Chapter X

‘I could get used to this,’ said Mattheus, turning his face to the sun, which was dipping down to the western horizon. ‘Warm sun all afternoon. A nice breeze off the sea. Not an officer in sight.’

‘No sign of the fucking Syracusans either,’ added Urceus, spitting over the timber ramparts in the direction of the besieged city.

Quintus wasn’t going to argue with his comrades’ sentiments. It was true that over the previous weeks, life had become a little sedate, but after the horror of the failed naval attack on Syracuse, there was nothing wrong with that. Besides, it had been sheer luck that their commander Marcellus hadn’t taken their unit with him when he’d recently marched off to teach a lesson to the cities who had declared themselves for Syracuse. Megara Hyblaea had been taken by assault and then burned as an example of the fate that awaited those who defied Rome. While that victory had seen more than one town change sides yet again, there had been a good number of Roman casualties. Stop thinking like that! At times Quintus wondered if he’d lost his nerve, which made him feel ashamed. He didn’t admit this to a soul, not even Urceus. It flared up now, though. ‘It’d do us no harm to face an enemy attack,’ he said fiercely.

‘Eh?’ Mattheus looked at him as if he’d gone mad. ‘Why the fuck would you wish such a thing?’

‘Soldiers grow rusty if they don’t see enough active service,’ snapped Quintus.

‘Madman,’ said Mattheus, tapping his head. ‘I’m happy enough leaving off fighting for another while.’

Irritated, and a little worried that anyone would see beneath his bravado, Quintus stalked off along the rampart. The section that they were guarding was near the main camp, and ran up to and over one of the regularly placed gates that faced towards Syracuse. The portal was only ever opened when a patrol was sent out to investigate possible enemy activity. Thankfully, that was rare. Even now, men still had a healthy respect for Archimedes’ lethal artillery. Why risk soldiers’ lives in no man’s land when no assault was to be made on the city walls? thought Quintus. Marcellus was no fool. He was conserving his forces for a time when they would be needed.

Rumour had it that an enemy fleet was on its way to Sicily from Carthage. It would land in the southwest, men said. That made sense. The towns of Heraklea and Akragas were on that coastline, and they had been Carthaginian strongholds until near the end of the last war. If the stories were true, Marcellus would not take the challenge lying down, Quintus decided. No doubt that was why he’d been subjugating towns such as Megara Hyblaea. If too much of the island went over to Syracuse and Carthage, the Romans’ position on the island would become untenable, especially if thousands of Carthaginians were soon to arrive.

‘An obol for your thoughts,’ said Urceus’ voice, from right behind him.

Quintus spun, annoyed that he hadn’t heard his friend and still unhappy with himself. ‘Nothing much.’

‘Liar.’

Stung, Quintus’ mouth opened to issue a stinging retort.

Urceus spoke first. ‘We’re all shitting ourselves at the idea of yet another battle, brother.’

Quintus glanced up and down the walkway. To his relief, they were alone. ‘Who said that that’s what I’m thinking?’ he demanded hotly.

‘It’s as obvious as the sun on your face, Crespo. Why? Because every last one of us feels the same way! Trasimene and Cannae were awful, and we’ll never forget them, but the slaughter in the harbour was almost worse. All those men drowning …’ Urceus grimaced. ‘A man can’t see things like that without paying a certain price. You never want to experience anything like that again. That’s a normal response. We’re all of the same mind.’ He gripped Quintus’ arm and squeezed, hard.

A host of emotions welled up inside Quintus. Terror. Relief and pride that he had a comrade like Urceus. Love for a man who saw his weakness and didn’t judge him for it.

‘You’re still the same soldier you were. When the time comes to march and to fight again, your balls might shrivel up, but you’ll stand with us, won’t you?’

‘Of course!’ Quintus replied. Despite the possible consequence — death — not to do so would be unimaginable. His comrades meant everything to him.

Urceus’ eyes met his. ‘As we will, beside you. To whatever end.’

