Arrows of Fury: Empire Volume Two (12 page)

The veteran centurion sniffed ostentatiously, his eyes widening as he did so. He leaned back in his chair and prodded the recumbent form behind him. ‘Hey, Julius! Julius, wake up, man!’

Their brother officer woke with red-rimmed eyes, sat up, shot Marcus a glance and subsided back on to his bed. ‘He’s back. Big deal. Let me sleep, damn you.’

Rufius shook him by the shoulder. ‘I think you’re going to want to see this. Or rather, I think you’re going to want to smell it.’

Julius sat back up with a frown, looked Marcus up and down and drew in a long breath through his nose. He stared at Marcus with a look of dawning amazement. ‘Bugger me …’

Rufius snorted. ‘I wouldn’t turn over tonight or the horny young sod probably will.’

Julius tried again. ‘You’ve … you’ve been …’

Marcus reddened, and Rufius pounced. ‘Yes, he bloody well has. While we’ve been sat here worrying that some nasty little thief might have clouted him and left him for dead in the dark, he’s been playing hide-the-cucumber. Not only that, but he hasn’t even washed the lady’s smell from his skin before coming back to gloat over us poor celibates. Didn’t they teach you to go to the baths
after a tumble, eh, boy, or least get a washcloth and a bucket and do your best with that?’

Marcus opened his mouth to retort, only to get Julius’s cloth square in the face, still damp from his end-of-day wipe-down. ‘Have one on me, lad. Just don’t be settling down to sleep in here reeking like that or I’ll be as stiff as a crowbar all bloody night. Go on, there’s a bucket of water outside the door, go and wash it off like a decent comrade.’ He stopped, caught off guard by the look on Marcus’s face. ‘Hang on, look at you. You look like every lovestruck prick I’ve ever had the misfortune to bunk with over the last twenty years, about as sharp as a ragman’s donkey. You didn’t even see that washcloth coming. I know who you’ve been with … what’s her name, the doctor …’

Marcus turned for the door, the cloth dangling in one hand.

‘Felicia. Her name is Felicia. And she promised to marry me.’

Julius and Rufius exchanged amazed stares, then Julius reached over to shake the only man in the room who was still asleep. ‘Dubnus.
Dubnus!
You are not going to want to miss this.’

Calgus and his bodyguard left the warband’s camp in the dawn’s first light. They slipped away unnoticed, save for a few words with the men patrolling the camp’s western face, men of the Selgovae tribe and still fiercely loyal to their tribal leader. Calgus whispered fiercely into the ear of the warrior commanding the watch on the camp’s western wall.

‘You’ve seen nothing all morning, Vallo, clear?’

The guard’s leader, a grizzled and scar-faced veteran of two uprisings against the hated invaders, and fiercely loyal to Calgus, nodded impassively. He had been on guard the previous day, when the messenger he had been warned to expect had walked out of the forest from the west, stopping fifty paces from the camp’s wall. When Vallo had gone forward to speak with him the northerner had simply uttered his message for Calgus and then turned impassively away, without any apparent regard for the dozen Selgovae warriors standing behind their leader. Now Vallo stood in front of his king, looking unhappily at the half-dozen
men of Calgus’s bodyguard as they clustered around their chieftain.

‘We will keep silence, my lord. We will guard your tent, and tell any that ask that you are ill.’ He leaned closer to Calgus, his voice tense for all the softness of the muttered whisper. ‘But I do not like the risk you take in doing this.’

Calgus nodded and slapped the veteran’s shoulder, looking round to ensure they remained unseen in the sleeping camp before replying in equally soft tones.

‘I know. The Votadini will complain more loudly in my absence, and their king will continue his plotting, but this thing has to be done in absolute secrecy if it is to bring us the victory we need.’

‘So you walk out into the forest with a handful of warriors. My lord, it is a mistake! It is the same mistake as when you were ambushed by the Romans when you went hunting. Your bodyguard all killed, and you spared only by the strength and speed of your sword arm?’

