Anthony Riches - The Leopard sword

The tribune walked back across the room and stood in front of him with a fierce expression.

‘Do you take me for a fool, Centurion?’

Scaurus waited in silence, and Julius realised that this was one of those rare questions that — although it invited the man being asked to venture a negative opinion of the man doing the asking — he was actually expected to answer.

‘No, Tribune, far from it.’

His superior kept staring at him, to the point where even the imperturbable centurion was starting to feel discomfort at the tight smile on the tribune’s face.

‘Really? It was the only conclusion I was able to come to when I considered our relative records over the last twenty-four hours. While I was away chasing down a non-existent threat I left you and your century to guard the procurator’s gold. Instead of which you managed not only to safeguard the money, but also to free an innocent civilian, a victim of my stupidity in leaving the gold so lightly guarded that Petrus and his cronies believed it was theirs for the taking if they just applied a little leverage with your woman. I scarcely have to add that the honey in this particular cake is your single-handed destruction of Obduro’s band with your inspired idea to set fire to the grain dust. I heard the storeman’s warning of how a spark from a hobnail could set a whole granary alight just as clearly as you, but I’m not sure that I would have been clever enough to use that potential for destruction as a weapon.’

He sat back with an equable expression, prompting Julius to frown at his words.

‘But the damage to the grain store? And your ca-’

‘Career? To buggery with my career, First Spear. I’m never going to be a legatus, not unless something truly unprecedented happens to uproot the current political realities. I’m not from a good enough family, you see. Besides which, by the time we’ve rebuilt the store and restocked it, we’ll still have enough gold to make a very favourable impression on the local governor. Have you seen the casualty figures? No? I’ll read them to you. We took thirteen dead and another seven wounded, mostly as the result of stopping flying bricks, whereas the bandits had almost ninety men killed, the same number wounded and of the rest of them barely a tenth got away. Most of the men we captured were still wandering about with their senses blasted out of them. They were too close to the granaries when the dust ignited, you see, and the flying debris seems to have gone through them like a reaping hook.’ He stood up, advancing round his desk with his hand extended. ‘Well done, Centurion, and not just for pulling my testicles out of the fire. The day when we forget our duty to the innocents who’re caught between us and the enemy will be a sad day. Your friend’s profession is of no relevance whatsoever. She was just such an innocent caught between two enemies, and you did the right thing. You plan to look after her, I imagine?’

He turned away without waiting for an answer, pointing to the first spear’s sword.

‘You’re the natural successor to the ownership of that honourable blade, and in just a minute I’m going to invite you to strap it on and take charge of the First Cohort. You can help me to choose a man to lead the Second as one of your first tasks. Being in charge of two cohorts is too much for any man in my opinion. But before I invite you to change your life forever, let’s just be clear on something that’s very important to me.’ He looked the centurion hard in the eye. ‘If you ever feel that I or any other officer in this cohort is making a mistake of the size that nearly ended in disaster yesterday, you are to tell me so, and to keep telling me until I start listening to your concerns. Is that clear?’

Julius nodded, looking at his superior with a new-found respect.

‘Yes, sir. Crystal clear. Of course I’ll have to discuss this with my brother officers. It’s our tradition, sir.’

Scaurus smiled again, slapping the big man on the shoulder and then reaching over for the first spear’s sword, putting the weapon into Julius’s reverentially extended hands.

‘I know that your tradition says that the cohort’s first spear must be chosen by a gathering of the officers, and whilst I could override that convention I don’t really see the need to do so, since I fully expect your brother officers to be as clear-headed on the matter as I am. And until that decision is made I am ordering you to assume the duties of the role on a temporary basis. Carry on, First Spear.’

The Tungrian centurions were unusually subdued as they gathered after the parade at which they’d witnessed the crucifixion of Caninus and his cronies, despite the thoroughness with which imperial justice had been administered. Whilst a barely conscious Caninus had, as expected, succumbed to asphyxiation within minutes, unable to use his shattered legs to relieve the pressure on his chest, both Petrus and Tornach had showed every sign of facing protracted deaths, despite both having been soundly scourged before being nailed into position. In perfect silence the assembled men of the three cohorts had listened to their helpless cries for mercy as they had writhed on their crosses to either side of Caninus’s inert corpse, both men panting in pain and terror as the enormity of imperial justice bore down upon them. The chained and shackled line of freshly branded slaves, the only remnant of the bandit army, had filed past the crucified men in silence, their overseers punishing any sound from the shuffling men with swift strokes of their whips. It had been, the officers of the Tungrian cohort agreed, sound punishment swiftly delivered to men that deserved nothing less. Their acting first spear had ordered a gathering of his officers once their men were back in barracks, and he now stood in the middle of his colleagues with a neutral expression, waiting until the last of them was holding a cup of wine.

‘Brothers, our first duty is to pay our respects to First Spear Sextus Frontinius in the time-honoured manner. Raise your cups.’ He waited in silence until every man had his cup in the air. ‘To Uncle Sextus! The best damned first spear I ever served under, and taken from us before his time was due! Sextus Frontinius!’ He drained his cup, looking around him as his brother officers echoed his toast and did the same. ‘Before we leave this city I’ll have an altar to his name built into the grain store wall, to mark the place where he fell.’

He stood for a moment as the other centurions nodded their agreement. Frontinius’s body had been burned the previous evening, his funeral pyre saluted by a march past of both Tungrian cohorts and a deputation from the legion cohort led by a temporarily abashed Belletor, but an altar was the accepted way for a revered officer who fell in battle to be honoured by his men, and Julius knew there would be no shortage of donations to pay for the mason’s careful work.

‘But now, my brothers, we have important business to discuss. The matter of First Spear Fontinius’s replacement requires discussion. Whilst the tribune has nominated me, I don’t-’

A deep rumbling voice interrupted him.

‘We all know it has to be you, Julius. We don’t need to vote on the subject.’

‘Titus-’

Julius got no further with his reply, as Otho shook his head and interrupted him again.

‘It’s you, Julius. We all feel the same way. Now get on with it before I’m forced to beat some common sense into you.’

Julius saw that all seven centurions gathered around him were nodding agreement.

‘Even you, Dubnus? You’ve been heard to voice the opinion that I wasn’t fit to command a legion century, never mind one formed of real fighting men.’

Dubnus grinned back at him.

‘That was before, when I was carrying the pole and pushing soldiers around for you, before I got the chance to serve alongside you. You’ll do.’