Quintus leaned his pilum and shield against the battlements and grabbed Urceus in a bear hug. ‘You’re a good friend.’

‘As you are to me,’ said Urceus, returning the embrace.

Quintus felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

‘I didn’t know you two were a pair of molles!’ called Mattheus.

Both Quintus and Urceus made an obscene gesture by way of reply. ‘Watch out, or we’ll ask you to join us!’ advised Quintus with a leer.

At that moment, Marius, another of their new comrades, whistled the call that signified ‘officer approaching’. Everyone in their section took an instant interest in the ground beyond the wall.

Hobs clattered on the nearest ladder, and Quintus risked a glance to his left. It wasn’t Corax, or anyone he recognised. ‘Look lively! It’s not one of ours,’ he shot from the side of his mouth.

Urceus took off along the walkway, as a sentry should. Quintus remained where he was, hoping that the officer, whoever he was, wouldn’t stay long.

Annoyingly, the newcomer’s footsteps came to a halt beside him. Quintus looked, turned and saluted. ‘Sir!’

The officer, a centurion, gave him a critical stare. He was clean-shaven, square-chinned and nearing forty. ‘As you were.’

‘Can I help you, sir?’ asked Quintus, standing at ease.

‘So that is Syracuse,’ said the officer, gazing at the distant walls. ‘Its defences are impressive.’

‘They are, sir.’

‘After more than half a millennium, it’s not surprising, I suppose. Did you take part in the initial attack?’

He had come with the reinforcements, thought Quintus in surprise. ‘I did, sir.’

‘Was it as bad as they say?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Quintus tried not to remember how Wolf and Unlucky had died, and failed.

A grunt.

‘Have you just arrived, sir?’ risked Quintus.

‘Yes. The Senate ordered us from Cisalpine Gaul.’

Quintus felt a sudden kinship with the centurion. ‘Were you also at the Trebia, sir?’

There was a flicker of annoyance. ‘No. I was stationed at Victumulae, a town to the west of Placentia. I was forced to remain within its walls at the time of the battle at the Trebia.’

‘I remember Victumulae, sir. It was one of the towns that Hannibal’s army sacked after the Trebia. You were lucky to survive.’

Now the centurion’s face blackened.

Why didn’t he like that? wondered Quintus in surprise. He moved to remedy the situation. ‘Fortuna must have been smiling on you that day, as she was on us in the harbour outside Syracuse.’

The centurion’s expression softened a little. ‘The goddess is a capricious sort at the best of times, but she must have been in a good mood with me when Victumulae fell.’

‘You’ve been fighting Gauls since then, sir?’

‘Aye, filthy savages that they are. It’ll be a welcome break to battle Syracusans for a change. I hear we might even get to kill some guggas. That would please me.’ The centurion’s eyes had lit up.

‘Me too, sir,’ said Quintus stolidly. It wouldn’t do to mention how welcome the time spent building the encircling wall had been.

‘Pera!’

The centurion looked down. So did Quintus. Another centurion sat on a horse below, beside a tethered mount that had to belong to Pera.

‘What is it?’ asked Pera.

‘I’ve been searching all over for you. A summons has been issued. We’re to attend a meeting at the headquarters at sundown. Marcellus wants to meet us. Best get ready, eh?’

‘Aye.’ Without another word to Quintus, Pera made his way back to the ladder.

He seems like a tough one, thought Quintus. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t like Pera.

Urceus was by his side before Pera had reached his comrade. ‘What did he want?’

‘The usual: to look at Syracuse.’

‘He’s new then?’

‘Yes. He and his unit have come in from Cisalpine Gaul. They missed the Trebia, which I think was a bit of a sore point.’ At this, Pera glanced up, and Quintus’ stomach twisted. Shit, I hope he didn’t hear that! ‘That’s a fine mount you have there, sir,’ he called by way of distraction, pointing at Pera’s horse, a black with a white blaze on one fetlock.

Pera’s lip curled. ‘What would an ordinary hastatus know about horses?’

