The Leopard Sword

by Anthony Riches

  Frontinius nodded, pointing at the map with his vine stick.

  ‘Where I come from, ground is only important if it allows the man that holds it to control something. What makes this place so important?’

  Albanus raised his eyes to the ceiling, but Caninus continued, warming to his subject.

  ‘A good question. What makes this city in the middle of nowhere of any interest to anyone? There’s a simple answer, First Spear. Roads. Look, I’ll show you.’ He pointed to the map. ‘To the west, the road runs across easy ground to Beech Forest, the Nervian capital, and from there down into Gaul. And it runs through miles and miles of fertile soil, fields of grain for as far as the eye can see.’ He indicated a spot on the map to the east of the city. ‘From Tungrorum that same road runs east for a half-day’s march to cross the river at Mosa Ford, and then continues all the way to Claudius Colony on the River Rhenus. From there the road runs along the river’s western bank to all of the major towns and fortresses on the river.’

  He stopped speaking and looked at Frontinius, who was studying the map with fresh understanding.

  ‘So the grain from Gaul is shipped up the road to Tungrorum, then on to the fortresses on the Rhenus?’

  ‘Exactly, First Spear. The journey’s too long for carters in Gaul to go all the way to the Rhenus, so they bring the grain here to the grain store –’ Albanus snorted again, but the prefect continued speaking without any sign of having heard him – ‘where it can be collected and shipped to the east. Without grain from Gaul the fortresses on the Rhenus would be unsustainable, and without the legions camped on the river the Germans would be across the border and raiding deep into our land in no time.’

  ‘And without Germania Inferior the whole of Gaul would be wide open. Not to mention the road to Rome.’

  Caninus smiled broadly.

  ‘You’ve a sharp mind, First Spear. As you say, without the supply of grain to the fortresses on the Rhenus, the empire’s entire north-western flank would be wide open to barbarian attack. Within fifty years they’d have settled Germania Inferior and be knocking on the door of Gaul. Not to mention the fact that not defending the lower stretches of the Rhenus would put the defences along the upper reaches of the river under threat of attack. Tungrorum is absolutely critical to the maintenance of control over the German tribes. And Tungrorum is under a threat whose severity Procurator Albanus seems determined to underestimate in favour of commercial concerns.’

  He looked directly at the procurator, waiting for him to deny the accusation, but the administrator stared intently at the table, clearly determined to ignore the provocation. Scaurus waved a hand at the wall.

  ‘Tell us about the bandit threat, Prefect. I’m curious to know why it hasn’t already been stamped out, if the supply route to the frontier is of such critical importance.’

  Caninus pointed to the map again, indicating an area to the south and east of the city.

  ‘March to the east for ten miles and cross the River Mosa, and you’ll find yourself confronted with a vast forest that rises from the river’s edge to form a range of hills. It’s impossible ground to police, riven by deep river valleys and covered with dense woodland where the light of day barely reaches the ground. When it’s not raining the hills are wreathed in mist, and it’s as cold as the grave at this time of the year. And that is the root of our problem, Tribune. The locals call it the Forest of Arduenna, after their goddess of the high woods. She rides a boar to hunt, they say.’

  ‘A German Diana, then?’

  ‘Yes, Tribune, apart from her association with high ground. The forest is littered with shrines to her name, hunters invoking her good favour in the main, although there are rumours of a darker side to her worship. Human sacrifices . . .’ He paused, touching an amulet that hung from his right wrist. ‘Not that we’ve found any sign of the kind of sacrificial altars you’d expect if the rumours are based in fact, but . . .’

  Scaurus nodded, his face set hard.

  ‘When we had men captured in the war with the Quadi it wasn’t unusual for the tribesmen to sacrifice them to their gods, usually slowly, and often within screaming distance of our camps. Let’s hope your amulet brings you protection. So, tell me, what have you achieved against these bandits?’

  Albanus jumped to his feet, suddenly livid at the question.

