The Leopard Sword

4

‘Right, that’s one apiece for keeping your mouths shut about this.’ Morban handed every man in the new barracks’ cramped room a coin, staring into each pair of eyes as he did so. ‘If anyone asks you where I am, tell them I’ve gone to find some new boots.’

One of the soldiers crowded around him pulled a face at the single coin resting on his outstretched palm, making no effort to pull his hand away and claim the payment.

‘I’m not sure one sestertius is enough. What if the duty centurion comes looking for you? If we get caught lying to cover up for your whoring we’ll find ourselves on the business end of the scourge, with some big crested bastard striping us all up as the price of your fun.’

Morban glared at the speaker, shaking his head in disbelief.

‘You just stick to blowing your trumpet when you’re told to, sonny, and leave those of us with a head for business to enjoy the fruits of our hard work. After all, this is really just a scouting expedition I’m going on. I go out and spend my money working out where the best whores are to be found, and then when we have a pass into town I can take you straight to them. The way I see it, everyone’s a winner.’ He smoothed his tunic across his ample belly and then reached for his cloak, pinning the heavy woollen garment about him. ‘Be good now, lads, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t…’

As the standard bearer opened the barracks door to leave, he found his exit blocked by a shadowy figure that towered over him in the unlit street outside. He recoiled, one hand going to his purse and the other reaching under the cloak for a small blade hanging round his neck. The other man was faster, clenching a big fist around both hand and weapon.

‘It’s never wise to pull a knife on a man twice your size, little man, especially when he’s on your own side.’

Morban puffed out a quick breath, shaking his head in a mixture of irritation and relief.

‘What do you want, Arminius? I’ve no time to bandy words with you.’

The German grinned down at him, planting himself firmly in the standard bearer’s path and folding his arms.

‘I thought as much. A good friend told me that you were running a book on the results of today’s executions, and clearly I’ve arrived just in time to stop you wasting your winnings in your usual bull-in-a-field-of-cows fashion.’

Morban’s face screwed itself up into his customary expression of incredulity. With his eyes narrowed and upper lip raised in a disbelieving sneer, he opened his hands in front of him in a shrug of bemusement.

‘What? I made a modest profit by providing a service to my fellow soldiers; it isn’t as if I’ve been dipping my fingers in the burial fund.’

The men behind him nodded sagely. Morban was known to be scrupulous in his handling of their savings. Arminius snorted derisively.

‘I made no such accusation, so stop trying to change the subject. Even you’re not stupid enough to risk what these men would do to you if they discovered so much as a hint of embezzlement.’ The soldiers nodded again, exchanging knowing looks of agreement, but before Morban could respond Arminius leaned forward and whispered in his ear. ‘But then you’re more than sly enough to have fooled your comrades in other ways, aren’t you? As I recall it, you took a lot of bets as to where your cohort’s next posting would be before we were shipped over here, and almost none of that money was wagered on the cohort leaving Britannia, was it? A cynical man would wonder if you hadn’t managed to find out where we were being deployed next before you opened the book, and I seem to recall some hard words on the matter at the time, even if nobody could prove you had inside knowledge. How do you think your comrades would react to the news that you had actually overheard the first spear discussing the subject with your centurion, and in that way learned what you needed to know to make a swift and risk-free profit?’

Morban hissed his reply in a tone of disbelief, his eyes widening with fear.

‘There’s no way you can prove any such thing.’

Arminius smiled widely, delivering the killer blow to any resistance from the standard bearer.

‘Who said anything about me? I think you’ll find that the person who will be doing the telling will have a good deal more credibility than I do. He’s a good man, quite young and he wears a crested helmet.’

Morban’s eyes slitted in disbelief.

You’re bluffing! He wouldn’t…’

Arminius nodded his head.

‘Yes, he would. He and I knew that we’d need some leverage to persuade you to deliver your promise to equip young Lupus when the time came. And that time has most definitely come. If you don’t agree to honour our agreement then you may find your future sources of revenue somewhat more limited than you like. Nobody likes a crooked bookmaker, do they, Morban?’

The standard bearer stared up at him with an expression that combined disgust and resignation.

‘How much do you want?’

‘Not me, Morban. How much does your grandson want? There is an armourer in the city who has agreed to make the boy his own sword and mail. Good stuff, mind you, as good as ours if not better.’

‘And how much does this glorified blacksmith want in return for selling me a mail coat that will fit the boy for only a year?’

‘He’ll do the job for a mere one hundred…’ Morban’s face brightened slightly, and Arminius twisted the knife. ‘Denarii, that is.’

The standard bearer blanched.

‘A hundred in silver? Four hundred fucking sestertii! Are you mad? I can’t… I mean, I haven’t got that sort of money!’

Arminius grinned in the darkness, a swift dart of his hand plucking the purse from the other man’s belt. Effortlessly holding off the enraged standard bearer with one hand he hefted the purse with the other, squeezing the top open and turning it to the light of the lamps inside the barrack.

‘Really? This does seem to be quite a generous sum you’re carrying, and most of it in gold as well. Shall we tip it out for counting?’

Morban, recognising that his guile had met its forceful match, shook his head dejectedly.

‘No need. Here, I’ll count it out for you.’

Arminius laughed at him, turning his back and tipping out the purse’s contents into his broad palm.

‘No, no, it’ll be my pleasure! Here we go! I’ll take it in gold to make things nice and simple. One, two, three…’ He shook the bag to dislodge the last coin. ‘Four gold aurei. There we are, all done. Now that didn’t hurt too badly, did it?’ He peered into the leather bag, pulling an impressed face. ‘My word, Morban, you have been busy! Here — ’ he tossed the purse back to the anguished soldier — ‘here’s what’s left of your treasure. Off you go and enjoy yourself, with that nice warm feeling that comes from having done the right thing. Even if you had to be helped to do so.’

Morban shook his head bitterly, turning to face the men staring at him in the barrack and replying in an affronted tone.

‘I’ve lost all appetite for an evening with the city’s ladies. Robbery with the threat of violence will do that to a man.’

Arminius smirked at his back, pulling a small coin from his pocket.

‘More like robbery with the threat of blackmail, I’d say, but no matter. Hey, Morban!’

He flicked the coin at the standard bearer, who’d turned round in response to the call and caught the spinning coin in mid-air.

‘A sestertius? What’s this for?’

The German was already walking away, and called his answer over his shoulder.

‘That should be enough for a flask of some of that rough Iberian cat piss you like so much. Have it on me, as a consolation.’

‘Well, now, if it isn’t the soldier boy again…’ With a clatter of bolts the Blue Boar’s door unlocked, and Slap appeared in the opening to look at Julius with an expression that combined puzzlement and pity, of a sort. ‘You’re a glutton for punishment, mate, unless you’ve got a hard-on for humiliation and hand jobs. Haven’t you realised what sort of woman she is yet?’

The Tungrian shrugged helplessly.

‘She’s a bit hard-edged, but that’s understandable given what she’s been through.’