Stung, Quintus’ own temper flared. He had ridden from a very young age, something that Pera might well not have — probably had not — done. It had been his choice to join the infantry, but at times like this, when he couldn’t admit to too much for fear of being discovered, it really galled him. Without thinking, Quintus said, ‘We had quite a few horses when I was a boy, sir.’

‘You can ride?’ Pera’s voice was full of disbelief.

Quintus could feel Urceus’ gaze on him, knew that his friend was silently shouting at him to end the conversation that very instant. A devil took him, however. Fuck Pera. He’s an arrogant prick. ‘I can, sir. Well, too.’

Pera glanced at his companion and chuckled. ‘Hear this? We’ve chanced upon the only hastatus who should be in the cavalry!’

The second centurion laughed. ‘A fine discovery! Maybe you and he should race against one another.’

‘Now there’s an idea!’ Pera looked up at Quintus. ‘How about it? You and I, tonight. Gaius here will let you have his horse, won’t you?’

‘Of course!’ declared the second centurion.

‘Thank you, sir, but I couldn’t,’ replied Quintus, sensing that the situation was slipping out of his control, fast.

Pera’s face hardened. ‘Why ever not?’

‘An ordinary soldier can’t race against a centurion, sir,’ Quintus flailed.

‘He can if he’s bloody ordered to,’ snarled Pera. ‘Do you want me to go to your centurion about this?’

Quintus had half a notion that Corax would tell Pera to piss off, but if that happened, he would feel like a child whose father had stepped in to protect him from a bully. Again his pride surged out of control. ‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll ride against you.’

‘Crespo! Are you fucking insane?’ whispered Urceus.

‘Later, then,’ said Pera. ‘Here, at the turn of the second watch. We can use the ground outside the wall.’

‘Very well, sir.’ Already realising he had been unwise, Quintus watched as the two centurions rode off, joking with one another.

‘You’re a damn fool!’ snapped Urceus. ‘What were you thinking?’

‘Who does he think he is?’ answered Quintus in an angry undertone. ‘My father put me on a horse’s back before I could walk. I could ride him into the ground.’

‘Maybe you could, but you won’t! Not unless you’re even more of an idiot than I take you for. The man’s a centurion! The likes of you and me are nothing compared to him.’

‘Jug is right,’ said Mattheus, who had just arrived. ‘If you beat him, he’ll make your life a fucking misery.’

Marius rumbled his accord.

Quintus nodded his head in furious, reluctant agreement. ‘I hear you.’ His comrades were right. Standing up to Pera had been rash. He would have to let the centurion win. His sour mood deepened and, for a moment, Quintus regretted leaving his exalted position as an equestrian behind four years before. The idea vanished in a few heartbeats. I wouldn’t have my comrades, or Corax as my commander, if I’d stayed in the cavalry, he thought. Are they not more than enough? Bitterness filled him, however, as he pictured the race to come. Not only would he have to lose, but he would have to endure being humiliated by Pera.

Quintus cursed himself for not keeping his mouth shut.

‘Ready?’ asked Gaius, the centurion who had accompanied Pera earlier.

Darkness had fallen some time before, and the Roman fortifications loomed bright in the moonlight. If one looked hard, it was possible to make out the sentries as they walked to and fro. The usual night-time noises carried from the camps on the other side: cavalry mounts nickering at one another, men’s voices and occasional bursts of laughter.

Astride Gaius’ horse, a steady chestnut with a luxuriant mane, Quintus’ throat was tight with tension. He nodded firmly.

‘More than ready,’ said Pera, smirking. He sat on his mount, ten paces to Quintus’ right.

‘As agreed, you will ride to where the torch has been stuck in the ground, five hundred paces yonder, and back. The first man to reach my line’ — Gaius pointed with his sword tip to the dirt at his feet — ‘will be accounted the winner. Agreed?’

‘Yes,’ both men replied.

‘On the count of three, then,’ declared Gaius.

