Anthony Riches - Arrows of Fury

‘Perhaps you won’t, but your fellow officer seems to be carved from less noble material. He was in here not fifteen minutes ago protesting at your behaviour today in the most graphic terms. Apparently I would be well advised to have you relieved of command and sent back to Rome. It would also seem that his father wields great power in Rome… although I’d say he’s mistaking affluence for influence.’

He sniffed dismissively, taking a seat while Scaurus maintained his stiff posture. His next comment was made offhandedly, in an almost dismissive tone, but if the comment was made lightly enough, the words themselves rooted the younger man to the spot.

‘He was also spouting some nonsense about your cohort playing host to a fugitive from imperial justice… He showed me a piece of jewellery, a gold cloak pin with an inscription of some kind. “Irrefutable proof,” he said, but by then my patience with the man was exhausted so I threw him out. It is nonsense, I presume?’

The prefect raised an eyebrow with an apparent lack of concern that he was a long way from feeling.

‘Yes, Governor, Prefect Furius has taken it into his head that one of my officers is this man Valerius Aquila that went missing a few months ago.’

‘Whereas…?’

‘Whereas, Governor, as both Legatus Equitius and Tribune Licinius will stand witness, my man’s simply a patriotic son of Rome doing his duty for the empire, nothing more and nothing less. It seems that every young officer with dark hair and brown eyes on the frontier should now be considered as suspicious.’

Ulpius Marcellus gave him a hard stare, then nodded his agreement.

‘If Licinius will back the man that’s good enough for me, he’s got no axe to grind. And nothing that fool Furius says can be treated with any sort of respect. He would keep insisting that I dismiss you from the service…’

Scaurus shrugged, keeping his face expressionless.

‘In this, as in every other matter, sir, I am your faithful servant. If you deem it fit to send me away from here I will accept your judgement.’

The governor snorted again, slapping a hand down on the table in front of him.

‘Not likely, young man! Your cohort has surprised and then held off two Venico warbands, only for that self-serving fool to tell me that I ought to cashier you? No, Rutilius Scaurus, you are to take your wounded south to Noisy Valley using the legions’ supply wagons, get your men into the hospital, re-equip with whatever you need from the legion stores and then pick up a full load of food and get yourselves back here before dark in two days’ time, no more. I’ll use the legions’ cavalry and the auxiliary horse to keep the barbarians’ necks tucked in, and we’ll attack their stronghold once we’re properly positioned. I want your men back in the line before that happens, they’re too experienced to sit out such a fight and I’ve got a particular part of the battle plan in mind for them.’

Scaurus saluted and turned away, his mind already racing around the challenge of getting his wounded across the difficult early stages of the twenty-mile march to Noisy Valley.

‘One more thing, Rutilius Scaurus.’

The prefect turned back from the tent’s door to find the governor on his feet and holding out a sealed tablet.

‘I’m sending Licinius and the Petriana with you. They can make sure you make it back down the north road without being harassed, and provide a show of force to keep the Brigantes quiet. When you get to Noisy Valley hand this tablet to Licinius. He’ll know what to do.’

With the Tungrians settled into the Noisy Valley barracks previously occupied by the 6th Legion, Scaurus sent his officers to organise the loading of the supply carts, and his bandage carriers to the hospital to offer any help that might be required by the hard-pressed medical staff. With no more commands to issue he sought out Tribune Licinius, finding him in the officers’ mess with a beaker of wine in front of him. The grizzled senior officer stood and shook the younger man’s hand, calling for more wine.

‘Well, Cohort Prefect Scaurus, I was hoping to get a moment or two with you. You Tungrian buggers don’t seem to be able to stay out of trouble, but then y’don’t seem to have much of a problem fighting your way out of it either, eh? I salute you!’

He lifted his beaker, taking a slug of the wine, and watched Scaurus as he sipped his own drink.

‘Something wrong, eh, young ’un?’

Scaurus placed the governor’s tablet, still sealed, gently on the table in front of him, the writing block’s polished case making a soft click as it made contact with the scarred wooden surface.

‘There may well be, Tribune. This is a message from…’

‘… the governor. I can recognise his seal, y’know.’ He split the wax seal with a thumbnail, reading the contents of the tablet with an expressionless face. ‘That old bastard doesn’t muck about when he wants dirty work doing. You have no idea what’s in this message?’

Scaurus shrugged.

‘I have a good enough idea who it concerns, but no idea as to the precise contents.’

Licinius leaned across the table, putting out his hand.

‘Well, it seems that congratulations are in order, young man. You’re provisionally promoted to cohort tribune, with command of the combined First and Second Tungrian cohorts. I can’t make any promises on Ulpius Marcellus’s behalf, of course, but we both know that the rank is rarely rescinded once granted. Well done, young man.’

Scaurus stared back at him disbelievingly.

‘But…’

‘No, there’s no mention of any “buts” in this message. The governor stresses that you are directed to assume command of the Second Cohort immediately.’

‘And Furius?’

Licinius smiled evenly, reaching for his helmet.

‘Former Prefect Furius is to be relieved of his command and shipped out to Rome as quickly as the act can be made to happen. Sounds like the governor has about the same opinion of your colleague that I do, given the dismal tactical skill and military acumen he’s displayed to date, not to mention his apparent lack of anything remotely resembling a set of balls. We’re better off without him, and you’ll have a nice big double-strength cohort to play with.’ He got to his feet, heading for the door, but turned back after a couple of strides. ‘Oh yes, and why not give what’s left of your archers to the Hamian cohort while you’re here, there’s a good lad? That energetic young centurion of yours has managed to get half of them killed in less than a month, so I think the rest of them have earned some time off for good behaviour, don’t you?’

In the base hospital a disciplined chaos ruled, half a dozen of Felicia’s assistants working to put the surviving Tungrian wounded on to the doctor’s table in something like the order of their medical priority. Marcus and Rufius found Dubnus dozing uneasily through the racket, his face pale from the blood he’d lost the previous day.

‘He looks dreadful. Why haven’t they dealt with him yet?’

Rufius waved an arm at the room in response to his friend’s question.

‘Look around you. Every man that goes on to the table before him has a worse wound.’

As they watched a soldier was carried from the surgery on a stretcher, his right leg swathed in bandages down to the knee, below which the remainder of the limb was missing.

‘See, that poor bastard’s lost his leg. Dubnus has it comparatively easy by comparison.’

‘Easy… you come and lie here for a few minutes and then tell me this is easy…’

They turned back to find Dubnus lying with his eyes barely open. He closed them again after a moment, the effort clearly tiring him.

‘I feel like I’ve been beaten with hammers.’