The Leopard sword e-4

by Anthony Riches

  ‘That’s a fine-looking beast. Plenty of meat on those bones, I’d guess?’

  The chosen man turned, rolling his eyes in mock disgust.

  ‘Still you have the ability to ghost your way to my shoulder, Centurion. I stand abashed at your skills.’

  He opened his arms in a slight bow of respect, and Marcus nodded in return, his face creased by a wry smile.

  ‘So we’re not hunting today?’

  Qadir shook his head, watching the stag as it turned and slid back into the mist.

  ‘It would not be fitting. Such a prize needs to be taken in a true hunt, not like the target on a practice ground. As long as he is under my men’s bows, he will have the protection of the Deasura herself.’

  Marcus shrugged easily, still smiling.

  ‘In which case he’s lucky to have encountered the only leader of men with your eastern philosophy for a hundred miles or more.’

  They stared out into the empty fog in silence for a moment before Marcus found the words for which he had been groping.

  ‘You’ve been a different man of late, Qadir. Morban thinks you’ve realised what a mistake you made in deciding to stay with us.’

  The Hamian stared out into the mist.

  ‘An easy assumption to make, I suppose. The easterner comes to his senses when he realises that most of the infantryman’s life is nothing more than rain, marching, boredom and more rain.’

  Marcus laughed.

  ‘And that the other small part is nothing but blood, terror and death?’

  The Hamian smiled slowly.

  ‘In your company, Centurion, it does seem that way.’ He turned to look at his friend. ‘But in all truth, none of that bothers me. I am troubled by a different fact.’

  He fell silent again and turned back to the mist, his face bleak in the morning’s cold light. And just when Marcus thought that the subject was closed, the Hamian sighed and turned to face his friend again.

  ‘My continuing black mood, Centurion, is the result of your near death at the hands of imperial killers before we left Britannia. And I’m not the only man that feels this way. If not for three unwashed barbarians and a centurion still recovering from a serious wound, both you and your woman would have suffered the fate they had planned for you. We are all ashamed to have allowed those Roman animals to have taken you from the cohort without any attempt at rescue.’

  Marcus smiled gently at his words.

  ‘You couldn’t have saved me even if you’d been aware of what had happened, which you weren’t. Nobody but Arminius, Martos and Lugos could have run fast enough to arrive in time, not with all the weight we all carry in weapons and armour. And since it worked out well enough in the end, let’s have an end to this introspection, shall we? There’ll be plenty of other chances for you to pull my grapes out of the press.’

  The Hamian looked into his face, his weary expression brightening.

  ‘Very well. I will put the failure behind me, and consider only how best to provide you and yours with the protection I have sworn to deliver.’

  ‘Sworn?’ Marcus’s expression turned quizzical. ‘You mean an oath to the gods?’

  ‘Just one goddess, Our Lady the Deasura. And I’m not the only one. You’re unjustly accused, every other member of your family has been murdered, and only you, your woman and her unborn child stand between the empire and the final destruction of your name. None of your friends will allow that to happen, not without challenge.’

  The Roman shook his head, his eyebrows raised in amazement.

  ‘I’m speechless, Qadir. I…’

  ‘There is no need for you to comment. We need neither your approval nor your assistance in this matter. Simply accept that you have friends who will fight to see you survive this injustice, and go about the duties that accompany this new identity you have chosen knowing that we watch over you.’

  They looked down over the wall onto the ground below, and at the wooden frames that were being erected to form the basis for the barracks. At length Marcus spoke again.

  ‘Thank you. And to avoid embarrassment for all concerned we’ll speak of it no more, although I remain quite astonished.’ He took a deep breath, and waved an arm at the scene below. ‘It’s going more slowly than the first spear hoped.’

  Qadir nodded.

  ‘We are none of us carpenters. Everyone below us is skilled with a sword and shield, but few have any skill or desire to wield a saw. Perhaps if the legion were helping the job would go more smoothly?’

