Fortress of Spears

by Anthony Riches

  The German picked up a stick and poked the fire with it, summoning fresh heat from the dying embers.

  ‘You think the boy might have the makings of a clerk? I think not, Standard-Bearer. I never met his father, but I hear he was a warrior, and that he died at your battle earlier in the year with great honour.’

  Morban’s face twisted into something between a memory of grief and one of regret.

  ‘A life wasted, and my son torn from me. If he’d been a little less of a warrior and a little more of a soldier he’d still be with us.’

  Arminius shook his head slowly, a gentle smile on his face.

  ‘And yet he carried your blood, Standard-Bearer. He could no more have held himself back from the fight than cut off his own arm. A warrior has to fight, whether those of us left behind when they perish like it or not. And your grandson is no clerk in the making, not to my eye. He’ll be the same man his father was inside a few years … with the right training.’

  Morban snorted.

  ‘Training from whom? Two Knives is too busy leading the century and trying to get himself killed, and there’s no one else I can trust with his welfare when I have to leave the service.’

  He fixed a level stare on the German, daring him to disagree, and Arminius smiled grimly back at him.

  Don’t try to be clever, Morban, I know your game. You seek to shame me into helping you, and perhaps to absolve you from your responsibility for the boy. He’s your grandson, and you cannot hand him off to another man so easily. However …’ He raised a hand to cut off the indignant standard-bearer’s ire. ‘… however, I do have a bargain to offer you, if you’ll listen.’

  Morban cocked his head to one side, and kept his mouth shut.

  ‘I owe your centurion a life. He saved me from being butchered as I lay with my wits kicked out of me by that brainless mountain of horseflesh earlier today. He leapt from his horse and took on half a dozen of the enemy with nothing more than a pair of swords. He stood over me and saved me from the most shameful of deaths, and for that I owe him many times over. I do not take such a responsibility lightly, Standard-Bearer, and I will discharge it at any cost to myself that might be necessary. I have spoken with Scaurus, and for as long as my master is the commander of this cohort I shall serve this debt by watching over Centurion Corvus and keeping him from harm. However, like you, I was not created immortal, and in time I will age and my sword-arm will weaken. I will need a student to tutor in the skills of the warrior, with and without weapons, a young man who will grow to manhood and take over my duty of protecting the man sleeping in that tent. Your grandson will be my pupil, and with my training he will more than match his father in his skill at arms.’

  Morban opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again as Arminius rode over him.

  ‘Your part in this will be a simple one, but unavoidable. You will provide him with an income sufficient to ensure that his equipment is of a standard to match his skills, and to achieve that you will need to keep yourself from drinking and gambling away your pay as soon as it hits the table in front of you. If you feel unable to keep this part of the bargain, then you will have to resign yourself to his being every bit as brave as his father undoubtedly was, but insufficiently trained to survive his first rush of blood to the head. As, I am forced to add, also appears to have been the case with his father, Mithras grant him rest.’

  Morban sat silently, staring into the German’s face, his features unreadable. When he replied, his voice was taut with emotion.

  ‘You’ll take the boy on, train him to fight, and care for him until he can look after himself?’

  Arminius nodded, the cast of his face as solemn as that of the man before him.

  ‘For as long as Scaurus is tasked to lead these men, yes. If he is ordered to leave you, then the task will become one for someone else. Until that day your grandson will have the closest thing to a father I can manage.’

  In the darkness of the hospital the wounded guardsman woke with a start, and spent a split second wondering what it was that had snapped him from his sleep so abruptly before a big hand closed around his windpipe, pinching out his shout for help before it was anything more than an idea. A dark figure leaned in close to him and whispered in his ear, the words as harsh as the tone in which they were spoken.

  ‘You’ve got a big fucking mouth, Guardsman, and it’s going to be the death of you.’

