Read Arrows of Fury: Empire Volume Two Online
Authors: Anthony Riches
Arrows of Fury: Empire Volume Two
Arrows of Fury
Empire:Volume Two
ANTHONY RICHES
First published in Great Britain in 2010 by Hodder & Stoughton
An Hachette UK Company
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Riches
The right of Anthony Riches to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
Epub ISBN 978-1-848-94857-0
Book ISBN 978-0-340-92033-6
Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
338 Euston Road
London
NW
1 3
BH
Contents
For Dorothy and Edwin, with all my love
Writing the second book in the
Empire
series was always going to be harder than the first, and not only because of the sudden and necessary imposition of a deadline as opposed to the leisurely approach that was possible with the first. Writing a debut novel was, for me, an activity fuelled by aspiration and ambition, whereas the delivery of the sequel featured the addition of a decent sized dash of nervousness to the mix. Everyone has one novel in them, or so the cliché goes, but from the moment I knew I’d sold three, the big question in my head was whether I could even deliver a second commercially acceptable story. Of course I knew the back-story that will see Marcus through the decades of the empire’s difficult transition to rule by Septimius Severus, and that controversial emperor’s reign, but could I actually write a story about the months following the battle of Lost Eagle?
The answer, to my eventual relief (and a good deal of eye rolling by those close to me), was yes, I could. Successful delivery of
Arrows of Fury
can be credited primarily to the assistance of the usual key people in the writing side of my life. First and foremost, my partner Helen told me in no uncertain terms to stop worrying and get on with it, and chased me to write when internet car reviews held more attraction than the next 500 words. My agent Robin Wade told me much the same thing, albeit in his usual breezy and convivial style, and my editor Carolyn Caughey gently pointed out what was needed to make the first draft of the manuscript into a second draft that really worked, and didn’t ever let me believe I could get away with nearly good enough. Carolyn’s assistant Francine Toon was always on hand with prompt and effective assistance when needed.
I was provided with valuable factual assistance by several people who have expertise in the period. Adrian Wink, purveyor of authentic Roman military equipment at
www.armamentaria.com
, helped me with both kit to play with and insights as to its maintenance and carriage by the soldiers of the day, and equipped me for the charity walk I’ll be plugging later. John Conyard of Comitatus (
www.comitatus.net
) was kind enough to take time out from knocking soldiers over with his cavalry horse at Maryport to give me a fresh perspective on Roman archery. Pete Noons and the Roman Military Research Society (
www.romanarmy.net
) were hospitable and helpful, and demonstrated their equipment with both zeal and demonstrable enthusiasm. Dr Jon Coulston gave me some valuable insights into the reality of the Syrian archer in 2nd century Britannia, and dispelled the myths of men in long flowing skirts once and for all, and Jon and Dr Mike Bishop’s excellent and learned book
Roman Military Equipment
is recommended reading for anyone with an interest in the subject.
Lastly, the draft manuscript was beta tested by a few people, notably Paul Browne and David Mooney, and their critical input was of great value in picking out a few points that could be improved.
Robin Wade and I plan to walk Hadrian’s Wall for charity when this book is published, and we’ve chosen Help for Heroes (
www.helpforheroes.co.uk
), an organisation which highlights both the worst and the best in Britain’s attitudes to its armed forces. If you’re interested in reading more about the walk, please go to my website (
www.anthonyriches.com
), where you can find further details.
September,
AD
182
The Tungrian centurions gathered round their leader in the warm afternoon sunshine, sharing a last moment of quiet before the fight to come. Marcus Tribulus Corvus winked at his friend and former chosen man Dubnus, now centurion of the 9th Century, which Marcus had previously commanded, then nudged the older man standing next to him, his attention fixed on the ranks of soldiers arrayed on the hillside behind them.
‘Stop mooning after these legionaries, Rufius, you’re a Tungrian now whether you like it or not.’
Rufius caught his sly smile and tip of the head to Julius, the detachment’s senior centurion, and picked up the thread.
‘I can’t help it, Marcus. Just seeing all those
professional
soldiers standing waiting for battle takes me back to the days when I stood in front of them with a vine stick. And that’s my old cohort too …’
Julius turned from his scrutiny of their objective and scowled at the two men with an exasperation that was only partly feigned. Rufius nudged Marcus back, shaking his head solemnly.
‘Now, brother, let’s be fair to our colleague and give him some peace. It’s not his fault that it’s taken all morning and half the afternoon to get two thousand men and a few bolt throwers into position. Even if my guts are growling like a shithouse dog and there’s enough sweat running down my legs to make my boots squelch for a week.’
Dubnus leaned over and tapped the veteran centurion on the shoulder.
‘I think you’ll find we call that wet stuff “piss” in this cohort, Grandfather.’
The older man smiled tolerantly.
‘Very good, Dubnus. Just you concentrate on taking your lads into action as their centurion for the first time, and I’ll worry about whether I’ll be able to hold my bladder in a fight for the fiftieth time. Youth, eh, Julius?’
Julius, having turned back to his study of the defences looming before them, replied in a tired tone of voice that betrayed his growing frustration with their prolonged wait in front of the tribal hill fort they would shortly be attempting to storm.
‘Might I suggest that you all shut the fuck up, given that it looks like we’ll actually be attacking soon? Just as soon as those idiots have been cleared from the top of their wall that’ll be us on the march, and ready for our starring role in Tribune Antonius’s great victory over the Carvetii tribe. When I send you back to your centuries you get your men ready to advance, you repeat our orders to them all one last time, and remember to keep your bloody heads down once we’re on the move.’
Julius cast a disparaging glance at the batteries of bolt throwers ranged alongside his four centuries, their sweating crews toiling at the weapons’ hand winches as they ratcheted the heavy bowstrings back ready to fire. He tugged at the strap of his helmet, the crosswise crest that marked him as a centurion ruffled by the breeze as he turned back to stare at the wooden walled fort to their front.
‘I don’t trust those lazy bastards not to underwind and drop the occasional bolt short. And when we do attack, let me remind you one last time that our objective is to break in and take the first rampart. Just that, and only that. Tribune Antonius has been crystal clear on the subject.’
Marcus managed to keep a straight face despite Rufius’s knowing smile. It was an open secret among the officers of the 6th Legion’s expedition against the rebellious Carvetii tribe that the legion’s senatorial tribune, the legatus’s second-in-command, was desperate to prove his readiness to command a legion of his own before his
short tenure in the position ended to make way for another aspiring general.
‘Once the way’s clear to the second gate we let the legionaries through to take their turn, got it? So, clear any resistance behind the first wall and then hold your men in place. No battle rage, and no trying to win the fortification crown. Not that any of us would ever be so favoured with two cohorts of regulars all vying for the honour. Once we’ve done our bit I’ll call the bloody road menders forward and they can do the rest.’
The officers clustered around him turned to watch as the bolt-thrower battery to the right of their soldiers loosed a volley of three missiles at the hill fort’s outer wooden palisade, barely two hundred paces from the ranks of their soldiers. At such close range the weapons crews were taking full advantage of their weapons’ accuracy, and another of the barbarian warriors lining the fort’s wooden walls was plucked away by the bolt’s savage power, most likely dead before he hit the ground behind the palisade. After a moment the remaining defenders ducked into the cover of the fort’s thick wooden beams, and the artillery crews grinned their satisfaction as their officer shouted at them to get back on their weapons’ hand winches and prepare to shoot again. Julius nodded.
‘That’ll be it; their heads are down. Get back to your centuries.’