Calgus laughed softly, recalling his first encounter with the Roman traitor who had proved the key to their initial triumph over the Roman 6th Legion.

‘Aye, there’s a story. I’ll recount it to you in full one night, when we’ve run the Romans off our land for good, but for now trust me when I tell you that this is a risk I cannot avoid. Not if I am to bring about the great victory we need to get their dirty feet off our land.’

The warrior bowed and stood aside, watching as the men of his chieftain’s bodyguard ducked through the artfully concealed opening in the palisade that surrounded the camp and moved out into the trees ahead of the king, their spears ready to throw and their eyes on the forest about them. Turning back to his men, he gestured for them to continue their guard duty, looking across the camp long and hard to ensure that no early riser had spotted Calgus’s quiet departure. When he turned back to the forest, the small group of men was already out of sight, hidden by the profusion of vegetation that flourished between the thick trunks of the oaks.

The small party made cautious progress through the silent forest,
using a hunter’s track through the dense undergrowth which had seen little recent use, to judge by the luxuriant foliage growing across it. They broke off the line of their march several times to wait quietly in the cover of the thick undergrowth, in hopes of surprising any attempt at following them through the forest’s gloom. By midday they were crouched in the shelter of a fallen tree at the bottom of a valley about five miles from their camp.

‘No, my lord, we are not followed.’ The leader of the warlord’s personal guard shook his head with absolute certainty, his voice pitched low enough that only Calgus could hear him. ‘The forest is quiet, and anyone following us along these overgrown paths would be heard from two hundred paces.’

Calgus nodded his satisfaction.

‘Good. Then I can push on without fear of being observed.’

The warrior pulled a face, looking around at the deep forest’s confusion of trees and bushes.

‘In all truth, my lord, I have a greater fear of what lies ahead of us than with what might or might not lie behind. What I have said is as true for us as for any man tracking us …’

Calgus nodded his understanding.

‘I know. Once we start moving we’ll be making as much noise as a herd of pigs on the hunt for nuts. But nevertheless I have to move on and take that risk. I have an appointment on the far side of this hill that I am unwilling to miss.’

‘My lord.’

The bodyguard stood, gesturing to his comrades to prepare to renew their march. Calgus shook his head.

‘“I”, not “we”. This is a task that I must carry out alone, and you men must wait here for my return. While I’m away you can prepare torches, in case I’m later coming back over the hill than would be ideal, but you will under no circumstances attempt to follow me.’

‘And if you don’t return before dark?’

Calgus nodded.

‘It’s possible. In that case you are to build a large fire, and take turns in watching out for me, but you are still to stay here.’

He turned away and headed on up the hill, pushing aside a branch that was overhanging the path.

‘And if you still don’t return, my lord? How long should we wait?’

Calgus paused for a moment, calling back over his shoulder.

‘As long as it takes.’

He turned back to the path, muttering under his breath.

‘Which, if I’ve misjudged my gamble, won’t be very long. If I’ve got this one wrong we’ll all be dead before dark falls.’

He climbed the hill with a hunter’s caution, his eyes and ears straining for any hint of a presence in the trees around him, but neither saw nor heard anything to give him pause, continuing his careful ascent until he reached the top of the hill. Sliding into the shadow of a tree, he became absolutely still, so quiet that he could feel his own heart beating, and listened again. After a moment he caught a sound through the incessant drone of the forest’s insects, only a faint fragment of noise, but enough to tell him that he was in the right place. As he eased back to his feet a spear slammed into the tree’s trunk a foot from his face, stopping him dead as a warrior rose out of the foliage, another spear pointed straight at him, more men at his back. Each one of them was heavily tattooed, swirling blue patterns decorating their hands and faces. The king of the Selgovae raised his open hands, careful to make no move that might be interpreted as threatening.

‘Well, that’s the hardest part of the trick done; I’ve found you without getting myself killed. Shall we go down the hill and see who’s waiting for me at the bottom?’

