Arrows of Fury: Empire Volume Two (17 page)

He paused for breath, raking the impassive troops with a hard stare.

‘Nevertheless, our new Hamian comrades do present us with something of a problem in that they are unused to bearing the kind of weight that we routinely carry around on campaign. And so …’ He gestured to his officers, and then waited while Marcus, Dubnus, Rufius and Julius walked out in front of the cohort to join him. ‘The Eighth Century will need help to achieve the same performance as the rest of you, and so I am therefore temporarily detaching these three centurions from their centuries, and giving them and Centurion Corvus forty men from the Eighth apiece to work with. With a little luck we’ll have our new centuries ready for anything the blue-noses can throw at them by the time that we see action. Centurions, carry on with morning exercises.’

The four centurions quickly divided the 8th into four equal-sized groups, each of them pulling their temporary command into a tight huddle around them. Marcus, having retained Qadir in his party, spoke slowly, giving his chosen man time to translate his words for those men whose grasp of Latin was imperfect.

‘You may be archers, but you’re going to learn to fight as infantrymen and you’re going to do it quickly. Whenever we have the opportunity, you will train as one century, but with frequent and close attention to your sword and shield drill. My brother officers and I will help you learn how to fight in practice combat with their centuries, but first we need you to grasp the basics. And the first basic is shield handling. You, come out in front with me.’

The wide-eyed Hamian stepped away from the comfortable anonymity of his place in the front rank, eyeing his new officer uncertainly and casting the occasional nervous glance at Qadir.

‘Raise your shield until you can just see over the top. No, higher … that’s right. Now, brace yourself, and remember that your shield is your only defence against the enemy’s swords and spears. We’ll worry about spears later, so let’s see how you do against a trained swordsman. Antenoch?’

His clerk stepped forward, swinging a heavy wooden practice sword and smiling at the nervous archer in anticipation as he limbered up to fight. He held up the sword, making sure the Hamian got a good look at its scarred wooden blade.

‘This is a practice sword. It’s heavier than the real thing to help build strength in the sword arm, and that means it will make an almighty bang when it hits your shield. It will jar your shield arm, but if you drop the shield then the next thing you know you’ll be face down with your guts hanging out. Ready?’

The Hamian managed a hesitant nod, triggering Antenoch’s attack. Hammering at the man’s shield with the heavy wooden sword, he beat back the panicking archer until the Hamian was almost on his knees, then thrust the blade over the top of his sinking shield to inflict a painful jab into the gap between his mail coat’s neck and the rim of his helmet. He stepped back from his grimacing victim, watching the man rub the sore spot.

‘You let the shield fall and opened yourself up for the kill. You’re dead. Get back in ranks. You, come out here.’

Another man stepped out to face him, his face set in determination.

‘Good, you look keen; let’s see what you can do. Remember, keep that shield up.’

Ten seconds later the Hamian was on his back, cursing at the pain in his right ankle while Antenoch reached down to pull him back to his feet.

‘That was better, but if an enemy sees that your shield is held too high he’s likely to try to go under it and cut your feet off. You need to keep your eyes open, and drop your shield to stop his attack if necessary. Let’s try that again.’

Qadir leaned across to Marcus.

‘And if two men attack at the same time, one high and one low? Surely then the man is doomed?’

Marcus smiled without taking his eyes off Antenoch’s demonstration.

‘Not if he’s in possession of the infantryman’s two most important assets.’

The chosen man raised an eyebrow.

‘And those are …?’

Marcus lifted the ornately decorated gladius bequeathed to him by Legatus Sollemnis halfway out of its scabbard, the razor-edged blade gleaming in the weak morning sun.

‘One of these, and those.’

He pointed at the gathered Hamians as they watched Antenoch’s demonstration with wide eyes.

‘Soldiers?’

Marcus shook his head.

‘Not soldiers, Qadir, brothers. And all in good time.’

Calgus strolled out of his tent later that morning, having apparently spent the night there. In reality he had entered it less then five minutes before through an opening cut in the side facing the forest, having made the return journey through the forest by the light of torches carried by his bodyguard. His adviser Aed was waiting for him as summoned, and the old man looked up at his king with a calculating gaze, the slight wind ruffling his thin hair.

‘My lord. I trust your venture into the forest met with acceptable results?’

Calgus nodded, looking out over the camp from their vantage point, the highest ground within the palisade wall.

‘Oh yes, very acceptable once their initial caution was out of the way. When the time is right, our trap will spring shut on the legions with a finality that will remove the print of their boots from our soil for good. We will slaughter Romans in numbers not seen since their great German massacre, and after that disaster they’ve never attempted to colonise the lands beyond the Rhenus in all the one hundred and fifty years that have followed. I will make these lands as great a source of terror to the Romans as ever the forests of Germania were, and drive them back into their fortresses far to the south of their wall, never to return.’

The old man nodded, his soft voice expressing views intended for his king’s ears alone.

‘A glorious aim, my lord. Before that, however, you may have to consider dealing with King Brennus at some point in the near future. In your absence he has continued to spread discontent, and his defiance will inevitably encourage others to consider their obedience to you. Do we still need his people’s spears in our strength, given your apparent success in bringing fresh support to our cause?’

Calgus nodded, looking down the slope to the Votadini section of the camp.

‘I suppose not, given their continual agitation against me. But I cannot send them back to their land, my own warriors would start to question the need for them to remain were that many spears to walk away, and as for the other kings …’

Aed smiled thinly, his eyes bright with purpose.

