The Leopard Sword

10

‘Well met, Procurator. I’ll wager you hadn’t expected to see me again.’ Wiping the dappled blade of his sword free of the blood of the lone city guard who had been set to ensure that the disgraced procurator didn’t attempt to escape, Obduro stepped into Albanus’s house with an appreciative whistle. ‘I have to say that you’re clearly a man who knows how to live, Albanus. Look at all this…’ He waved a hand at the furnishings. ‘Opulence, that’s the only word for it.’ He put a hand to the helmet’s face mask and lifted it away. ‘It’s a horrible thing to wear for any length of time, you know, but it does make such an excellent disguise. All that time we were doing business and you never had a clue how I was getting into the city past the guards and the prefect’s men. And now you know!’

He grinned at the look on the procurator’s face, and Albanus spluttered his amazement.

‘But you’re…’

Albanus stepped back against the wall, his face suddenly white with fear, and the bandit leader’s grin broadened.

‘Just worked it out, have you? That if I’ve shown you my face then I’m not likely to let you live? Clever boy, Albanus, even if you are somewhat late in reaching the conclusion. I know that Scaurus took your share of the profits from our little venture, although I expect that my man Petrus will have recovered it by now.’

Julius’s shouted command snapped the watching soldiers out of their momentary dismay, and Sergius crouched into the cover of the shield he’d borrowed from his chosen man, snatching one last glance into the granary as the torchbearer stepped through the roughly hewn hole and into the cloud of dust. With a roaring explosion that made the watching soldiers stagger back a pace, the burning dust tore the solidly built granary to pieces like the hand of a vengeful god, sending a fireball into the night air that lit up the grain store’s compound like a momentary flash of daylight. Something hit Sergius’s shield hard, cracking the layered wooden board, and the spear thrower crouching next to him was smashed aside by a flying brick. When the first spear turned round to look at the man he realised that his soldier was already dead, his head bashed in by the massive impact. For a moment the senior centurion was as stunned as the men around him, and he stared out at a scene of devastation that was hard to comprehend. Where the granary had stood there remained only a gaping wound in the otherwise uninterrupted run of brickwork, and the ground around him was littered with bricks, roof tiles and the corpses of several of his men who had been too slow in taking shelter. Shaking his head to clear it, Sergius drew his sword and pointed it at the gaping hole in the row of granaries, but the command for his men to storm the shattered granary died in his throat at the sight of a thirty-foot-high column of fire raging out of the ruin.

Albanus’s house trembled, and the sound of a powerful explosion reached the two men through the thick walls. The door opened and one of Obduro’s men put his head round it.

‘A mighty flash to the south, my lord, close to the walls!’

The bandit leader nodded, waving the man back to his post. He turned back to Albanus with a wry smile.

‘As I was saying, I expect that Petrus will have reclaimed your share of the fraud from the Tungrians by now, and my next stop will be the collection of that rather large sum of money, less the commission we agreed in advance. After that all that remains for me to do is to retrieve my own share from its hiding place, and the stage will be set for my disappearance into history. Once I’m across the Mosa and into the forest the entire Rhenus garrison won’t be able to find me. I’ll quietly re-emerge somewhere to the south with a few picked men and enough wealth to deal with any difficult questions. You did hide my money as instructed, I hope? Your family in Rome really are most horribly vulnerable to a man possessed of as few scruples as myself.’

Albanus nodded frantically, putting up his hands in a feeble gesture of self-defence.

‘It’s all there, just as you instructed!’

Obduro nodded his approval, drawing his sword with a loud rasp of metal in the silent house.

Good. Now, then, let’s get this over with. If you behave yourself I’ll make sure it’s as quick and painless as I can.’

The former procurator shrank away from him, babbling helplessly at the sight of the sword’s dappled steel.

‘There’s really no need for this. I can assure you that I won’t talk! There must be something I have that you want!’

Obduro lowered the face mask over his features, its emotionless face regarding the trembling Albanus with a pitiless gaze. He spoke again, his voice rendered flat and hollow behind the thick sheet of hammered metal.

‘But of course you have something I want. Something only you can give me.’

‘Anything, just name it! I’ll give you anything if you-’

Obduro stepped forward and rammed the point of his sword up into the gabbling procurator’s throat, twisting the blade as he withdrew it to release the stream of gore that flowed down his victim’s tunic. Choking on the blood running down his throat, the dying man sank to his knees, staring up mutely at his murderer.

‘And there it is. Your silence, Albanus. That’s all I came for.’

He turned away, calling to his men as he left the house.

‘That rather loud bang sounded like it might have been a problem, if it was what I suspect it was, so I’m advancing our schedule. You, run to the Blue Boar and tell Petrus that I’m coming for the late procurator’s money. Go!’

Marcus and Arabus looked up at the city’s wall from the banks of the River Worm, and the Roman walked forward to the point where wall and river met. In the moon’s dim light he could see the stark lines of the heavy metal gate that filled the perfectly hemispherical arch through which the river flowed on into Tungrorum. He shook his head at the tracker, pointing at the impassable archway.