  ‘Nothing! Exactly nothing at all! We house these men at the governor’s request, we provide them with stabling, and yet—’

  ‘Procurator!’ Scaurus’s voice was cold, and his tone not that of a man likely to brook any argument. The civilian looked at him, his mouth open. ‘I promise you, in fact I swear to Mithras Unconquered, that if you interject your nonsensical gabbling into this conference one more time I will have you ejected from the room. Keep your mouth shut, so that those of us who have to go outside these walls and hunt down the men putting the empire’s entire northern frontier at risk can work out what is to be done!’ He held the administrator’s gaze until the other man looked away, while his clerk stared with even greater intensity at his notes. Petrus, the first spear noted, didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid; he simply watched Scaurus with the same closed expression. The tribune waited another moment to make sure his point had been made, then gestured to the waiting Caninus. ‘Prefect? Do please continue.’

  Caninus looked at the map in silence for a moment, shaking his head ruefully.

  ‘You want to know what we’ve done? Everything we can, given our resources, but nowhere near enough. We patrol the roads as frequently as we can, capturing and killing the occasional small band of robbers, but the real threat is still out there. And why, you ask? Why haven’t we already ground them into the mud of the flat open fields that border the road for as far as the eye can see? There are two reasons, and if I have your measure you already know very well what the bigger of the two has to be.’

  Scaurus nodded.

  ‘I think I know the first of them as well, but please continue.’

  ‘The first is simple enough. All the way through the war with the Marcomanni and the Quadi, a war which only really ended two years ago, no matter what the victory coins might have said before that, this province was bled of men and gold to fund the campaign’s insatiable appetite for blood and treasure. The legions on the lower Rhenus are stripped to the bone, capable of little more than guarding the frontier; and the farm owners are taxed to the hilt to make up the financial shortfall caused by the plague, so they drive their slaves like animals. As a consequence of these problems the number of army deserters and escaped slaves swells the numbers of those committing the crime of robbery faster than I can bring them to justice with only thirty men. As you expected, Tribune?’ Scaurus nodded, his expression thoughtful. ‘And your guess as to the second problem?’

  The tribune stood, stretching his back before walking across to the map. As he stared intently at it a tense silence filled the room, broken by the slap of his hand on the wall.

  ‘Simple. You have two different types of bandit at work here. There are opportunists like those we killed yesterday, escaped slaves for the most part, running from the harsh conditions imposed on them by their masters, who are, as you say, desperate to make a profit despite the heavy taxes squeezing them dry. After all, most of them owe money, and the lenders aren’t traditionally known for their patience. This first type of bandit stays close to the road, and preys on the weak and unprepared, but keeps well away from the grain convoys. You are escorting the grain across the province?’

  ‘Yes. We meet the convoys twenty or so miles to the west and escort them to the city. The convoys from here to the legions on the Rhenus we accompany as far as the Mosa to the east. It’s the most that we can do with the strength we have, and the carters are sufficiently well armed to fight off most of the smaller bands of robbers.’

  ‘But here –’ Scaurus slapped the wall again, indicating the forest’s sprawling mass – ‘here’s your bigger problem. The forest is less than a day’s march from the road,
and provides a sanctuary that you’ll never be able to penetrate. There’s a major band operating from the forest, at a guess?’

  Caninus laughed ruefully.

  ‘More like an army. There were already at least two hundred of them before the auxiliaries sent to hunt them down decided to mutiny and join with them last autumn. A century sent to man an outpost fort on the road south was attacked after dark and those that decided to resist were slaughtered to the last man. When their bodies were discovered, the rest of the cohort decided they’d be better off siding with the bandits. They killed their prefect and deserted, and it was only by good fortune they weren’t actually in the city when it happened or there would have been a bloodbath. The band in the forest must be at least five hundred men strong now, and that many mouths take a lot of feeding.’

  Scaurus stared at the map for a moment.

