The Wolf's Gold (22 page)

He paused for a sip of heavily watered wine.

‘I was taken hostage by Rome more than fifteen years ago, as a boy of thirteen years. My tribe took part in the invasion of Germania Superior that the scholars now tell us was the start of what they’ve taken to calling the German Wars. You have to remember that this was in the days before the plague from the east ravaged the German legions along with the rest of the empire, which meant that the forces to hand were still strong enough to defeat us with ease. I was given over as one of the royal hostages who were taken in return for the legions not simply liquidating the tribe as revenge for our incursion onto imperial territory. Of course, in reality we were only facing part of the First Auxiliary Legion and a heavy cavalry wing, but we weren’t to know that, and so my father made peace rather than risk his people’s complete destruction. I was shipped off to Rome where a rather more enlightened gentleman than most of his peers decided to take me in hand and turn me into the son he never had. By the time the war had turned hot again five years later, I was too civilised to be considered an enemy of the empire, and in any case I was on the brink of joining the army as a junior tribune due to my new “father’s” influence.’

He drank again, holding the cup up for Arminius to refill.

‘Thank you. So off I went to war, and by the Gods I loved it! I started off as a glorified message runner, but once I’d proved myself with the sword I was soon commanding my own cohort. My first proper fight was the disaster at Aquileia, when we marched under the command of the praetorian prefect Titus Furius Victorinus to rescue the city from a barbarian siege, and gentlemen what a fuck up
that
was! We fought our way out of the battle with half the strength we’d had the day before, and left a carpet of dead and wounded soldiers for the tribesmen to make sport of as we pulled back, still under sporadic attack even as night fell. The official histories say that Furius Victorinus died from the plague, but I saw him go down fighting. They hoisted his head on a spear to terrify the shit out of the rest of us, which worked well enough, I can tell you.’

He sipped at his wine again.

‘We spent the rest of that year on the back foot, just fighting to stop them from penetrating any further south and trying to avoid another pitched battle, because believe me, we were in no fit state. Of course, the two emperors managed to reinforce us in the end, and eventually we went back on the offensive and pushed the tribes back across the Danubius, but it’s true when the old sweats tell you that a man can learn more about soldiering from a single defeat than from a summer of victories. We were hardened by that year, my men and I, and after that we neither gave any quarter nor expected it when we faced barbarians. We fought almost a dozen times in five years, marching up and down the frontier to get to each tribal incursion in turn, and by the time the war had ground to a halt it was clear to everyone around me that I was ready to command more than a single cohort.’

‘The problem was,’ – he drank again, smacking his lips in appreciation – ‘the problem was that in the eyes of the army I was still a barbarian. A useful barbarian, mind you, handy for turning raw soldiers into veterans and enemy warriors into carrion, but not one of “us”.’ He raised an eyebrow at Scaurus, who nodded back with a knowing expression. ‘No, I was never going to get my own legion, or even command of a legion detachment if there was someone with darker skin and the right shaped nose to hand, and for a while it looked as if I’d be a junior tribune for the rest of my time with the army, until a detachment of men from my own tribe arrived at the fortress where my legion was in winter quarters. I was the obvious choice to command them, despite the fact that they already had a prefect of sorts. One of my cousins had volunteered to lead them when the Romans had demanded the service of two thousand men as the price for their latest defeat. He made the mistake of taking me for a Roman – I suppose I’d been changed out of any recognition by my experiences – and he compounded the error by insulting me in front of the cohort when it became clear to him that I was taking his place. To have backed down would have been to justify his insolence, so I took him on in single combat, there and then, revealing my true identity as I lifted my sword ready for the death stroke. I half expected the legatus in charge to stop it at that point, but he seemed to find the whole thing hilarious, and allowed it to play out to the end. The men of the cohort were a little suspicious, of course, but we soon got over that, and here we are, still fighting whichever of Rome’s enemies we’re pointed at. We were ordered out here when we marched into Apulum two days ago, and it’s obviously just as well that we were sent here rather than just being kicked up the road to the north to join the Thirteenth Legion.’