‘The guard must have closed it when the gates were closed on the tribune’s orders. I can’t see how-’

A loud clanking noise from the other side of the wall made them both start with surprise, and Marcus flattened himself against the wall, gesturing to the tracker to do the same. Slowly, an inch at a time, the heavy iron gate was being lifted out of the water by whatever mechanism was working on it, until a rattling of chains indicated that whoever had raised it was securing it in place. The two men waited in perfect silence, listening intently as a man’s footsteps padded softly along the footpath that ran alongside the river, halting for a moment as whoever it was stopped to duck under the gate’s iron frame. Marcus eased the eagle-pommelled gladius out of its scabbard in a slow slither of polished iron, careful not to make a sound as the unknown man’s steps drew closer. A figure appeared only a few paces from the crouching Roman, his dark silhouette obscuring the lowest stars in the cloudless night sky as he stepped out of the arch and stopped to look across the empty ground beyond the city’s wall, breathing out a soft, slow sigh of relief. Marcus struck before the exhalation of breath was finished, rising quickly and sweeping the man’s feet out from under him with a swift kick, then pouncing on him as he hit the ground with a painful grunt. For an instant his captive tensed to struggle, but the cold touch of Marcus’s sword at his throat froze him into immobility.

Arabus stepped out of the wall’s shadow, his face a mask of hatred in the moonlight, and Tornach gaped up at the two men with poorly disguised dismay. Marcus spoke quietly to the tracker, glancing through the river gate.

‘Arabus, check inside the gate to see if he brought any friends with him.’ While the tracker padded off reluctantly into the shadows, the Roman looked down at Prefect Caninus’s deputy and shook his head in disgust. ‘Yes, it is a bit of a surprise, isn’t it? You send out a man with orders to kill an interfering outsider, and the next thing you know the pair of them have you at sword point. And you can be grateful that it’s me holding the blade to your throat and not your man there. I showed him your sacrificial altar in the fortress on the hill, and he was quick enough to spot his son’s belt hanging from it. If I leave you to his mercies you’ll last either no more than a few heartbeats or no less than a few thousand, depending on whether he wants to take his revenge quickly or slowly. Either way I’d say you’re not very likely to see the dawn.’ Arabus came out of the shadows, and shook his head. ‘You’re on your own, then, are you, with nobody to come to your aid? Although why you’d be opening such an out-of-the-way exit from the city is a little hard to understand…’ He paused, as if in thought, then nodded knowingly. ‘Unless of course you’re readying an exit for Obduro, a quiet and unwatched way out for a few men carrying heavy boxes, eh? Perhaps your master’s less interested in the grain than he’d have us believe, and more interested in a rather large sum of money that he’s got hidden in the city. The only thing I don’t know is exactly where it’s hidden.’

He waited in silence, holding the gladius to Tornach’s throat and watching as fear and uncertainty mounted in the other man’s eyes.

‘What do you want?’

He smiled down at his captive.

‘What do I want? From you? Nothing at all. I’ve got what I need. I can bring my soldiers here and wait for your master to blunder into our arms. I just thought we’d share a few moments together before I let this embittered man behind me loose on you. After all, you set him to kill me, so the least I can do is enjoy the irony of the fact that it’ll be his knife ending your life, don’t you think?’

Tornach looked over the Roman’s shoulder at his tracker, quailing at the look in Arabus’s eyes.

‘Let me live. Let me live and I’ll give you Obduro, and the gold.’

Marcus spoke without taking his eyes off the prostrate man.

‘How’s that, Arabus? You let Tornach here live, and in return you get a chance for revenge with his master?’

The tracker thought for a moment, then nodded and reached into his pack, which he’d left in the wall’s shadow. He stepped forward with a length of rope, and bent to wrap it around Tornach’s ankles before speaking gruffly to his former superior.

‘Wrists.’

The bandit shook his head.

‘I can’t stay here! Obduro will-’

A twitch of Marcus’s gladius silenced him.

‘Obduro will what? Kill me and then make his escape from the city via this convenient little hole as planned? Find you here, and kill you as the price for your treachery? Quite possibly. So you’d better hope I pull off the apparently impossible feat of defeating him man to man, hadn’t you? Hold up your wrists before I grow bored and save him the trouble of having to kill you!’ Tornach glowered up at him as Arabus tied his wrists together with the rope that was securing his ankles, rendering him utterly helpless. ‘That’s better, now there’s no risk of you overpowering Arabus here while the pair of you wait to see who comes through this arch when it’s all done with.’ He reached for the helmet bag and his heavy leather-covered round shield, hefting its weight and looking down at the helpless bandit. ‘And since your immediate safety from his revenge depends on my success, you might want to tell me where he is. The rest I can manage for myself.’

Tornach grimaced at him with a vindictive smile.

‘He was on his way to deal with the procurator, then to collect his share of Albanus’s grain take from Petrus. After that he had only one more stop to make: the place where his share of the fraud is hidden. I’ll tell you where it is, but you’d be better running now, while you have the chance. That shield won’t protect you from his blade.’

Marcus nodded back down at him, his attention already focused on the city waiting beyond the arch’s dark hole.

‘Possibly so. But I might have a thing or two to teach Obduro about deception.’

‘Open your door, Petrus, before I’m forced to open it for you!’

After a moment’s pause a window on the building’s third floor opened, and the gang leader leaned out, addressing the men in the street in almost conversational tones.

‘Obduro! I’d bow my respect to you if I were down there with you. I simply marvel at your audacity in walking into the city like a conquering general.’

The masked man looked up at him, beckoning him down with the fingers of his right hand.

‘So come down and make your bow, Petrus, and while you’re at it you can hand over the money I told you to take from the Tungrians.’

Petrus’s reply was heavy with irony, and he spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness.

‘Nothing could have made me happier, Obduro, if only it were possible. Unfortunately word has reached me that the centurion in charge of the gold seems to have decided that it would be safer in the grain store. Your men will very shortly be discovering it for themselves, unless that loud noise we heard just now was bad news for them. And you… So I think I’ll stay up here, if it’s all the same to you. I suspect that my reward for failure might well involve iron, rather than gold.’

Obduro stood in silence for a moment, absorbing the news Petrus had related, before replying in a voice that was harder than before.

‘I could burn you out, Petrus.’

