The Edge of Honor

by Minnette Meador

  Suetonius picked up another tablet. “Marius is no deserter, Tribune.”

  A flash of crimson colored the man’s cheeks as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Forgive me, sir. It must be a rumor. After what happened with Caligula, I thought...”

  Suetonius lifted only his eyes to take full measure of the young officer. Something in Quintius’ tone piqued his interest and gave him a notion. “What did you think?”

  Quintius shrugged and examined his nails. “Well, it is no secret why he was exiled to Britannia.”

  His face was shrewd, questing, but Suetonius ignored it and said nothing.

  Quintius continued, “I heard he was relieved of command after the revolt for failing his duty.”

  “Not exactly.” Suetonius lifted his cup to drink without elaborating. “You do not like him, do you?”

  “I admire him very much. After all, he was considered to be one of the finest swordsmen in the empire.”

  Suetonius eyed Quintius from above the wooden vessel. “As far as I know, Tribune, he still is.”

  Quintius distended his lips and set down the tablet. “If you say so, sir.”

  Suetonius broke out with a deep guffaw and hammered his leg with his hand. “I have seen you fight, Quintius. I would pay good money to see that match.”

  “We will trust it does not come to that.” The tribune nodded and rose to go. “I will take my leave to carry out your orders, Governor, if there is nothing else.”

  Suetonius wiped his eyes and pulled another stack of tablets towards him, giving Quintius a flick of his hand in salute. “Dismissed.”

  Quintius turned for the entrance, but stopped before exiting. “One more thing, sir. It would be much easier to keep track of these Britons if we knew where they were to begin with.”

  Suetonius’ hand stopped in mid-signature. “Meaning?”

  “A census, sir. If we performed a weekly census, we would know where they were. In case one of the tribes might be expanding beyond what is considered normal.”

  A deep hum escaped Suetonius’ throat. He shot a look of renewed admiration at his officer. “Clever bastard.”

  “Not really, sir,” he said modestly. “The census is something we did from time to time in Germania. It was most effective.”

  Suetonius appraised the man for a long time before speaking. Quintius was definitely one to watch. “Very good, Tribune. See to it.”

  “It would be my pleasure, sir. With your permission, I believe the Corieltauvi are the closest tribe. Perhaps having Marius set a good example for the other leaders would be a good start. Your personal request would be very effective, I believe.”

  Suetonius laughed again, liking the gist of the proposition. “It would be good to see him again.”

  There was the slightest tilt to Quintius’ head. “I had forgotten. The two of you are friends, are you not?”

  Suetonius sat up and folded his hands. “Friends? That would be a stretch. We have known each other for many years. He saved my life once. That was a long time ago.”

  “Yes, sir.” Quintius stood at attention and saluted his commander. “I will plan on marching with you to the Corieltauvi Hillfort as my first stop. May I suggest we leave this morning, sir? We could be there this afternoon. I think the men are eager for a new assignment. I can organize the centurions for a quick departure, if you like.”

  “Very good, Tribune. I will place it in your capable hands.”

  “With your leave, sir?”

  “Dismissed, Tribune.” Suetonius gave Quintius a feeble salute and went back to his tablets chuckling.

  When Quintius was out of the tent, he muttered beneath his breath, “Pompous idiot.”

  He called orders to have the centurions gather at the edge of camp. The warm continence of his face turned cold, a side he never let Suetonius see. His legions and his women saw this face often. A luckless slave boy handed him the reins of his horse and received a clot to the head for being too slow.

  Digging his heels into his mount, he shouted orders to the cadre of ten Roman soldiers who appeared at his back. Quintius was no fool. He had recruited these men early in his career, assuring their loyalties with either coin or other means. They were shadows wherever he went.

  Suetonius is a fat fool. Quintius felt justified in his plans to have the general removed from his post as governor. The general’s “cruelty” to the Celtic tribesmen was infamous.