  ‘Which puts the grain convoys at constant risk. I see the size of the problem.’ He turned away from the map, his hard stare raking across the faces of the men sitting around the table. ‘First things first. Now the magnitude of what we’re facing has been made clear, my first priority is to get my men under solid roofs, with proper food and stoves to cook it on. Once that’s achieved, you, Prefect Caninus, can show us the ground we’ll be operating across. And so, gentlemen, to business. I need enough wood, nails and tools to build barracks for fourteen hundred soldiers, plus stabling for thirty horses, and my food supplies for both men and beasts will have run out by the end of tomorrow. So are we going to work this out with the professionalism the empire expects from us, or am I going to have to show you all my teeth?’

  2

  ‘It’s not much of a market, is it? I remember this place from when I was a boy, with every wall lined with traders, and all of their stalls loaded with fruit and vegetables. But this . . .’

  Julius stood with his hands on his hips and looked about the forum’s thin population of traders and their limited variety of produce, shaking his head slowly. Marcus and Dubnus had volunteered to come with him on the task to which he’d been appointed by Frontinius, and the two men exchanged a glance. The state of the city’s housing had also become apparent to them in the daylight. There were empty houses in every street, many of them falling into sad disrepair and at least one with a sapling sprouting through an open window.

  ‘The city’s population seems to have been slashed in size from those days, by the plague, I suppose. And since the whole province appears to have been turned over to growing grain, from what we saw on the march in, perhaps a shortage of meat and vegetables is the price they have to pay. There doesn’t seem to be any shortage of bread though.’

  The big man nodded at Marcus’s observation.

  ‘Which is one small mercy, but I wonder where the meat and vegetables to feed two cohorts of big strong lads are going to come from if this is the best they can do. Anyway, forget the food, what we’re looking for is someone that’ll sell us something to wet our—’

  He stopped talking abruptly, drawing curious glances from his colleagues as he stared in silence at a small party walking past them through the forum, a woman flanked by two burly men who could only be bodyguards, to judge from their size and demeanour.

  ‘Come on, Julius, stick to the job in hand. You’re not going to get what Uncle Sextus sent you out for by ogling every good-looking floozy who walks past.’

  If their colleague had heard Dubnus’s jocular comment he didn’t acknowledge it, and he strode out into the forum without a backward glance, his attention locked on the woman’s back. His friends exchanged baffled glances, Dubnus frowning irritably after his colleague.

  ‘We’d better go with him. Those two have the look of men who’ll reach for their knives rather than waste time on pleasantries.’

  When he was a half a dozen paces behind the small group Julius called out a single word to the woman.

  ‘Annia?’

  She stopped walking and turned to face him, and to Marcus’s eye her expression was a combination of hope and dread. At close quarters he realised that she was a beauty, her features enhanced by cosmetics of a quality and subtlety that he hadn’t seen since leaving Rome the previous year, her black hair artfully arranged to frame a face that, if it wasn’t in the first flush of youth, was still strikingly handsome. Her eyes narrowed on seeing the big centurion standing before her, and her lips tightened. Marcus guessed that her frown of recognition wasn’t the reaction for which Julius had been hoping. The men to either side of her moved quickly, stepping forward to intercept the Tungrian without any sign of deference to his uniform. With a tight smile one of them, a bulky man, put a firm hand on Julius’s chest, dropping the other onto the hilt of his knife. His hair was cropped close to his skull while a bushy moustache bristled under a nose which had clearly been broken more than once. The other man, whip thin and with a dark, brooding look to him, reacted with equal professionalism, taking a quick step to one side and putting his hand to the handle of a long blade, clearly ready to unsheathe the weapon if necessary. If they weren’t military trained, they clearly had enough experience of their roles to perform them competently.

  ‘That’s close enough, soldier boy. The lady doesn’t want to be bothered by the likes of you.’

  The bodyguard’s harsh voice was hard-edged with the promise of force to back up his words, and Marcus felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising as the familiar urge to fight made his nostrils flare and his eyes widen. The second bodyguard, alert to the situation’s potential for violence, noticed as the young officer rose slightly onto the balls of his feet, unconsciously poising himself to fight, and he shook his head in caution. His voice was more reasonable than his colleague’s, if no less confident in his abilities.