The gang leader shrugged again.

‘Yes, you could. You could send your men to break in and set fire to my establishment, but I give you fair warning that it’s a solid old thing, this brothel, and I’ve added to its security since I bought it, in the event that I might need a bolt-hole if everything went wrong. Getting in might not be as simple as you imagine. And you might want to be aware that my men on the roof tell me they can see torches coming up the road from the west. A lot of torches. So you might want to be about the rest of your business and away, before a vengeful Roman tribune arrives and separates that helmet from the rest of you, with your head still in it. Just a thought.’

Obduro thought again, then turned away, calling back over his shoulder.

‘You’d best sleep with an eye open from now on, Petrus. A man with as much money as I’ll be taking with me can buy a lot of assassins!’

The gang leader watched him lead his men away, then called back softly into the room behind him to the leader of the heavily built and well-armed enforcers he had gathered to his side once the Tungrians had left the city.

‘Quickly, away down that bitch’s hidden staircase and follow him, but do it invisibly or it’ll be you paying the price of failure. We’ll wait until he’s opened the vault, then step in and take his profits. I’ll not be threatened with death in my own city and then let him get away with enough gold to buy a full century of hired killers.’

The leading Tungrian centuries deployed into line half a mile from the blazing grain store, the ground before them lit by the fire still burning on the store’s south-western side. As prefect and first spear waited in silence for the remainder of the cohort to complete their manoeuvre from column into line, another tongue of fire leapt skywards, further lightening the ground before them, followed a moment later by another huge explosion that slapped at the soldiers’ ears.

‘Whoever’s in command in there seems to be using his head well enough.’

Frontinius nodded dourly at the tribune’s comment, his seamed face ruddy in the light cast by the store’s blazing fires.

‘Indeed, if it’s still attached to his shoulders. And anyone within a hundred paces of that explosion won’t be hearing anything for a while.’ He looked about him, searching for the raised century standards that indicated that his centuries were in line and ready to advance. ‘The First Cohort’s ready, Tribune. I was going to wait for the second and third lines to be formed, but given what’s happening over there I suggest we get moving before Obduro’s men recover from their nasty surprise and make a run for it.’ Scaurus gestured his assent, his attention still held by the twin conflagrations before them. Frontinius pushed his way back through the first century’s line, bellowing an order at the closest centurion of the Second Cohort, whose line was still only half formed as each of its centuries split from the line of march to either side. ‘We’re attacking now. Follow us in once your line’s complete!’ He stepped back to his own front rank, pointing to his trumpeter. ‘Sound the advance to battle!’

At the trumpet call, its notes repeated by each century’s trumpeter, the Tungrians stepped forward holding their spears ready to strike, then they walked steadily towards the wrecked grain store. A man wearing the mail armour of an auxiliary soldier ran towards them out of the smoke, then, seeing the line of advancing soldiers coming at him out of the night, he turned and fled in the other direction, screaming a warning to his fellow Treveri. A spear arced out from the Tungrian line and took him between the shoulder blades, its heavy iron head punching through the mail’s rings and dropping him to the ground. As the line went forward the soldiers marched over debris thrown out from the explosions; at first it was scattered single bricks and splinters of wood, but as they drew closer the wreckage thickened until it was almost a carpet of rubble.

‘They’re falling back! Do you think we should pursue? Or should we let them go and round them up later?’

Frontinius shook his head.

‘Now’s the time to deal with them, not when whoever’s managed to get away has had time to sort themselves out. Otherwise we’ll be digging them out in ones and twos for the next six months.’

Scaurus nodded his agreement.

‘You’d better set your dogs loose, then; they’re not going to stand and fight.’

At the first notes of the signal for general pursuit the cohort’s line shivered and broke, men streaming forward, eager to kill, the weariness of their long march forgotten in the promise of monetary reward for the capture of bandits. They went forward in teams of two and three men, all focused on finding those bandits too stunned or stubborn to have run for the shelter of the night. Tribune and first spear walked past a surrendering Treveri auxiliary dressed in the tattered remnants of his uniform, Frontinius ostentatiously ignoring the heated debate between the two soldiers standing over him as to just whose captive he was. The grain store gates opened, and First Spear Sergius stepped through them to greet the two officers with a broad smile. Scaurus shook his hand, slapping the legion officer on the shoulder.

‘You seem to have done a very effective job of seeing off Obduro’s men, First Spear, even if you have reduced an imperial grain store to rubble and burned half its contents.’

Sergius saluted, then tapped his ear, shouting his response.

‘I’m sorry, Tribune, but I can’t hear a thing! That second explosion seems to have taken my hearing! Sorry about the damage, but we do seem to have seen off the bandits! Mind you, I can’t take much credit for beating them; the trick of setting fire to the grain dust was all your centurion’s idea!’

Scaurus nodded his understanding, speaking quietly to his first spear.

‘That will doubtless suit Tribune Belletor very nicely when the account for this destruction is tallied up. Ah, and speaking of Centurion Julius…’

The big man was hobbling towards them with a spear shaft for a support, his face wearing the same slightly baffled expression as Sergius’s. At that moment, with all eyes focused elsewhere, the two soldiers and their captive Treveri mutineer passed within a few feet of the officers, the Tungrians still bickering as to which of them had captured the man. Momentarily ignored, and not yet restrained by anything more than the threat of his captors’ swords, he snatched at the fleeting opportunity, grabbing up a spear from the ground and lunging forward, aiming the weapon’s blade squarely at Scaurus’s back with a berserk scream of incoherent rage. The only man to react quickly enough was Frontinius, stepping forward empty-handed to defend his superior. Grabbing at the spear’s head he pulled hard at it, his eyes widening as the bandit, rather than fighting him for control of the weapon, and as the soldiers around him stepped in with their swords raised to strike, thrust the spear through his mail and deep into his chest. A stab to the back felled the bandit, and another to the back of his neck killed him instantly, but as the first spear sagged to the debris-strewn ground it was clear that the damage was already done.

