Belletor shook his head.
‘And what if I refuse to accept this outlandish proposal?’
Scaurus shrugged.
‘I’d be more interested in the “why” than the “what”. Why would you even consider rejecting something so eminently sensible, and equitable for that matter? Are you frightened of losing face with your officers? Or is it just a question of your own expectations of what a man of your rank ought to do, under the circumstances?’ Belletor stared at him in silence. ‘I see. So even you’re not really sure. As to what happens if you choose to reject this perfectly sound piece of advice, that’s simple enough. I’ll be forced to use my military seniority and declare the city off limits to all military personnel, with a strict rotation of off-duty privileges which will be enforced by our centurions. I’ll have no repeat of last night’s stupidity, and the best way to ensure that is to avoid any off-duty fraternisation until our respective cohorts know each other a little better. You can have until the end of this salutary demonstration of imperial justice to make up your mind whether this will happen as a tactic we agree between us, or as something that I enforce. And now I’d say it’s time for the show to begin. Prefect? ’
Caninus stepped forward, his face impassive despite the obvious tension between the two military men.
‘Tribune?’
‘All three cohorts are paraded, so I’d say it’s time to get this necessary unpleasantness over with.’
Caninus nodded briskly and gestured to his deputy, a tall, lean man with a flat, expressionless face.
‘Let’s get to it, Tornach. Bring out the prisoners and prepare them for execution.’
He strode out in front of the waiting cohorts, turning to look at the small gathering of civilians who had decided to brave the cold for a sight of the condemned men’s last moments. Behind him Tornach led out a party of prisoners, each man with his arms bound behind his back and his ankles hobbled, each one with a pair of Caninus’s men in close attendance to prevent any last-minute attempt to escape the harsh justice remorselessly bearing down on them. The prefect coughed, then raised his voice to address his audience.
‘Citizens of Tungrorum! Soldiers of the First Minervia Legion and the Tungrian First and Second Auxiliary Cohorts! These men before you have been caught in the act of attempting armed robbery on the empire’s roads, some of them with fresh blood on their hands. The penalty set by the state for their crime is death. It is a penalty which I have no hesitation in carrying out, given the fact that they are believed to have killed on multiple occasions in the recent past. Citizens, some of you may have lost property or loved ones to their rapacious acts of theft. The empire will now exact retribution on your behalf. Are the prisoners ready for punishment?’
His deputy barked an order at the armed men escorting the prisoners, who were now arrayed in a rough line facing the fascinated citizenry. One man of each pair kicked their prisoner in the back of the knees, forcing him to kneel, while the other took a grip of his hair to hold his head down, bared for the executioner’s blade. Tornach looked up and down the line before responding to his superior’s question, and then picked up a heavy-bladed axe from the ground beside him.
‘Ready, Prefect!’
Caninus signalled his permission to proceed with a grim-faced nod, and his deputy walked forward to the first of the eight prisoners with his face set in hard lines. He placed the axe on the helpless man’s neck, ready to deliver the killing stroke, but waiting for a second before raising it above his head and looking to Caninus for his final instruction.
‘Carry out the sentence!’
The axe flashed down, cleaving the prisoner’s head from his shoulders. It hit the damp ground with a slight bounce, rolling to stare lifelessly at the paraded soldiers.
In the 9th Century’s ranks Morban muttered a word, loudly enough for the men around him to hear it.
‘One.’
Marcus turned from his place in front of the century and raised an incredulous eyebrow at him, but the standard bearer’s face remained impassive. The executioner walked swiftly to the next prisoner, placing the axe on his neck before lifting it to deliver the lethal blow. The head bounced once, landing with its face away from the soldiers, and Morban remained silent, ignoring Marcus’s searching stare. The prisoner waiting beyond Tornach’s next victim started to shout, his voice shaking with desperation at his impending execution. He ignored the increasingly vicious blows to his head that his guards were raining upon him, the words tumbling out of him like beads cascading from a broken necklace.
‘ Not me! I had no choice! There are men here with more blood on their hands than me! ’
Marcus swung to face his men, whose surprise at the new development was quickly turning to whispered discussion.
‘Silence in the ranks!’
Up and down the cohorts’ lines centurions were issuing similar cautions to their men, one or two wielding their vine sticks to silence the miscreants. The prisoner was screaming louder now, as the third man’s head fell to the ground with a dull thump. Fighting the grip on his hair that locked his head in place, he strained his gaze sideways to stare at the small group of senior officers.
‘ Him! He’s the one they’re all terrified of! I know! I heard his
…’
The man gripping his hair released his grasp, smashing a fist into the back of his head, and before the stunned prisoner had time to recover from the blow Tornach was upon him, swinging up the blade as he stepped briskly over the headless corpse of his latest victim. Seeing his death approaching the desperate prisoner shuffled on his knees, turning his head away as the axe fell in a bloody arc. His last words were a gabble of terrified incoherence, abruptly silenced by the axe’s blade. Silence hung over the parade ground for a moment, broken only by the prefect’s stern command, his face white with anger.
‘Continue the punishment!’