He took another draught of wine, and then looked around the tent with a questioning expression.

‘So that’s my story, how about you men? Tribune?’

Scaurus tipped his head in salute.

‘For my part, I consider myself fortunate to have reached my current rank. Like you, I am a man who was always most unlikely ever to command anything bigger than a single cohort. Whereas you suffer from your barbarian origin, I was born into the right family, only a hundred years too late. My ancestor made the mistake of siding with Vitellius during the year of the Four Emperors, and while we were fortunate that Vespasian decided to be magnanimous in victory to the extent that he avoided execution, our family was reduced to relative obscurity in one dismal afternoon.’ He raised his hand and gestured to Marcus. ‘And the centurion here goes by the name of Corvus, a young man from Rome whose letter of introduction got him a place in the cohort just as the rebellion in Britannia started.’

Gerwulf snorted his amusement, raising his cup in salute.

‘That must have been a nasty surprise for a lad fresh from the capital. You’ve seen some action since then?’

Marcus nodded, his expression solemn.

‘Yes Prefect, I’ve taken heads and lost friends.’

‘I’ll bet you have. And this young gentleman?’

Sigilis answered quickly, before Scaurus could introduce him.

‘I’m Lucius Carius Sigilis.’

Gerwulf looked him up and down.

‘Just starting your path along the sequence of offices? You’ve had a rude introduction to the ugly face of battle, but you did well enough. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. And you, my brother?’ He looked at Arminius with a raised eyebrow. ‘How do you come to be in the service of Rome? The last time I saw you, you were still little more than a child.’

The big German nodded, dipping his head in an unconscious gesture of respect.

‘I grew to become a warrior, Prince Gerwulf, and when war came to the Quadi once more I took my stand alongside my brothers. But we were betrayed by Thunaraz, and he sent thunder and lightning to bring us defeat just as we stood poised on the verge of a great victory.’

Gerwulf smiled again.

‘Ah yes, the famous Rain Miracle. You should have heard how that played in Rome at the time. Where you blame the thunder god for the defeat, the received opinion in the legions was that Mercury responded to the prayers of a Roman priest and struck the crucial blows that consigned you to your fate. But like me, you have adapted to that fate and made a new life in the service of Rome. And now, gentlemen, with thanks for both lunch and wine, I must take my leave. My men have a tendency to become troublesome without a good firm hand on their collars.’

He stood, saluting the tribunes and turned for the tent’s door. Marcus got to his feet and flashed Scaurus a quick salute, following the prefect out into the afternoon’s warmth.

‘Let me escort you to—’

Gerwulf was standing stock-still, staring down the line of tents at something hidden from Marcus’s view. The Roman stepped sideways and realised that the German was looking at Lupus and Mus with narrowed eyes as the two boys walked towards them, too busy chatting to realise that he was in their path.

‘Well now, the things a man sees when he least expects it!’

The sound of Gerwulf’s voice stopped both boys in their tracks, and while Lupus looked up in simple puzzlement, the effect on Mus was quite the opposite. Barely pausing to digest who it was standing in front of them, he turned and pelted away through the camp without looking back, clearly terrified of the big man.

‘Come back here, you little bastard!’

The German leapt after the fleeing child, knocking Lupus aside in his haste and swiftly catching Mus, grabbing him by the back of his tunic. He laughed with triumph as he lifted the boy off his feet.

‘Got you, you little fucker. You might have escaped us back then, but . . .’

‘Prefect?’

Something in Marcus’s voice must have sounded a warning to Gerwulf, who turned quickly, changing hands on the struggling child and reaching for his dagger. The centurion was striding down the line of tents with a fierce scowl, and one hand reflexively dropped onto the hilt of his spatha in response to the German’s move. The German put his free hand out towards him palm first, shaking his head with a forbidding scowl.

‘This has nothing to do with
you
, Centurion, and I’d say you’re somewhat outranked. Back off, and I’ll be away with this thieving little bastard.’

Far from standing down, Marcus stepped in closer, his nostrils flaring with anger as he ground out his words through bared teeth.

