Arrows of Fury e-2

by Anthony Riches

  ‘Clean enough, if my nose isn’t getting tired from all this practice. Let’s make this the last one tonight, there’s nothing out there that won’t wait until I’ve had a few hours’ sleep. Get him ready for cleaning out, please.’

  She walked to the door, and pushed Marcus into the ward, wrapping her arms around him, muttering tiredly into his chest.

  ‘How long have you got in camp?’

  He snorted into her hair, laughing despite himself.

  ‘About six hours. We’re going back north at dawn.’

  She pushed herself away from him, holding him out at arms’ length and looking critically at his black-ringed eyes.

  ‘You were in action yesterday. From the look of it you were right in the middle of it, as usual…’

  His eyes were suddenly misty, the gentle challenge breaking down defences that he’d thought secure against the emotions surging around them.

  ‘We fought off a warband from the far north. My archers fought better than I could ever have imagined… but I lost so many of them. And Antenoch…’

  A tear escaped from his right eye, rolling down his cheek and falling on to his armoured chest. Felicia pulled his head on to her shoulder, holding him close again and biting her lip to suppress her own tears.

  ‘My love. My poor, poor love. They were soldiers…’

  Marcus pulled away a little and tried to speak, but she put a finger to his lips, shaking her head.

  ‘No! No guilt. They may not have been fighting men to match your Tungrians, but they were still soldiers. They knew what they were volunteering for. And as for your clerk…’

  ‘He died saving the boy’s life. I was too late to do anything other than butcher the men that killed him. Perhaps that’s all I’m good for…’

  ‘Rubbish!’ Her voice hardened, and she took a grip of his mail shirt’s collar and dragged him close again, whispering vehemently in his face. ‘You’re a fine officer and a good man, and I love you. So pull yourself together, go and get some sleep and come back to me in one piece when this is all over. I want a live husband, not a dead hero, so keep your wits about you!’

  He smiled wanly and kissed her gently, squeezing her to him for a moment. Disengaging and moving towards the surgery door, she turned back, a wry smile on her face.

  ‘And if you want a way to remember your clerk that doesn’t involve yesterday, just remember all the times he drove you to the point of tearing your hair out.’

  He smiled back at her, his mood lifted by the thought of better days.

  ‘I threw a copy of Commentaries on the Gallic War at his head in the hospital at Cauldron Fort.’

  ‘I know, he told me. I think he was rather proud of the achievement… Now, away with you. I’ve got a patient to deal with, and my records to scribble out before I forget what to write.’

  Marcus gathered up his helmet and followed her to the door, his mind already fixed on the thought of a few hours’ sleep and the next day’s march.

  Furius drained the last of the wine that had been left for him and lifted the flask, shaking it to ensure that no drop remained within.

  ‘Empty. Bastards couldn’t even leave me enough wine to put me to sleep.’

  Rising from the chair in which he’d been sitting since Licinius had left him in the residence’s comfortable main bedroom, with the command to get some sleep, the disgruntled ex-officer shambled off into the house in search of more wine. Finding nothing to drink in any of the rooms, he pulled his boots back on and went to the front door, opening it cautiously to peer into the fort’s empty street. A pair of the Petriana’s cavalrymen turned to face him, their faces stony with dispassionate disapproval and their spears crossed to bar him from exiting the residence. Closing the door, he retreated to the kitchen, searching until he found a suitably heavy bladed cooking knife. Back in the bedroom, at the building’s rear, he got to work on the locked wooden catch that secured the window’s shutter, prying it away from the frame until the wood splintered and broke, allowing the shutter to open.