Marcus heard Morban speak again, his voice lowered in disgust.
‘A shouter. Why didn’t I lay odds on a shouter?’
With all of the prisoners beheaded the Tungrians were marched off parade, and they went back to their various tasks. First Spear Frontinius was keen to get the construction of their barracks completed, and to end their reliance on the increasingly dilapidated tents. He gathered his centurions about him, detailing their duties for the day.
‘The usual routine, Centurions: two centuries to guard duty, the rest to building. Let’s get these barracks finished today, shall we? Centurion Dubnus?’
The big man stepped forward from the group of his brother officers.
‘First Spear.’
Frontinius fixed him with a hard stare.
‘I’ve a word from the tribune for you. You can tell your ex-legionaries that they’ll be ex-Tungrians if there’s even a hint that they’ve been looking for trouble with First Minervia again. On top of that, Rutilius Scaurus assures me that he will hand them over to his colleague Tribune Belletor for administrative punishment and whatever duties he feels are worthy of their position as former legionaries. I wouldn’t have thought that your men would find that entirely to their liking, would you?’
Dubnus suppressed a smile, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly.
‘No, First Spear, I’d say they’ll be keen not to have that happen.’
‘Then pass the word along, Centurion. They’ve had their last chance. The next time any one of detachment Habitus steps over the line it’s going to feel like they bent over in the bathhouse at the wrong moment. Dismissed.’
Marcus caught Julius’s eye as the officers headed away to chivvy their men to work, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at his friend.
‘Arminius tells me you went into the city last night?’
The muscular centurion nodded, shooting a quick glance at Dubnus’s receding figure as their colleague headed back to his men. Dubnus walked with the swift and purposeful stalk of a man whose day would be spent drumming home his tribune’s warning with all the vigour for which
he was famed throughout the cohort.
‘Between us, brother? If you tell Dubnus what I was about last night I’ll never hear the end of it.’
Marcus nodded.
‘Between us. Did you find her?’
Julius stared at his boots, shaking his head.
‘Yes. She’s the mistress of an establishment called the Blue Boar in the north-eastern quarter of the city, a smart place with all the usual comforts, you know, soft couches, expensive drinks, and girls the likes of which we can usually only dream. She offered me a free ride with any of them that took my fancy, but, despite having a hard-on like a two-denarius blood sausage, all I could see was women like she must have been fifteen years ago, forced to do something she must have found hateful as the price of putting bread on her plate. So I told her I just wanted to talk, which was a lie, of course. All I really wanted to do was undo the mistake I made in leaving her here when I took the military oath. We talked for a few minutes like strangers, which is what we are, I suppose, but it was mostly her talking about how her life went after I left, while I just sat there red-faced and made cow’s eyes at her, and her bodyguards sniggered at me behind my back. When even that got too much for me I made my excuses and made to leave…’
He fell silent and closed his eyes, shaking his head.
‘And?’
Julius sighed, then a faint, embarrassed smile played on his lips.
‘She got up, took me by the hand and pulled me into a curtained alcove. Her smart-arsed bodyguard, who now regards me as his personal property from the look of it, told me they call it the “Quicky Cubicle”. She drew the curtain, put a finger on my lips and then stuck her hand up my tunic and pulled me off in about as much time as it takes to tell you. Then she gave me a quick peck on the cheek, called for a cloth and sent me on my way. Which is why I missed all the fun with Dubnus’s boys.’
Marcus regarded him levelly for a moment.
‘And where does all this leave you?’
His friend shook his head again.
‘I don’t know. Part of me knows I just need to walk away and forget the whole thing, put it down to the choices we make that can never be undone, but all I really want to do is take that fucking place apart with my bare hands and try to make amends to her.’
‘And you think that’s what she’d want?’
Julius smiled wanly.
‘What do you think she’d rather be, a centurion’s woman, never knowing which rainy shithole fort she might find herself in next, or independent, and the mistress of her own destiny?’
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
‘I’ve no idea. But then neither do you. Have you considered asking her?’
Marcus left Qadir organising the 9th for their day’s labour, which consisted of carrying building materials to the more skilled workers, and sought out Arminius. He found the German sparring with Lupus, by turns attacking the child and pushing him to defend himself, then falling back in defence to coach him in the use of his sword. Marcus stood and watched, nodding approval at the boy’s slit-mouthed determination as he went forward against his instructor, his wooden training sword ceaselessly seeking an opening in the German’s defences.
‘How’s the boy doing?’
The German turned away from the child to ensure that he wouldn’t be overheard.
‘Better than I expected. He’s quick with the sword, he’s got natural footwork… I’ll turn him into a warrior, given a few years. Perhaps he’ll even be good enough to spar with me on even terms.’
Marcus looked at the child speculatively.
‘Would you say it’s time for him to have some proper equipment? I believe your agreement with Morban was based on his finding the money to provide his grandson with whatever he needs?’
Arminius grinned wolfishly.
‘I take it that your statue waver has just managed to make himself a profit of some kind?’
Marcus shrugged indifferently.