  The praetorian shook his head slightly, incomprehension and panic already mastering him, and he attempted to rise from the bed despite the lancing pain in his wounded thigh. His unknown assailant’s other hand reached into his tunic and took a firm grip of his testicles, exerting pressure strong enough to arch his back involuntarily. A long moment’s silence followed, the guardsman unable to speak while the other man waited patiently for him to start to asphyxiate. As he began to feel light headed from the lack of air the big man spoke again, the menace in his voice unmistakable.

  ‘I can burst these plums with a single squeeze, Guardsman. Keep still and I’ll let you breathe. Any attempt to call for help and I’ll watch you die blue faced and choking for breath.’

  The grip on his throat eased slightly, enough to allow him to gulp down a breath of desperately needed air.

  ‘You’d best keep still while I tell you about this problem I’ve got, and how I expect you to help me deal with it. You, Guardsman, had a quiet little chat with your centurion earlier today. You thought I was asleep, but I’ve got sharp enough ears when scum like you are spreading gossip about things best kept private. While I was lying there with my eyes shut and my ears open, I heard someone else tell your officer that our lady doctor was ripe for breaking in. Which upset me more than a little, given that she’s to be married to my brother officer. Soon after that, I heard you tell him that she’s close to a centurion by the name of Corvus. And now here we are, less than a day later, and she’s missing, whereabouts unknown, but I’m told she was last seen riding out of the north gate with your centurion Rapax. From which I can only assume that he’s kidnapped her, and intends to use her to get to Centurion Corvus?’

  The praetorian nodded his head slowly. His eyes had adjusted to the shadow in which his assailant had placed himself, and he found himself staring at the hard features of the auxiliary soldier from the bed opposite.

  ‘Where will he take her?’

  If he’d been brave enough the guardsman would have laughed in the Tungrian’s face, but he made do with a momentary smirk.

  ‘I’ve no idea. They’ll probably go north, find some ground where they can take Corvus off guard, and then lure him in with the woman. When he gets close enough Rapax will most likely have one of his men fuck her, get her to make some noise and bring the boy in angry and unprepared. Perhaps he’ll even enjoy her himself. He’s had a lot of practice in making the women scream recently …’

  The Tungrian cut him off with a fierce look of disgust.

  ‘So who’s this Rapax’s colleague?’

  The praetorian couldn’t hold back the smile any longer.

  ‘Someone with more power than you could ever imagine. He’s a corn officer, if you know what that means. He can …’

  The Tungrian sneered back down at him, flexing his fingers around the guardsman’s throat …

  ‘I know what it means. And that’s all I needed to know.’

  He closed his fingers around the guardsman’s windpipe, crushing his larynx flat and pushing him back on to the bed, waiting while the dying man squirmed for breath and clawed at the hand that was killing him.

  ‘It’s a quicker death than you deserve, and an easier exit than your centurion Rapax will enjoy when I catch up with him.’

  Tribune Paulus was clearly unused to having his decisions challenged by the lower ranks, and appeared utterly nonplussed to find an auxiliary centurion in front of his desk and making demands of him that he could only regard as extraordinary. Having said his piece, the bearded officer standing at attention before him stared obdurately at th
e wall behind him and waited for Paulus to respond. The tribune spun out a long, calculated pause before speaking, wanting the silence to unnerve the other man enough to take the edge off his apparent arrogance.

  ‘So, Centurion …?’

  ‘Dubnus, Tribune.’

  ‘Centurion Dubnus of the First Tungrian auxiliary cohort. If I’ve understood you fully, you’d like me to detail a full century to join you in some wild journey north?’

  ‘Yes, Tribune.’

  In pursuit of Centurions Rapax and Excingus, who, you claim, have abducted the fort’s doctor and carried her away in the apparently mistaken belief that her husband-to-be is a fugitive from imperial justice?’

  ‘Yes, Tribune.’

  ‘These two officers being, I am forced to note, a praetorian and a corn officer. Representatives of both the praetorian tribune and the Emperor himself?’

  ‘Yes, Tribune.’

  Paulus paused again, his eyebrows raised in an incredulous stare.