Obduro walked quickly down the temple’s steps with a torch held in his right hand, grimacing at the moisture coating the ceiling and walls of the tunnel-like staircase.

‘Two of you, down here now! There’s a heavy weight to move.’ He advanced on the altar, sizing up the massive stone frieze as a pair of heavily built men, clearly selected for their strength, came down the steps and joined him in contemplating the ornately carved slab of rock. He waved a hand at the altar.

‘Time to earn all that corn that’s gone down your necks in the last few months. I need that thing lifted off the turntable.’

The two men took up positions on either side of the frieze and gripped it at the base, their big hands searching for purchase on the heavy piece of stone. Nodding at each other they strained at the lift, their heavy muscles flexing and tensing as they heaved the frieze off its rotating plinth and half carried, half staggered away to put it down on the floor, leaning it against the temple’s wall. Obduro gave them a moment to recover from the effort, then gestured to the platform on which the frieze had rested.

‘Now that. Careful with it — it’s solid iron.’

They repeated the lift, grunting at the iron disc’s weight and lifting it to reveal a cylindrical stone-lined hole beneath the frieze’s usual resting place. Obduro pointed down into the concealed hiding place, and was about to speak when a voice from the other end of the temple cut him off short.

‘What in the name of our Unconquered Lord are you doing here, desecrating a holy place?’

The temple’s pater stood at the foot of the staircase, bristling with indignation. Obduro shook his head at his men, walking round the uncovered hole and barring the priest’s way through to the altar.

‘Usually you can expect your word to be the law in this place, I suppose, but today, priest, you are reduced to the role of bystander. I’ve come to reclaim the gold that has been hidden here. You did know this day would come, didn’t you? After all, why else would we have spent so much perfectly good coin building a shrine to a god that none of us believe in?’

The priest frowned, shaking his head.

‘But I was told that the money was intended to spread Our Lord Mithras’s word, when the time was right…’

He trailed off, suddenly intimidated as Obduro bent close enough to him that his own face was reflected in the mask’s surface. The bandit leader lifted the mask, watching as the priest recoiled in amazement.

‘I know you were, priest, because it was me that gave Albanus the lie to feed to you in the first place. I came to your celebrations of this false god with a smile, and encouraged you to see me as a devout member of your congregation, but all the time I was secretly worshipping Arduenna, and waiting for the right time to reclaim what is mine. Can you really see me leaving enough gold to make me a senator to a deluded old fool like you? You labour in the service of a false god from the east, a god served by the soldiers and emperors who enslaved my people. Now get out of my way! You two, bring the gold!’

He pushed the priest aside and lowered the mask again, gesturing to his men to pull the chest of gold from its hiding place. With an indignant yelp the reeling pater stumbled over the raised feasting platform behind him and fell heavily, banging his head on the stone surface. He lay still, with a trickle of blood staining his thin hair. Obduro’s men bent back to their task, then started away from the hole as a man stepped out of the robing room at the temple’s far end, with a drawn sword and raised shield. The newcomer was wearing a cavalry helmet almost identical to that on Obduro’s head, and his round shield was decorated with an exquisitely detailed rendering of the goddess Arduenna riding a monstrous boar, her bow drawn to shoot an arrow at her foe.

‘Leave now, unless you all want to die in this holy place.’

The speaker’s voice was muffled by the helmet’s lowered mask, and Obduro tipped his head to one side in bafflement.

‘They do say that the imitation of a thing is the most sincere of compliments, I believe. In which case I suppose I should feel myself thoroughly complimented by whoever it is that you are. You’ve adopted my style of headgear, you have my goddess on your pretty little shield

… Yes, all in all you’re quite the image of me. Although of course you’re not me, are you? So let’s see how good you are. You two, you ought to be enough. Take him, and let’s see who’s beneath that helmet.’

The big men drew their short swords and advanced on the waiting figure, who stepped forward to meet them with his sword raised. Nodding to each other they attacked simultaneously, one of them lifting his blade to hammer at the painted shield while the other charged in with the point of his sword levelled. Parrying away the man on his left with a firm punch of the shield, he flicked the other’s blade aside with a deft twist of his own blade, lunging forward on a bent knee to run him through with the long sword’s point. With a shriek of pain the bandit fell back from his intended victim, clutching at his stomach, and the mysterious figure turned to his other assailant, whipping the blade in low as his remaining opponent jumped back in to attack him again, severing the man’s leg at the ankle.

Obduro shook his head in disgust, drawing his own sword as the stranger stepped past his defeated men and regarded him dispassionately through the eyeholes of the cavalry mask.

‘It seems that I’ll have to deal with you myself.’ The bandit leader stared at his opponent for a moment longer before speaking again, his voice a mixture of assumed superiority and curiosity. ‘I’ve always found it easier to fight man to man without the constraints imposed by this frankly ludicrous disguise. And to be honest, not only am I curious to find out just who has the courage to face me, given my justified reputation with this weapon, but I’d like to see your face as I send you to meet Mithras, or whichever god it is that you serve. What do you say? Shall we lose these awkward helmets?’

The other man nodded, and the two men lifted their face masks simultaneously, staring at each other before Obduro broke the silence.

‘Well, now. Centurion Corvus… or perhaps I’d be more accurate to have said “Centurion Aquila”? It seems that your enforced necessity for disguise has become a bit of a habit, doesn’t it? And that jaw seems to have healed quicker than might be deemed feasible.’