‘I’ve no idea, and the agreement is for you to enforce as you see fit. I just found it interesting that he was counting the number of heads which fell facing us this morning. It was the kind of concern a man like Morban might have if he were running a book, if you take my meaning. You might find him more amenable to making a purchase for the boy now than he would have been yesterday. Or, for that matter, more amenable than if you wait until he’s had a chance to scatter the contents of both his purse and his manhood across the city’s entertainment establishments.’
Later that evening, when tribune and first spear took their usual cup of wine to discuss the day’s events, First Spear Frontinius found his superior in reflective mood.
‘So Tribune Belletor agreed to the new rules for allowing the men into the city?’
‘Oh yes. Well, he didn’t have very much choice in the matter, as it happens, a fact I made very clear to him earlier today.’
‘And yet, Tribune, you seem strangely distracted this evening. Is there something troubling you?’
Scaurus raised an eyebrow.
‘Is there? I don’t know. Everything seems to be pretty much as it should be. Eight of the barracks are more or less complete, and we’ll have them all built and weatherproofed in a day or so. Order has been restored in the city, and any fighting that happens now will be a matter for you or First Spear Sergius to sort out internally, so there’s a source of strife removed. It’s just…’
‘The execution today?’
‘That’s perceptive of you. Yes. The man that started shouting.’
Frontinius shrugged.
‘There’s often one man who can’t meet his end without letting everyone within earshot know how he’s feeling about it, you know that. Not everyone’s a stoic.’
He regarded Scaurus over the rim of his cup, and to his relief saw that the other man was shaking his head in bemusement at the comment.
‘It wasn’t the fact that he was shouting that bothered me, Sextus Frontinius. They could all have begged for mercy at the top of their voices and I wouldn’t have turned a hair. What was of concern to me was what he was shouting.’
Frontinius raised his eyebrows in question, sipping at his wine again.
‘I wasn’t really listening, if I’m being totally honest, Tribune. I recall he was trying to tell us all about his innocence though.’
‘In point of fact, he was apparently trying to tell us that we had by far the greater perpetrator in our midst. First of all he shouted, “There are men here with more blood on their hands than me!” and he followed that up with, “He’s the one they’re all terrified of! I know! I heard his…” But we’ll never know what it was he heard, since Caninus’s overzealous deputy promptly silenced him. I heard our colleague ripping into him afterwards for silencing the man in mid-revelation, but done is done. The fact remains, however, that in that moment of utter clarity some men get just before their death, that condemned robber was trying to tell us that we have an enemy within. He couldn’t point out the man he was accusing, but he was looking squarely at the senior officers and the men around us while he was shouting the odds. Which leaves us with two questions.’
‘Who he was looking at?’
‘Yes. That, and exactly what he meant by “He’s the one they’re all terrified of”.’
4
‘Right, that’s one apiece for keeping your mouths shut about this.’ Morban handed every man in the new barracks’ cramped room a coin, staring into each pair of eyes as he did so. ‘If anyone asks you where I am, tell them I’ve gone to find some new boots.’
One of the soldiers crowded around him pulled a face at the single coin resting on his outstretched palm, making no effort to pull his hand away and claim the payment.
‘I’m not sure one sestertius is enough. What if the duty centurion comes looking for you? If we get caught lying to cover up for your whoring we’ll find ourselves on the business end of the scourge, with some big crested bastard striping us all up as the price of your fun.’
Morban glared
at the speaker, shaking his head in disbelief.
‘You just stick to blowing your trumpet when you’re told to, sonny, and leave those of us with a head for business to enjoy the fruits of our hard work. After all, this is really just a scouting expedition I’m going on. I go out and spend my money working out where the best whores are to be found, and then when we have a pass into town I can take you straight to them. The way I see it, everyone’s a winner.’ He smoothed his tunic across his ample belly and then reached for his cloak, pinning the heavy woollen garment about him. ‘Be good now, lads, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t…’
As the standard bearer opened the barracks door to leave, he found his exit blocked by a shadowy figure that towered over him in the unlit street outside. He recoiled, one hand going to his purse and the other reaching under the cloak for a small blade hanging round his neck. The other man was faster, clenching a big fist around both hand and weapon.
‘It’s never wise to pull a knife on a man twice your size, little man, especially when he’s on your own side.’
Morban puffed out a quick breath, shaking his head in a mixture of irritation and relief.
‘What do you want, Arminius? I’ve no time to bandy words with you.’
The German grinned down at him, planting himself firmly in the standard bearer’s path and folding his arms.
‘I thought as much. A good friend told me that you were running a book on the results of today’s executions, and clearly I’ve arrived just in time to stop you wasting your winnings in your usual bull-in-a-field-of-cows fashion.’
Morban’s face screwed itself up into his customary expression of incredulity. With his eyes narrowed and upper lip raised in a disbelieving sneer, he opened his hands in front of him in a shrug of bemusement.
‘What? I made a modest profit by providing a service to my fellow soldiers; it isn’t as if I’ve been dipping my fingers in the burial fund.’
The men behind him nodded sagely. Morban was known to be scrupulous in his handling of their savings. Arminius snorted derisively.
The Leopard sword e-4 Page 11
