‘What you propose is exactly what the legatus commanding that legion down the road to Yew Grove wants, for us to waste our time and strength destroying empty forts. They will simply retreat in front of us, leaving us to spend our energy on pointless destruction. Or worse, they will attempt to pin us between their two forces. I’m not entirely sure our warriors would stand their ground if that happened.’
One of the tribal leaders had stalked forward to stand in front of him, a dead Roman’s head held casually by the hair in one hand, a Roman infantry sword in the other. He turned to the assembled chiefs, holding both in the air above his head.
‘I say we fight! My people have tasted Roman blood, taken heads, taken weapons. To retreat now will bring shame upon us in the eyes of Brigantia — who knows whether she will look with anger upon a retreat in the time of victory, and punish us for avoiding battle.’
The gathering held its collective breath, waiting for Calgus to pounce from his chair, perhaps even draw the sword that hung from his waist and take the other man apart with it for the slur. He was more than capable of such sudden violence, as they all knew from experience. After a long silence, allowing time for the suddenly isolated noble to realise what he had done, Calgus laughed softly. A collective sigh of released breath greeted the sound.
‘Balthus bids us storm more of the Wall forts, while the legion to our south hide in their camp, and yes, we could easily fire another half-dozen of their camps, knock the gates out of a dozen gateways, kill a few hundred careless Romans, take more swords and spears…’
He paused, looking around the gathering, meeting each of the leaders’ eyes in turn.
‘How many heads have we taken already? Five hundred? A thousand? What good will another five hundred do us? Do any of your men lack for swords, or shields? And as for their weapons, well, I ask you… Balthus, would you fight me here and now, man to man, you with that toothpick and me wielding the sword of any other man here?’
He paused again, waiting for the implication to settle in.
‘I thought not. If we delay here we simply give the Romans more time to bring their legions together in a massive armoured fist that will smash our warbands. I have information on that subject, and it isn’t good news. The southern legions started moving north several weeks ago, anticipating our attack, and will be on the Wall inside a week. And when they arrive, my brothers, the western legions will move through the Wall farther to the west, and move east to pin us here on the wrong side of their defences. And then, in all truth, we will be done for, outnumbered and unable to fall back to join the other warbands, and all because we were desperate to win a few more heads and some Roman spears?’
He turned to encompass the gathered nobles with opened arms.
‘We need neither a few hundred heads more nor any number of the Romans’ weapons, suited to their tactic of hiding and stabbing and not to the way we fight, man to man. What we need is to take not five hundred heads, or a thousand, but ten thousand. When a legion’s standard lies on the ground before us, when we have the head of a Roman general pickled in a jar, that will be a victory! On that day, I am certain, the other legions will think carefully before coming north to punish us, but will instead send negotiators to buy peace with us, at a price of our naming. But to achieve that victory, we have to lure that single legion out on to our ground, where we, and not the Romans, choose the place and manner of our meeting. So tell me, my brothers, should we stay for a while here, and win more useless trinkets for our warriors to play with, or shall we follow our intended plan and take a prize worth having?’
He’d prevailed, of course; his argument had been all the more convincing for being correct. Finding the stores at Noisy Valley all but emptied in advance of their arrival had validated the Roman traitor’s other revelation, that the western legions would arrive weeks earlier than he had expected. Now the warband was pulling back from the Wall in good order, its leaders happy enough to follow his direction and keep a muzzle on their men’s urge to fight. Calgus turned to face his adviser, the older man’s face inscrutable in the dusk’s failing light.
‘Your counsel is true, as always, Aed. I’ll give the tribes all the heads they can carry, granted their patience for a few days.’
The Romans could skulk behind their defences for the time being — his warband would have vanished into the north by the time they stirred to follow. The trick now would be tempting the 6th’s legatus to follow them on to a killing ground that Calgus would choose with care. That, and a little inside assistance.
10
Marcus woke again in the middle of the next morning, his head relatively clear, and his stomach growling for food. Clodia Drusilla took one look at him and ordered a bed bath and a meal, both administered by a stone-faced orderly who responded to Marcus’s attempts at conversation with monosyllabic grunts. Hot water, a borrowed blade and a clean tunic lifted his spirits, even if he was still weak enough to fall back on to his bed exhausted afterwards, and a small meal of bread, dried fish and vegetables left him replete. He slept again almost immediately, and was woken by a hand gently shaking his shoulder.
It was Licinius, the Petriana’s prefect, smiling down at him with a glint of triumph. Dressed in a mud-stained tunic and armour, he had clearly come to the hospital directly from the saddle. The shutter was closed, and Licinius was carrying a lamp, adding its illumination to that of the lamp already burning by the bed.
‘Ah, there you are, Centurion.’
Marcus pulled himself up on to his elbows, subsiding back on to the pillow that his superior hastily pushed beneath his straining body.
‘The orderly tried to send me away. Now I’ve seen you, I think I understand why. Are you up to talking?’
Marcus declined the chance to put the conversation off once more, too tired to be bothered with his own safety any longer.
‘Yes, Prefect, we can talk, but tell me, what time is it? What’s happening out there?’