Marcus smiled thinly back at him.

‘Disguises come in many forms. When you told your man to put me out of action I decided it might be a good idea to allow you to believe you’d succeeded. A whisper in my wife’s ear was enough to have her play along, and so, as far as Tungrorum knew, my jaw was broken. But nobody died to foster that illusion, whereas you, Obduro, seem to have elevated the knack of spending other men’s lives to conceal your identity to an art form. And that’s the last time I’ll use your somewhat over-regarded title. It seemed to me at first that you were at least genuine in your desire for freedom from the empire, but now I can see you’re just another honourless robber with no concern except to escape with the fruits of your violent trade. There never really was a plan for you to defy the empire from the forest, was there, Sextus Caninus?’ He waited for a moment, while Caninus stared back at him with an unfathomable expression. ‘Yes, I called you by your real name. It wasn’t a girl called Lucia you left to rot in a disused stable all those years ago, was it?’

The other man nodded, raising an eyebrow as an indication of respect.

‘Well done. How long have you known?’

‘That you killed your brother Quintus in a fit of jealousy over something or other before you hid him under a floorboard and ran for your life? I’ve known that for certain since you admitted to it just a moment ago. Before then it was no more than an educated guess. How long have I known that you’re not Quintus? For a matter of hours, since I found a dead body in your fortress earlier today.’

Caninus attacked without warning, stamping forward and swinging the leopard sword in a deadly arc, but Marcus had been waiting for the onslaught all the time he’d been talking, and he lifted his shield in defence rather than going blade to blade with the bandit leader, knowing that even his patterned spatha could never hope to trade blows with the fearsome damascened steel. With an expression of glee Caninus chopped his sword into the round shield’s rim, but rather than hacking cleanly through the layered wood and linen, the blade’s fearsome edge bit deeply into the bowl’s edge before stopping dead against something beneath its painted surface, sticking fast. Knowing that if Caninus managed to wrench the blade free he wouldn’t be fooled a second time, Marcus used every ounce of his arm strength to twist the shield violently, wrenching the sword out of Caninus’s hands, then tossing it aside behind him. Without a second’s hesitation the bandit leader lowered his face mask and leapt forward, moving so fast that he was inside the Roman’s defences before Marcus had a chance to use his own sword. Holding his opponent’s sword hand aside, Caninus pulled his head back to deliver a powerful head butt, but realising what the bandit leader intended Marcus dropped the sword and grappled with him, pushing him off balance and preventing the blow from landing. Forcing his opponent to the right, the Roman hooked a foot behind the struggling Caninus’s right leg and then reversed his grip, using the struggling bandit’s own strength to throw him into the stone frieze propped against the temple’s wall. Caninus saw his chance, and kicked his body off the frieze’s surface to lunge full length across the floor, grasping for the hilt of Marcus’s discarded sword and raising the blade to hack it into the Roman’s legs and end the fight. But, unbalanced by his kick, the heavy stone slab fell away from the wall, landing squarely on his feet and legs. The bandit leader screamed and dropped the sword, twisting desperately in a futile attempt to free himself from both the stone panel’s massive weight and the agony of his shattered feet and ankles. Marcus pushed the sword away from him with a booted toe, then bent and picked it up, sheathing the weapon. He bent down again and pulled off Caninus’s helmet, revealing a face twisted in agony and hatred. The bandit leader stared up at him helplessly, still writhing in pain. His voice, when he spoke through gritted teeth, was harsh with hate.

‘You have the favour of the gods today, it seems! Kill me!’

Marcus shook his head, standing up to stare down at his prostrate enemy.

‘There was no luck involved. You brought your blasphemous blood cult into this holy place, and Mithras dealt out your punishment in the way he saw fit. And you’ll die soon enough, you can be assured of that.’

He tugged the damascened steel blade from his shield, looking down at Caninus in a mixture of pity and contempt for a long moment before raising the shield and lowering his face mask ready to fight, stepping cautiously up the steps that led to the outside world. A score and more tattooed gang members stood waiting for him with Petrus at their head, and Caninus’s remaining men were scattered across the square where they had fallen in what looked to have been a brief and one-sided combat. Marcus waited in silence as the gang leader stepped forward and drew himself up to speak.

‘Obduro, put down your sword and accept the terms I offer you, or I will send these men at you, too many for even you to kill. I have promised them each a share of the gold waiting for us in the temple, to them if they live, or to their families if they die, and all stand ready to take you down if you refuse to surrender!’

Raising the helmet’s faceplate, Marcus smiled into Petrus’s astonishment.

‘The man you call Obduro, former imperial prefect Caninus, awaits the emperor’s justice in the temple below us, having already been judged by Mithras and found wanting. This temple is holy ground which I am sworn to defend with my life. If you want the gold, you will indeed have to come through me…’

He lowered the faceplate again, readying himself for the inevitable onslaught, then turned to face the source of a fresh voice.

‘And me!’ Julius was hobbling across the square with a spear as a prop, and he took his place alongside his comrade with a wink. ‘I’ve come to offer you the chance to surrender, Petrus. If you give it up now you’ll be treated far better than if you make us work for it.’

Petrus’s smile broadened.

‘Just when it doesn’t seem as if life could get any better, the last piece of the puzzle falls into place. The soldier who invaded my business, killed two of my men and stole a valuable item of my property presents himself to me on a silver plate with an offer of “ the chance to surrender ”.’ He wiped an imaginary tear of mirth from his eye, shaking his head at the grinning centurion. ‘Surrender? Really? To quote your words back at you, I’ll have your cock and balls fed to my dogs, Centurion, and I’ll do it while you’re still alive to enjoy the sight. Right lads, let’s have-’

Julius held up a hand.