  ‘Are you fucking mad, Centurion? I have five combat-effective centuries with which to hold this fort against who knows how many Brigantian rebels who might be gathering to attack us at this very moment. I’ll remind you of what happened to the garrison of White Strength less than a month ago, and they had a good deal more men than we do. What is it that makes you imagine that I’m going to give you a century of my soldiers to chase after two men with the power to have any one of us – or all of us – tortured and executed at the merest whiff of treason?’

  ‘They have the doctor, Tribune, and …’

  ‘And if they’ve chosen to take her there’s really not all that much I can do to stop them, given their absolute power to hunt down the state’s enemies. Is there, Centurion?’

  The centurion locked eyes with him, and held that gaze as he replied.

  ‘No, sir. You can’t. But I can. Give me the men and I’ll make the pair of them vanish as if they’d never existed.’

  The tribune bristled, fear and anger combined in his incredulous tone.

  ‘You’ll make the problem go away, will you? And what if you don’t? What if this lethal pairing eludes you, and discovers what I’ve done? Why in Hades would I take such a risk?’

  The centurion’s face stayed expressionless, but his eyes burned into Paulus’s with renewed intensity as he leaned forward, unconsciously accepting the senior officer’s challenge.

  ‘Because, Tribune, your legatus, Cohort Tribune Licinius and Cohort Tribune Scaurus have all put their faith and trust in Centurion Corvus. If these two so-called officers …’ he spat the word into the air between them ‘… are allowed to do their dirty work, then all three of those men will likely die alongside him in some way or another. If you want to avoid that, you have only to give me the soldiers and turn me loose.’

  Paulus sat back and pondered the centurion’s point. A legion legatus and two highly thought-of tribunes would make powerful friends in the years to come. His mind turned, as it had many times since his interview with the praetorian and the corn officer, to his oldest friend in the world, north of the Wall with the Petriana and without any clue as to the doom bearing down on him.

  ‘Let’s imagine that I actually give you some legionaries. You’ll take them north and hunt down these men how, exactly?’

  The Briton smiled down at him from his standing position, his face almost feral with the intensity of his confidence.

  ‘I am a hunter, Tribune. I learned to track and kill animals with my father and his people, the same people who are currently hunting down any Roman foolish enough to go into the countryside to the south of here without enough spears to make them think twice. And I know who it is these particular animals are looking for. I will hunt them, I will find them and I will kill them both.’

  ‘And my part in this matter? Can I trust you to keep your mouth shut?’

  The smile changed slightly, some hint of the Briton’s contempt creeping into his expression.

  ‘Oh yes, Tribune, I’ll be very sure not to mention your name. You wouldn’t want to be seen taking sides.’

  Marcus snapped awake at the sound of a high-pitched scream which put him on his feet before any conscious thought was fully formed. Ripping the eagle-pommelled gladius from its scabbard, he stepped out into the cold morning air in his bare feet, ready to fight. A dozen of the 9th Century’s soldiers turned on hearing the scrape of his tunic on the tent’s rough canvas flap, their surprise at the weapon in his hand turning to amusement as they realised the misapprehension he was under. Looking beyond their grins, he saw the German Arminius standing with a wooden practice sword, the boy Lupus facing him with his own half-sized practice weapon held ready to strike.

  ‘Don’t squeal at me when you attack, boy, shout at me like you’ve got a pair of big hairy balls! And you’re supposed to be carving my guts open, not trying to tickle me! Put your weight behind the blade when you thrust!’

  Marcus strolled across to the pair, the watching soldiers parting to either side.

  ‘You’re teaching Lupus to fight?’

  The German inclined his head in a slight bow, the closest he ever came to a salute.

  ‘I have agreed with Morban that the boy needs to learn the arts of combat if he is to be a soldier. One hour a day, every day, I will spend on his education with the sword. Someone else can teach him to ride, though.’

  The Roman’s lips twitched slightly at Arminius’s attempt at humour.

  ‘It’s a good idea. He’ll be able to serve in two or three years, and he should have some preparation. But what, I wonder, will become of my equipment? There’s little enough time spent on it as it is …’

  Lupus turned and pointed to the tent in which he cared for Marcus’s war gear, his high-pitched child’s voice clear and confident.

