Conn Iggulden - The Gates Of Rome

At first the duties of caravan guard had not been onerous for Marcus. Five of his eight men were experienced, cool hands and completed their duties without fuss or complaint. Of the other three, Japek complained constantly, seeming not to care that he was disliked by the others, Rupis was close to retirement and had been broken back to the ranks after some failure of command, and the third was Peppis. Each presented different problems, and Renius had only shaken his head when asked for advice.

"They're your men, you sort it out" had been his only words on the subject.

Marcus had made Rupis his second, in charge of four of the men, in the hope that this would restore a little of his pride. Instead, he seemed to take some obscure insult from this and practically sneered whenever Marcus gave him an order. After a little thought, Marcus had ordered Japek to write down every one of his complaints as they occurred to him, forming a catalogue that he would allow Japek to present to their centurion back at the permanent camp. The man was famous for not suffering fools, and Marcus was glad to note that not a single complaint had gone down on the parchment he had provided from the legion stores. A small triumph, perhaps, but Marcus was struggling to learn the skills of dealing with people, or, as Renius put it, making them do what you want without being so annoyed that they do it badly. When he thought about it, it made Marcus smile that the only teacher he'd ever had for diplomacy was Renius.

Peppis was the kind of problem that couldn't be resolved with a few words or a blow. He had made a promising start at the permanent barracks, growing quickly in size and bulk with good food and exercise. Unfortunately, he had a tendency to steal from the stores, often bringing the items to Marcus, which had caused him a great deal of embarrassment. Even being forced to return everything he took and a brief but solid lashing had failed to cure Peppis of the habit, and eventually the Bronze Fist centurion, Leonides, had sent the boy to Marcus with a note that read, Your responsibility. Your back.

The guard duty had started well, with the kind of efficiency Marcus had begun to take for granted but which he guessed was not the standard all over the empire. They had set off one hour before dawn, trailing along the paths into the dark granite hills. Four flat ox carts had been loaded with tightly lashed barrels and thirty-two soldiers detailed for guard duty. They were under the command of an old scout named Peritas, who had twenty years of experience under his belt and was no one's fool. Altogether, they were a formidable force to be trundling through the winding hill paths, and although Marcus had felt hidden eyes on them almost from the beginning, that was a feeling you quickly became used to. His unit had been given the task of scouting ahead, and Marcus was leading two of his men up a steep bank of loose stone and dried moss when they came face-to-face with about fifty painted, blue-skinned figures, fully armed for war.

For a few seconds, both groups merely gaped at each other, and then Marcus had turned and scrambled back down the slope, his two companions only slightly slower. Behind them a great yell went up, making unnecessary the need to call any warning to the caravan. The blue-skins poured over the lip of the hidden ledge and fell on the caravan guards with their long swords held high and wild screams rending the mountain air.

The legionaries had not paused to gape. As the blue-skins charged, arrows were fitted to bowstrings and a humming wave of death passed over the heads of Marcus and his men, giving them time to reach the path and turn to face the enemy. Marcus remembered having drawn his gladius and killing a warrior who had screamed at him right up to the moment when Marcus chopped his blade into the creature's throat.

For a moment, the legionaries were overwhelmed. Their strength was in units, but on the ragged path it was every man for himself and little chance to link shields with anyone else. Nonetheless, Marcus saw that each of the Romans was standing and cutting, their faces grim and unyielding before the blue horror of the tribe. More men fell on both sides and Marcus found himself with his back to a cart, ducking under a sword cut to bury his shorter blade in a heaving blue stomach and ripping it out to the side. The intestines seemed bright yellow against the blue dye, some part of him noted as he defended against two more. He took one hand off at the wrist and sliced another warrior in the groin as he tried to leap onto the cart. The snarling tribesman fell back into the choking dust, and Marcus stamped down on him blindly while slicing the bicep of the next. It seemed to last a long time, and when they finally broke and raced away up the banks into cover, Marcus was surprised to see the sun where it had been when they attacked. Only a few minutes had passed at most. He looked round for his unit and was relieved to see faces he knew well, panting and splashed with blood, but alive.

Many had not been so lucky. Rupis would never sneer again. He lay with his legs sprawled against one of the carts, a wide red smile opened in his throat. Twelve others had been butchered in the attack, and around them lay almost thirty of the still blue bodies, dribbling blood onto their land. It was a grim sight and the flies were already arriving in droves for the feast.

As Marcus called for Peppis to bring him a flask of water, Peritas began setting the guards again and called the commanders to him for a quick report. Marcus took the flask from Peppis and trotted to the head of the column.

Peritas looked as if the heat and dust had baked all moisture out of him over the years, leaving only a sort of hard wood and eyes that peered out at the world with amused indifference. Of the whole group, he was the only one who was mounted. He nodded as Marcus saluted.

"We could turn back, but my guess is we've seen the worst they have to offer at the moment. I think if we took the bodies back, that would be a little victory for the savages, so we go on. Strap the dead to the carts and change the guards over. I want the freshest men on lookout, just in case of more trouble. Well done, those men who surprised the enemy and made them show themselves early. Probably saved a few Roman lives. It's only thirty miles to the hill fort, so we had better press on. Questions?"

Marcus looked at the horizon. There was nothing to ask. Men died and were cremated and sent back to Rome. That was army life. Those who survived received promotions. He hadn't realized there was as much luck involved as there seemed to be, but Renius had nodded when asked and pointed out that although the gods may well have heroic favorites, an arrow doesn't care who it kills.

The real trouble started when the depleted company reached the last few miles of the journey. They had begun to see blueskins watching them from the undergrowth, a flash of color here and there. They hadn't the numbers to send a unit to attack, and the blueskins had never used missile weapons, so the legionaries just ignored the tribesmen and kept a good grip on their swords.

The closer they came to the fort, the more of the enemy they could see. At least twenty of them were keeping pace on a higher level than the path, using the trees and undergrowth for cover, but occasionally coming out into the open to hoot and jeer at the grim soldiers of Rome. Peritas frowned as his horse trotted on and kept his hand on his sword hilt.

Marcus kept expecting a spear to be thrown. He imagined one of the blue warriors sighting on him and could practically feel the spot between his shoulder blades where the point would land. They certainly carried spears, but seemed to avoid throwing them, or at least had in the past. It didn't stop the spot itching, though. He began willing the fort to be close and at the same time dreading what they might find. More than one tribe must be gathered; certainly none of the men had ever seen so many blueskins in one place before. If any of them lived to report back to the rest of the legion, someone would have to warn them that the tribes had grown in confidence and numbers.