It was a beautiful night, thought Quintus. Cool, but not too cool. No wind. A clear sky above, with a waxing moon to provide light. The ground that they were to race upon was for the most part flat. He’d walked the course earlier, and there were few places where a horse could break a leg. The conditions were perfect for a clandestine race. Unsurprisingly, news of it had travelled fast. More than a hundred soldiers had gathered to watch. Despite the fact that such activities were prohibited — especially because they were outside the siege wall — there were plenty of infantry officers too: optiones, tesserarii and centurions. Quintus thought he had spied Corax among them, wearing a hooded cloak. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried that his centurion hadn’t tried to end his participation in the race.

A number of men moved through the throng, offering odds, taking bets. Quintus half smiled. If Pera hadn’t been his opponent, he would have given Urceus all of his money and told him to wager it on him, the naïve hastatus who was going up against a centurion. Of course he’d done nothing of the sort. Instead, he would ride as if to win, but near the end, he would lose. Beating Pera might provide him with a moment of glory, but having a centurion as an enemy would be downright dangerous. Damn it all! I should have kept my peace.

‘One,’ said Gaius.

Quintus leaned forward and stroked his horse’s cheek. He’d had a chance to trot it up and down a little beforehand. It was a calm beast, but he wasn’t sure that, even if he’d wanted it to, it had the legs to beat Pera’s mount, which looked fast. ‘Do your best, boy,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t fall and hurt yourself, or I’ll have your master to answer to.’

‘Two.’

Quintus glanced at Pera, who mouthed a curse of some kind at him. Like Quintus, the centurion was dressed in nothing more than a light wool belted tunic. He also had a whip gripped in his right fist, a tool that Quintus had never liked using on a horse.

‘Three!’

In spite of the requests by Quintus’ comrades that they remain quiet, the spectators let out a low cheer. Hoping that the race would not be discovered by a senior officer who wasn’t in the know, Quintus urged his horse towards the spot of light — a torch — that marked the turning point of the race. Alongside, Pera was already wielding his whip, striking it off his mount’s sides with sibilant little cracking sounds. The black surged into the lead, and Pera shot a triumphant glance over his shoulder at Quintus.

‘Come on! We can’t let the whoreson get away with that,’ Quintus muttered to the chestnut. He flicked the reins and, to his delight, the horse responded with gusto. Its hooves pounded off the ground faster and faster. By the time that they had ridden perhaps half the distance, Quintus judged that the gap between them and Pera had narrowed. The torch was more visible now, flickering in the light breeze. The devilment of earlier returned, and Quintus grinned. There could be no harm in scaring Pera a little, surely? The centurion was still going to win after all. ‘Faster,’ he urged the chestnut. ‘You can catch the black. I know you can.’

Gamely, his horse increased his speed. This beast is faster than he looks, thought Quintus with delight as the night air rushed by his ears. He smiled again as Pera threw an alarmed look back at them. By the time that the torch was a hundred paces away, they had caught up with him. Side by side, no more than an arm’s length apart, they galloped towards the halfway mark. Quintus took great pleasure from the anger on Pera’s face. Does he realise yet that this is no mistake? That I could beat him? he wondered.

Crack! Quintus heard the sound in the same moment that his cheek erupted in agony. He reeled, almost losing his balance. Only his grip on the reins prevented him from falling off the chestnut, which slowed instinctively.

‘You piece of filth!’ cried Pera. ‘That’ll show you!’

As Quintus regained his seat, the centurion’s mount surged ahead, towards the torch. He lifted a hand to his stinging cheek, winced as he felt the warm stickiness of blood under his fingers. Pera clearly wanted to win, but Quintus hadn’t been expecting the bastard to use his whip as a weapon. White-hot rage surged through Quintus, and he thumped his mount’s chest with his heels. It was if the chestnut sensed his desire to catch Pera; it rushed onward once more, its hooves hammering the hard ground in a mesmeric rhythm. Quintus wished that he had a spear to throw or, failing that, a chance to knock Pera from his horse and beat the centurion into a bloody pulp.

