Ben Kane - Clouds of War

The usual dispute began. It was another well-worn routine. The man whose turn it was would accuse someone else of trying to foist the duty on him. The accusation would be vigorously refuted, so the duty cook would drag a third man into it. The banter didn’t end until everyone in the contubernium had been named.

Quintus was busy denying that he should have to make the day’s meals when they rounded a corner on to the avenue upon which their unit was stationed. Catching sight of Pera again, he stumbled over what he was about to say, before recovering his poise as best he could. ‘Don’t be stupid, Placidus,’ he said loudly. ‘We all know it’s your turn to cook.’ Then, as if he had just noticed Pera, he saluted. ‘Sir.’

‘You didn’t expect to see me again so soon,’ said Pera, falling in alongside them as they drew level.

‘No, sir.’ Quintus tried to sound nonchalant, but inside, he was panicking.

‘Is that ash I can see?’ asked Pera. Quintus felt real fear as the centurion wiped his fingertip on the back of Urceus’ neck, above his tunic. ‘It is. How curious!’

A dull red flush coloured Urceus’ entire face. ‘Sir,’ he said.

His answer sounded stupid, and everyone knew it.

‘Halt!’

The tent mates obeyed. None dared look at another, but everyone could feel the fear.

‘It was only after I walked away that I thought it odd that you two should be so dirty, while your comrades were not,’ mused Pera. He jerked his head at Quintus and Urceus, and at a spot five paces away. ‘Fall out. Over here. Helmets off.’

Helpless before Pera’s authority, the pair did as they were told.

Pera came as close as a woman might, if she were in a seductive mood. His purpose was a lot less pleasant, however. Lifting the arms and necks of their tunics, he inspected their skin with intense interest. He pulled their ears back to check there, and even brushed at their hair. As a little cloud of soot floated away from his head, Quintus felt sick. He shot a look at Urceus, whose complexion had gone from red to grey.

Pera stepped back. ‘It looks to me as if you smeared ash all over your faces and arms so that you wouldn’t be seen. Enlighten me. Quickly.’

‘Sir, we …’ Urceus began. He hesitated.

‘Yes?’ Pera’s tone dripped venom.

‘Nothing, sir.’

Pera glared at Quintus. ‘What have you to say, hastatus?’

As Quintus flailed for something that would sound even remotely feasible, Pera prowled over to his tent mates. A moment later, he crowed with triumph. ‘You and you! Fall out. Join your maggot friends.’

Placidus and the other hastatus with the rope joined them, their faces miserable. Pera pounced, lifting their mail shirts one by one. ‘Rope! This explains much. You’ — here he prodded Placidus in the chest — ‘and some of the rest lowered those two whoresons down the wall while it was dark.’ An outraged note appeared in his voice. ‘What were you up to, you traitors? Selling us out to the Syracusan arse-lovers?’

‘No, sir!’ Quintus and Urceus protested.

‘I bet that was it! Or you were planning to desert. There have been rumours of this, but I never thought to see it. Marcellus will be furious! He’ll want to make an example of the entire contubernium before the whole army. It’ll be the fustuarium, I’d imagine,’ Pera gloated. ‘Corax will be disciplined too.’

A group of passing principes slowed up when they heard some of what Pera was saying, but a snarled order sent them on their way.

While Pera was occupied, Quintus and Urceus glanced at one another with total dismay. ‘Tell him what we did,’ mouthed Urceus. ‘We’re fucked either way.’

Gods above, help us, asked Quintus. Do not let my comrades suffer for my stupidity. On my head be it. When Pera wheeled on him again, he met his gaze. ‘We’re loyal servants of Rome, sir.’

‘Really?’ scoffed Pera. ‘Explain away what I’ve found here, then.’

‘Urceus and I did go over the wall, sir, yes.’

‘I knew it! The crime of deserting your sentry post carries the death penalty, you fool!’

‘I know, sir. No one was to find out-’

‘Until I came along! Fortuna be thanked that I did, eh?’

Quintus longed to ram his sword so hard into Pera’s mouth that it shattered his teeth, but instead he waited until the centurion indicated that he should go on. Trying to be as concise as possible, he told the whole story. A malicious interest lit up Pera’s eyes the instant that Quintus mentioned the height of the wall, but he did not interrupt once. When Quintus finished, an eerie calm fell. None of the sweating hastati broke it. They were in enough shit as it was.

‘You’re sure about the number of blocks?’ demanded Pera.

‘Yes, sir. I wouldn’t miscount them after risking my neck like that.’

The trace of a smile passed across Pera’s lips. ‘I suppose not.’

Another silence, during which Quintus could see Pera’s mind working fast. It was clear that he wanted to take this information to Marcellus and, in the process, take all of the credit. Could he achieve this while also claiming that Quintus and Urceus were traitors? If there were no mention of them measuring the enemy’s wall, what would he allege that they had done? Quintus had attended the trial of a veles who had abandoned his sentry post. The accused had been closely cross-examined: discovering the reason for his absence — a trip to his tent to recover a skin of wine — had been an important part of gathering evidence against him. Pera needed to make them convincing scapegoats, or suspicion would fall on him over his incredible ‘discovery’ of the wall’s height at Galeagra.

‘Listen to me, you filth,’ growled Pera. ‘Every one of you deserves to be beaten to death for this, d’you understand?’

‘Yes, sir,’ the hastati mumbled. In his comrades’ faces, Quintus saw only despair. In his heart, however, a trace of hope had appeared. ‘Deserves’, Pera had said.

‘What you did was misguided. Stupid beyond belief. It beats anything that I’ve seen in all my years in the centurionate.’ Pera paused, and let them stew for a dozen heartbeats. ‘Yet Rome might benefit from it. I will tell Marcellus about the wall. You miserable lot will never speak of it again, to anyone. If you do, I will not rest until every one of you is sentenced to death by the fustuarium. Do I make myself clear?’

You fucker, thought Quintus even as he spoke the words, ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Pera, his expression fierce.

‘Yes, sir,’ they muttered.

‘Fine. We have an arrangement, then. Why don’t you piss off to your stinking tent and drink some wine? After a sentry duty like that, you deserve it.’

They would live, Quintus reflected bitterly, but in the knowledge that Pera could turn on them in the blink of an eye. True, questions would be asked if he tried to bring their dereliction of duty up in a year, say, but that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t still end up being sentenced to death. The word of lowly hastati was as nothing compared to a centurion, especially one who was related to Marcellus, and who had delivered the method of taking Syracuse to him.

They couldn’t go to Corax now. As before, he wouldn’t challenge another centurion in public. Even if he did by some miracle speak out, Quintus and his comrades would be exposed as having deserted their posts. A deep gloom settled over him. Why had he been so stupid?

‘Ho, Pera! Are you trying to take over my command?’

In the black depths of despair, a ray of hope. Quintus was overjoyed to see his centurion. Pera, on the other hand, looked mightily pissed off. ‘Nothing like that. I just picked this lot up on their scruffy appearance, that’s all.’