  Quintius smiled to himself, knowing the old man would be outraged when they told him what his soldiers were doing to the populace. The tortures, the brutality, and the rapes; the discriminate abuses and executions were strategically placed, meticulously planned. Quintius had been committing atrocities in Suetonius’ name for months.

  A kind of vindictive irony .

  Banging his heels into his horse, he sped through the camp disregarding the soldiers who had to jump out of his way.

  He had received word that morning. The last piece of the plan had fallen into place. Quintius had the identity of the masked man and knew which kingdom should pay for its insolence. All he had to do was prove it… and catch him. Marius would not willingly surrender.

  Quintius saw his centurions waiting in a rough group on the western edge of the camp, the horses obviously nervous under their masters.

  He had made it a point to get to know each of them intimately, every secret, every weakness. All men have secrets, he loved to say and found it was almost always true. Of course, there was usually one exception.

  Centurion Kuna, Marius’ replacement, was untouchable. Why Suetonius would assign the man to centurion, Quintius could not understand. The ex-gladiatorial slave was a dishonor to the legion, but he was clever, resourceful, and completely devoted to Marius. Quintius learned early not to underestimate Kuna. He was the finest equestrian in the ranks. Quintius had lost thousands at races the Asian had won. The skill with which he held a gladius was equally uncanny. It was rumored he was second only to Marius. The command of his troops was absolute.

  Blackmail, bribes, and even coercion had no affect on their loyalty. Quintius’ prejudice made it difficult to believe the power of this man. He could never get past the deformed body, the slightly hunched back, or the scarred eastern face. In Quintius’ view, they should have split him in two when he was born.

  Kuna sat apart from the others along with one of the smaller Briton horses behind him. Even at her age, the woman sitting on the horse was beautiful despite the worn Roman robe and roughly hewn cloak. Her salt and pepper hair was loose, catching the wind to fly untamed around her face. When Quintius approached, Kuna nudged his horse between them. The act did not block her musky perfume. Quintius smiled and breathed deeply.

  “I am grateful you could join us, Centurion,” he said. “This is the third time I have ordered you here.”

  Kuna wrapped his hands around the reins and flexed his shoulders. “I busy. Orders from governor.”

  “So I have heard.” Quintius brought his horse close to the little man and leaned toward him. “Disobey my orders again and you will lose your rank or more.” He lifted his eyes to the woman behind Kuna. “Do I make myself clear?”

  Kuna jerked his chin down and tightened his jaw, but said nothing.

  Quintius stared at the woman, studying her well-formed body. He knew her well. Antonia, Marius’ sister and Kuna’s whore. The thought disgusted him. She was much too lovely for the deformed abomination.

  What I could teach her if given the chance . The thought of Marius’ sister beneath him made his loins tighten.

  He motioned two of his guards to nudge Kuna out of the way and moved his horse to brush her leg with his own. Antonia narrowed her eyes and put a hand inside her cloak, goading her mount closer to her husband. Kuna drew his blade and placed it protectively in front of her, effectively driving Quintius and his men back.

  “This Kuna wife,” he said, eyeing them. “Any man touches her, dies.”

  Knowing his reputation, the guards looked at their c
ommander and, at a nod, stepped back into the ranks.

  The flash of Antonia’s defiant eyes made Quintius’ deeper instincts stir. He bowed low and tossed Kuna an insipid smile. “Forgive me, Kuna, I had no idea you could possibly have such a beauty for a wife. Her price must have been very high.”

  Antonia’s eyes blazed as she gripped the reins. Quintius loved how the suppressed irritation made her bosom rise. She lifted her chin and said nothing. Kuna remained as immoveable as stone.

  Quintius purposefully lifted an eyebrow and leaned towards her. “You could have lain with any man, my beauty. Perhaps you should have chosen a finer-looking partner.”

  “There is no one here more handsome than my husband.” Antonia kicked her horse to stand at Kuna’s side and leaned over to kiss him. “I will see you at Hillfort,” she whispered, touching his forehead with hers. “I love you.”