‘Release the child
.
’

Gerwulf hesitated, his grip on the dagger tightening as he calculated the odds in favour of his managing to get away from the Tungrian camp, but the Roman shook his head forbiddingly, his voice cold.

‘If that knife leaves its sheath you won’t have a hand to put it back with. Release the child.’

With the two men balanced on the point of fighting, Scaurus stepped out of his tent with a look of amazement, walking quickly to stand between them with a horrified Arminius at his shoulder. He barked out an order in a voice that brooked nothing less than immediate obedience.

‘What in Hades is going on here? Give me that child . . .’ He reached out and took Mus by the arm, pulling him away from Gerwulf and passing him to Marcus. ‘Hold on to him, Centurion, until we’ve got to the bottom of whatever it is that caused our colleague to react so forcefully.’

Marcus drew Mus to one side, feeling the tension and the urge to flee coursing through the child’s trembling body. The tribune turned back to Gerwulf with raised eyebrows.

‘So, Prefect?’

Gerwulf glared at Mus, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

‘We caught the child stealing from our stores a few months ago, and when we tried to catch him he put a knife through one of my men’s hands and left him unable to grip a sword. He escaped by the skin of his bloody teeth, and I swore that if we ever crossed paths again I’d have his life for that devious little trick.’

‘That’s interesting.’

Scaurus turned to find Julius standing behind him.

‘When my woman managed to get the boy to talking the other night, he told us that his village had been razed to the ground by armed men dressed much like us – and very much like your men for that matter – and that he’d escaped being killed by these soldiers by fleeing into the forest. The acts he described sounded like wholesale murder and rape to me. And here’s the worst part of it, Prefect. The boy’s village was a colonia, a village founded by veterans of the Thirteenth Legion on the edge of the province. Whoever it was that tore their world apart was knowingly murdering Roman citizens, men retired from the service with honour. What sort of man do you think could order such an atrocity, and what sort of men would follow such an order?’

Gerwulf laughed angrily, waving a dismissive hand.

‘I can recognise a lie when I hear one, First Spear. I wonder if
you
can?’

Julius stepped forward until he was nose to nose with the German, his face set hard.

‘I’d like to think so, Prefect. In my experience, one of the clearest signs of a liar has always been the trick of answering a question with a question, rather than the truth.’

Before the fuming German could respond, Scaurus shook his head and stepped in forcefully.

‘And that’s quite enough public argument, gentlemen. We’ll settle this discussion in private at a later date, when all the facts are completely clear and when, more importantly, we don’t have ten thousand angry tribesmen camped outside our walls. Is that clear?’

He looked to Marcus and Julius, both of whom nodded quickly, then turned his attention back to Gerwulf whose face was a study in disbelief.

‘You’re going to take his word over—’

‘Is that
clear
, Prefect?’

The German mastered himself with a visible effort.

‘Yes, Tribune.’

Gerwulf saluted and turned away, white-faced with rage, and Scaurus stood and watched him go until he was safely past the guards at the camp’s low earth wall.

‘Well, there goes a new enemy. And it was going so well . . .’ He sighed and looked at Mus, still shivering violently in Marcus’s firm grip. ‘I think you and I need a serious conversation, young man. Bring him to my tent, Centurion, but do it gently. I think he’s been through enough coercion for one day. You too, First Spear, since you seem to know more about this than any of us.’

Back in the tent he gave Mus a long, searching stare, then turned to Julius with a raised eyebrow.

‘So what’s the story he told you?’

Julius pursed his lips wryly.

‘He didn’t exactly tell it to me, Tribune. As far as he’s concerned we’re all soldiers, and soldiers aren’t to be trusted. He told it to Annia, while Centurion Corvus and I sat in the background and did as she told us.’

‘Which was what?’

Marcus spoke up.

‘Which was to keep our mouths shut and allow the boy to tell us his story in his own time.’

Scaurus sighed.

‘I’ve always known in my heart there was a reason why soldiers aren’t allowed to marry. It seems we break some rules at our peril.’