  ‘The lady doesn’t want to be disturbed, sonny. Better if you were to go and bother someone else, eh?’

  Julius turned to his friends and momentarily bowed his head as if accepting the bodyguards’ rebuttal, then struck without warning, grabbing the hand that was still planted on his chest and bending it back with savage force, twisting it to his left to put the man off balance before using the bodyguard’s instinctive resistance to heave him to the right, shoving him into his colleague hard enough to put them both on the ground. The bodyguards leapt to their feet to find three hard-faced centurions ready for them with their swords drawn, and looked at each other in consternation. From the corner of his eye Marcus saw a man turn and leave the forum at something close to a run, and realised they only had a matter of moments before reinforcements arrived to back up the angry bodyguards. Julius lowered his gladius, putting up a placatory hand.

  ‘Steady, boys. Don’t make the mistake of biting off more than you can handle. All I want is a quiet conversation with the lady, and then you can go on your way with no more damage done than a bit of embarrassment. Or we can fight, and when Tungrians fight it’s all or nothing. So don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  While the bodyguards were still pondering Julius’s words, their faces reflecting their confusion, the woman stepped forward and lifted her hand.

  ‘It’s my decision who I speak with, not yours.’ She gave the two men a pointed stare before turning back to Julius. ‘And not yours either, Julius. That is you, isn’t it, behind the beard and the hard words?’

  He nodded, bowing his head.

  ‘I’m sorry. Your men were a little too quick to give offence.’

  ‘And you were more than ready to take it. Just as you were fifteen years ago, as I recall? So here you are, back in Tungrorum after all this time. I’ll assume you didn’t come back to find me, and that this is just a coincidence?’

  Marcus heard a note enter Julius’s voice that he’d not heard in all the time they’d served together.

  ‘I meant to come back for you, Annia, but you never answered the messages I sent with the men who came back here to retire. I supposed that you’d met someone else.’

  One of the bodyguards smirked, and Marcus’s eyes narrowed as, in a sudden f
lash of insight, he worked out what it was about her that had been bothering him. The woman’s hollow laugh confirmed his guess.

  ‘I met a few other men, as it happens. Look at me, Julius, look properly.’ She raised her arms and performed a twirl on the spot. ‘Does nothing bother you about what you see? The toga I’m wearing, for example? I know it’s not made of the prescribed floral pattern, but it’s still quite a giveaway. Or perhaps you’ve noticed my lack of footwear? The city authorities are quite strict in enforcing that nice little rule.’

  The centurion stared at her for a moment before realisation dawned.

  ‘You’re a . . .’ He shook his head and tried again. ‘I – I mean, you’ve become . . .’

  ‘Yes, I’ve become a whore. And, as I’m sure you can tell from the quality of my clothing, not to mention the men paid to make sure I’m not bothered when I walk through the city, really quite a good whore. Your precious love of all those years ago turned to servicing men for money to survive. I didn’t have much choice in the matter, not with my father dead, and my mother and I dependent on whatever money I could bring in.’ She shook her head in dismissal of the memory, her voice hardening. ‘So, here we are, the soldier and the whore reunited after all these years. What stories we could tell each other. But perhaps it’s better if we leave it there, and try to forget what might have been, if only you hadn’t felt compelled to join the army and leave me here to rot.’

  The big man stood aghast, and the man he’d disarmed opened his mouth to make some cutting remark, only to close it again as Dubnus caught his eye with an extravagant glare.

  ‘Why didn’t you write and tell me? I would have sent you money, all my money . . .’

  ‘And how would I have done that? We didn’t have enough to buy what little we needed to survive, never mind paying someone to carry a message to Britannia. I’ve done well, all things considered. I’m well looked after, and I’m in partnership with a local businessman who supplies the city with grain and fresh provisions. We have an arrangement that ensures I’m left to run my house without fear of harassment, and a dozen girls working hard can turn over more money than you’d think, even with a healthy percentage for protection. I’m a wealthy woman compared to most people in Tungrorum.’