  Marcus laughed softly.

  ‘Perhaps it would. But I fear that the word “if” is most likely to stay the case. Speaking of which…’

  Two hundred paces to the north of their place on the wall the city’s west gate had been opened, and a column of soldiers was marching out in full armour. The two men watched as the legionaries poured out of the city at the march, both of them counting the soldiers until the last rank cleared the gate. Qadir raised an eyebrow, watching as the marching column was swallowed up by the drifting fog.

  ‘Two centuries. It seems that the legion’s tribune has changed his mind about the need to patrol outside the city.’

  Frontinius and Scaurus watched the building work from the doorway of the tribune’s tent, the first spear standing in silence while his superior officer listed the progress made in getting the two cohorts properly supplied.

  ‘So we have enough food to see us through another week, although I’m concerned as to the impact of our presence on the city’s grain stocks. What with our two cohorts and Belletor’s men that’s another two thousand mouths to feed. Hungry mouths too, ones not used to going without their full ration.’

  Frontinius scratched his head, looking critically at the dirt that came off his scalp under his fingernails.

  ‘Gods, but I could do with a proper bath. I used to think the bathhouse at the Hill was a bit draughty and poky, but I’d give my left ball for a good long sweat right now. What about that great big grain store outside the gates? Surely there’s enough corn in there to feed everyone and to spare?’

  Scaurus raised a sardonic eyebrow.

  ‘That grain, First Spear Frontinius, belongs to the empire. Why else do you think it was built outside the walls, but to keep temptation from overcoming the citizens of Tungrorum? You’ll have noticed that our colleague Belletor has soldiers posted around it to dissuade the populace from any idea of getting at its contents? It seems that Tribune Belletor and Procurator Albanus are aligned on that much, at least. No, we’ll have to keep a close eye on the city’s food stocks. I won’t have civilians going hungry to feed the men who are supposed to be protecting them. Doubtless those men that delivered our wine already have a strong grip on the supply of scarce items at inflated prices, so it’ll be the poor that suffer if we turn a blind eye. It appears that Albanus’s deputy, Petrus, is the merchant in question, so I doubt the city authorities will be taking much of an interest in the event of our causing a shortage.’

  He looked down at the tablet in his hand.

  ‘As to shelter, how long do you think it’s going to take to complete the construction?’

  Frontinius scratched his head again.

  ‘The best part of a week, based on their current progress. We don’t have enough of either the right tools or the skills to go any faster.’

  Scaurus shook his head, his face hardening.

  ‘Not fast enough, First Spear. You’ll have to find a way to get it done quicker. I want these men out in the countryside hunting down bandits, not developing their building skills inside these walls.’ Frontinius grimaced, but nodded his understanding as his tribune scowled down at his tablet. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yes, Tribune. Bathing and drinking.’

  ‘Ah… I see.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly when Julius pointed it out to me earlier. The men haven’t seen the inside of a bathhouse or a beer shop since we marched away from the coast. Bathing shouldn’t be too hard to arrange, although we’ll have to agree
a rota with the legion boys to avoid the inevitable friction; it’s the drinking that worries me more. There are several likely looking establishments in the city, and that’s before we get to the unlicensed beer shops that any soldier worth his salt will find for himself soon enough.’

  Scaurus nodded, his face creasing into a knowing smile.

  ‘Quite so. And if we try to stop the men from using them we’ll just end up with them sneaking about the camp after dark, and risk someone getting speared by a sentry who doesn’t know him and doesn’t like the look of him. No, we’ll have to organise some sort of rota for that as well. Since Julius came up with the point he can follow it through, especially as he knows the city better than anyone else. Have him organise a schedule that allows the men enough time to enjoy themselves, but not so much that they’ll end up roaring drunk and starting fights. While he’s at it he can have a chat with the owners of the taverns to warn them that they’ll be getting some extra custom, and perhaps he could discuss the timings of our boys’ visits with First Spear Sergius too. It wouldn’t do our image with the locals much good for Tungrians and legionaries to end up in the same hostelries at the same time, eh?’