The disbelief in the bodyguard’s answering laughter was enough to put his teeth on edge, but Julius held on to his temper with an ease that he was starting to find more than a little depressing.

‘Hard-edged? She’s razor-edged, soldier boy, sharper than any iron you’ve ever carried. She’s too smart for this profession, see, and she knows it, but she was forced into it anyway, without the choice, and you were a big part of that. She’ll be polite enough to you, but the odds of you getting past that ain’t big from what I’ve seen. In you come.’

Julius spread his arms to be searched, but the doorman waved away the gesture.

‘You’ve got more sense than to bring a weapon here. I think you know the truth of it all right, that you may be the emperor’s hard man, but on our ground we’re the professionals, and you’re the amateur.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘In you go. I’ll send word up to her that you’re here. Let me know when you’ve had enough.’

Julius stepped into the brothel casting a wary eye around the main room’s softly lit expanse. An elderly man was sitting in one corner with a pair of girls in close attendance; one sat on his lap squealing with simulated enjoyment while he toyed with the other’s breasts in a half-hearted, vaguely embarrassed manner. Apart from that the place was empty. The barman held up an empty wine cup, remembering him from his previous visit, and Julius nodded gratefully, dropping a coin on the counter. He sat at the bar and sipped at the wine, watching as the two whores jollied their elderly customer along to keep his money flowing.

‘Have you come to drink, or was there something more you wanted?’

He turned to the staircase that led up to the rooms where the establishment’s entertainment was conducted, his heart jumping at the sight of Annia halfway down the wooden steps. She was dressed in a diaphanous gown that did little to conceal her body, and he shifted uncomfortably while she smiled down at him archly.

‘I came… for you. I mean…’

She shook her head in apparent despair, beckoning him up the stairs.

‘I told you this isn’t going to work, Julius, but for old time’s sake I’ll take your money just this once. You do have money?’ The look on her face was enough to have him on his feet without conscious thought, just the way it always had in days when they were little more than children discovering each other in the secret places where they’d taken refuge from the world around them. Draining his cup, he walked up the stairs to meet her, raising his eyebrows at her outstretched hand.

‘How much.’

Her face softened into something close to sadness.

‘I’m the most expensive woman you’ll ever enjoy, Centurion. A gold aureus for one hour, but it’ll be an hour to live in your memory for a long time. I’ve had a lot of practice since you took my virginity.’ He handed her the coin and she tossed it down to the waiting barman, who dropped it into the cash box beneath the bar. ‘Good, now that we’ve got that slightly sordid transaction out of the way, let’s see what we can manage by way of entertainment.’ Taking him by the hand she led him up the stairs and through one of the doors around the first-floor landing, closing it behind him and putting a finger to his lips, whispering in his ear almost inaudibly as she nuzzled at his neck. ‘Don’t say anything; these rooms are watched by my associate’s men. Touch my breasts like a man who wants to get his money’s worth… that’s it. Once you’re on top of me put your hand under the pillows and you’ll find a key for a secret door on the east side of the building. The lock’s hidden behind the shrine to Venus Erycina set into the wall. It leads to my private quarters, but you must only use it after dark. Come tomorrow night.’

She pulled away from him, opening her gown to reveal her naked body and running her hands over nipples that were already stiff from his attentions before dropping to her knees in front of him. Her voice was loud when she spoke, loud enough to be heard by any hidden watcher.

‘Now lift that tunic and let me give you pleasure. Let’s make sure you get your money’s worth.’

‘It’s nice stuff, all right, I’ll give you that.’

Arminius was holding a mail shirt up to the morning light that was falling through a thin window, examining its thick iron rings with a critical eye. The armourer came out from behind his counter and folded his meaty arms; they rippled with knots of muscle and were criss-crossed with the burns and scars of decades spent working with hot metal and sharp iron. He raised an eyebrow at the barbarian’s apparently lacklustre praise.

‘I told you when you came here yesterday that it’s better than nice; it’s the best you’ll find this side of the River Mosa. Even the legion smiths up on the Rhenus don’t make their gear to my standards. Look at that mail coat properly. The best leather backing, cut from top-quality hide and not split to make the leather go further, mind you. The rings are twice as thick as the ones in your standard-issue mail, thick enough to stop a thrown spear, and there isn’t a sword blade made that could cut them, with only two exceptions. You put the boy in my gear, you’re providing him with the best protection there is.’ Arminius raised an eyebrow at the man’s sales pitch, and the armourer spread his arms. ‘I’m just saying that you have to pay for quality. Look, here’s the deal we discussed: four hundred sestertii to arm and armour the boy here. Look at this.’ He fished under the shop’s counter, pulling out a bundle of equipment. ‘See, a mail shirt made for a lad not much bigger than the boy, made to my usual standard and with room for him to grow into it, and a helmet, and a two-thirds size sword. Look at the sword’s quality.’ He passed Arminius the weapon, and the German held it up to the light. ‘Don’t touch the blade, it-’

The German gave him an amused look.

‘I know. Sweat will make the blade rust. It’s nice work though. Look at this, Marcus.’

He passed the sword to the Roman, who looked up and down its length with an approving eye, testing its weight with an expression of surprise.

‘Very nice, armourer. How did you make this?’

The smith smiled knowingly.

‘Ah now, you can’t be expecting me to reveal the secrets of my trade to two men I barely know, can you? But I can see you have an eye for a blade, Centurion, so I’ll let you see something even better.’

He ducked behind the counter and came up with a full-sized weapon in a dull metal scabbard, pulling out the weapon to reveal its blade. Marcus reached out and took the sword from him, looking closely at the sword’s edge while the smith proudly watched in silence.

‘This pattern…’

The armourer nodded.

‘The pattern reveals the secret of the blade’s strength. It is made from a mixture of finest-quality steel from Noricum on the River Danubius, combined with good iron. They are heated together to make them workable and then folded together time after time after time until the resulting sword has many layers of the two. This weapon took me more hours than I’d care to count, heating and cooling, and always forging the two metals together, and then I spent another week polishing it to bring out the pattern you can see along the blade. It will cleave an iron sword in two if you swing it hard enough, and there is no mail made that can resist its blade. It is my masterpiece.’

Marcus looked at the sword, and instantly knew he had to possess the weapon.

‘And your price for this sword?’

The smith started.

‘In truth I’ve never thought to sell it. It is of incalculable value to me.’

The Roman raised an eyebrow.

‘That would be a first, a tradesman unwilling to sell his work.’

The armourer protested, raising his hands and shaking his head.

‘It is my finest work, Centurion, the perfect blade. I could never-’

‘And you’ll keep it behind that counter for the rest of your days, rather than allowing it to be used for the purpose for which it was forged? Name your price.’

The other man’s face furrowed as he thought for a moment.

‘The price, Centurion? For a month of my life, for the best materials to be had, even if their expense was ruinous? For my life’s labour and experience poured into one blade? I couldn’t take less than fifty gold aurei…’

Marcus smiled. The price was astounding for a sword, and was more than likely intended to scare him away.