  Blowing out the lamp that was the room’s only illumination, he eased the shutter open a crack and looked cautiously through the thin slit. The street between the residence and the fort’s defensive wall was quiet, and he was about to open the shutter properly and climb through it when a helmeted soldier appeared in his restricted field of view, having passed by the window without noticing that it was ajar. He waited until the guard had turned the corner and then eased himself noiselessly to the ground and pushed the shutter closed again, hurrying to the corner of the residence around which the guard had disappeared. Peeping round the brickwork in trepidation, fearing that the man might have reversed his steps and be advancing towards him, he saw to his relief that the sentry was just turning the next corner, clearly walking a simple path around the residence. He had a couple of minutes before the soldier could cover the other two sides of the building and come up behind him. Taking a moment to calm his breathing, he took the only course of action open to him, walking boldly across the road and into the cover of the barrack block facing the residence, waiting for the sounds of pursuit. None came. If the guards watching the building’s front door for Licinius had spotted him, they had failed to connect the apparently confident figure crossing the street with the man held captive within.

  He moved quickly now, sticking to the shadows and heading for the barrack block in which his temporary quarters were located. The patrolling Tungrian guard coughed in the cold evening air, standing in his position at the far end of the block. There was no sign of the man who would normally be posted in front of the prefect’s rooms.

  ‘No need, given my new status…’

  Finding what he believed to be the right door, he opened it and stepped inside with light feet, not sure whether there would be a guard placed inside, but the room was empty. His sword and dagger were lying on the bed alongside his other effects, and he picked them up, strapping the belt and baldric over his tunic. Stepping over to the window, he cautiously peered through the shutters at the hospital opposite. A group of four orderlies came out of the building, the sleeves of their tunics spattered black where their aprons had failed to provide protection from the blood of the wounded men they had been treating throughout the evening. They headed off towards the main gates, and the fort’s vicus.

  ‘Off to the beer shop, are we, gentlemen? Who does that leave minding the patients while you’re wetting your whistles? I wonder.’

  He searched down the building’s row of windows until he found what he’d been hoping for.

  ‘Oh yes, that would make a very acceptable reward for refusing to go quietly.’

  In the officers’ mess, crowded with the presence of the centurions of both infantry cohorts and the Petriana’s decurions, First Spear Frontinius was enjoying a rare moment of leisure with his men. The Votadini prince Martos stood among them self-consciously with his drinking horn held in one hand. He had sought to avoid the invitation at first, but Frontinius had refused to take no for an answer.

  ‘You pulled our backsides out of the fire yesterday, and as far as we’re concerned you’re a brother now, no matter what happened before or might happen in the future. Besides, if you refuse I’m pretty sure that the Bear will just come down here and carry you over to the mess, so why not make it easy on yourself?’

  Frontinius lifted his beaker, and the cohort’s centurions gathered more tightly around their leader to hear his toast. His voice rung around the room in the sudden hush, as all three groups of officers strained to hear the words.

  ‘Brothers, we drink to the Venicones. May they long remember the day that two cohorts of Tungrians repelled ten thousand of the bastards…’ He lowered his voice theatrically, knowing that he had the whole room’s attention. ‘… with a little help from Jupiter, sender of rain…’ He raised his voice to shout out the last few words of the toast. ‘… and an honourable mention for the Red River!’

  A cheer rang out, every man in the room lifting his drink i
n salute. Frontinius turned to Julius with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘Dubnus?’

  ‘Should be fine, if a small nick to his liver heals clean.’ He raised his beaker to Martos, speaking in quiet tones that would be heard only by the tight knot of men standing around him. ‘To you, Martos, and your warriors. Without you our brother Dubnus would be dead now, and likely most of the rest of us too.’

  The Briton nodded acknowledgement of the honour as the officers raised their cups, taking a draught of beer from the drinking horn.

  ‘You may yet have to return the favour, Centurion, but I thank you for your kind words. Here’s my toast, if I may…?’ Frontinius nodded, motioning him to continue. ‘I’ll drink to your archers. Untrained and unready for the fight they may have been, but they stood taller than all the rest of us so-called ‘warriors’ by their deeds yesterday. They were the real champions of the fight.’

  He lifted the drinking horn and the Tungrian officers nodded soberly, starkly aware that half of Marcus’s century had been killed or badly wounded in the battle on the banks of the Red. The first spear drained his beaker and set it down on the nearest table.