‘Before you set your men on the pair of us, there’s just one thing.’ He put a shiny brass whistle to his lips and blew a long shrill blast. For a moment the men around him heard nothing other than the echoes of the whistle’s note dying away, but just as the smile was returning to Petrus’s face, and with a sudden rattle of hobnails, a century’s strength of soldiers burst into the square from several directions, their shields and spears raised to trap the gang members where they stood. Julius raised his eyebrows at Marcus, who raised his cavalry helmet’s face mask and grinned out at the men of his own century as they herded the captives into a tight knot and forcibly disarmed them at spear point. A hulking gang member scowled down at the diminutive Hamian confronting him, only to find himself with the point of the easterner’s dagger pressed firmly into his crotch.

‘Move it or lose it, arsehole.’

The soldiers around the Hamian nodded approvingly, and more than one gave the big man a look that promised there was worse to come were he not to obey the command promptly. Qadir strolled across to Marcus with a quiet smile, looking his centurion up and down with a slight smile.

‘Is there any way in which we may be of service, Centurion Corvus?’

Marcus shook his head, wearily resting the Greek shield’s rim on the square’s cobbles.

‘Apart from telling me how you knew I’d be here, no.’

‘You will recall that you asked me to set a watch on the city’s gates yesterday, and to send a fire arrow over the wall to tell you if someone came after you, and in which direction. The same man walked into our lines while we were mopping up those bandits who had not been blasted to their gods, with one of Prefect Caninus’s men at knife point. He told us that Caninus would be here to retrieve his gold, and that you would attempt to prevent him from leaving the city.’ He gave Marcus an appraising look. ‘Shall I have one of our men carry that shield down to the barracks?’ He reached out and lifted the shield out of his friend’s hands, pulling a face as he raised it to the fighting position. ‘This is remarkably heavy, presumably largely due to the unusual amount of iron welded onto the rim. Here, you…’ He passed the shield to Scarface, who took it with only a minimal display of bad grace. ‘Take this to the centurion’s quarters. And take a man with you; the streets aren’t entirely safe yet.’ Scarface gathered a mate to him by eye, and the pair set off towards the Tungrian barracks with a conspiratorial look. Qadir turned back to Marcus. ‘That way you won’t have to put up with him hanging about you for the next hour or so, since I expect them to duck into the first beer shop they find with the door unlocked. Perhaps your wife would appreciate your presence at what’s left of the grain store, given that she’s not sure if you’re alive or dead?’

Marcus nodded, and then wrinkled his forehead as he remembered one last thing.

‘You might want to send a tent party and your watch officer down into the temple. Respectfully, mind you. It seems that Our Lord’s not in the mood for misbehaviour. There are two of Caninus’s men down there with fairly nasty injuries, plus the man himself pinned under the stone frieze, and a large chest full of gold that needs uniting with the one that we took from Procurator Albanus. In fact perhaps you’d better escort that back in person, and whatever you do…’

‘Don’t let Morban near it?’

‘Exactly.’

The standard bearer frowned at the two centurions.

‘That’s not fair, I-’

‘Resemble that comment? I’m sure you do, Standard Bearer.’ Qadir shook his head at the older man. ‘Just content yourself with running a book on how much coin there is in the chest.’ He saw the standard bearer’s face brighten. ‘And no, no one’s going to be allowed to open it until the tribune’s present. If you’re lucky, perhaps he’ll let you do the honours.’

Marcus snorted his laughter.

‘Not if Uncle Sextus has any say in the matter, I’d imagine…’

His voice trailed off, as Morban’s face fell and the big Hamian pursed his lips in dismay.

Tribune Scaurus offered Marcus a cup of wine, and looked his officer up and down.

‘You seem none the worse for your adventures of the last twelve hours, Centurion Corvus.’

Marcus bowed slightly, then sipped from the cup.

‘Thank you, sir. I seem to have enjoyed a good-sized piece of luck.’

Scaurus raised an eyebrow.

‘The more audacity we bring to this life, the luckier we seem to be when it pays off, no matter how we make that luck happen. And it seems that Mithras has smiled upon you, Centurion. Perhaps the temple’s pater will reward you with the advancement of another grade, once he’s recovered from his bang on the head. Caninus, it seems, will live to go on the cross if we’re prompt with the punishment.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘And we’ll be prompt with the punishment, you can be sure of that! I want Tungrorum to see all three of them pay the price for their crimes. Caninus, Petrus and Tornach, I’ll have them all crucified and the rest of their men branded as thieves and then sold on to the local farms to serve the empire for the rest of their lives. That should make Tribune Belletor happy, at least. He’s been dropping dark hints that he’s going to mention the destruction of half the grain store to his legatus in his next despatch, and I wouldn’t put it past the snivelling little man to have a decent-sized victory go into my record as a defeat, given the chance. The real shame, of course, is that we lost First Spear Frontinius so needlessly. Yet another mistake on my part.’ He shook his head. ‘The first rule of soldiering, Centurion, is to admit your errors, accept them as your own and belonging to no other man, and then learn from them and never repeat them. I so badly wanted Caninus to be telling the truth that I let it blind me to the reality. One thing I would like to know though…’

Marcus raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘If, as you suspect, Caninus left his brother dead in that stable ten years ago, rather than this apparently fictional girl Lucia, how in Hades did he send me a severed head that was so obviously his?’

The centurion sipped at his wine.

