S. Turney - Ironroot

Varro fixed him with a hard stare.

“Not only is this personal, sergeant, it is also very, very confidential.”

“I’m afraid I must insist, captain Varro.”

Varro stepped back.

“You can insist all you like, sergeant, but you’re not having this piece of paper.”

The two men stood poised, staring at each other. The air around them almost tingled with the tension. Varro saw the other provosts striding up the hill to join their sergeant and noticed with some satisfaction that Salonius had sidled round and was almost by his side now.

“For Gods’ sake!”

Both men started at the anger in Catilina’s voice as she stepped between them, shattering the tension.

“Sergeant, you may have authority to make such demands, though I’m not sure about their viability in open areas outside military land. Varro, you may well outrank the sergeant, but you know that this is his job. Now the two of you need to saddle up and we’ll all ride back to the fort. My father can decide what to do. I’m assuming both of you will submit to the marshal?”

The provost had gone slightly pale, though Varro would be willing to wager that was through frustrated anger rather than fear. Deliberately turning away from the sergeant to face Catilina, he nodded.

“I will submit to the marshal’s judgement.”

There was a long, irritated silence, and finally the provost growled “I too” through clenched teeth.

As Varro and his companions returned to their mounts, the sergeant barked orders at his men, his eyes never leaving Varro. Two of his men gathered up the body and laid it carefully across the back of one of the horses.

Taking advantage of the delay, Varro, Catilina and Salonius mounted up and began a brisk walk back toward the fort. As soon as they were far enough away for Catilina to deem it safe, she leaned slightly in her saddle.

“Care to tell me what that was about now?”

Varro glanced back quickly to see the impatient sergeant hustling his men along.

“As I said: an impossible letter. “ He frowned. “A letter from an impossible source… or a lie.”

“Varro…”

“It’s from my cousin Petrus.”

Salonius frowned. “Why is that so strange, sir?”

Varro took another quick look behind him and saw that the provosts were hurrying to catch up. He settled into the saddle and growled.

“Because Petrus has been dead for a decade now.”

As the party rode slowly in through the gates of the fort, two of the provosts peeled off from the group and made for the hospital with the body of the unfortunate soldier. The sergeant exchanged quick words with another of his men and as the rider trotted off ahead, he pulled alongside Varro and eyed him suspiciously.

“My subordinate has gone ahead to arrange to meet with the marshal and the prefect.”

Varro nodded.

“Good for him.”

The whole party continued on in silence along the busy main street of the fort, though all the occupants hurriedly shifted out of the way of a senior officer and a noblewoman in the midst of a group of provosts. Two minutes later they reined in at the side of the headquarters building, where the other provost stood waiting. As they dismounted, he remained expressionless and at attention and followed in behind his sergeant as they entered the building. Members of the marshal’s guard joined them inside the doorway and escorted them through the colonnaded courtyard and through the main hall, into the main room where Sabian sat at a wide oak table with prefect Cristus on his left.

Salonius came to a halt next to the captain and scanned the room quickly and subtly. It was rare that anyone other than an officer or a guardsman saw the inside of the prefect’s office. Office was perhaps an understatement. The room was large enough to mount and fire a catapult in. Bright light streamed in through large leaded dormer windows high in the roof some twenty five feet above him. The floor was decorated in a mosaic depicting the Imperial raven, and maps and trophies adorned the walls all around. To a soldier who’d spent most of his time in a shared barrack block, the effect was quite breathtaking.

“Sergeant.” A curt acknowledgement of their presence from Sabian, who was busy studying paperwork on his table, drew Salonius’ attention back to the reason for their presence.

Sabian glanced up and Varro assumed he was not the only one who saw the anger in the marshal’s eyes or heard the irritation in his voice as he said sharply “Catalina! Join me.”

For a moment Catilina looked as though she might argue, but in the end good sense won her over and with a quiet “father,” she walked across the room and took the free seat to her father’s right. He gave her a quick look that Varro couldn’t see, though he was sure he knew what words that look conveyed. Then the marshal pushed the ledger away from him and sat back.

“Sergeant, what’s this all about?”

The provost stepped forward.

“Sir, three locals came to the gates this morning to inform us they had found a body. The father, whose name…”

”A succinct version if you please” barked Sabian. Varro sighed. Catilina had clearly put her father in a sharp and uncooperative mood.

The sergeant shifted uneasily.

“They found the body of a soldier in a ditch around a mile away. He’d been stabbed six times. The locals had quickly searched the soldier for any identification and had discovered a sealed leather wallet addressed to Captain Varro. The captain visited the body with us and had confirmed that he does not know the soldier in question, but now refuses to relinquish the item back to the provosts.”

“Is this true, Varro?”

The captain nodded.

“You know, captain, that in matters of military law, the provosts have the right to seize and withhold what they consider to be evidence. You may outrank the sergeant, but his authority is clear.”

“Ordinarily, sir, I would agree,” Varro stated clearly. “However, I feel that in the circumstances, certain aspects need to be considered before I’ll agree to let this go.”

“What aspects?” Sabian was beginning to look annoyed.

Varro drew himself up straight.

“If I said the wallet was connected with Petrus, would you expect me to relinquish it, sir?”

Sabian sat back heavily.

“Petrus?”

“Yes, marshal.”

Sabian waved his hand dismissively at the provosts.

“Sergeant, this is no longer your issue. Take your men back to barracks.”

The sergeant blinked in surprise, and then cast an angry glance at Varro before saluting, turning on his heel and marching from the room, followed swiftly by his provosts. Sabian frowned at Varro and the captain cleared his throat meaningfully.

Sabian rubbed his brow wearily and then turned to the fourth army’s prefect.

“Cristus, would you be so kind as to allow Varro and myself a little privacy.”

The prefect nodded sharply and stood, striding quietly from the room, though Varro couldn’t help glimpsing the irritation on the man’s face as he walked past the two men standing in the centre of the room.

“Sir?”

He turned to his side and realised that Salonius was awaiting the order to withdraw.

“No, Salonius. I need you to stay here.”

Sabian glanced briefly at Catilina and then beckoned to the captain. The room suddenly seemed remarkably large and empty with only four occupants. Varro nodded at Salonius and the two soldiers approached the table. Varro fiddled with the tie on the leather wallet.

“You remember Petrus, sir?”

As Sabian nodded, Salonius cleared his throat.

“Sir, if you’ll pardon the question, who is Petrus?”

The marshal leaned forward over the desk and cradled his fingers.