Despite the pulse beating at his temples, Quintus knew such a reaction would result in a death sentence. How he longed then to win the race instead, to teach Pera a lesson in horsemanship. The chestnut was doing him proud; at this rate, it might well catch the black soon after they had both turned for home.

Quintus took a deep breath; then he let it out slowly. The option of succeeding against Pera was also impossible. Best to ride on, keeping his mount under a tight rein. He could give a good account of himself, accept the jeers of Pera and his friends at the end, and consign the whole race to bitter experience. Draining an amphora of wine with his comrades afterwards would help to put the whole sorry episode from memory.

Quintus’ good intentions were challenged a few heartbeats later when he saw Pera slowing his mount and wheeling it in a tight turn — a full two score paces from the torch. Even as the chestnut closed in on it, Pera and the black were galloping back towards them and the finish line to Quintus’ rear.

‘HEY!’ roared Quintus in outrage. ‘You can’t do that!’

‘Who’s checking?’ snarled Pera as he rode past him.

Quintus forgot everything other than the desire to win. ‘Yah!’ he shouted, lunging the chestnut forward. ‘Come on!’ His horse responded with gusto, pounding towards the torch with even more speed than it had managed before. It showed no fear as he hauled it in a turn so tight around the burning brand that the heat from the flame was uncomfortable. Five hundred paces away, the glimmer of light marked where the spectators and Gaius’ line were. Quintus squinted, searching for Pera. A shape moved against the glow in the distance, and his heart banged off his ribs. ‘He’s a long way off, brave heart,’ he said as the chestnut began to recover the speed lost in the turn. ‘I don’t know if even you can catch him. If you can, however, I will find you the sweetest grass on Sicily to eat. That, and a bag of apples. Can you do it?’

Its hooves immediately beat out an even more rapid tempo, and in that moment Quintus loved it. The chestnut wanted to race! Gripping its chest with his thighs, he leaned forward over its neck the way he’d done on his horse as a boy, competing against his father in the big flat fields near their house. He had never ached to win one of those races the way he did this one, though, which made the short time that followed last an eternity.

Quintus was profoundly aware of the warmth of the horse beneath him; of his breath, shallow and fast, contrasting against the rhythm of the chestnut’s hooves; of the moon, and the stars glittering above; of the dark line that was the Roman rampart off to his left; of the flicker of light from the distant walls of Syracuse on his other side. And most of all, he was conscious of the moving outline that was Pera and the black. Cocksucker!

They were closing on the centurion, that was clear, but what was also apparent was that Pera’s lead was too great. However game the chestnut, it was not Pegasus. Quintus didn’t know how far they had come, but it had to be more than half of the return distance, and Pera was still at least sixty or seventy paces ahead. ‘Fuck him to Hades!’ There would be no point in accusing the centurion of cheating. The word of a mere hastatus against such a senior officer would count as nothing. Pera would beat him.

They sped on regardless, horse and man in a synergy that Quintus hadn’t experienced since he’d been in the cavalry. Gods, but he had missed this feeling. However good it was to stand in the midst of his comrades as they went into battle, it wasn’t the same as riding a horse at full gallop. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine Calatinus and all of his former companions, could feel the ground tremble beneath the weight of hundreds of hooves.

An odd sound made Quintus open his eyes. He blinked. Pera’s outline, which had been readily visible thanks to the background light from the spectators’ torches, had vanished. The realisation hit him as the chestnut ran on: the black had stumbled and fallen on one of the rough patches of ground. Within a score of paces, the truth of this was made apparent. Curses filled the air as Pera’s standing shape loomed out of the darkness. Beside him, his mount was struggling to its feet. ‘Up, you useless fucking mule!’ Pera screamed, using his whip.