The other man sat on the short stool provided for the purpose, hunching forward to hear Marcus’s tired whisper. As he opened his mouth to speak again, Felicia burst through the door, her mouth a thin white-lipped slash in a face pale with anger. The prefect leapt to his feet, bowing respectfully.
‘Clodia Drusilla, my dear, what a pleasure to see you again. I…’
She pushed a fist into his face, making him step back in surprise, almost tumbling over the stool.
‘You have no right or permission to be here, and as this officer’s doctor I’m ordering you to get out. Now!’
Marcus raised a hand, forestalling her outburst.
‘It’s all right, Doctor, just a friendly conversation…’
She turned on him, wagging a finger threateningly.
‘That isn’t your decision, Centurion, and besides…’
‘No more running.’
‘What?’
‘No more running from the truth. Not from an honourable Roman prefect.’
‘But…’
Her reproach ran dry, leaving her staring helplessly at the bedridden centurion for a moment. She turned and left the room in silence. Licinius sat down again, raising an eyebrow at Marcus.
‘Clodia Drusilla seems very protective of you, young man. Perhaps y’should consider your position very carefully with regard to that young lady. I happen to be acquainted with her husband well enough to know the way he’ll behave if he suspects his property is being coveted by another…’
Marcus looked at him questioningly, until the older man shrugged his shoulders.
‘Never mind. Just watch yourself there. As to the time, it’s late in the afternoon, two days after you took what was by all accounts quite a thump on the head. As to what’s happening outside…’
He paused, rubbing his tired face with a wrinkled hand.
‘Calgus came down the North Road, burned out everything down to Noisy Valley, let his men loose on White Strength and burned that down too, then retreated back up the road and vanished into the
landscape, Mars damn him for eternity. I’ve got patrols out looking for the warband, but for the time being they’re off the bloody map. Now that the barbarians have left the scene of the crime, Sixth Legion has come forward from the blocking position they were holding to the south, marched through here at lunchtime and thundered off over the horizon to some secret camp or other they scouted out a while ago. Where the other legions have got to, Mars only knows. But we, young man, have subjects closer to home to discuss, do we not?’
Marcus nodded, giving in to the inescapable.
‘Firstly, as to your great secret, don’t trouble yourself with the revelation, I’ve already questioned Equitius and got the truth out of him.’
Marcus’s eyes opened wide.
‘You…’
The officer waved a hand dismissively, shaking his head in amusement.
‘Y’clearly don’t appreciate my position here, young man. I command the Petriana cavalry wing and I’m the senior prefect of all the Wall garrisons. I’m already a senator as a result of an imperial promotion after a dirty little skirmish a few years ago, and I have some very powerful friends in Rome. When I told your commanding officer to spill the beans he did what he was told, related the whole story and offered to resign his command and fall on his sword. Because he’s a realist. The man that lives in Yew Grove may nominally command the Wall garrison, executing the governor’s orders, but as long as I’m in place these units answer to me, right up to the point where Sixth Legion comes forward into the line and he’s in a position to take effective control.’
Marcus lay back, strangely relieved at not having to hide from the senior officer any longer.
‘Did you take Equitius’s command?’
Licinius snorted his laughter.
‘Of course I didn’t, y’fool! I can’t afford to go dumping effective officers just because they happen to have an eye for a good officer!’
‘But…’
The prefect leaned in close, half whispering into Marcus’s ear, his patrician affectations suddenly replaced with a harder tone.
‘But nothing, man. I told you I’ve got friends in Rome, men of influence and stature. They write to me regularly about the city and what’s happening around them, and their letters have steadily become more pessimistic. Some of them even write anonymously, using recollection of our shared experiences as their identification, for fear of their words being read by the wrong person. Our new emperor is in the sway of dangerous men, and is steadily undermining the rules that have underpinned our society for almost a century. Your father and his brother were his victims, murdered for their land and to silence a potential dissenting voice in the Senate. As a loyal citizen of Rome I should, of course, arrest you, and Equitius and his First Spear, and hand you over to Sixth Legion for trial and execution.’
He stopped speaking, and looked away from Marcus, out of the room’s window.
‘As an officer of Rome, with a prior duty to the defence of this province, it is my judgement that I will do no such thing.’
‘But you risk losing everything.’
‘Centurion, there are two or three warbands out there that amount to about thirty thousand fighting men, all of them fired by the desire to liberate their lands from Roman influence and get their cocks up some nice soft flesh in the process. Against that mass of angry warriors we total ten thousand regular troops and two thousand cavalry, plus another eighteen thousand legionaries — if the legions make an appearance in time to join in the fun. If we get it wrong, I could be dead inside the week, in which case my failure to report your presence here will be inconsequential. My duty is first and foremost to the troops under my command, and to the people that depend on our protection to prevent those savages from killing and shagging their way all the way down to Yew Grove.
‘And besides, quite apart from yourself, there are two other good men involved at the very least. Your First Spear is an outstanding soldier, and Equitius… Equitius has something even more special. It wouldn’t surprise me to see him reach very high office indeed, if he comes through this thing intact. You’ll understand when you’re my age…’
He got up and walked to the door, reassuming his former aristocratic bearing.
