S. Turney - Ironroot

Salonius rubbed his eyes wearily. He’d not slept since yesterday.

Corda cleared his throat.

“I have no excuses, marshal. I am at fault.”

“And yet you give in without a fight? Explain!” Sabian’s voice rose an octave.

Corda sighed.

“It wasn’t meant to be like this, sir. I found out about Cristus’ secret a couple of months ago, quite by accident. I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I heard something I wasn’t meant to.”

The sergeant’s eyes dropped to the floor.

“I made a judgment call. Then worst in my life.”

“I said: explain!” shouted Sabian. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and tell me!”

“I didn’t see the point in bringing it all out into the open. It would have destroyed the Fourth Army and brought dishonour on all of us. And it would have done no good. Nothing would have changed; those men at Saravis Fork would be just as dead. The prefect pointed out that he would soon be leaving the military and moving into politics. Varro would be next prefect and I’d take Varro’s place. Why rock the boat? Surely it was all for the best now.”

He sighed sadly.

“Cristus is a persuasive bastard, sir. Before I knew it I was transferring some of his men into my units. He even put me in charge of his honour guard when he came here a couple of weeks ago. I assumed to keep an eye on me, but I suspect now for other reasons. I never expected any of this.”

Sabian growled.

“It might just be that misguided foolishness is as bad as open treachery, Corda!”

The sergeant raised his eyes and locked a defiant gaze on the marshal.

“Is that truly always the case, sir? I seem to remember that even you made bad judgement calls once upon a time?”

Salonius stared at the sergeant in shock. Marshal Sabian was known for his sharp mind, his quick wit and his code of ethics. He growled. His hatred of Corda was growing with every comment. Sabian, however, seemed to take the comment in his stride and captain Iasus, by his side, never even blinked.

“But Varro? And Petrus?”

Corda shook his head.

“I realise it sounds like a feeble excuse sir, but I had nothing to do with either. I wasn’t aware of the captain’s poisoning until he told me himself, and if I had known I’d have done something about it. Likewise I wasn’t aware that the men with me had been sent here as assassins, though I should have guessed. It doesn’t surprise me. I have seven men with me that came from Cristus’ personal guard, including the sergeant you already have. I will gladly give you their names.”

He sighed.

“There was supposed to be no harm done. No harm,” he muttered, largely to himself.

Sabian swept a hinged wax tablet and stylus from the table and held them out for Corda.

“Start writing and we might rule against death as a penalty.”

The sergeant grasped the writing implement and began to mark down the names of the conspirators on the tablet.

“That won’t be necessary, sir. I have no wish to go on with this.”

As he concentrated on his writing, Sabian glanced across at Iasus and Salonius. Both men wore hard, unforgiving expressions as they glared at Corda. Sabian sighed inwardly. Somehow, despite everything, there was a tinge of sympathy in him for the sergeant. Twenty five years ago, he might have made the same decision. Finishing scribbling, Corda folded the tablet shut and passed it back with the pen to the marshal.

“I realise that I’m in no position to ask for favours, marshal, and yet I’d still beg two…”

Sabian quickly glanced at the contents of the wax tablet and then passed it on to the captain to deal with. Corda took a deep breath.

“I would ask, sir, that I be allowed to take my own life without the humiliation of a public execution…”

Sabian frowned. He concentrated on the prisoner, aware of what the other two men in the room were thinking. After all, it was standard practice for a traitor to be broken in front of his peers. This decision wasn’t going to sit well with Salonius or Iasus.

“Very well.”

Corda nodded curtly. “And I’d ask that I be allowed to do it before Varro finds out.”

Sabian’s piercing stare stayed on Corda. He could almost feel the two men behind him seething.

“Once I confirm these names, I’ll make the arrangements.”

Sabian turned and nodded to captain Iasus. The captain, an unreadable expression on his face, went to the office door and, opening it, admitted the guard detail once more. The marshal cleared his throat.

“For now, you’ll go with these men to be detained.”

Corda nodded and gave a final salute.

Varro awoke slowly, like a man climbing from a deep, dark tunnel out into a sunlit world. His head once more felt as though it were full of cotton, much as it had when he was first suffering over a week ago. He groaned and slowly moved his head left and right, almost vomiting with the sudden unpleasant sensations that came with the activity. Slowly he focused and became aware of the two figures in the window seat. Salonius and Catilina. Yes, that figured. He tried to sit up and his head filled with what felt like white-hot lead. He collapsed back with a yelp.

“Rest for a moment.”

Varro gritted his teeth against the pain.

Salonius was next to him now.

“I talked to Scortius. He’s adamant that you’d either already taken something just before the strong medication, or you’d had a drink. Either way, whatever you had reacted with the medicine and put you right out. You’ll be fine in about a half hour. Just wait for your head to clear and your strength’ll be back.”

Varro tried to nod, but the sensation was too unpleasant. Somewhere back towards the window, Catilina’s voice said: “Tell him now. While he’s still too fuddled to explode.”

Salonius gave her a sharp look.

“Tell me what?” Varro reached out a hand and gripped Salonius’ tunic just below the neck. “See… my strength’s already coming back…”

Salonius gently detached Varro’s fingers and folded his arm back across his chest.

“I want you to do your very best to remain calm. If your blood pounds too fast, you’ll pass out all over again. Just listen calmly, and try not to react.”

“About what?” growled Varro

“We located the assassins.”

“Good. I personally want to tear pieces off them.”

Salonius shook his head. “The marshal has them in custody. There’s seven of them. Cristus’ men that infiltrated the Second Cohort. He won’t let you near them, Varro. He’s dealing with it in strict military fashion. They’re to go on trial tomorrow. Of course, the verdict will be guilty, and they’ll be executed, but the marshal wants it all done above board. All correct.”

Varro ground his teeth.

“Our own cohort! That bastard Cristus stops at nothing. How did the piece of shit get his men in our unit?”

Salonius glanced round at Catilina and swallowed nervously.

“They were transferred in at Corda’s request.”

Varro stared at him as though he’d changed colour or grown wings, his mouth opening and closing.

Salonius sighed. “Corda’s been involved with Cristus for some time, though he claimed not to have known about or been involved in what happened to you or Petrus…”

“Not known?” Varro growled and slowly sat upright, fighting the nausea, his anger giving him greater fortitude now. “Not bloody known? Corda?”

“Please sit back, Varro. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Varro’s growl continued to deepen. He sounded like some sort of great predatory cat stalking its prey among the rocks of the southern lands.

“Corda?” His voice rose an octave. “Corda! Are you absolutely positive? Really sure?”