Pera hadn’t walked the course beforehand as he had, Quintus realised. Slow down, his cautious side advised. Let Pera overtake you again. He must win, not you. The wind caressed Quintus’ cut cheek, sending fresh darts of pain down the side of his face and into his neck. The sensation rammed home the lowliness of his position, brought into sharp focus his helplessness before Pera’s rank — which was when temptation got the better of him. For victory to be his, all that was needed was a little inaction on his part, a failure to rein in his horse. With a last look over his shoulder at Pera, who was still trying to clamber aboard the black, Quintus let the chestnut do as he wished. Perhaps a score of heartbeats later, he had his revenge. To the sound of thunderous applause from the ordinary legionaries, they crossed the line that Gaius had drawn in the dirt. Revelling in the ovation, Quintus brought his chestnut to a gradual halt and slipped off his back.

‘Well done, boy, well done.’ He patted the horse’s neck.

Quintus wanted to greet his friends, who were yelling ‘CRE-SPO! CRE-SPO! CRE-SPO!’ at the tops of their voices. Some of them had clearly wagered on him despite knowing he would try to lose. Gaius, the adjudicator, was waiting at the line, however. ‘He’s a fine beast, sir,’ said Quintus, walking back to meet him and raising his voice to be heard. ‘My thanks for letting me ride him.’

‘I’m not sure that Pera will be happy with me, but those who wagered on you will be well pleased.’ Despite his words, Gaius was amused. ‘Credit where credit is due. You rode a fine race.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Did Pera’s horse trip?’

‘Aye, sir, on a patch of uneven ground.’ Quintus saw no point in mentioning how Pera had cheated. There seemed little point.

‘If it hadn’t been for that-’

‘You fucking trickster!’ cried Pera, emerging from the darkness. He rode his horse straight at Quintus, who had to dodge out of the way to avoid being knocked over. Gaius had to move smartly not to be struck as well. Crack! Pera didn’t miss with his whip, landing a stinging blow across Quintus’ shoulders; he shouted with pain and staggered away from the centurion. The chestnut reared up, whinnying, and Quintus had to grip its reins hard to stop it from running off in panic.

A shocked silence fell over the gathering.

Pera flung himself from his mount, and gestured at the nearest soldiers. ‘Seize that piece of shit! I’ll have him beaten within a hairsbreadth of his life.’

Four men strode towards Quintus, who thought about fighting, or fleeing, before deciding neither option was wise. Impotent rage — and fear — bubbled up in his throat. Nothing he said or did would help. The punishment that was coming could leave him crippled. Why hadn’t he been able to keep his damn mouth shut?

Gaius frowned. ‘A moment, Pera,’ he said. ‘The hastatus crossed the line first. He won.’

Pera’s face went purple. ‘He only fucking won because-’

‘Wait!’ The deep voice carried through the air.

Everyone’s gaze turned to a cloaked man who came striding in from the direction of the torch. The figure came to a halt before Gaius and Crespo and threw back his hood. It was Corax. Quintus felt fresh sweat dampen his back, and dared to hope.

‘Crespo won because your horse fell. You were neck and neck until that point,’ declared Corax. ‘At least that’s how it seemed to me, from where I was standing.’

Pera’s mouth worked furiously. ‘Where were you?’ he managed.

‘Somewhere out there.’ Corax waved vaguely into the blackness. ‘It’s a pity that your black stumbled. Before that, it was a well-matched contest.’

Quintus struggled to contain his surprise, and his anger. Corax had seen Pera cheat; Quintus was sure of it. Why else would he have come running back? It was good that Corax was defending him, but why wasn’t he also revealing what Pera had done?

‘That’s what it looked like from here too,’ said Gaius, appearing relieved. ‘It wasn’t the result any of us expected. You ought to have won, Pera.’

‘Damn right!’

No, you shouldn’t, you cheating cocksucker, thought Quintus. I had you beaten a long time before your mount fell.

‘The gods do as they wish,’ declared Gaius.

‘It’s not for us to divine their purpose,’ Corax agreed.

Pera muttered an obscenity. He seemed about to hurl more accusations, but a glance at Corax and he fell silent.