‘That’s easy, Tribune, if you can accept the proposition that the Caninus twins weren’t the only boys their mother raised. It seems there was another brother a few years younger than Quintus and Sextus, and their mother logically enough named him Septimus. When I found the headless corpse of an unidentified male in Caninus’s fortress earlier today, I also found the words “Septimus will have revenge on the fratricide Sextus” scratched into the wall of the cell where he’d been held, and the body’s hands had that same broad-fingered look to them. And Caninus was quick enough to admit it, when he thought he could kill me and walk away with the gold. He wasn’t Quintus, the older of the twins who let his wits talk him out of trouble; he was Sextus, the younger brother whose violent and ruthless nature couldn’t tolerate his twin having something he wanted for himself. Caninus must have told their younger brother, Septimus, that he’d killed his twin, either to cow him or perhaps simply because he could. When I found the headless body it was clear that Sextus, or Quintus as we believed him to be, was making his move, and intended to use his remaining brother’s head to make you believe he was dead. Julius told me how badly battered it was, the eyes and teeth literally torn out?’

Scaurus nodded, unable to suppress a shiver at the memory of the brutally disfigured head Tornach had held out to them in his apparently trembling hands.

‘Yes. Mutilations intended to conceal the differences between the two men, I presume. We can only hope he was dead before they set to work with the pincers.’

Marcus shook his head sadly.

‘Not from the amount of blood in the sand around the corpse.’

‘Indeed. The man never allowed another’s pain to get in the way of making his deceptions absolutely believable. We can only be grateful that he drew the line at allowing his men to commit a genuine rape of your wife, although their use of a stolen knife to sour the relationship between you and Tribune Belletor was a masterstroke.’

The centurion shook his head again ruefully.

‘Not that it needed much more souring. And no wonder Albanus was so terrified of being questioned; it was Obduro, not Petrus, who was his business partner. Petrus was no more than a gang leader with an eye to the main chance, and with the right connections to dispose of the stolen grain and to ensure that Albanus knew what would happen if he stepped out of line. And it was probably me that set Caninus off on his path to attack the city when I sent away for the copy of the census. He must have known that something in it would have betrayed him. Perhaps he feared that the existence of a younger brother would set us to thinking, or perhaps it was simply that this girl Lucia, the supposed daughter of a wealthy merchant, never actually existed.’

He sighed.

‘Whatever it was that led to Caninus’s last big throw of the dice, it seems that everything I’ve done in the last few days has turned to ashes. I even missed the clue at the execution, when that man started shouting that the real danger was among the city’s officers. He must have been one of “Obduro’s” men to have recognised the man’s voice, and the prefect’s man, Tornach, was certainly ruthless enough to kill him in order to maintain his identity as the bandit hunter. I’ll be glad to see the back of this place, if it restores my judgement.’ He tipped his head to the damascened steel sword, which Marcus had laid across a chair. ‘Is that thing as formidable as it was rumoured to be?’

Marcus nodded, his face sober.

‘Terrifyingly so. That shield I had lined with iron strips to stop the blade barely did the job. The idea worked though, and because it was round I could twist it and tear the sword from his hands while it was stuck in the rim.’

Scaurus walked across to the sword, picking it up and feeling the weapon’s balance.

‘What will you do with it?’

His centurion pondered for a moment.

‘Part of me wants to keep it. I’ll never see another sword like it — that’s a certainty — but another part of me knows that the damned thing’s been turned to evil once already, and that it might well serve the same purpose again. It might be better to turn it into something a little less all-powerful. I’ll take it to the smith and see what he makes of it. Some knife blades, perhaps…’

Julius was sitting quietly with Annia in the hospital when the tribune’s runner found him. The number of men who were wounded during the defence of the grain store had been remarkably low, since those close enough to be hit by flying debris had either been killed outright or died from their injuries soon thereafter, and Felicia had been able to put the emotionally traumatised woman in a private room, with a soldier on the door at all times to ensure her privacy. She had permitted Julius a visit, and whilst she had warned him to steer well clear of any reference to the events of the previous day, he’d quickly realised that Annia was not to be dissuaded from the subject.

‘Of course the doctor thinks I’m still too delicate to talk about it. She doesn’t realise that what I need is a drink with a friend I can trust, and a chance to talk it through and put it behind me. I haven’t killed a man before…’ She paused for a moment, then looked at him appraisingly. ‘I can trust you, Julius? To be there when I need you?’

The big man struggled to meet her eyes.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t know any other way to say it. I should have made you come away with me when I had the chance.’

‘I didn’t mean that. The rape wasn’t your fault, it was Petrus’s, and seeing that he’s to be nailed to a cross I can hardly complain that he’s not paid for it. And I’ve had worse things happen to me in the last fifteen years. I’m asking if you can organise some part of your life around a woman like me. I can’t stay here, not now that I understand the reality of my trade. No matter how thoroughly your tribune cleans up the city there will always be gangs, and gangs will always see women like me as property, nothing more. And I won’t ever be a man’s property again. Can you live with me on those terms? They’re all I have to offer.’

He nodded, taking her hand.

‘I made the mistake once. I won’t make it again. And I have my own life as a centurion, so I can’t exactly complain if you choose to live the way that fits you best. What will you do?’

She smiled at him knowingly.

‘I thought I might ask the doctor if she needs a volunteer orderly. She tells me that she lost her last assistant last year, and since then she’s had nothing better than a succession of dull-minded soldiers working for her. And who knows, perhaps I can…’

She fell silent as the soldier put his head round the door.

‘Begging your pardon, Centurion, but the tribune requests your presence in the basilica.’

Annia smiled at him, shooing him away.

‘See, there’s that life of yours. I’m going to have a bit of a sleep, and then I’m going to talk to the doctor and make her an offer of my services. Come by later on with a flask of wine, and hopefully we can drink to my new life.’