  Frontinius looked over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘It looks like we’ll be able to tell Sergius in person.’

  Scaurus swivelled, frowning at the sight of 1st Minervia’s senior centurion approaching from the legion’s barracks, a crowd of thirty or so men following him in tunic order, most of them carrying leather bags. Sergius saluted Scaurus smartly, nodding his greeting to Frontinius.

  ‘Greetings, gentlemen. It’s a fine morning for a patrol, or at least that’s what Tribune Belletor said as he was mounting his horse all nicely wrapped up in his cloak. I’m not sure what our first and second centuries will think about it, but either way they’re out for the day.’ He turned to look across at the labouring Tungrians. ‘Your boys are well stuck in, I see, but I’m ready to bet good money that you’re going slower than you’d like. Knowing Procurator Albanus I’m pretty sure that the city authorities will have provided you with a smaller number of tools than you need, and low-quality stuff at that. And, with no disrespect intended, your men don’t look like it’s coming naturally to them either.’ He turned back to them, finding both men staring at him with quizzical expressions. ‘And no, I’ve not come to gloat, but to do something a good deal more constructive than my tribune would find acceptable, given the poor start to your relationship.’ He waved a hand at the legionaries behind him. ‘All of these men are skilled builders, and they have their tools with them. I’ve no shortage of either, but what I don’t have are enough trained soldiers to get a grip of the cohort’s large number of new recruits. You know how that works best, eh, colleague?’

  Frontinius nodded knowingly, seeing where the other man’s line of reasoning was taking them.

  ‘One experienced soldier for every four or five recruits. Any more than that and he can’t keep a close enough eye on them to spot what they’re doing wrong and correct them while they’re doing it. Thirty such veterans of a few nasty fights could train two centuries at a time.’

  ‘Exactly. And in return, thirty skilled builders would be two for each of your barrack blocks. Not enough to throw them up in a day, but it would make a big difference to the speed and quality of the build to have men who knew what they were doing pointing out the mistakes as they were being made.’

  Both men turned to Scaurus with questioning looks. Raising his hands, he shook his head and laughed out loud.

  ‘No, gentlemen, the less I know the better! The pair of you can work out whatever shady deal it is you think will best meet the needs of your respective cohorts while I go and root out our cavalrymen. Since they’re lucky enough to have found empty stables for their beasts, they can make themselves useful rather than sitting round getting fat. Mind you…’ He turned back to face them with a conspiratorial look. ‘Mind you, given that we wear red and your men wear white, it might be a good idea for your men to swap tunics while they’re doing each other’s jobs. Just a thought.’

  Marcus and Qadir were still looking out at the foggy landscape when a horseman rode up to the wall’s rear and called for them. Eager to be out of the city, the sturdy animal pranced about on the spot as its rider waited for the officers to appear over the parapet.

  ‘Decurion Silus’s compliments to you, Centurion. He was wondering if you and your chosen man would care to join the mounted squadron for a look-around? It’s been approved by the tribune.’

  Marcus looked along the wall’s fighting platform, spying the bulky figure of his standard bearer a hundred paces distant. Morban was talking animatedly with a group of soldiers and as Marcus watched with narrowed eyes he slapped palms with one of them.

  ‘Another wager made, no doubt. The man’s incorrigible. Remind me to have a discussion with him about his grandson when we get back. Morban! ’

  He beckoned the standard bearer to him, waiting with a tapping foot while the veteran soldier waddled up the stretch of wall between them, snapping to attention when he reached his centurion.

  ‘Centurion?’

  ‘Is Watch Officer Augustus still helping with the building work?’

  ‘Yes, sir, the one-eyed old bast-’ Catching a hardening of Marcus’s face, he quickly rephrased his reply. ‘Yes, he is, Centurion.’

