him calmly, in a tone akin to that used by a father to a recalcitrant son.

  ‘I don’t know about you, Rutilius Scaurus, but I’d like to keep my family out of this mess. If you draw that sword he’ll have his praetorian animals rip apart the lives of everyone we care about. Think about it.’

  Scaurus stood stock still for a moment, his body shaking with repressed anger, and then turned away, putting a hand to his eyes. Excingus smiled wryly at the sight, shaking his head.

  ‘You really do need to learn to take this sort of thing with a touch more equanimity, Tribune. If this is the worst thing that ever happens to you then you’ll have had a fortunate life by comparison with most of us.’

  Marcus stepped past his tribune with a reassuring pat on the other man’s arm, staring up at the mounted man with a look of disgust.

  ‘Very well, Centurion, if you’re ready?’

  Excingus gestured wearily to the horse alongside his own.

  ‘Climb aboard, Valerius Aquila, and let’s get this over and done with. You, Decurion, can ride your own beast. A fine-looking animal, you really are a very privileged young man.’

  The three men turned and rode away from the knot of officers and soldiers watching them, while Scaurus, Licinius and Martos stood and watched them disappear over the ridge. Licinius raised an eyebrow at his colleague, his tone reflective.

  ‘That went about as well as we could have expected. The rest is up to the pair of them.’

  Martos walked away from the tribunes briskly as soon as the corn officer turned his horse away, knowing that Arminius wouldn’t be far from his master at such a moment. He found the German waiting a dozen paces distant, his arms folded with disapproval.

  ‘We should have fought. Allowing them to take our friend away without any resistance shames us all.’

  The Votadini prince shook his head.

  ‘They have his woman. And that bastard was very clear that he will tear through the tribunes’ families if he even suspects them of attempting to rescue the boy.’

  They shared a dour glance before Arminius spoke.

  ‘All of these things will happen whether we resist or not. Those animals are strangers to any idea of honour.’

  ‘So you think we should follow them?’

  The German nodded.

  ‘They’ll be looking behind them for horsemen, but they won’t see a pair of dirty barbarians trailing them along the forest edge if we stay far enough back.’

  Martos snorted with laughter.

  ‘If we stay far enough back? With them on horses and us on foot? Staying far enough back isn’t going to be much of a problem. Come on, then…’

  He turned for the treeline, only to find Lugos standing behind them, towering over both men. Martos raked him with a hostile stare.

  ‘What do you want, Selgovae?’

  The warrior flexed his shoulders, great ropes of muscle moving beneath his scarred skin, and hefted the war hammer that he had liberated from the growing pile of captured barbarian weapons. Similar to Drust’s heavily decorated weapon, the hammer hanging nonchalantly from his hand was, if anything, heavier, its iron beak sharpened to a point and the handle’s counterweight formed from a disc of iron which had been patiently worked to produce a ragged edged and a viciously hooked half-moon blade.

  ‘Roman spared my life, now I pay back debt. And you not call me Selgovae. I have no tribe.’

  The prince grimaced at Arminius, tightening his sword belt a notch in readiness for their run to the east.

  ‘It’s up to you. Does he run with us?’

  The German nodded, tossing aside his round wooden shield.

  ‘Yes. Since you and I are also both dispossessed of our tribes, it seems we have no option but to accept a fellow exile. Now run!’
>
  Marcus managed to hold to his initial resolve, to treat the corn officer with a frosty silence as they rode to meet the praetorians waiting on them, for no more than a minute. Felix kept silent as his friend’s indignant anger boiled over, stroking Hades’ neck gently as if savouring the feeling one last time.

  ‘So this all means nothing to you? You’re happy to carry out your master’s instructions without giving any thought to the innocent lives you’re destroying?’

  Excingus’s response to the question was a look of near-incredulity.

  ‘And what would you have me do, Valerius Aquila? Tell the second-most powerful man in the Empire that I’m sorry, but the man you’ve sent me to kill isn’t really guilty of anything, other than being born into the wrong family at the wrong time. Should I tell him that his son, far from being the innocent victim of a fugitive from justice, was in reality a traitor who betrayed his legion and caused the loss of their eagle, one of the worst possible military reverses possible? Because believe me, I’ve heard all those stories before over the space of the last couple of months. And doubtless most of them are true…’

  Marcus snorted his derision.

  ‘Most of them?’

  Excingus laughed, shaking his head.

  ‘Very well. All of them, if that helps you to feel better, and more besides, no doubt. The fact remains, young man, that I am an imperial enforcer, and, having reached the dizzy rank of centurion in the Camp of the Foreigners, therefore without any real choice in this matter. Gentlemen, I am an urbane version of the men that collect their tribute from the businesses of the Subura district, but no less of a hired sword for all that, and I am as subject to the praetorian prefect’s will as if he were riding alongside us. Were I sufficiently weak minded to yield to the “justice” in your words, and release you to run again, what do you think would happen to me, eh? I would be dead before the sun kissed the western horizon, of course, and dead, I should add, at the hand of the very man with whom Prefect Perennis has paired me for the task of finding you, and erasing you from this pathetic existence that you’ve chosen as being preferable to a quick death. I have neither illusions nor any choice in this matter, Valerius Aquila, and neither do you, but to play your part, and die with as much dignity as can be managed under the circumstances.’