Fortress of Spears

by Anthony Riches

‘It’s his lucky day, then.’

  The Hamian raised an eyebrow.

  ‘And you could have put an innocent sheep herder to the sword?’

  The Roman shook his head indecisively.

  ‘I don’t know … but I suspect our new decurion could.’

  Qadir nodded knowingly.

  ‘I think the word you’re looking for is “pragmatist”. And I suspect we’re all going to have to stretch our principles if we’re going to release the Votadini from their new rulers.’

  Excingus woke Felicia with a gentle shake in the dawn’s first light, wrinkling his nose and pointing at the stream by which the small detachment was camped.

  ‘You smell, my dear, like a polecat. Come on, let’s get you into the water and make you bearable for the rest of the day.’

  She shook her head, painfully aware of the knife still tied to her thigh and certain to be discovered if she were forced to disrobe in front of the guardsmen.

  ‘If you think I’m going to take my clothes off in front of these men …’

  The legion soldier who Felicia had caught staring at her several times the previous day stood up from his place by the fire and ran his eyes up and down her body, the insolent smile playing across his lips in direct contradiction to his cold stare. Alongside him Rapax looked up from his breakfast and shook his head with a snort of amusement.

  ‘Steady, Maximus, recall what I said to you and you might still be breathing by sunset. As for you, madam, go and have a wash before I come over there and throw you into the water. My colleague isn’t going to give you any problems, he’s not that way inclined. You’ve got more chance of persuading a sausage to stand up than you have of getting a twitch out of his wrinkle stick.’

  She glared at the praetorian for a moment before standing, feeling the knife’s hard length against her flesh and thinking quickly. Excingus led her up the riverbank, away from the small camp’s bustle and into the trees that lined the stream’s banks until they reached a small pool. He pointed impatiently at the water, clearly not willing to walk any farther.

  ‘Get your clothes off and wash here.’ Felicia submitted with a show of meekness, pulling off her stola, folding it up and putting it down on the grass, then removed her boots and turned to the waiting corn officer.

  ‘Centurion, please could you give me a little privacy? I’m un -happy enough given my circumstances, without having you stare at me like a slave in the market.’

  Excingus shrugged, spreading his hands wide.

  ‘Didn’t you hear my colleague? I, madam, regard the prospect of your naked body with all the anticipation I would normally reserve for looking at that tree.’ He sighed, shaking his head slightly, then turned away, speaking to the foliage in front of him. ‘Very well, you have your modesty, for now at least, although you must realise that it will be cruelly torn away from you when the time comes? Rapax will protect you until then, to keep you unsullied until the right moment, but he’ll be quite merciless once your Aquila boy is within earshot. Speaking of your boyfriend, I’d be curious to know how the two of you ended up together. Weren’t you the wife of a senior officer?’

  Felicia worked quickly as she replied, keeping her voice level to avoid exciting his suspicions.

  ‘If you want to know about my former husband, the story’s quite simple. He was a brutal man, and no stranger to the idea of rape when he felt like it. He used to say it was just “spicing things up”.’ She unstrapped the knife from her thigh and dropped it into one of her boots before pulling off her tunic and stepping into the pool, gasping at the water’s cold. ‘He used to tell me he knew I enjoyed it once he had me helpless on my back, or pinned face down across a table with a handful of my hair to keep me there. He was a monster, pure and simple.’ She climbed out of the water and dressed quickly, strapping the sheath back around her thigh beneath her tunic’s thick wool. ‘He didn’t restrict his outrages to me, to judge from the little I heard about his behaviour towards the men who served under him. He was killed by one of them on the battlefield a few months ago, and I expect it was no more than he deserved.’ Pulling on her stola as the centurion turned back to face her, she smiled wanly and nodded her thanks. The corn officer’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he digested the fact that her husband was dead.

  ‘Was he a wealthy man?’

  Felicia shrugged dismissively, adjusting her clothes.

  ‘He had a modest estate in Rome, I believe.’