The man behind the levelled spear scowled at him, gesturing his men forward.

‘Take his weapons and tie his hands.’

He watched as the rebel leader was relieved of his sword and had his wrists tied together in front of him. Calgus’s return stare remained steady throughout the swift process of disarmament and restraint.

‘Do your people always treat invited guests in this way?’

The spearman snorted mirthless laughter.

‘We are a long way from home, and the Hunting Hounds have learned the hard way to trust nobody until they are proved worthy of it. Bring him.’

Prefect Furius paraded the Second Tungrians after breakfast the next day, waiting next to his first spear as the cohort marched on to The Rock’s parade ground. The older man spoke after a moment’s silence.

‘You intend going through with what we discussed?’

The prefect nodded confidently.

‘Absolutely. I’ll have Prefect Bassus’s murderer underground before we leave here, that or the local crows will eat well for the next few days. My only concern about dealing with the matter today is that you haven’t managed to find the bastard over the last two months.’

They stood in uncomfortable silence until the last century had marched on to the square, and the entire cohort was stood at attention. Furius strode out to face them, self-assured confidence in his authority apparent in his stride and bearing.

‘Second Cohort …’ The ranks of troops waited expectantly to be ordered to stand at their ease. ‘… normally I would order you to stand easy for my morning address, but this morning isn’t normal, so you can all stay at attention. In point of fact, there hasn’t been a normal day in this cohort since one of you put a spear through the spine of your last prefect.’ If anyone had been dozing in the ranks before, it was certain that nobody was doing so now. ‘Until now, nobody in this cohort has taken the trouble to find the man that killed Prefect Bassus. By rights he should long since have been avenged by the penalty that military law demands of his murderer – public execution. It seems, however, that this cohort is content to brush its problems under the mat. Until today, that is. Today, Second Tungrians, that failure to act will be rectified in the most public way possible. Before you leave this parade ground I will know who killed him. Either that, or you’ll all rue the day you ever set eyes on him. I’ve sworn to Mars to take the murderer’s life as revenge for Bassus’s, sworn on an
altar with witnesses and a noble sacrifice, with no way back from the promise. And I will, I promise you, exact revenge for him. How many more men die here alongside the prefect’s killer depends entirely on you.’

He took a breath and looked across their packed ranks, playing the moment out, feeling the tension crackling through the men arrayed in front of him.

‘Since I seem to be the only man seeking justice here, I’m going to need some help. I know that the first spear will stand alongside me, so now I want to know where the other officers stand. Any centurion that is willing to support justice for Prefect Bassus, stand forward three paces from your centuries.’

There was an instant ripple of movement, so fast that Furius suspected that his first spear had blown quietly in a few ears some time since he had first briefed the man as to what he intended. All ten of his officers stood forward of their men, having crossed, whether they realised it or not, their own personal Rubicons from which there would be no turning back.

‘Very good. At least this cohort’s officers recognise the enormity of the crime we’re going to take retribution for. So, we have one man out of the eight hundred of you facing me to expose. What will it take to make that happen? I wonder. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it for the last five weeks, ever since the moment I found out about my new command, and the way in which it became available.’ He paused for a moment, allowing a powerful silence to settle on the gathered soldiers. ‘Some years ago I served in the Moesian border wars with the Twelfth
Thunderbolt
. There was a unit with true Roman discipline.’ He stared across the cohort, sneering into his troops’ collective wide-eyed stare.

‘Yes, the Twelfth knew about crime and punishment, and any example of cowardice was met with the harshest of penalties. I’m tempted to follow their example, and decimate this cohort, literally to condemn one man in ten to death at the hands of his peers as punishment …’ Furius paused again, sweeping his gaze across the rows of stony faces. ‘… but I realise that while that would be a fitting punishment, the odds of killing the murderer would be
far too low to justify the lost fighting strength. So, I have decided on a different approach.