  ‘All cleaned and polished, Centurion, boots and belts shining, armour brushed, sword and helmet polished.’

  Arminius patted him on the back.

  ‘Wait here.’

  He put out a hand, silently requesting Marcus to accompany him to the tent in question. Inside, the centurion stood in silence for a moment on seeing the condition of his equipment.

  ‘Not bad. He’ll have worked half the night to get it this clean.’

  Arminius nodded.

  ‘I sat with him and told him what to do, but it was all his own work. Once the idea of daily training was mentioned I could have told him to lick the soles of your boots clean.’

  Marcus turned to the German with a serious expression.

  ‘You know what you’re letting yourself in for? The boy lacks a father, and Morban isn’t much better than nothing, given his usual choice of pastimes.’

  Arminius nodded with a wry smile of agreement.

  ‘I know. I’ve promised your standard-bearer that I’ll play the role for as long as Scaurus leads your cohort, as long as he donates a regular portion of his pay to see the boy well clothed and equipped.’

  Marcus snorted.

  ‘And no doubt he promised that much and more in the wink of an eye. Just make sure you’re standing next to him when he takes his turn at the pay chest, or he’ll turn his coin into used beer, a pair of tired whores and somebody else’s winnings before Lupus ever sees any of it. But for all of that, thank you.’

  The German bowed again, a quiet smile on his face.

  ‘The boy needs a father’s guidance. And perhaps it will also be good for you not to be the one centurion on parade whose boots look like the floor of a legion latrine.’

  Felicia woke from a troubled sleep to find herself looking into the eyes of the thin-faced corn officer, who had lain beside her staring intently until she awoke. He leapt to his feet with a chuckle, spreading his hands wide as if for applause.

  ‘You see, I told you! Stare at a sleeping person for long enough and that person will wake up!’ He turned back to his prisoner, holding out a hand with which to help her to her feet. ‘Come along, my dear, we have a big day today, lots of riding to do and no time for lyi
ng about!’

  The doctor got up from the ground without touching his outstretched hand, looking about her to find the small camp a flurry of activity as the guardsmen packed their bedrolls and equipment on to their horses, few of them sparing her more than a glance as they worked. The praetorian officer walked across to her with a rough slice of bread wrapped around a piece of dried meat, his face creasing into a grin when she gestured her lack of desire for food. He reached out and took her hand, pushing the unappetizing food into her palm and wrapping the fingers around it.

  ‘Eat it now, or eat it later, but you’re going to want it some time today. We’ll eat again at nightfall, but between then and now we’ve a long way to travel in search of your boyfriend. Throw it away if you like, but there’ll be no more until then, not unless you’ve something tasty hidden somewhere about your clothing.’

  One of the soldiers turned and grinned ferociously at the dismayed woman, his hands still busy with a reluctant buckle. The tunic beneath his padded arming jacket was a different colour from that of the men around him, and his armour constructed of segmented bands of iron where theirs was made of hundreds of overlapping bronze scales.

  ‘I’ll search her, Centurion. You just say the word and I’ll be up that little missy’s skirts so fast she won’t …’

  Rapax spun on the spot, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head sadly.

  ‘You can keep your hands and your thoughts well away from this one, Soldier Maximus, unless you want your end to come considerably sooner than I’d imagine you’re planning.’

  He stared levelly at the soldier until the other man lowered his gaze respectfully, than raised his voice to be sure he was heard by every man in the clearing.

  ‘I won’t tell you worm-beaters this more than once, so let’s all be very clear about it. This woman stays untouched until I say her time has come. I want her screams of desperation when we get her boyfriend within earshot to be exactly that. Screams. Not the tired moans of a woman that’s already been ridden half a dozen times by you whore mongers. Any man that doubts me in this only has to lay a finger on her and I’ll relieve him of the hand it’s attached to. You cross me on this one at your peril, gentlemen. Of course, once Marcus Valerius Aquila’s cold on the turf next to her you can draw lots for her for all I care, but until then … you have been warned!’