  ‘And you’re not interested in how you might benefit?’

  She shook her head, her hands spreading in a dismissive gesture.

  ‘I have no entitlement, you know that well enough. And I don’t want to touch anything of his ever again.’

  ‘But the money …’

  ‘I want nothing from him. I have all I want for this life.’

  ‘And when we’ve killed young Aquila? What will you have then? Surely you’d be better off returning to Rome and taking your husband’s property than staying here in poverty? I could help you, for a consideration.’

  She turned hard eyes on him, understanding for the first time the depth of his cynicism.

  ‘I’m sure you could. You could strong-arm my husband’s family from their home, or worse, and then install me there as your creature, forever on your hook as the woman that consorted with a traitor, just a betrayal away from disgrace and even execution. But you’re forgetting one thing, Centurion, in all your schemes of another man’s money.’

  Excingus smiled wryly back into her anger.

  ‘And that would be what, exactly?’

  She straightened her back, holding the stare with which she had him fixed.

  ‘You haven’t found Marcus yet, and you haven’t faced him with swords in his hands. Be careful what you wish for, Centurion, because you might not like what happens when you get it.’

  *

  Dubnus stretched his stiff body, cursing the suspicion that had driven him to pad his bedroll with clothes until it looked to the casual eye like a sleeping man, preparation for a vigil that had stretched through the night with his sword drawn for the attack he felt would be inevitable now that the half-century had seen his wounds. With his endurance stretched to the point of exhaustion, and his body craving sleep more than at any time he could recall, he had stayed ready to kill the first man through the tent’s flap if there were any sign that foul play was planned. Now, with the dawn’s onset, his eyelids were red-rimmed slits in a face grey with fatigue. He’d heard the soldiers talking into the late evening until the authoritative tones of their watch officer had sent them to their blankets and silence had fallen, and suspected that their talk had mainly been a discussion of just how vulnerable their new centurion suddenly seemed. And yet no attack had materialised, making his night-long vigil seem an act of folly given the temptation to surrender to sleep. He closed his eyes and saw Marcus’s face, willing himself to be strong for his friend and the woman to whom he would soon be married and remembering why he’d taken such a risk in coming north before his wound was fully healed.

  The tent flap flicked open, light flooding the small space’s interior, and the dozing centurion snapped awake, cursing his weakness even as he tried to work out how long he might have slept. Lifting the sword’s point to strike, his stared bleary eyed at the doorway, waiting for the first of them to come through and die on his blade. A figure darkened the tent’s interior as it blocked out the light, and Dubnus’s poised sword-hand drew back six inches as the exhausted centurion prepared for the lunge that would put his gladius clean through the other man’s guts and out of his back.

  ‘Centurion?’

  The sword stopped a hand-span from Titus’s defenceless stomach, and Dubnus closed his eyes and blew out a compressed breath at the thought of how close he’d come to killing his subordinate. The other man stepped into the tent, brushing aside the weapon and staring wide eyed at him.

  ‘I came to invite you to speak with the men. They’ve been talking …’

  Dubnus
smiled weakly.

  ‘I heard them …’

  The watch officer shook his head in amazement.

  ‘And you assumed that since they’d seen your wound it would only be a matter of time before they decided to do away with you in the night. So you sat up all night waiting for them with a drawn sword? No disrespect, Centurion, but you need to get your head straight. My lads have spent half the night telling each other how big your balls are while you’ve been sat here sweating like a legionary’s foreskin on payday. I suggest that you take a moment to get into the right frame of mind to listen to what they have to say without taking your iron to the first man that opens his mouth … sir. Come on, I’ll help you get into your armour.’

  An abashed Dubnus stepped out of his tent a few minutes later and walked slowly across to face the forty men standing waiting for him. Titus snapped out the order, and the detachment stood to attention with a precision that raised his eyebrows. He turned to the watch officer and gestured with an open hand for him to say his piece.