‘Anyway, you’re a good officer, “Marcus Tribulus Corvus”, good enough to take advantage of your luck. Make the most of that fortune in the coming days, ride it to the best possible advantage. We shall have need of your brand of audacity if we’re to prevent this Calgus from nailing our heads to his roof beams. Just don’t give me reason to regret this decision.’
He left, raising an eyebrow at Felicia, who glared at his departing back before hurrying back into Marcus’s room, appraising him with a frank concern he found touching.
‘He knows your secret, then?’
‘Yes, he put the question directly to my prefect.’
‘And…?’
‘I’m to return to duty as soon as I’m fit. It seems that live officers are of more value than dead traitors at this time.’
She exhaled noisily, sitting down at the end of his bed.
‘I’m pleased. I’ve known him for long enough to be aware that he has his own very particular set of principles, but I wasn’t sure how he’d react to your situation.’
‘He said that your husband…’
He stopped, unwilling to embarrass the woman.
‘Is a violent man? Would react without thinking if he thought there might be some slur upon his manhood? He’s a good judge of character. Not everyone sees through that veneer of “hail fellow, well met” that Prefect Bassus uses to mask his real nature. Did he think that we were lovers?’
Marcus blushed, unable to meet her questioning gaze.
‘Yes, I think he did.’
She laughed, putting her head back. The laughter stung Marcus’s pride, making his voice harsher than he would have wanted.
‘Not so funny, madam, you’re a beautiful woman. He can see that any man would find you attractive…’
He hoped that she wouldn’t detect either his discomfort with her amusement or his almost total lack of physical experience of women. Her laughter died away, and she returned his indignant glare with a gentle smile.
‘On the contrary, Centurion, it wasn’t that prospect I was laughing at. The old proverb came to mind — “Better to be strangled for a sheep than a goat”. If you get my meaning?’
She turned and left, the secret smile staying on her face until she was back in her tiny office, making the duty orderly raise his eyebrows in mute curiosity.
Dubnus arrived an hour later, standing awkwardly in the doorway until Marcus beckoned him in. The big man came to attention at the bottom of the bed, in which Marcus was now sitting, reading a borrowed scroll of Caesar’s writings on his campaigns in Gaul, launching into a speech he had clearly prepared with painstaking care.
‘Centurion, I request permission to be allocated another century, at a lower rank if necessary…’
Marcus sat bolt upright, making the ache in his head throb a little harder. He swayed for a second with the pain, causing Dubnus to leap around the bed and steady him by the arm. The pain subsided after a moment. He motioned the soldier to sit down, and took a moment to wind the scroll up, looking into the other man’s stonily fixed face. What reason could his deputy have for wanting to leave the 9th?
‘Why, Dubnus?’
The chosen man knotted his fingers, and his eyes blinked rapidly, betraying the turmoil beneath the surface.
‘A chosen man’s main job is protect his officer, and…’
‘Bullshit!’
The roar surprised Marcus himself, and sent another wave of pain through his head, but the rush of relief he felt in discovering the cause of his deputy’s unease mixed powerfully with his panic at the prospect of losing the man. Dubnus flinched back on the chair, his eyes widening at the sudden display of anger.
‘Your job is to be my deputy, to stand behind the century with your pole’s end in their backs, and ensure that the
Ninth moves in accordance with my commands, steady the men when they waver…’
He stopped for a moment, and reached for the water cup by his bed, drinking deeply.
‘… and that’s a job you perform superbly well. Think back, Dubnus. When I decided to go out and rescue our runner, without you at the back of the column our men would have turned and run for the safety of the Wall before we’d got two hundred yards out into the open. They were shit scared, and so for that matter was I. It was only your voice behind them that made them keep moving.’
‘But in the forest…’
‘I managed to make enough noise to bring the tribesmen down on us. That was nothing to do with you.’
‘And I failed to stay with you.’
‘We were fighting for our lives, in the darkness, against superior numbers. It’s a wonder we aren’t both stuck in here, or somewhere worse. Look, forget it, Dubnus, it wasn’t your fault, and you’re not leaving the Ninth. Relax, man, you’re making my headache worse! Besides, someone stepped over me and held the blue-noses off…’
Dubnus winced at the attempted humour, then became serious again, the look on his face stopping Marcus mid-sentence.
‘Which is the other reason why I should leave the century. It wasn’t me that saved you, it was…’
‘Yes?’
‘… Antenoch.’
‘Antenoch?!’
Dubnus nodded miserably.
‘He came out of the trees behind us, jumped over you and fought off the tribesmen until relief arrived. Killed three men, and cut the sword arm off another…’
He tailed off, watching Marcus intently.
‘Antenoch followed us into the trees without y- us noticing?’
Dubnus nodded again, his face lengthening. Marcus felt his grip on his self-control starting to slip.
‘After you refused to let him patrol with us?’
‘Yes.’
Wounds of Honour e-1 Page 24