Gaius barked an order at the throng of soldiers to disperse. Looking confused, they did as they were told. ‘Time for a few cups of wine,’ said Gaius. ‘Come on, Pera. It’ll be my treat.’

Quintus was aware of Pera’s hate-filled eyes boring into him, but he was careful not to meet them. ‘Why did you lend the dunghill rat your chestnut anyway?’ he heard Pera demanding of Gaius as the two centurions moved off. ‘You should have given him your other horse.’

The instant that Pera was out of earshot, Quintus spoke. ‘Did you see what happened at the torch, sir?’

‘I saw,’ replied Corax.

‘Pera cheated, sir! He turned a long way from the halfway point. If his mount hadn’t gone down, he would have won — by cheating!’

‘I know.’

‘Why didn’t you say anything, sir?’ Quintus knew the bitter truth even as he asked.

Corax gave him a hefty shove in the chest. ‘Watch your mouth! It’s thanks to your stupidity that this whole damn enterprise came about. What came over you to decide to race against a centurion? Do you really want men like Pera to discover that you’re of noble birth?’

Quintus had wondered for some time if Corax suspected, but to hear it said out loud was truly shocking. ‘You knew, sir?’

There was a derisive snort. ‘After this long with you under my command, it’s as clear as the nose on your face. Your accent used to give you away; so too did your manners, however hard you tried to act like the rest. You speak Greek well, and have some understanding of battle tactics. You can ride a horse. What else could you be but an equestrian?’ Corax’s eyes were amused as he looked at Quintus. ‘Close your mouth, soldier, or a fly will go in.’

‘You haven’t told anyone, have you, sir?’

‘You must have your reasons for wanting to serve among the hastati, Crespo. As long as you didn’t murder someone’ — here Corax raised a hand in acknowledgement as Quintus began to protest — ‘it’s not for me, or for anyone else, to stop you doing so. Besides, you’re a good soldier, one of the best in the maniple. I need you.’

‘I don’t know what to say, sir.’

‘Then say nothing, Crespo.’ Corax chuckled. ‘That’s not even your name, is it?’

‘No, sir. It’s-’

Corax put a finger to his lips. ‘It’s better that I don’t know. If anyone ever comes looking, I’ll be able to deny all knowledge of you.’

‘That will never happen, sir,’ said Quintus sadly. ‘My father died at Cannae.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Corax. ‘But do not think that you might never be discovered. You tried hard tonight to have Pera realise that you were of noble birth.’

Quintus felt his cheeks redden. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

‘What’s done is done. Be content that you were saved a beating, or worse. And watch out for Pera from now on. He will not forgive you for this, even if it was a fair victory. Did you know that he is related to Marcellus?’

‘No, sir,’ replied Quintus, shocked.

‘It’s distantly, I am told, but that’s not to say that he won’t try to bend Marcellus’ ear about this.’

Quintus felt sure that Corax was telling him obliquely that as Quintus’ commander, he too might attract unwanted attention from above. ‘If you knew, sir, why didn’t you tell me to back out beforehand? I’d have had to, if you ordered it.’

There was a fiery glint in Corax’s deep-set eyes. ‘You’re not the only one who doesn’t like to refuse a challenge, Crespo.’

‘No, sir,’ Quintus muttered, feeling proud yet again that Corax was his centurion. ‘Can I go, sir?’

‘You can. Call by my tent in the morning.’

‘Sir?’

To his surprise, Corax winked. ‘There were huge odds against you winning, but I thought it only fair to back one of my men. I’m not sure of the exact amount, but I’ll be collecting something over four hundred denarii later. You can have ten.’

‘Thank you, sir!’ Despite the tiny fraction of his winnings that Corax was offering, Quintus straightened up. The memory of Pera’s incandescent rage at being beaten was a consolation too. So what that Pera was Marcellus’ third cousin or something? He was the centurion of another unit, with no power over him or any of Corax’s men.

‘Go on, then. Piss off and find your mates. No doubt they’ll be wanting to spend some of their earnings on you.’

Quintus saluted and headed for the gate.

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