‘Done.’ The smith’s eyes widened in amazement that the Roman was willing to spend so much money on a weapon. ‘I’ll be back this afternoon with the money. I’m assuming that you’ll throw in the child’s equipment as a gesture of good will at that price?’

The armourer dithered.

‘I’ll halve the price, Centurion. Two aurei for the child’s gear will close the deal.’

Marcus nodded, then pointed to a shelf above the man’s head.

‘Before I leave, I’d like to see that helmet you have there, if I may?’

The smith reached up and pulled down a gleaming cavalry helmet. He passed it to Marcus, who looked with interest at its finely tinned face mask.

‘Sixteen layers of iron and steel, Centurion, each one hammered so flat that the mask is still as light as a feather, but it’ll stop an arrow loosed from twenty paces. Should I name a price for you?’

Marcus shook his head with a smile.

‘I’m probably in enough trouble with my wife already, thank you. It’s a nice piece though.’ He turned to leave, only to find Dubnus and a jaded-looking Julius in the shop’s doorway. They walked in, and Julius looked with a professional interest at the racks of weapons around him.

‘Qadir said we’d find you here. We’re under orders from Uncle Sextus to find you and then go to the bathhouse and get cleaned up. We’ve got an interview with the tribune this afternoon, and he doesn’t want us smelling like a pack of badgers when we turn up, apparently.’

He turned back to the door, only to find Dubnus indicating a small item on one of the shelves behind the counter.

‘Didn’t you lose a whistle on the way here, Julius?’

Dubnus kept his face admirably straight while Julius stared back at him, winking at Marcus and raising his eyebrows in unspoken warning once the older man’s back was turned.

‘Yes, I did, now you mention it. I’m surprised you remembered. How much for the whistle, smith?’

‘Over there, next to that shifty-looking type, there’s a space.’ Marcus turned to follow Julius’s hand and saw the open bench his friend was pointing out. ‘You go and take possession, and I’ll see what’s taking Dubnus so long. He’s probably threatening the bloody cloakroom attendants again.’

He stepped back into the bathhouse’s undressing room to find the muscular young centurion pressing one of the bathhouse slaves up against the room’s cold stone wall.

‘… and if any of our gear mysteriously goes missing while we’re bathing you’re going to wish your mother had never laid hands on your dad’s cucumber when I get hold of you, and the same goes for all your fucking-’

Julius tapped him on the shoulder, and nodded his head towards the warm room.

‘That’s enough of that. If the pricks are stupid enough to lay a finger on our gear then they’ll take what’s coming. Now come and join me and Two Knives in the warm room, before we lose our bloody seats.’

The two men walked back into the baths to find Marcus surrounded by a group of irritated locals. He was smiling serenely at the men standing around him while they gesticulated furiously at the empty spaces on the stone bench on either side of him. His hands were behind his back, as if he were stretching his spine, but Julius noticed with a practised eye that his right foot was resting against the bench’s stone pedestal, ready to thrust him up into their faces at any hint of the debate turning physical. He tapped the closest of them on the man’s bare shoulder and then folded his scarred, muscular arms, fixing the man with a hard-eyed stare before looking down ostentatiously at the eagle tattooed on his right shoulder, with the characters COH I TVNGR inked beneath it.

‘For those among you that haven’t learned to read yet, I’ll translate. This says “First Tungrian Cohort”. So I suggest you lot stop waving your dick beaters around like a bunch of Gaulish housewives and fuck off now, before you start to irritate me.’

For a moment it looked as if the local men might argue the point, but the sight of an even bigger specimen appearing at Julius’s shoulder, and showing every sign of being a man in search of a fight, was enough to turn them away, grumbling but clearly outmuscled. The two centurions took their places next to Marcus, Julius groaning in pleasure as he settled back onto the warm stone.

‘Oh yes, that’s much better. I’m going to sweat out a bucket of dirt today, and no two ways about it.’ He looked down at Marcus’s hands with a raised eyebrow, as his younger colleague brought his right hand out from behind his back, opened his fist and waggled the fingers, dropping a handful of coins into his left palm and passing them to his friend. ‘A well-brought-up boy like you knuckling up for a fight like a common soldier? You’d better not let the tribune catch you doing that.’

Marcus shrugged.

‘There were five of them, and they weren’t looking happy at being beaten to the last seats in the room.’

‘And you were just working out which one to put down first, weren’t you, you bloodthirsty young bugger?’ Julius shook his head with a wry grin. ‘And there’s the difference between the three of us, I’d say. Dubnus, when he’s not busy threatening the bath slaves with what he’ll do to them if his new cloak brooch goes missing, would just have grabbed the nearest man, banged his head on the wall, dropped him and scared the rest of them off with a smile. I, believe it or not, would rather just face that sort of idiot down, and let the scars and tattoos do their job. But you, the well-educated son of a senator and in theory the born peacemaker of the three of us, you’d have come off that bench like a whorehouse bouncer, wouldn’t you?’

Marcus shifted uncomfortably.

‘I can’t argue with you, Julius; you’ve seen me lose my temper too many times. I just can’t…’

He shrugged helplessly, shaking his head, and his friend ruffled his hair affectionately.

‘I know. If there’s a confrontation to be had you can barely hold yourself back, and when that last tiny bit of self-control is flicked away by some idiot’s careless words, or even the wrong look on a man’s face, you can’t stop yourself from attacking with any weapon that’s to hand. I saw it the other night, when we were dragging Dubnus’s boys off those legionaries. When everyone else was staring at Lugos and his “I fight you all” act, you were busy putting your vine stick into the guts of anyone that got in your way. I counted four of them on their hands and knees in your wake, and I doubt that most of them even saw you coming.’ The older centurion shook his head with a good-natured laugh. ‘You’re a good man for war right enough, but what will you do when the fighting ends, I wonder? Men like us find peacetime hard enough when they’ve got used to a regular diet of blood, but men like you…’ He paused. ‘Marcus, you can work out what will cause the most damage to a man given the tools at hand faster than anyone I’ve ever met, but you don’t have the restraint that sometimes only comes to a man after years of bitter experience, or sometimes never comes at all. I was the same at your age, all knuckles and fight, and it wasn’t until I was ten years in that I started to calm down, and learned to send men away with a look rather than breaking their faces. I never had your speed, or your fearsome temper; I was just a fight looking for someone else to join in. But you’re something else, something much more dangerous, because there’s nothing restraining you…’ He looked the younger man up and down. ‘I’d say there’s not much call for men with your particular mindset — call it a blessing or call it a curse — once the fighting stops and the boredom of a peacetime routine settles on us all like a cloak made of woven lead.’

Marcus raised an eyebrow.

‘Peace? And you think we’ll see that any time soon?’

His friend stuck out his bottom lip and shrugged speculatively.