  ‘Centurion, the soldiers of this detachment have given consideration to the things that you’ve said to us since taking command. We couldn’t fail to notice that you’ve matched us stride for stride with a hole in your side barely healed over. You’ve made us consider how we want to be regarded by our brother soldiers, since you’ve left us in no doubt as to how we’re seen at the moment. We don’t consider ourselves to be cowards, but we can see how our actions on the road to Sailors’ Town make us look like exactly that. So the men have decided to take you at your word, and to put everything we can into proving that we can fight like men and regain our reputation.’

  He shut his mouth and stood in silence, waiting for the centurion to react to his men’s declaration of intent, but before Dubnus could make any response a soldier in the front rank stepped smartly forward, stamped to attention and then spoke out, his face reddening as he plunged into what was evidently a rare public display.

  ‘We want to prove that we mean what the watch officer’s said to you, Centurion. We can all see that you’re a fighting man, out in the field again, and you with a wound not right yet, and it makes us feel ashamed of what we’ve come to. We want to take a detachment name, something that means something to all of us and reminds us of our promise to do better every time you give us an order.’

  Dubnus nodded, resisting the temptation to smile at the man’s blushing discomfort.

  ‘And that name would be?’

  ‘Habitus, Centurion. We’d like to use the old centurion’s name to make us strong again, and to remind us what we’re promising you.’

  Dubnus smiled gently, but in respect of the sentiment rather than the manner of its delivery.

  ‘Detachment Habitus? The old boy would probably be proud to have his name used for inspiration like that. You realise that you risk tarnishing his honour if you go looking for a fight and then fail to stand firm when you find it? Wherever he is now, you can’t risk bringing shame to his name by doing this thing lightly.’ He looked across the ranks with his eyes suddenly hard with conviction. ‘I won’t accept any man running from battle if you go through with the idea, in fact I’ll be behind you waiting to cut down any man that runs in the face of the enemy.’

  The soldier looked at Titus, and the watch officer stepped forward to speak again.

  ‘We understand that, Centurion. You can kill any man that runs from a fight while we serve under Centurion Habitus’s name, we’re all agreed on that.’

  Dubnus shrugged, turning away to his tent to hide the twitching of his mouth that was threatening to break into a smile.

  ‘Very well, in that case we’d best be putting some more miles under our feet. We’re not going to find you a fight sitting on our arses here. Get these tents struck and your boots on the road, Detachment Habitus.’

  *

  Drust watched with satisfaction as the last of the cavalry cohort that had pursued his men north crested the ridge to the fort’s west and vanished from view.

  ‘A sensible decision by their tribune, I’d say. No point sitting here and watching us scratch our arses for the next few days, eh, Calgus? We’ll wait here for a few hours just to be sure, then head north and find this detachment the captive told us all about.’ Turning to discover the source of the Selgovae chief’s silence, he found the other man’s face sombre. What’s the matter? I would have thought you’d be pleased to see the back of them. You can strike out for your homelands now, or stay with us if you will, but either way their threat is lifted.’

  Calgus pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly.

  It’s all a bit too easy, Drust, too easy by a long way. I know that tribune of old, and he’s not the type to turn his back and walk away that quickly. There’ll be men left behind them, you can be sure of that, watching and waiting to signal to the rest of them that we’re on the move.’

  Drust shook his head, laughing softly at the other man’s caution.

  ‘Nobody could ever accuse you of underestimating your enemy, Calgus – apart from allowing them to break into your camp and slaughter your army, that is. Once burned, forever cautious, eh? Well, just to make you happy I’ll send a scouting party out to make sure they’ve really all left. Five hundred men ought to be able to clean the landscape of any watchers they’ve left behind.’

  The volunteer squadron took a late breakfast once they had reached the southern face of the hills beyond the River Tuidius, each rider feeding his mount with oats from the sack tied to his saddle before sitting down to eat his own meal of dried meat and hard cheese, leaving the horses to crop the grass where they were hobbled. The hills to the north loomed above the group, their scree-littered upper slopes glittering with dew in the sun’s pale morning light. Silus ate on his feet, staring hard to the east and chewing vigorously on a chunk of pork. Marcus stood and walked across to him.