  ‘Well said. And now, my brothers, I’ll bid you goodnight. Drink up and get yourselves into your racks for a few hours. Tomorrow’s march will be just as savage as today’s was, and I’ll have you bright eyed and ready for anything if it’s all the same to you.’

  He made his way out of the mess, walking past the 2nd Cohort’s barracks as he headed towards the main gate and his own cohort’s quarters, returning the guards’ respectful salutes as he mused on their marching route for the following day.

  Furius watched him from inside the hospital’s lobby until he was out of sight, waiting another moment in case he turned around for any reason. When he was satisfied that there was no risk of the veteran officer discovering him, he turned to the hospital’s main corridor, walking quietly down the passageway off which the wards opened, his boots making quiet creaking noises with each step. Each room was packed with wounded men, all oblivious to his presence as a combination of the brutal shock of their treatment and the drugs prescribed for them by the doctor had rendered them senseless. At the end of the corridor he stopped and listened, hearing his quarry’s quiet voice as the doctor talked herself through the notes she was making on each of the surgical cases she had dealt with that evening. He opened the door and walked into her cramped office, enjoying the warmth of the fire burning in a small hearth on the far wall. The woman started at his unexpected presence, relaxing as she realised who the newcomer was. That, he mused with an inward smile, would change soon enough.

  ‘Good evening, Prefect Furius. You’ve come to see your wounded, I suppose. They’re…’

  Furius rode over her tired voice, his tone harsh enough to make Felicia lean back in her chair.

  ‘No, Doctor, the person I’ve come to see is you. And you’re a little out of date with your greeting; I am no longer Prefect Furius, but just plain Furius now. Furius the failure, the coward. Furius the dismissed is what I am now, but strangely enough my new-found status has finally liberated me from expectations of how a senior officer should behave.’ He closed the door behind him, smiling hungrily down at the seated woman. ‘You won’t be aware of it, but my sexual tastes have troubled me for most of my adult life. You see, my dear, I enjoy women the most when they struggle…’ Felicia stared up at him in dawning horror, then around the office for some way to defend herself. ‘The problem is that some of the women I’ve favoured with my manhood have struggled so hard that I’ve been accused of rape.’ He sighed, shaking his head sadly. ‘My father paid off the families the first couple of times, but I soon took to strangling the women whose bodies I enjoyed in order to ensure their silence. That’s how I ended up being moved on from First Minervia, a pretty young thing that I took a fancy to but who was just a little bit too well connected for the matter to be brushed under the mat. Nobody could prove anything, but there was enough suspicion for the legatus to send me away. In my own best interests, of course, or so he told me. The lady’s brothers had sworn their revenge on an altar to Nemesis, apparently.’ He raised an arm and declaimed: ‘“Nemesis, winged balancer of life, dark-faced goddess, daughter of Justice.”’

  He smiled, and Felicia recoiled again at the blank look in his eyes. ‘Of course, the legatus couldn’t tell my new superiors why he was moving me on, or they would have refused to accept my onward posting, and so here I was with no one any the wiser as to my very particular needs. Nemesis, daughter of justice? Hah! There is no justice.’ He squatted down, bringing his face close to hers. ‘If there were I would not be locked up safely in the prefect’s residence waiting for a quiet and ignominious departure tomorrow morning, or so everyone else but you and me believes. Which, of course, gives me licence to do whatever I please with you, my dear, and without fear of discovery as long as I cover my tracks well… I presume you’ll be well aware of what I like to do to my partners, given that you examined one of my victims once I was done with her?’

  The horrified doctor nodded slowly, unable to take her eyes from the face in front of her. Furius smiled slowly, then reached out with sudden speed and gripped the collar of her tunic with both hands, rending the garment apart with his immense strength. He put a hand around her throat and forced her to her feet, pushing her up against the wall while using the other hand to tear away the ruined tunic, revealing her body to him.

  ‘Oh yes, exactly what I need. You, my dear, are going to be squealing like a stuck pig in a minute or two.’