‘There are only so many tribes. By the time we’ve found this Obduro and sorted him out the Britannia legions should have the Brigantes whipped into place. It’ll be back to the days of drill and route marching for us, and what will you do for a fight then, eh? And you with a family to care for? My advice to you, brother, is to learn to wind your neck in for the sake of those who love you, and for fear that you might leave them alone in the world without your protection. Can you do that for them, if not for me?’

Marcus returned his gaze, his face expressionless.

‘I can, but not simply for them. I have a score to settle in Rome, a blood debt with a man so powerful that I’ll only get one chance at getting it repaid. And keeping that in mind will be enough to help me stay out of trouble in the meantime. It wouldn’t do to miss my moment with the Praetorian Prefect and a sharp blade, for the sake of a few witless fools like them.’

He smiled down the room at the glowering locals, opening his hands in a gesture of goodwill. Julius gestured to a wine vendor, raising three fingers in the universal signal.

‘I’ll drink to that. Let’s use those knuckledusters of yours for their intended purpose and buy ourselves a cup of wine and something to eat, and then get into the hot room for some oil and a scrape. The tribune’s expecting us to be nice and clean for tonight’s briefing, and I don’t intend to-’

He stopped talking, watching as a familiar figure stepped into the warm room and looked about him until he spotted the Tungrians, then walked across to join them.

‘Greetings, Marcus, and greetings to you all, gentlemen of the First Tungrian Mule Cohort.’

It was an old joke, but never seemed to wear thin as far as Silus was concerned. Julius nodded, a wry smile twisting his lips.

‘Greetings, Silus. I was just saying to Marcus that I could smell horseshit, and then in you came.’

Silus tipped his head to acknowledge the retort, then looked about him again.

‘This place is full enough. I suppose the good citizens are getting their bathing in early, before your horrible soldiers take the place over once they’re off duty. Not that I blame them. And now, I suppose, you’re wondering what I’m doing here, given the place is off limits to all soldiers until sunset?’

Julius shook his head.

‘Not at all. Our assumption was that you’ve been told to come and get clean as a mercy to all those men that don’t live for the smell of month-old sweat, stale horse piss and fresh manure.’

Silus smiled, briefly and patently insincerely.

‘No, I’m here for the same reason I reckon you are. There’s a briefing with the tribune tonight, and your first spear wants me there in my best tunic and with polished boots. A bath was suggested, and in a manner which didn’t make it sound optional, so here I am. Old Frontinius didn’t say as much, but since you three are also here and busily ignoring the locals’ indignant stares, I’m going to presume that you got the same marching orders. And, given the looks you boys are getting from the men sitting next to you, it’s not a moment too soon.’

Dubnus swivelled his head to look at his neighbour, whose affronted gaze flicked away from him just a moment too slowly. He shook his head, standing up and stretching his heavily muscled body, then he bent to put his face inches from the now thoroughly alarmed civilian’s.

‘Didn’t your dad teach you that it’s rude to stare at soldiers in the bathhouse? Not to mention dangerous, because if I catch you looking at my cock one more time I’m going to bang your stupid fat head on that wall behind you.’ Shaking his head in disgust he turned back to his brother officers. ‘Right, let’s go for a sweat, shall we, and upset some more of these sheep?’

‘The contents of this briefing are utterly confidential, gentlemen, and are not to be shared with anybody outside this room. Our colleague Caninus here has every reason to believe that there are men within the city who are providing information to this “Obduro” character, and if wind of what I want you to do for me gets out we’ll lose what might be the only chance we’ll have to catch these people.’

Scaurus looked at each man in turn to make sure his message was completely clear. The first spear nodded, turning his gaze on Silus, Marcus, Julius and Dubnus.

‘I’m detaching the four of you for some independent duty. As far as your men are concerned you’ll have gone to Fortress Bonna to liaise with the First Minervia. I expect the camp to presume that I’ve sent you in search of reinforcements, which is a good enough cover for what you’ll really be doing. Decurion Silus will provide horses from the mounted squadron, and you will indeed ride east as far as Mosa Ford. When you get there, you will present papers authorising you to travel on to Claudius Colony on the Rhenus, and from there up river to Fortress Bonna. However, once you’re out of sight of the Mosa Ford walls you’re going to leave the road, and head south-west into the Arduenna forest. Using whatever paths you can find you will then get as close to the objective as you deem possible on horseback before making camp somewhere quiet. Silus will stay there with the horses while the rest of you will scout along the edge of the forest, quietly and methodically, until you find some sign of what I want you to look for. When you’ve got the information I need you’ll pull back, making sure you remain undetected, and bring it back here as quickly as possible.’

‘And exactly what is it that we’ll be looking for, Tribune?’

‘A camp, Centurion Corvus.’

Marcus turned to face the man who was waiting quietly in the deep shadow of the room, beyond the lamps’ meagre illumination. Scaurus beckoned Caninus into the full light of the lamps set around the table.

‘Prefect Caninus has a theory that you’re going to test, Centurions.’

He gestured to Caninus, who walked over to the map on the wall, putting a finger on the north-western fringes of the huge forest on the opposite bank of the River Mosa from the city.

‘It’s logical to assume that Obduro and his band are operating from somewhere on this edge of Arduenna. If I were him there’s no way I’d want to risk a night in the open after a robbery big enough to bring out the whole Tungrorum garrison after me. Look at this cluster of robberies, the ones we think his men carried out.’ He pointed at a cluster of crosses on the map close to the forest’s edge on the northern side of the Mosa. ‘And this attack on the detached Treveri century that led to their mass desertion. All of them within a few hours’ march of this part of the forest, and so close to the city as to defy belief.’ He stabbed a finger at the forest, indicating a point roughly equidistant from the attacks. ‘I’m willing to gamble that he always makes sure he can be inside the trees before nightfall, and doubtless there’s a camp somewhere round here. That ease of access cuts both ways, of course, since it also makes it easier for us to find, and less of a problem to attack than a camp that’s hidden away in the deep forest. The big question for me is how he’s getting his men back across the river, given that the only bridges we know about are at Mosa Ford to the east, and where the road to the Treveri capital crosses the river further to the west at Arduenna Ford.’

He studied the map for a moment before looking up at the men gathered around him.

‘Apart from that, a man as wily as Obduro isn’t going to put all of his marbles in one bag; he’ll have somewhere to fall back on if the camp on the forest’s edge is compromised. It’ll probably be built on a hill, almost certainly heavily fortified, the ground around it will be littered with mantraps and nasty surprises. If they’ve built the kind of stronghold I’d expect, five hundred men could probably face off ten times their number in the absence of any artillery to batter the walls down.’ He paused for a moment, and Marcus saw the look of frustration that crossed his face. ‘My bitter experience with bands like this one is that the moment they see soldiers coming they’ll scatter in a dozen different directions, and fall back into the deep forest. And, once they’ve disbanded, catching them will be like trying to nail piss to a wall. If we give them time to run they’ll be snug inside their fortress, wherever it may be, long before we can find it and bring our strength to bear.’