  ‘In that case you’re in command of the Ninth until we come back from patrol. Silus has a couple of empty saddles, from the look of it.’ Morban saluted again, adopting a determined expression. ‘And I’d lose the frown, Standard Bearer. It makes you look as if you’re struggling with a particularly difficult bowel movement.’

  Marcus and Qadir hurried down from the wall and headed off towards the west gate, while Morban gestured to the soldiers with whom he’d been speaking before.

  ‘Time to pay up, gentlemen. As predicted only a moment ago, I am now in command of the Ninth until that nice young gentleman decides his arse is sore and he comes back from playing with the donkey wallopers. Thank you.’ He took a coin from each of the soldiers, dropping his winnings into a heavy pouch on his belt. ‘Rest happy in the knowledge that your pay will shortly be making a powerful impression on the whores of this fair city.’

  Marcus and Qadir found the mounted squadron waiting for them at the gate, and the young centurion threw a mock salute at their decurion.

  ‘Greetings, Silus. Your messenger said you had a pair of horses too flighty to be ridden by anyone but myself and my chosen man?’

  Silus grinned slyly at him, extending a welcoming hand to indicate a pair of horses without riders.

  ‘Indeed, Centurion. Qadir is well known for his discernment with regard to horses, and his consummate skill in the saddle. With that in mind I have reserved the very best of our horses for him.’ He gestured to an empty saddle, raising an eyebrow at the Hamian whose sour mood had clearly lifted on seeing the horse in question. ‘You remember this beast, I presume?’

  The Hamian threaded his way through the throng of horses, stroking muzzles and patting flanks until he reached his mount, a magnificent chestnut mare he had last ridden in Britannia. He nodded his thanks to Silus and jumped into the saddle with the practised grace of an accomplished horseman. Silus smiled at the sight of horse and rider reunited, leaning out of the saddle to mutter conspiratorially to Marcus.

  ‘I do like to see man and beast so well matched.’ Marcus raised a sardonic eyebrow, knowing what was coming next. ‘And no more so than in your case. For you, Centurion, I have an animal which we already know can match your quick temper and restless desire for a fight.’

  He raised his arm and indicated a big rangy grey stallion waiting impatiently alongside his own horse. Marcus shook his head wryly then walked round to greet the animal, which responded by nudging at him with its muzzle.

  ‘You see, dear old Bonehead remembers you! He knows that he has only to put his ears back and you’ll happily allow him his head, certain that he’ll take you
straight into the deepest shit available. I’ve never seen a horse and rider more made for each other.’

  Marcus shook his head in mock disgust, climbing into the saddle and accepting a spear and shield from the cavalry officer.

  ‘Let’s be away, then, Decurion. I’ll do my best to remain in control of this high-spirited animal, although Mercury himself may struggle to stay with us if he spots a deer. You, I fear may be left far behind, given that your poor animal’s carrying all that extra weight.’

  The men guarding the gate opened the massive wooden doors, and the squadron trotted out into the thinning mist.

  ‘Tribune Scaurus wants us to scout away to the west, as far as the point where the road forks to the south to cross the Mosa at Arduenna Bridge.’

  They proceeded at an easy trot, allowing the horses a pace that wouldn’t overtax them. Silus led the way with the squadron’s standard bearer riding alongside him. The dragon standard’s long cloth tail hung limply in the damp air, droplets of moisture forming on the bronze head’s highly polished surface, much to its bearer’s disgust, and the occasional gust of air rippled the mist and elicited the faintest of moans from the reed concealed within its fiercely fanged mouth. Silus upped their pace to a brisk trot, and within a half-mile’s progress the rear of the legion centuries’ column appeared out of the mist before them. The decurion extended his arms to either side, his hands held out rigidly like blades, and he called back over his shoulder loudly enough to be sure that the infantry’s rearmost ranks would hear him.

  ‘Pass to either side, and ignore any comments that might come our way. Just content yourselves with the fact that they’ll be tramping through mounds of horseshit soon enough!’