  He pulled down the linen band restraining her breasts, allowing them to bob loose, and gripped a nipple with a fierce tweak. The abused flesh stiffened in protest, as an amused grin played across his face.

  ‘See, your body is already betraying you… you bitches always enjoy what I’ve got to offer, even if you pretend to resist!’

  The door opened behind him with a groan of hinges. Cornelius Felix walked gingerly through the doorway, his right arm tightly bound in a sling.

  ‘Doctor, I… good grief, what in Hades are…’

  Furius pivoted swiftly, driving a bunched fist into his face and catapulting him across the corridor and off the far wall. The wounded cavalry officer slumped to the floor, already unconscious. Furius turned back to find the naked woman clawing frantically at the room’s shutter. Pulling her away from the window and pushing her to the floor with a triumphant laugh, he delivered a stinging backhanded slap to her face.

  ‘No you don’t. Let’s have those undergarments off, shall we. Open wide!’

  In the officers’ mess Marcus drained his beaker, putting it down on the table and picking up his helmet, looking around for a moment.

  ‘Damn.’

  Rufius raised an eyebrow.

  ‘My vine stick. I must have left it in the hospital.’

  His friend drank his wine and picked up his own helmet.

  ‘It’s only round the corner, I’ll come with you. It’ll give us a chance to see how Dubnus is doing. You coming, Martos?’

  The Briton nodded, tipping back the contents of his drinking horn and shoving it into his belt. Julius picked up his helmet, shooting Marcus a wry smile.

  ‘I’ll come too. Someone’s got to make sure you come back to your barrack nice and promptly, or we’ll have a repeat of what happened the last time you were left alone with her. Can’t have you turning up on parade in the morning looking like you’ve been pulled through a hedge, can we?’

  The four men made their way to the door, stepping out into the cold night air under a blaze of stars and strolling down the street towards the hospital. The light of a lamp flickered through the shutters of the doctor’s office window, making Marcus shake his head.

  ‘She’s still at it. So much for “you go and get some slee…”’

  ‘Quiet!’

  They turned and looked at Martos, his head cocked the better to listen. In the silence they all heard the sound, a woman’s cry of distress. Rufius made
the connection first, dashing off along the street with the other men in close pursuit. He took the steps into the hospital’s lobby two at a time and lunged into the corridor, his pace hastened further by the slumped body at its far end. Drawing his sword, he sprinted down the length of the building, kicking the office door open to find the helpless Felicia pinned to the floor with Furius on top of her, her legs forced open by his muscular thighs, one hand stifling her screams and the other between their bodies, his buttocks moving slightly as he readied himself to thrust into her. The doctor saw Rufius over her attacker’s shoulder, her eyes bulging as he stepped into the office and stooped to put his blade’s point against her rapist’s anus. Furius froze into immobility with the weapon’s first touch, looking over his shoulder in amazement at the furious centurion.

  ‘Get off her now, or I’ll put my iron so far up you it’ll stop your heart without ever disturbing your ribs, you piece of shit.’

  The other officers appeared in the door behind him, Julius sizing up the situation in an instant.

  ‘Keep him there. Lady, bring yourself out from under him, nice and easy.’

  Felicia struggled out from beneath Furius’s weight, spitting into his face with shocked anger. Julius tapped Marcus on the shoulder hard, seeing his friend’s ash-white face and knowing that the man was seconds from taking a blade to the prostrate former officer.

  ‘Get your woman out of here, Centurion, and give her some decency. We’ll deal with this bastard once she’s safely out of the way.’

  He stepped into the office and put an iron-nailed boot on to Furius’s neck, crushing the man’s face into the hard stone floor.

  ‘Tie his hands behind his back with your belt.’ He waited while the older man secured their prisoner’s wrists. ‘Good. Now sheathe your blade, Rufius; this one won’t struggle, not now he’s dealing with fighting men and not trying to violate a defenceless woman. And besides, I’m rather looking forward to seeing his face when we scourge his back off and then nail him up tomorrow morning. That is your preferred method of punishment, I believe…?’