Scaurus stepped forward again.

‘Which means that the secret of our success has to be in surrounding them with a nice thick ring of troops before they get the chance to retreat. And that means that we’ll need to find this camp at the edge of the forest, but without them knowing we’ve done so. If we can manage that smart trick, then when we attack the camp we should be able to feed a cohort in behind them before the rest of the detachment marches up and knocks at the front door.’

Julius nodded to the tribune.

‘At which point they’ll make a dash for the back door, only to find it locked and bolted. After that they can either surrender or die on our spears. Neat. And all we have to do is scout the edge of the forest until we find them.’

‘Indeed, Centurion.’ Caninus raised an eyebrow. ‘But do you think you can manage that delicate task? These are men who have had years to get used to the forest, whereas you, with no disrespect intended.. ’

Dubnus spoke, his voice sober yet powerful.

‘I was raised in the great forest that runs down the spine of Britannia. I am a woodsman and a hunter, and when I go into the forest I move in silence. I will find your bandits and they will never know of my presence.’

Caninus nodded.

‘Good. Although I suggest that I provide you with a local guide, a man who has called the forest home for as long as he’s lived.’

Scaurus raised an eyebrow.

‘Isn’t there a risk he might be their man in your camp?’

The prefect winced.

‘He’s one of the very few men of whose loyalty I am absolutely sure, and I implore you not to mention any such idea in his presence. His family were taken by this gang last summer while he was serving me as a tracker, and he does not know whether they still live. I’d advise you against making an enemy of him, but he does know every path through the forest, and if you treat him well I’m sure he will be an asset to you.’

Scaurus looked at the first spear, who nodded his agreement with a shrug.

‘Very well, Prefect, we accept your offer of guidance.’

Caninus pointed to the city’s west, running his finger along the road into Gallia Belgica.

‘In that case I’ll take my men away on a sweep down the road to the west towards Beech Forest tomorrow morning. That way, if Obduro’s spy is one of my men, I can at least make sure he knows nothing of your departure to the east, no matter how innocent it may appear at face value.’ He looked down at the map and nodded. ‘You may just provide us with the one small piece of luck I’ve been waiting for these last few months.’

The news that the three centurions were heading east to the fortresses on the Rhenus inspired more than one comment in the Tungrian cohorts’ makeshift officers’ mess that evening.

‘Don’t worry, brothers.’ Titus, commander of the 10th Century, formed from the biggest men in the cohort and equipped with the heavy axes only they had the strength to swing in battle, leaned over the three men as they sat enjoying a cup of wine, his voice a baritone rumble. ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’ He winked at them. ‘Uncle Sextus told me all about what you’re going to be doing while you’re away.’

‘He did?’

Julius shot him a surprised glance, and Dubnus shook his head at Marcus in disbelief.

‘Oh yes, he told me about it in great detail. It was a load of rubbish, of course. I could tell from the look on his face, that one he always gets when he’s not being entirely straight with whoever it is he’s talking to. All that stuff about talking to the legion’s fortress supply officer about equipment? All nonsense. I know what you’re really doing.’ The three men stared at him in consternation. Never the brightest of the cohort’s officers, Titus’s main value lay in his ability to command the respect and quite frequently the abject fear of the biggest and often nastiest men in the cohort. If he’d already worked out their mission from a shifty first spear and simple deduction, there was no chance of their delicate task remaining a secret. ‘Yes, you’re going to find out all about the Fortress Bonna vicus. Every bar, every whorehouse. You’re going to visit them all in readiness for our next move. I’m right, aren’t I?’

Julius’s incredulous stare hardened to a sly grin in the instant it took him to grab the big man’s misconception and run with it.

‘For Cocidius’s sake, Titus, keep your bloody voice down! If the other officers find out why we’re really going east there’ll be a mutiny! As far as everyone else is concerned we’re going to talk to the Fortress Bonna stores officer, and that’s the way it needs to stay.’

Titus guffawed, slapping his colleague on the shoulder and rocking him sideways.

‘Of course it is, brother, of course it is! Here — ’ he lowered his mouth to Julius’s ear conspiratorially — ‘I was talking to a trader on his way through to the west yesterday when I was on guard duty, and he was telling me about a one-toothed whore-’

‘ Enough! We’ll give you a full briefing when we return, only spare me any more of your speculation. I don’t want to hear another word about it until we’re back. You keep our little secret, and I guarantee to tell you all the details myself.’

By the time they’d had another cup of wine the story of their impending trip to the east and its ‘secret’ purpose was all over the camp, and as Morban addressed his centurion on the subject Marcus found himself admiring the first spear’s genius in managing to generate such artful misdirection with a single seemingly innocent conversation.

‘Off to Fortress Bonna, eh sir? Off to see the lay of the land, I hear. I’m told there’s a one-toothed whore who’ll stick her-’

‘Standard Bearer?’

The razor edge in his centurion’s voice silenced Morban in an instant.

‘Sir?’

‘Hold out your hand.’ Squinting at his officer in discomfort and puzzlement, Morban extended his right hand, the fingers curled protectively into his palm in obvious expectation of a stroke from the Roman’s vine stick. ‘Turn it over and open your palm.’

Slitting his eyes in readiness for whatever punishment it was that he feared, Morban obeyed, only to goggle at his open palm as Marcus dropped a single gold aureus into it.

‘I negotiated a discount on the boy’s armour. You get a hundred sestertii back to do with as you see fit, and Arminius is holding the other aureus in expectation of future expenses. After all, we can’t have him wasting time trying to wring money out of you every time young Lupus needs a new pair of boots. Dismissed.’ The standard bearer turned away in a daze, still staring at the gold coin. ‘Oh, and Standard Bearer?’

‘Sir.’

‘The one-toothed woman? Apparently it’s true, although whether she really performs the act for which it seems she has become infamous among the men of this cohort is less than clear. We’ll know for certain soon enough though.’

He turned away, leaving Morban staring open-mouthed after him. Morban waited until Marcus had turned the corner and was away to his own quarters before muttering quietly to himself, shaking his head in disgust.

‘The next thing I know he’ll be taking over my book as well. I think I preferred the other version.’

Julius waited until the last of the soldiers on an evening pass had returned to barracks before setting off into the city, this time dressed in his uniform with both sword and dagger strapped to his belt. Skirting around the Blue Boar to the east he found the streets deserted, and walked quietly up to the shrine to which Annia had directed him, his hobnails muffled by rags tied about his boots. Looking up and down the street to ensure that he was unobserved he reached into the shrine, feeling about behind the goddess’s statue until he found a narrow horizontal slot through which to insert the key, a long rod with a two-pronged anchor-like device at its end. Turning the key from vertical to horizontal he jiggled it gently until he felt the anchor’s metal tips engage a pair of holes in the bolt holding the hidden door closed. Pulling the rod to the right he felt a gentle click as the bolt disengaged from its keep, and with only a little pressure the heavy door opened easily on well-oiled hinges. Sliding through the narrow opening he closed the wooden door, which was cunningly faced with a stone cladding to blend seamlessly with the wall, and in the darkness he slid the bolt back into place by touch.