Julius marched into the tribune’s office in the basilica with his vine stick under his arm and stamped to attention, guessing that the tribune had summoned him for the difficult conversation he’d been expecting ever since the cohorts’ return. Scaurus glanced up at him from the desk, gesturing with a wry look at the scrolls and tablets vying for his attention.

‘Stand easy, Centurion. You’ve got a powerful habit of getting my attention, Julius. If you’re not destroying whole granaries by incinerating their contents, then you’re deserting your command and running about the city rescuing female civilians who are apparently possessed of absolutely no military value whatsoever. You are a highly trained and capable officer of inestimable military value to both me and this cohort, and you put yourself at risk. You put your century at risk by leaving them under the command of your chosen man at a time when enemy attack was imminent. And, to be frank, your actions in defence of the grain store may well have destroyed what’s left of my career, unless we can turn some of this stolen gold to making amends.’

Julius stared straight ahead, ready for whatever punishment the tribune chose to deliver to him, but the tribune had already turned away without waiting for an answer, pointing to a sword lying across the chair next to his desk. Julius recognised it as Frontinius’s weapon, traditionally passed from each first spear to his successor.

‘As if all this weren’t enough, I’ve still got the major problem of not having a clear successor for Sextus Frontinius. It clearly can’t be you, given your recent escapades, so if you’ve got any ideas as to who among your colleagues would make a worthy successor, then please feel free to share them with me.’

Julius thought for a moment.

‘Corvus, Dubnus and Caelius are all too young. Clodius and Otho are both too brutal and Milo’s not brutal enough. Titus could do it, after a fashion, but he’d not thank you for the opportunity.’ He sighed, shaking his head. ‘It’s at times like these I miss Rufius the most. That, and whenever Dubnus starts getting uppity…’

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.’

Marcus raised a hand.

‘If I might comment, brother?’

Julius raised his eyebrows and looked up at the ceiling with a smile.

‘If only I’d seen Morban and placed money on a lecture from our only properly educated brother I might very shortly be a good deal richer. Go on, Marcus, but keep it quick.’

His friend returned the smile.

‘Your brothers are all expressing the blindingly obvious, Julius. It has to be you. Dubnus, Caelius and I are too wet behind the ears..’ The older centurions all nodded vigorously. ‘Otho, Milo and Clodius are too solid between the ears…’ He ignored the good-natured grumbling that greeted the opinion and pressed on. ‘And Titus…?’

The massive centurion turned to face him, bending slightly to look him in the face, his eyebrow raised.

‘Yes, little brother? Are there ears involved?’

Marcus kept a commendably straight face.

‘Titus is simply too terrifying a prospect for any of us. After all, he is rumoured to collect ears…’

The big man nodded knowingly, while the men around him muttered their apparent disgust at his evident failure to take offence, as Marcus continued.

‘You were First Spear Frontinius’s chosen replacement were he to fall in battle, and there’s not one of us will go against his judgement in making this decision.’

Julius looked around his fellow centurions one last time, and to Marcus’s eye his face took on an expression that was almost pleading.

‘You’re all sure?’

‘For fuck’s sake, man, accept the sword so that we can have a bloody drink!’

Bowing to the ever irascible Clodius, Julius nodded.

‘Agreed, brother Badger. But before we pour the wine again and celebrate our fallen brother’s achievements in life, we have an empty slot to fill within this brotherhood. I will move to command the First Century, as is expected of me, which leaves the Fifth in need of a centurion. And in response to that need, my decision is this. Acting Centurion Qadir will assume command of the Ninth Century, and Centurion Corvus will move to command the Fifth. And look after them properly, you young pup, I’m genuinely quite fond of one or two of them.’

Heads nodded around the circle.

‘And now, I think it’s time to drink the rest of that rather tasty Gaulish wine that Petrus sold us back when he was just a merchant.’

Wine was poured, and the officers fell to talking amongst themselves. Marcus watched in silence as his new superior walked across to the barrack window and stared out at the city’s east gate, before slowly walking across to join him.

‘For a man who’s just reached the pinnacle of his career, you’re not the happiest soldier I’ve ever seen.’

Julius replied without taking his eyes off the gate’s massive timbers, his eyes shining in the daylight streaming in through the window.

‘I don’t know if I can do it, Marcus. Fifteen years I’ve wanted this, and now that I have it…’

Marcus patted his shoulder.

‘Your life has changed in more ways than you could have expected. You’ve seen more fighting in a year than most men see in twenty-five; you’ve had friends killed and wounded; then, just when you take on the biggest, most unforgiving job of your life, you have a woman to care for, one you thought you’d never see again.’ He waited in silence until Julius sighed, nodding his agreement. ‘In which case I’ll remind you of a conversation we had in the bathhouse a few days ago. You told me that family was my main responsibility, and I’ll turn that advice back on you. Except this cohort is your family and, like it or not, you’re now our father. Why else do you think we all deferred so readily to your taking the sword? These men will go through torture for you, they will stand and die with you when all else is lost, but they need you to lead them, and to give them the certainty that we will always come through whatever shit we’re thrown into. And if your woman doesn’t understand that then she’s not as astute as I make her out to be. So take a moment to get a smile back on your face and join your brothers, First Spear. To remind you of your own words, do it for them, if not for me.’

Julius smiled quietly back at him, took a deep breath and turned back to the room with his cup raised for a refill.

‘Fair advice, Centurion. Just don’t start treating me any differently. And make sure that Dubnus learns to stop stealing my.. ’ He paused, looking around the room. ‘Where is Dubnus? He was here just a minute…’ He looked about him again, his face hardening with sudden understanding. ‘Bugger, Dubnus! Where’s my bloody vine stick!?’