‘Perhaps there is an opportunity here? Were the Votadini to be caught in the open by our enemies they would undoubtedly be massacred to the last man. That would leave their king alone and isolated here, and his kingdom open for …
annexation.
If only we could find someone within their number with sufficient ambition to allow himself to be lured into such a mistake, it is quite possible that our enemy would remove the problem without ever dreaming of the service they would be performing for you.’ He paused for a moment, his sly glance flicking to meet his king’s amused stare. ‘Perhaps you might cultivate King Brennus’s nephew, Martos? My friends in their camp tell me that he longs to lead the tribe into battle at their head, and cover his roof beams with Roman heads.’

Calgus shook his head slowly, a smile spreading across his face as the audacity of the idea gripped his imagination.

‘Gods, Aed, but you’ll outdo me for ruthlessness any time you like. You advise me to send the Votadini to their deaths, murder their king and take his lands?’

Aed shrugged, his expression neutral.

‘Sometimes large problems demand harsh solutions, my lord. The Votadini will be no worse off under your control than under Brennus, and there is no way you can trust the man. His behaviour
shouts his defiance of your reign, and he has more men available than are camped here. If the warriors he has held back succeed in their search for the hostages, he will have us both at spear point five minutes after the news of their release reaches him. A change of leadership might bring some relief from his incessant complaining and scheming. I suspect that he is in contact with the Romans …’

Calgus laughed.

‘I don’t doubt he’s in contact with them, or how could he have been so confident that my head would buy him peace with them? I don’t think his men will find their kinfolk in a year of searching, and I don’t believe that we can kill him and be sure that the act won’t have repercussions beyond our control … but I take your point. He’s a focus for discontent, and that can only get stronger once we join battle with the Romans and their lackeys. There is an idea I’ve been musing on these last few days, a way to bring the remaining legions north with a fury on them that will have their heads in our trap before they have the time to see it. Perhaps I might invite Brennus’s nephew along to share the spoils?

The morning stayed dry, despite the gathering clouds threatening rain, and by the break for the midday ration Marcus reckoned that the Hamians had absorbed as much shield drill as they were going to for one day. Dubnus confirmed his view with a weary shake of his head.

‘Their heads have gone to cabbage, it’s all too much for them. I vote we get them out in the hills and get some air into their lungs.’

The other officers agreed, and once the midday ration was consumed the 8th was formed into column of march and headed off into the land to the wall’s south. Initially setting a gentle pace, Marcus gradually increased his speed at the column’s head until the Hamians were covering ground at something like the rate required to keep up with the rest of the cohort on the march. He turned and walked backwards for a moment, assessing their
sweating, strained faces and painful gaits before calling across to Morban.

‘Keep them moving, I’m going for a chat with Qadir.’

The chosen man was halfway down the column, encouraging a flagging man to keep up his pace. Marcus waved to Dubnus, pointing at the struggling archer, and his friend ran up the column with a barked command to keep moving.

‘This man’s finding it hard, and I need to talk with the chosen man. Can you help him along for a few minutes?’

Dubnus nodded, gesturing Qadir to surrender his place alongside the flagging archer, the man’s eyes now rolling with desperation. The chosen man moved aside and in a second the massively built centurion was in his place, his mouth close to the struggler’s ear.

‘Are you finding this difficult?’

The man nodded.

‘Would you like to stop?’

The Hamian nodded eagerly, his face lightening with the promise of relief. Marcus winced, knowing what was coming next as Dubnus sucked in a lungful of air and bellowed his response into the flagging soldier’s ear.

‘
Well, you fucking well can’t stop, because if you do I’ll put my boot up your arse to the third lace hole! You’re in the field, your century’s on the march, and you’ll stop for nothing and nobody unless your officer says so! It’s march or fucking die for you, sonny, and the rest of you, so forget that it hurts and focus on the man in front of you! If he can do it, so can you! You in the next rank, stop your fucking smirking unless you want to come for a private run with me and see how long you last, you bow-twanging ration thief!
’

Marcus shrugged at Qadir’s raised eyebrows as they moved a few paces away from the marching column’s path.

‘He was my chosen man until recently, and he seems to have retained the non-commissioned officer’s approach to motivation.’

Farther down the line Julius was giving another man the same treatment, his face contorted with apparent rage.

‘
That pain you
’
re feeling is weakness leaving your body, so stop your snivelling and march, you maggot! If you fall out of the line of
march I will beat you back into it with my vine stick, and if that breaks I’ll use the flat of my fucking sword! You can either march or choke, but whichever one it’s going to be, fucking get on with it!
’

Qadir looked back for a long moment, and then turned back to his centurion with evident distaste.

‘It is not my approach.’

Marcus shrugged, more than a little embarrassed at his chosen man’s air of disappointment.

‘I know, but given the time we have to make these men battle ready we’re left with little alternative. You’re going to have to harden your heart a little, Chosen, or your men aren’t going to be ready when the time comes for them to march and fight with the rest of the cohort.’

The other man nodded unhappily as Marcus continued.

‘Yesterday they finished a march that should have taken four hours in twice that time, and their feet were raw meat before they even started. If we take them into the field in this state they’ll be a liability to the cohort, incapable of either marching or fighting. So I’ve got two choices, I either get them fit at a reasonable pace and give them time for their feet to recover, or I push them through their pain and get quicker results. And you and I
need
quicker results. Their feet will turn to leather quickly enough. But I need your help, I need you alongside me while I’m pushing them, so that they can see there’s no way out of this nightmare except to give more of themselves than they knew they had in them.’

Qadir looked at him, a hint of disbelief in his face.

‘And if they do not have any more of themselves to give?’