A patch of dim light appeared above him at the top of a flight of stone stairs, and a figure stepped into the meagre illumination, beckoning him on. Mounting the steps with one hand on his dagger and ready to fight, he realised as he drew close to the top that it was indeed Annia. Dressed in a light tunic and with her cosmetics removed, she hugged him enthusiastically.

‘I thought you weren’t coming!’ Her whisper was so soft as to be virtually inaudible, and she put her mouth to his ear to be heard better. ‘Take those swords off and come inside.’ She ushered him into the room, lit by a single lamp, and pulled the door closed before rearranging the wall hanging that concealed it. Gesturing to a couch, she poured him a cup of wine and came to sit alongside him. ‘The secret door was already here when I took the place over. The Boar’s been a brothel since it was built thirty years ago, and whoever designed it had an eye to the future. Not only are all the rooms observed from secret passages, to make sure that any pillow talk of value is overheard by the guards and reported back to Petrus-’

Julius started with surprise.

‘ Petrus? ’

She put a finger to his lips.

‘ Shhhh! There’s no guarantee that he doesn’t have a man outside this room with an ear to the door; it wouldn’t be the first time he’d had me spied on. I’m his property, Julius, and he’s a jealous master. If he found out about the door to the street he’d have it sealed up the same day.’

‘But Petrus is the procurator’s man. How would he be…’

He stopped talking and thought for a moment, then shook his head at how obvious the truth was once it was in the open.

‘Petrus is the real power in the city. He’s the man that controls the gangs, and Albanus is so deep in bed with Petrus that when my master tells him to jump the only question he’s allowed to ask is how long he has to stay off the ground. I knew from the second I saw you that I still feel exactly the same way about you that I did fifteen years ago, but I didn’t dare to let you know it, because if you saw it so would they. And once Petrus knew, he’d have had you dealt with, quickly and quietly. And then he’d have told me all the details while he was grinding me into that bed, taking his pleasure from my despair. It was far safer for his musclemen to tell him that I was indignant and aloof. I’m sorry.’

The Tungrian put a protective arm around her.

‘It doesn’t have to be that way any longer. Come with me now; bring whatever you need and leave for good. You’ll never have to whore again, or suffer that arsehole’s attentions.’

He stopped talking, his eyes fixed on her shaking head.

‘If I walk away from here I have to leave the city now. You may think you could protect me, but I know that he’d have my life in a matter of days as a lesson to anyone else contemplating the same idea. I can only leave this place under one of two circumstances. Either you need to be marching away, and have the means to take me with you, or Petrus needs to be dead along with every man that might seek revenge for him in order to prove himself as Petrus’s successor. Unless you can make either of those two things happen tonight, then tomorrow I shall still be the mistress of the Blue Boar.’

The small party rode east at dawn the next morning, Marcus, Julius, Dubnus and Silus all mounted on cavalry horses while a mule laden with several days’ worth of food followed Silus’s mount. If his comrades found Julius’s demeanour even more dour than they were accustomed to, they made no mention of it.

‘He went into town again last night,’ Dubnus had confided to Marcus while they were waiting for Silus to arrive with the horses on which they were to carry out their mission. ‘He clearly thought he was keeping it to himself, but one of my lads was doing double guard duty as a punishment for that squabble with the legion, and he told me he saw the stupid bastard walk off towards the forum once everyone had turned in for the night.’

The two men had exchanged uneasy glances, knowing that by rights such behaviour ought to be reported to the first spear, and knowing also that neither of them would do any such thing.

‘He’ll tell us about it in his own time, and until he does we’ll just have to watch his back.’

Dubnus had nodded unhappily at his friend’s decision, and it was only Silus who had carried on with the usual banter once they were on the road. Even he had quickly sensed the reluctance of his comrades to indulge in the familiar routine of insult and rebuttal, and so it was a quiet party that found Prefect Caninus’s man waiting for them by the roadside once they were safely out of sight of the city walls. The scout joined the small group with no more ceremony than a sketchy salute to Julius, and the surrender of a small wax tablet signed by Caninus and marked with his seal as proof of the man’s identity.

The scout was slightly built, with a face that was deeply lined and seamed, giving him the weather-beaten appearance of a man who had spent his entire life working in the open. A hunting bow was slung across his shoulder, and a quiver of heavy iron-headed arrows hung from his belt, while the only sign of ornamentation he carried was an intricately tooled leather scabbard containing a long hunting knife nearly the length of an infantry sword. Introduced in the prefect’s tablet as Arabus, he quickly proved to be taciturn in the extreme, and Marcus’s attempts to engage with him were met with monosyllabic answers. No attempt at conversation would elicit anything more than a nod, a shake of the head or a terse, grunted answer where a simple yes or no would not be sufficient. Julius and Dubnus rode up alongside Marcus, Dubnus tipping his head to draw his friend away from the guide, keeping silent until the three centurions were out of earshot.

‘You’ll get nothing more from him. I’ve met the type before, men who have known nothing other than the forest since birth, and nothing you can do or say will get him to open up before he feels the time is right. Mind you, I’ll tell you one thing that makes me smile.’

Marcus raised an eyebrow.

‘Go on.’

‘His name.’

What, Arabus?’

His friend grinned, shooting a quick look at the guide.

‘In the Gaulish language I believe it means “witty”. And if he was the witty one in the family, I dread to think what his brothers and sisters must have been like!’

Julius nudged Marcus, having seemingly thrown off his reverie, and held out a hand.

‘Come on, then, let’s have a look at that pretty new blade you’ve bought.’

Marcus unsheathed the patterned sword and passed it to Julius. His horse’s ears pricked up at the sound of the blade’s gentle metallic rasp against its scabbard’s throat, and Marcus leaned forward, affectionately ruffling the close-trimmed hair on top of the beast’s head.

‘Not today, Bonehead. Today we’re just covering ground.’

Julius looked closely at the blade, then swept it down to his right in a practice cut that hummed past his own horse’s head.

‘As light as a feather. And what did Uncle Sextus say when you asked him for that large a withdrawal from your saved pay?’

Marcus smiled at the memory.

‘Let’s just say the first spear wasn’t exactly delighted to have fifty aurei taken out of the pay chest all in one go. And then when he saw the sword he spent so long looking at it I was convinced he was going to pull rank and buy it himself.’

He took the weapon back from Julius, who waited until the vicious blade was safely sheathed before speaking again.

‘You think Frontinius would pay that much for a sword, when he can get an issue weapon for a tiny fraction of the price? Mind you, there’ll be a bit of a rush if you should happen to stop a spear while that nice little toy’s strapped to your waist. One of us will be wearing it before you’re cold, you can be assured of that!’

Dubnus shook his head at the older man with a smile, a wry note in his voice.