  ‘What next, Decurion? Up and over the hills?’

  He waited patiently while the other man chewed hard for a moment and then swallowed with a grimace, washing the tough wad of meat down with a slug of water from his water skin, waving a hand at the hills to the north.

  ‘Over that lot? Not likely, they’re a death trap to cavalry, littered with small stones that will break a horse’s leg, or make it fall and throw the rider, and the slopes are steeper than they look from here. No, I think we’ll just take a gentle trot along the line of these foothills towards the coast in an extended line, and see what we can scare out of the landscape. Not that I expect to find anyone this far from the ford. We’ll cross the hills in a few miles, when they’re a bit less risky, and aim to meet the road, such as it is, about five miles north of the ford. If my guess is correct, that will put us well to the north of any scouts hiding to watch the crossing, and in the best possible position to intercept them when they make a run back to the fortress.’ He turned to face the men sat eating on the hill’s gentle slope. ‘Get your nosebag down you and get back on your feet, we’ve a nice long ride ahead of us.’

  The praetorians were still eating their breakfast at the roadside when a pair of message riders clattered down the road from the north, reining in their horses as Rapax stepped on to the hard surface and flagged them down, both men throwing crisp salutes to the centurion as they dismounted. The battle-scarred officer returned them with a swift gesture, waving a hand at the fire.

  ‘I’m Rapax, centurion of the Fourth Cohort Praetorian Guard, and these are my men. We’re marching north in pursuit of a fugitive from imperial justice and hoping for news of events that might lead us to him. Come and join us for a short time, and share what you know with us. We’ll do our best to repay you with whatever we have left over from our meal.’

  The pair nodded their thanks to the soldiers as they shuffled round to make a space for them to squat in the fire’s warmth, one of them glancing with a horseman’s interest at the mounts tied to trees around the clearing. Rapax handed them a piece of bread apiece, warm from the fire’s edge.

  ‘You be
ar news from the north?’

  The more senior of the two nodded, his mouth full of bread, speaking in staccato sentences as he ate.

  ‘We defeated the rebels four days ago, Centurion, broke into their camp and massacred the Selgovae, but the Venicones got away, thousands of them, and we’ve been hunting them ever since. They took refuge in Three Mountains …’ The lack of comprehension on the centurion’s face took him aback for a moment. ‘Ah, it’s a large fortress about fifteen miles to the north, abandoned and burned out when the barbarians came south. They captured one of our officers and tortured something out of him. We don’t really know what, but we’ve pulled back to get them to leave the fort. Our tribune thinks they might be moving to attack one of the auxiliary cohorts for some reason.’

  Excingus glanced across the fire at him, a look of mild curiosity on his face.

  ‘An auxiliary cohort? I’ve got a cousin serving with one of the cohorts that defends the Wall. Begins with a “t”, from memory …’

  ‘Tungrians? That’s the cohort they seem to have gone after.’

  The corn officer wrinkled his forehead in apparent concentration.

  ‘Tungrians … no, that’s not it. Perhaps it was a “v”. Anyway, you’re riding south to take the news to the governor, I’d imagine?’

  The double-pay man nodded sagely, while his silent companion put a hand to his belt in an apparent search for some item or other.

  ‘Yes, we’ll be at Noisy Valley before dark, and briefing message riders to take the word to wherever the governor is. Eight thousand barbarian warriors at Three Mountains and expected to head north soon, possibly heading to intercept the Tungrian detachment sent to free the Dinpaladyr.’

  His colleague shook his head in exasperation, evidently unable to find whatever it was he was searching for, and stood with an apologetic shrug at the man next to him.

  ‘It’ll be in my saddlebag. Won’t be a moment.’

  Excingus’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘The Dinpaladyr?’

  The seated horseman hurried to explain the term.