Anthony Riches - Wounds of Honour

‘He’s a snotnose. He’s never commanded so much as a tent party in action, and he’ll fall to bits the first time he sees a blue-nose warband.’

Frontinius snorted.

‘Rubbish. He killed on the road to Yew Grove, he fought again on the road here, he faced down that headcase Antenoch with his bare hands, and he seems to have faced you down well enough since then.’

Julius turned furiously, still walking.

‘That was Dubnus!’

Frontinius pursed his lips and shook his head.

‘Sorry, but that’s not how I heard it. The version that reached me was that he got right in your face and practically offered you the dance floor.’

‘I was half awake and unprepared…’

‘Rubbish, man. I’ve never known you not ready to fight, day or night. Admit it, there’s something in the young man’s eye that would make any of us step back and take guard. And I don’t mean the sword skills either. He’s lost something in the last few months, some carefully instilled self-control, an edge of civilisation that his father probably worked on all his life. What I see in him is a dangerous animal that’s been given every reason to want the taste of blood, and now those early disciplines have been stripped away there’s only cold calculation keeping that rage in check. The pair of us could take him on two on one with swords and boards and I’d have money on his opening us both up from chin to balls in under a minute.’

Julius lifted exasperated hands to the sky.

‘So he’s dangerous. Enraged. He’s a goat-fuck waiting to happen. Put him in combat and he’ll go berserk and take his century with him.’

Again the First Spear shook his head.

‘No he won’t. He’s the model of self-control. Think back to Antenoch, that first morning? Came at him with a knife and ended up with it tickling his own ear? Did you see a single drop of blood on the fool? Because I was there in seconds and I didn’t. No, Centurion Corvus will have iron control right up to the second where he chooses to let it go. Just don’t be on the wrong end of his sword when that happens.’

He took a deep breath as they marched on side by side.

‘You know as well as I do that you’re not competing for the honour of carrying the standard along the Wall to the games this year. What you’re looking for is the opportunity to fight off every blue-faced bastard between here and the River Tava who thinks it would look nice on the wall of his mud hut. Every century in this cohort is going to need strong leadership, and the Ninth isn’t any different from any of the other centuries in that respect.’

‘So give them to the Prince. He’ll give them strong leadership all right.’

‘You know my thoughts on that individual. He’s no more proven than young Corvus as far as I’m concerned.’

He took a deep breath.

‘I’ll tell you what, I’m just simply bored with pondering the whole thing, so I’m going to delegate the decision.’

‘Delegate it to…?’

‘You. But…’

He raised a hand to silence the astonished centurion.

‘Yes, I know, you already know the answer, except I’m really not sure either of us have actually seen what’s in Centurion Corvus’s heart yet. So, you can make the decision, but only when this day’s events are fully played out.’

Julius grunted his satisfaction.

‘My opinion won’t change, you can be sure of that.’

Sextus stared fixedly ahead as they marched on.

‘Perhaps it won’t. You feel betrayed and undermined by your old friend, the man you joined up with all those years ago. I’ve allowed an inexperienced outsider into our close circle of brothers, an action that might spell disaster for us all. On the other hand, oldest friend, Corvus might just have a pair of stones larger than either of us appreciates. So let’s wait and see, eh?’

The 5th made good time, taking their water on the march rather than stopping, and reached a position with a clear view of the Saddle by the middle of the day. Julius called a halt, sending a scout past the feature to make sure that the 9th were not about to hove into view just as he deployed his men into their positions for the ambush. The man ran back a few minutes later to confirm that the road was clear to the grassy horizon, provoking the first smile the 5th had seen grace their commander’s creased face all day.

‘Excellent! Even-numbered tent parties to the right-hand hill with the chosen man and into cover, odd numbers with me to the left. And remember, any man that shows himself before I give the signal loses a month’s pay!’

The century split quickly into two disciplined groups, hurrying down the slope from their vantage point and starting the climb up to the twin hills. Their equipment rattled and clattered noisily, while the soldiers talked among themselves about the afternoon’s entertainment, planning individual acts of revenge for real or imagined slights upon their century’s good name by members of the 9th. Thus it was, with nobody looking too carefully at the greenery that crowned their objectives, that it took a bellow of challenge from Dubnus to draw their attention to the previously well-hidden troops who had risen like forest spirits out of the undergrowth of the right-hand hill’s heavily wooded crown.

The 5th’s soldiers hesitated for a moment, caught between their orders and the shock of finding the Saddle already occupied, the short pause enough to cause a chorus of abuse to shower down upon them from the hills. The 9th had taken their objective first, and showed every sign of being in the mood to defend their ground. Julius stepped out in front of his men, drawing his sword and sweeping it over his head, ready to slash it down to point at the twin hills and issue the command to attack, ready to start a full-scale battle if it was the only way to restore his face. As the sword started to move in the downward arc, Sextus Frontinius stepped out of the century with his arms in the air.

‘Hold!’

Ignoring Julius’s red-faced fury, he turned to the Saddle’s hills, his voice bellowing out across the landscape.

‘Ninth Century, form ranks for parade here.’

The 9th’s troopers came out of the trees and streamed obediently down the hill, while Frontinius paced back a dozen steps, pushing soldiers aside without ceremony, and pointed to the ground again.

‘Fifth Century, form ranks for parade here.’

The 5th’s grumbling men pulled back, still reeling from the shock of their centurion being so comprehensively out-thought. Julius, restraining himself by an act of supreme willpower, stamped back down the hill to the designated place, bellowing at his subordinates to get the fucking century on parade. The two units lined up opposite each other, scowls and sneers along both opposing lines of men, while the First Spear paced equably between them and watched the clouds scudding along in a clean blue sky, enjoying the breeze’s cooling caress. When both centuries were lined up, and the harsh shouts of the chosen men and watch officers had died away to silence, he turned slowly to look at both centuries, taking in Julius’s set scowl and Marcus’s white face, ready to fight, his lips thin with determination over a tight-set jaw.

‘In all my days I swear I never saw two sets of men who wanted so badly to kick the balls off each other. If I were to let you dogs loose now I’d end up with a dozen or more broken limbs, and as many men with the wits knocked out of them. Well, you mindless apes, let me remind you that there’s a great hairy-arsed tribal chief by the name of Calgus mustering a warband the size of five legions to the north. Whether it’s sunk into your thick skulls yet or not, we will most likely be at war within a few days. You need to learn to work together, side by side in the line, either century ready to perform whatever manoeuvre is needed to support the other. Even if it’ll cost lives. And the time that you need to learn to do this is now…’