‘You can put any such idea out of your mind, Julius! Our colleague has already agreed that I’m the right man to inherit such a weapon. In my hands it would be treated with the expertise it deserves, whereas to end up in the hands of an exponent of stab and punch like yourself would be a sad end for such a fine blade.’

Julius raised an eyebrow at Marcus, who shrugged equably, and the big centurion grinned triumphantly at their colleague.

‘It doesn’t look to me like you’ve got any such agreement, Dubnus. It looks to me like it’s first come, first served.’

Dubnus shrugged in turn, the smile creasing his face taking on a calculating aspect.

‘Fair enough, the first man with his hands on the weapon gets to keep it, in the unlikely event that there’s anyone out there good enough to leave it ownerless.’ He squinted slyly across at his friend. ‘Anyway, Julius, I meant to ask if you ever got round to buying that whistle you were looking at while our colleague there was spending a soldier’s pension on his new toy.’

His friend nodded, fishing in his pouch and holding up his brightly polished whistle. Dubnus looked at him for a moment, clearly struggling to keep a straight face, then turned back to the road, leaving Julius frowning at him in puzzlement.

‘There’s something I’m not getting here, isn’t there? Why are you grinning like a standard bearer who’s discovered an extra hundred denarii in the century’s burial fund that no one else knows about, eh? What have you…?’ He looked harder at the whistle in his hand, his eyebrows suddenly shooting up as he realised that it was the one he’d believed lost. Looking up he found that Dubnus was holding his new whistle in one hand. ‘You crafty bugger! Did you know about this, Centurion Corvus?’

Marcus fought to control his laughter, his face contorting with the effort.

‘I was aware that your loss was not entirely what it seemed. At least you have a nice new whistle as a result, and a beautifully crafted one from the looks of it. And there’s Mosa Ford — I can see the fort’s walls through the trees. It’s time to start acting like a party of professional army officers again, I suppose.’

Julius snorted derisively, giving his old whistle a long hard look of reappraisal before tucking it away in his pouch again. Dubnus waited until his hand was in the pouch, then tossed the new whistle to him, forcing him to whip the hand back out and catch it in mid-air. Shaking his head, he held up the shining brass instrument with a look of disgust.

‘Ten denarii for something I didn’t even need? And you suggest that I might want to start looking like a professional? Here, you haven’t got one of these yet, have you?’

He passed the whistle to Marcus, who raised an eyebrow.

‘Thank you. But shouldn’t you be keeping the new one?’

‘No, I’ve had this one since I was commissioned; it would be bad luck to abandon it now.’ He gave Dubnus a hard look. ‘And besides, giving you that definitely gives me first call on the pretty sword.’

The party passed easily enough through the scrutiny of the legion detachment guarding the bridge over the river. Tribune Scaurus’s written instructions to them to proceed to the Rhenus fortresses were clear enough, and the impressive seal attached to the document more than proved their bona fides, but Julius found himself being drawn aside by the duty centurion once the fort’s western gate was closed behind them and the sentries had returned to their patrols along the wooden palisade walls. Marcus walked alongside the two men as they paced through the fortified settlement towards the bridge, listening quietly as the guard officer muttered his advice in the Tungrian’s ear.

‘… and you want to be careful of that dark-faced little runt you’ve brought along for the ride. I’ve seen enough of his kind to know that he’ll mean trouble soon enough.’

Julius raised an eyebrow, his face darkening.

‘His kind? You mean we can’t trust him because he’s a local?’

The duty officer shook his head dourly.

‘No, the local people are decent enough. I mean you can’t trust him because he’s from in there.’ They had reached the bridge’s western end, and Marcus looked out across the river, its surface broken by the stones that marked the shallows which had made it such an obvious bridging point for the road to the Rhenus fortresses. The duty officer pointed to the forested slopes that rose above the small settlement clustered round the bridge’s eastern end, and spat over the bridge’s parapet. ‘Laugh it off if you like, but if you’d served as close to that bloody forest for as long as I have you wouldn’t be laughing. It’s only four hundred paces from here to the tree line, but by the time you’ve walked five hundred you might as well be five hundred miles away. There are men living in that place who don’t see the light of day from one end of the year to the other, half-savage hunters without any of the values that make us the civilised people that we are. We see them sometimes, watching the fort from the edge of the trees, and we used to send patrols in to try to get hold of one, but it was like trying to catch fucking smoke. And it scared the shit out of the lads.’ He looked into the distance through the open gates for a moment before speaking again. ‘I stopped ordering patrols after we lost a man last year. One minute he was there at the back of the column, the next he was gone, disappeared in broad daylight without either trace or echo. We never saw him again, but that night some of the lads reckoned they could hear him screaming, just a faint sound on the breeze that only the young ones could make out, but they swore it was there.’

He spat on the ground and made the warding gesture to the guide’s back.

‘No, that’s one of them all right. If he’d turned up here alone I’d have had his throat cut and chucked him in the river, but since he’s under your protection all I can do is warn you. Where are you going from here?’

Julius pointed a hand to the east.

‘Claudius Colony, then Fortress Bonna.’

‘Straight to the Rhenus, eh? Fair enough. You should be fine as long as you stick to the road and don’t go into the forest. Just watch the little bastard, all right?’

He stood and watched as the party remounted and rode away up the hill to the east, and Julius waited until the fort was completely out of sight before raising a hand to halt their progress. He stared at the densely packed trees for a moment, then turned to Arabus.

‘Time for you to start earning your corn. You’ve been briefed on what we’re supposed to be doing?’

The scout returned his gaze for a moment then looked at the forest, drawing in a deep breath through his nose and sighing as if in satisfaction.

‘Yes, Caninus told me what I am to do. You wish to search the edge of Arduenna, from here down the river’s bank back to the west until we find any sign that the bandits have a camp.’ A look of serenity touched his face as he contemplated the place he clearly considered to be his home. ‘Come, then. Follow me into Arduenna.’

He led them across the hundred-pace-wide strip of ground between road and forest that had been cleared of trees years before as a defence against ambush from the forest. The barren ground had clearly been tended by a gang of local labourers recently, to judge from the absence of any vegetation other than grass and small bushes. On reaching the trees Arabus paused, inhaling deeply as the scent of pine trees washed over them on the breeze.

‘We will lead the horses until we find a track. Watch your footing.’

He pushed forward into the dense undergrowth, moving with deliberate caution, and the centurions followed him into the trees, looking about them in interest. The light dimmed slightly as they walked away from the forest’s edge, taking on the ethereal green shade with which they were all familiar, but apart from that Marcus was unable to discern any difference between the Arduenna and any other forest in which he’d walked. Arabus padded forward, leading his horse through the trees with his gaze on the ground until, after a few minutes’ walking he turned back and beckoned the centurions to him. A faint track bisected the forest floor, and they looked down its visible length to the point where it vanished into the dense undergrowth fifty or so paces to what Marcus could only presume was the south-west. Arabus pointed to the path with a smile of pride.

