Anthony Riches - The Eagle's Vengeance

‘Do take a look around you, your majesty , and see what remains of your kingdom.’

Naradoc turned his head to meet his family’s eyes with a sidelong gaze, only to find their return stares expressionless for the most part. His brother had the good grace to look vaguely embarrassed, but his uncle, cousin and nephew all wore faces that might as well have been crafted from stone. The man whose sword was prickling the back of his neck, the hunt master Scar who, he realised with a defeated sag of his shoulders, had been his uncle’s sworn man since Brem had rescued him from the battlefield and nursed him back to health, stared back without any expression capable of moving the mask of scar tissue that clung lopsidedly to his face. The king tried to speak, but the words came out as no more than a whispered croak.

‘You bastards … ’

Calgus laughed at his bitterness.

‘They’re just realists, Naradoc. Your younger brother gets the crown, that’s obvious enough. Your mother’s brother Brem gets your wife, for whom he tells me he has long harboured urges hardly fitting in a man when expressed towards his queen. He tells me that he plans to spread her legs in your bed quickly enough though, so the status will hardly matter. His son, your cousin, gets your oldest daughter, who I’m sure you will be the first to admit is of the age to be bedded. I’m sure she’ll give him a fine crop of sons with hips like those. And your brother’s son gets your younger girl child. She may be a little young for the marital bed, but he’s only a boy himself. I’m sure they’ll work it out together, eh? And you …’

He paused for a moment, waving a hand at the men behind the king.

‘My lords, whilst I am comfortable enough in this position of supplication, it might be more fitting if I were to continue my employment as the new king’s adviser on my feet?’

A pair of men stepped forward at a signal from Naradoc’s brother, helping the Selgovae back into a standing position. He bowed his head to the new king, all the time keeping his eyes locked on Naradoc’s furious gaze.

‘You made the fatal mistake, my lord was-king, of failing to safeguard your own position once you were obliged to put on your crown. Those first few years on the throne are never easy, are they? There’s always such a fine balance to be trod between being too harsh and seeming too soft. In hindsight I’d say you should have found a way to quietly dispose of your younger brother. I believe that hunting accidents are a favourite means of both avoiding future conflict in the family and showing your teeth to the surviving members to put them in their place, but then that’s not really your style, is it? Such a shame, when a judiciously timed murder or two can often avert a great deal of inconvenience …’

He glanced across at the king’s younger brother, smiling at the predatory look with which he was staring at Naradoc’s back. ‘It’s just as well your sibling doesn’t seem overly troubled by the morality of arranging for your disposal, now that your situations are reversed.’

Finding his tongue with the sudden realisation that his death was imminent, Naradoc roared his defiance at the brother who had so comprehensively betrayed him.

‘You bloody fools! This man will have you at each other’s throats in days! And you, brother, how long before you too have just such a hunting accident , leaving the way clear for our uncle to take the throne!’

Even as the feeling that he might have been duped sank into his brother’s eyes, Calgus spoke again, his tone warm in contrast to the words that spelled out the would-be usurper’s fate.

‘You know he’s right, my lord. You really are quite exceptionally stupid not to have had the good sense to side with your brother the king, but that’s just a lesson you’ve learned too late. And now that I consider it, I suspect that an accident is somewhat less likely to convince given that we’ll have two victims to mourn …’ He paused, his gaze alighting on the man’s white-faced son, barely into his teens. ‘No, my mistake, of course that will have to be three victims, won’t it?’

He turned to the two men’s uncle, opening his hands in question.

‘Perhaps a family squabble under the influence of an excess of your excellent beer might have more credibility as the regrettable cause of your being forced to take the throne, obviously with the greatest of reluctance? What do you think, my lord, King Brem?’

Oceanus Germanicus, April, AD 184

‘ Mercurius? Mercurius is the winged messenger, right?’ The First Tungrian Cohort’s senior centurion shook his head in weary disbelief, rubbing a hand through his thick black hair. ‘We’ve marched all the way from Dacia to the edge of the German Sea, over a thousand miles in every weather from burning sunshine to freezing rain, and now the only thing between my boots and home soil is a mile or two of foggy water …’ He sighed, shaking his head as he stared out into the thick fog. ‘So you’d think a ship called the fucking Mercurius with over a hundred big strong lads at the oars would be moving a little bit quicker than the slow march. This is a bloody warship after all, so surely all the man in charge has to do is say the word to have us skipping across the waves.’

Tribune Scaurus turned to look at his colleague Julius with an indulgent smile, while the three centurions standing behind him exchanged wry glances.

‘Still feeling unwell are you, First Spear?’

Julius shook his head dourly.

‘I’ve puked up everything in my guts, puked once more for good fortune, and then last of all I chewed the round pink thing and swallowed. I’ve nothing left to give, Tribune, and so my body has settled in a state of discontented resentment rather than open rebellion. Now I’m just bored with this snail’s pace that seems to be the best this tub can do.’

‘Aphrodite’s tits and hairy muff, don’t let the captain hear you calling his pride and joy a tub ! I caught him stroking the ship’s side yesterday, and when he saw I was watching he just gave me one of those looks that said “I know, but what’s a man to do?”’

Scaurus turned and nodded at the second largest of the four centurions standing about him, a heavily muscled and bearded man in his late twenties.

‘Quite so, Centurion Dubnus. The man’s as proud of his command as a legion eagle bearer, and just as likely to reach for the polish from the look of it. Did you not see the way he frowned when the goat they sacrificed before we sailed sprayed blood all over the deck?’

The tribune turned back to face Julius, the first spear just as heavily set and with the same thick beard as Dubnus, sharing his brooding demeanour and predisposition to dispensing casual violence to malcontents and laggards, although where the younger man’s thick mane and beard were jet black, the senior centurion’s hair was visibly starting to turn grey.

‘And as for your urgency to get your feet on dry land, First Spear, I’d imagine that the Mercurius ’s captain is probably equally keen not to run his command ashore in the fog. Apparently we’ll know we’re getting closer when we can hear the Arab Town trumpets, if his navigation’s up to the job. And remember if you will, that for our colleague here a return to Britannia raises fresh questions as to just who might be waiting for us when we arrive.’

He tipped his head at the least heavily muscled of the centurions, a lean, hawk-faced young man who had sought refuge with the Tungrian cohort two years previously and who was now listening to their conversation with a look of imperturbability, then turned back to his senior centurion.