Anthony Riches - Arrows of Fury

‘And that’s my problem, and not one for you to get dragged into. Although I’d appreciate any warning you can give me, I guess it’s for the best that we never had this conversation.’

Neuto nodded grimly.

‘Agreed. Now, let’s talk about the reinforcement century Prefect Furius seems to have procured out of the Arab Town docks for me.’

‘No fucking way! Those men are mine and I’m keeping them.’

If the mood in Furius’s tent had darkened with the departure of the first spears, it had turned distinctly ugly once Scaurus had raised the subject of the stolen century. He held a level gaze on Furius, watching his eyes intently.

‘You knew very well that those troops were earmarked for my cohort, didn’t you, Gracilus Furius? We’re still significantly under strength, and yet you bribed them out from under our noses without a second thought. And now you tell me that you’re going to hold on to them no matter what…’

Furius leaned back in his chair, a faint sneer playing across his face.

‘That’s right, and there’s not much you can do to get them back. I’ve got a requisition document signed off by the replacements officer, all nicely legal, and the century in question is already distributed into my cohort. So, unless you’ve got some shiny new sponsor that I don’t know about, you haven’t even got the clout to take this up the ladder. You do know how I got this command, even after Thunderbolt Gorge and the best part of ten years of enjoying the pleasures of home, don’t you? It was simple. I just asked my father to get me back into uniform. If you thought he was well connected ten years ago, well, you should see him now. He may be a wrinkled old bastard, but he’s got more money than he knows what to do with. If he’d wanted to become a senator he only had to ask, he’s got ten times the money required for the favour, and he knows where to spend it. That bread-nibbling beanpole Ulpius Marcellus is a friend of the family, and I can tell you what his reaction will be if you take the problem to him — he’ll just laugh in your face. Senior officers like their commanders to show some initiative, or hadn’t you heard? They find this sort of squabble amusing to watch but irritating to deal with, so you’ve got as much chance of getting that century back as you have of being promoted to legatus, you pipsqueak. Apart from that, you also got two centuries in the place of one. I’d say everyone should be happy.’

He smiled tightly, but the smile turned to a thin-lipped glare as Scaurus stared at him for a moment longer before speaking again, his direct gaze making the other man uneasy. This wasn’t the sort of behaviour Furius remembered from their last spell as colleagues.

‘If you’re determined to do this, then so be it. Just don’t be surprised if you end up regretting it. I believe you’ve regretted one or two things you’ve done recently, if the words I’ve heard are true.’

‘Regret it, why am I going to…?’

Scaurus got to his feet, ignoring the other man’s spluttering.

‘Thank you, Gracilus Furius, for your hospitality, and for the conversation.’

He turned to go. Furius caught his arm, his sense of superiority picked to threads by something for which he had no real concept.

‘A moment, Rutilius Scaurus. I asked you a question, and you haven’t answered me yet. Your sponsor? Who is your sponsor these days?’

Scaurus turned back, easily taking the other man’s hand from his sleeve.

‘You’re right, I didn’t answer you, did I?’

He turned away and walked out into the drizzle, leaving Furius with a bemused, almost worried look as he watched his colleague walk away into the cold autumn afternoon. He stared about him until his gaze alighted on one of the soldiers standing guard.

‘You, take a message to Centurion Appius. Tell him to report to me immediately.’

First Spear Frontinius hurried back to the cohort once his discussion with Neuto was done, and spent a few minutes talking urgently to Scaurus before going to look for the 8th Century. He found them marching wearily back on to the exercise field in readiness for another long session with their swords, and called Marcus and Dubnus to him with an urgent wave.

‘A change of plan, Centurion Corvus, we need to get you out of camp. One of the Second Cohort centurions you met at Arab Town last week seems to have worked out who ‘Centurion Corvus’ really is, and I don’t want you around when he comes looking for proof. The prefect of the Second Cohort is looking for you, and it won’t take very much more deduction on his part to put us all in deeper water than we can swim in. Get your men some bread to eat and then take them out for some night familiarisation. You can take the Fifth Century with you, they’re good at night work, and the prefect has asked me to send his man Arminius out with you as well. Apparently he grew up in the German forests, so he should be a handy man to have along for the night. This way we can show our Hamian brothers what it’s like to patrol in the open countryside after dark, and as a side benefit I expect you’ll be able to work out who among them is suitable to send out on listening patrols in future. Just get them out of the main gate as quickly as possible without making it look like you’re in a hurry.’

The two centurions led their men north from the fort without fanfare, with the archers dressed in their heavy woollen cloaks to provide as much anonymity as possible, striking out from the north road into open country as soon as they were out of sight of the walls. They conferred for a moment, and then Dubnus went forward with a pair of tent parties to scout the ground in front of their line of march. The 5th Century men took turns to trot forward and then go to ground, searching their surroundings intently for any sign of the enemy. The remainder of the two centuries marched forward at a gentle pace behind the scouts, and Marcus was pleased to see that the Hamians were coping with the terrain well enough, even if many of them were still clearly footsore. The prefect’s bodyguard strode forward in silence, always staying within a few feet of him, and Marcus quickly realised that his presence was more to do with his protection than any benefit the German might gain from the exercise.

Less than ten minutes after their departure Centurion Appius strolled into the 1st Cohort’s lines. Promptly challenged by the guard sentries, and having asked to speak to one of the centurions he had met in Arab Town the previous week, he found himself staring into the barrel chest of an officer he had not previously met. Titus stared down at him with an unreadable expression for a moment before speaking, his voice a growling rumble.

‘You’re looking for one of my brother officers?’

Appius nodded, suddenly conscious of the fact that, even less than fifty paces from his own men, he was very much on another cohort’s turf.

‘I met some of your mates last week on the coast… I just thought I’d come and say hello to them again…’

He stopped speaking, aware that the giant standing in front of him was looking decidedly uninterested.

‘They’re out on detached duty. Come back another time. Bring a century of Tungrian infantry with you if you’re hoping for any sort of welcome.’

The big man turned away, leaving Appius standing alone in front of two unfriendly-looking sentries. He turned away, inwardly cursing his luck. Furius had made it very clear that he expected quick results from him, given his certainty as to the young Roman centurion’s real identity.

The Hamians and their escorts made steady progress across the open land to the fort’s north-east, skirting round isolated copses and crossing the open farmland in a long column under a cloudless sky, their cloaks long since removed in the warm afternoon air. As the sun dipped towards the horizon the centurions called a halt, bringing their 250 men together in the cover of a large copse of oak trees. Marcus gathered them all in close so as to be heard without having to shout.