  A silly grin lit up Kuna’s face to the hoots of the soldiers. Antonia turned the horse away from them and kicked it into an expert gallop up the Iter III road.

  Stretching his neck until the sound of the cartilage snapped against the air, Kuna smiled at Quintius, the danger unmistakable in the bend of his lips, the gleam in his eyes. Quintius cleared his throat, shot one more fleeting leer at the receding woman, and turned to the others.

  “Muster!”

  The centurions fell into ranks behind his stallion and followed him into a clearing off the main road. When they settled, soldiers handed out wax tablets to each of them.

  “These are the orders from the general,” Quintius started, watching them carefully. “In addition to what you have in your hands, you will add the following:

  “There has been an alarming amount of preferential treatment given to unaffiliated Britons. This stops today. Renegades found in the woods will be dealt with as any other criminal. They will be arrested, questioned thoroughly, and either executed or enslaved as befits their station. Is that clear?” Murmurs went up from the soldiers.

  “This order from general?” Kuna asked.

  The little man’s dark eyes pierce through Quintius’ self-confidence, and ire sent fire to his cheeks. “Of course. Failure to follow will result in immediate discipline.”

  There were whispers of acquiescence, but Kuna did not make a sound.

  “The second order…” the words exploded out of Quintius’ mouth. Mustering his discipline, he pushed his anger back. He would deal with Kuna later. He needed to focus.

  “The second order,” he repeated with more control, “is for a census, which is to take place immediately. You are to divide up your soldiers, travel to every fort, village, town, or farm in your assigned areas, and take a standard count.”

  Kuna gave him an infuriating half-smile.

  “Unless there are any questions, you are all dismissed.” Without waiting for a reply, Quintius mounted his horse and spurred it toward camp, followed by his guard.

  He had much to prepare if he was to become king and then emperor. Vindication stilled his irritation. Suetonius had fallen so readily into his plans. The rest would be easy.

  The Edge of Honor

  Chapter IV

  Marius could not sleep. Making certain not to disturb Delia, he dressed quietly and left their room to sit on a stone bench in the garden.

  He scanned at the dawn soaked sanctuary nestled at the back of the great house. This refuge, enclosed between two storage houses and a spiked pole fence, was always peaceful and deserted. Not many came here. The spot had drawn him the first day he stepped into Hillfort almost a year ago. Three split log benches lay upon stumps, decaying among the herbs. Fragrant plants and the heady smell of fungus mingled, urging him to pull in a lungful of crisp morning air. Sprawling bushes covered the wall and slithered onto the beaten dirt roadway between the garden and the back of the great house.

  The uncertainty had returned. It woke him from a sound sleep in the middle of the night, even as Delia lay warm in his arms. Guilt was tearing a hole in his belly, but he could not stop it. The desire to go back, to don his uniform, to feel the balteus dangling over his loin, to feel a cold Roman spear in his hand was overwhelming.

  He had dreamed of his men’s unison voices responding to his orders, the drums shaking the earth. Marius wanted to feel the rush of anticipation, the satisfaction of watching his men in exact precision standing before him, to experience the power of command coursing through his veins, hammering at his heart. The feeling of loss was astounding.

  But then Delia’s lovely face surfaced behind his eyes and the rush of regret soon faded under his love for his wife.

  A tall Roman horse charged around the house, snapping him out of his reverie. Aelius looked exhausted and worried. He pulled on his reins and whispered a soft whoa to his mount. “You look tired.”

  Marius rubbed his face. “Report.”

  “Kuna sent me ahead to tell you the general has ordered a census, starting with the Corieltauvi. Suetonius is leading ten centuries down the Iter III as we speak.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Has he found—”

  “No, sir. All the refugees are safe, but they are still in the woods. They will not be for long if the soldiers decide to search. We have about two hundred to place.”

  Marius looked up at his ward and swore under this breath. “How much time?”

  “I would say less than eight hours, sir, if we are lucky and they are not in a hurry. Half that, if they are.”

  “Can we move the rest of the refugees in time?”

  “I do not think so. It is going to take the rest of the day and night to move those people in time for a census. Most of them are on foot. We do not have enough horses.”

  Marius stared vacantly at the herbs around his feet. “I will delay them as long as I can. Get those refugees moved.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Aelius turned the horse around and charged out of the garden at full gallop.

  Marius stared after him. When Aelius disappeared, he sank his hands between his knees and let his head fall.

  He heard the soft rustle of fabric behind him and caught her scent. “I did not mean to wake you.”

  “You did not wake me.” Delia held onto her swollen belly and slid down next to him on the bench.

  “The general is—”

  “I heard.”

  “We are going to have to delay them.” Marius intertwined his fingers and stared at them. “He will bring many men.”

  “I know.” She touched his back and then ran her hand through his hair. “You will work it out, as you always do. Now, come eat.”

  Marius turned his head to give her a wistful smile. Straightening his back, he took her hands, brushed them against his cheek, and then kissed them one at a time.

  Delia led him from the garden.

  * * * *

  Marius sat astride Brutus in front of the Hillfort gates, waiting for Governor Suetonius and his eight hundred men to come out of the surrounding woods. Delia perched on a Briton horse next to him. She looked lovely in the frozen late afternoon sunlight, wrapped in a formal tartan cloak. It was much too small for her swelling belly. Marius scowled across at her and unfastened the broach at his shoulder. The cloaks were a matching pair given to them by one of Delia’s aunts. He never traveled anywhere without his, but was willing to sacrifice it until the baby arrived.

  “We cannot have you greeting the general half dressed.” Marius took the cloak from around his shoulders and held it out to her. “Use mine. I will not have people thinking I cannot cloth my pregnant wife.”

  Delia glared at him and then down at the gap in her cloak.

  “Fine,” she huffed and snatched the cloak.

  Once wrapped around her shoulders, it layered nicely over her belly, making her look more regal. She tucked her own cloak into the saddle. The small Briton roan fidgeted under her, blowing white clouds from its nostrils. Delia ignored him. Marius flashed a reassuring smile to her, but she did not return it, choosing in
stead to watch the edge of the woods.

  What they were doing was a bold gamble and Marius knew Delia was terrified. The refugees were still in the forests and they would all die if they did not play this very carefully. They had to delay the governor as long as they could.

  “Steady,” he said quietly to the Corieltauvi warriors, all fidgeting in their formal gear, doing something they did not do well—wait. The only noise was the jingle of horse tack and occasional whispers.

  When the Romans finally cleared the leading edge of the forest, Marius, Delia, and ten of their personal guards tapped their horses and trotted down the steep hill to the center of the open ground.

  Marius could see Kuna and Aelius leading his ex-century to create a line toward the center of the formation. It was jolting to see the unit he had commanded for twenty-five years lined up across a battlefield from him. He saw Kuna sitting stiffly on his horse in front of his century in full Roman trappings. The helmet, with its crimson horsehair fan sitting high and perpendicular to his head, looked comical against his hunched back. Marius had to suppress a smirk. He knew Kuna used his appearance to his advantage. It gave the Asian an edge, caused people to misjudge his abilities. This miscalculation of his skills had contributed to the deaths of many of Kuna’s enemies.

  General Suetonius, also in full Roman regalia, marched with his tribunes and guards. A new officer rode to his right. Marius had not seen him in the cohort before. He knew the man vaguely and his purported skills with the blade. Quintius was a new tribune recently assigned by the general to his counsel. Kuna hated the man and swore often about his abuse of the soldiers, his irregular orders, and his cruelty to the locals.

  Marius had decided to reserve judgment. Now, as he studied the tall, lanky officer sit arrogantly next to the general and giving Delia an unveiled smirk of lust, he detested him instantly. He wanted nothing more than to cut the smile from Quintius’ face. Marius knew the tribune was playing him, trying to assert the advantage by sparking Marius’ anger, a tactic he had used himself from time to time. This man was clever, extremely talented, and infinitely dangerous.