‘As I expected, this is a hunters’ track. I have not hunted this part of the forest for many years, but my memory still serves me well enough.’

Julius looked up and down the track.

‘If we follow this path surely we must run a risk of meeting other travellers?’

Arabus shook his head.

‘I will scout ahead on foot while you ride a hundred paces behind me, and leave my horse tethered to your mule. I will hear anyone coming up this path before they hear me, you can be assured of that.’

And so the party spent the rest of the day working their way along the hunters’ track, moving at Arabus’s cautious pace and with one man always watching the path behind them, until the light shining through the canopy above them started to dim. The guide stood waiting for them as they crested a low ridge, then pointed up the low hill’s spine, deeper into the forest.

‘It will soon be night. We must make camp, and gather firewood before it is too dark to see clearly. Follow me.’

He led them away from the path, climbing until they reached a bowl-shaped clearing high on the hill’s side.

‘Here we can light a fire without the risk of it being seen; once darkness falls it will conceal any smoke.’ He pointed to the ground surrounding the clearing. ‘There should be plenty of wood on the ground. I’ll go this way.’

He walked away up the hill, his eyes on the ground hunting for dead wood that would burn easily, and Marcus looked at the other centurions.

‘If Silus tends to the horses, I suppose the rest of us should spread out.’

They nodded agreement to each other, and Marcus headed off down the slope to the right of the clearing. Finding himself confronted by a thick belt of impenetrable thorns, he diverted to the left, and started to climb the hill again, only to find another belt of hawthorn blocking his path. A fat branch was poking out of the long grass, and he went down on one knee to examine it, wondering if it was sufficiently aged to snap into more manageable pieces. As he weighed up the bough’s condition his attention was caught by a faint noise from further up the hill, and looking up he saw a vague, dark shape moving downhill behind the cover of the trees, crossing his field of view from left to right. Reaching to his belt he drew the patterned sword, the blade scraping fractionally against its scabbard’s metal throat and sending a rasping note across the otherwise silent hillside. Whatever it was that was moving down the slope took fright at the faint noise, and bounded away from him in an explosion of movement that left him frowning, unable to give chase through the thorn bushes.

As the commotion of the hidden animal’s panic-stricken progress through the trees died away Arabus stepped out of the trees to Marcus’s left, his bow held with an arrow nocked and drawn, ready to shoot. Marcus found himself looking down the missile’s shaft and into the scout’s empty eyes, and he involuntarily tensed himself for the missile’s impact as Arabus stared down the arrow’s length at him. After a long moment the scout eased the string’s tension and tucked the arrow back into his quiver, slinging the bow across his back. He strode down the slope to meet the young centurion, shaking his head in apparent amusement. It was the first time that Marcus had seen the dark-faced man smile, and he re-sheathed his own blade as he waited for the guide to reach him. Arabus put both hands on his hips, looking about him for any sign of a threat.

‘I heard a sword being drawn.’

Marcus nodded, bending to pick up the branch he’d been considering when whatever it was that had caught his attention had broken cover.

‘I saw something moving through the trees.’

Arabus smiled again, his seamed face twisting in amusement.

‘Yes, it was a wild boar. I was readying myself to venture an arrow at it when it heard you draw your sword. It ran before I could loose the arrow.’

Marcus shook his head disgustedly.

‘A boar? I mistook it for a man.’

Arabus raised his hands.

‘There is no shame in such a mistake. A momentary glimpse through so many trees would deceive the best of men. I had a clear view of the beast, and from the size of it we would have had days of good eating had I managed to bring it down. No matter, it will be dried meat for us tonight, rather than wild pork.’

Marcus snapped the fallen branch into three pieces and resumed his search for more wood, and the guide walked away up the hillside to collect his own bundle of wood. Waiting until the sun was no more than a distant pale gleam on the horizon Arabus quickly and expertly lit the fire using flint and iron, blowing gently onto the kindling until it was well alight and then adding twigs and small branches to feed the small blaze. With the fire burning properly the five men wrapped themselves in their blankets and chewed in silence on their ration of dry meat, hard cheese and bread. The hunter drew his long sword and took a piece of the local whetstone from his pack, spitting on it before passing the blue stone down the blade’s length with a harsh metallic scrape Marcus watched for a moment, admiring the intricate decoration that adorned the blade’s scabbard; it depicted a charging boar ridden by a female figure wielding a bow.

‘That’s a fine piece of leather work.’

The guide replied without looking up from his task, working the whetstone with the delicate care of long practice.

‘I made it myself. Hunting the forest at night gives a man a lot of time to practise such craft.’

The Roman nodded, looking about him at the surrounding starlit ground and the dark bulk of the trees gathered around them.

‘Is the woman riding the boar your goddess?’

Arabus nodded, glancing up briefly.

‘It is. I made two of these, one for myself and one for my son.’ He paused for a while, his eyes misting over with the memory. ‘I honour Arduenna every time I draw my blade, and every time I return it to the leather.’

Marcus looked across the fire at him.

‘You speak of the forest as if it is a person. You call it “Arduenna”, as if you were speaking of a woman rather than a body of trees, and I noticed that Prefect Caninus did much the same yesterday. Do you all feel the same way about the forest?’

Arabus looked at him for a long moment, as if attempting to divine whether the Roman were serious, or making fun of him, but when he saw no hint of levity on Marcus’s face he answered the question with a solemn expression.

‘Arduenna is different things to different people. To you Romans, men not born under her shadow, she is simply a forest. You look at her and all you see are trees, and the animals that live under their protection. You do not feel her spirit, nor hear the slow beating of her heart.’ He fell silent, and stared into the dark ranks of trees without speaking for so long that Marcus was on the verge of prompting him again. ‘For me, and every other man who has lived beneath her canopy for as long as they can remember, she lives and breathes, and we worship her. Which aspect of the goddess a man perceives depends on his origins. To those who live under her protection she is a powerful huntress, fair of face and riding a boar through the forest in search of her prey, which she brings down with her bow. We worship her, and offer her thanks for our success in the hunt.’

Marcus trod carefully, wary of inadvertently insulting the guide despite his desire to know more.

‘Do you offer her… sacrifice?’

Arabus’s eyebrows lowered in a disgusted frown.

‘Do you take me for a savage? Do you hope to hear tell of altars deep in the forest where men are put to death in worship of the goddess?’

The Roman shrugged apologetically in the face of the guide’s apparent anger.

‘There are rumours…’

The guide bridled at the suggestion, gesturing angrily with his hands.

‘All lies made up by your people to explain their fear of what they do not understand! We offer a small part of any game we kill to the goddess, no more!’

Marcus smiled gently.

‘And I apologise. You were saying that the local people see her as a benevolent spirit. So how would an outsider perceive her?’

The guide’s eyes flashed, and for that second Marcus knew he was staring into the man’s soul.

‘As vengeance.’ Arabus’s voice was as hard as his expression. ‘She rides down the unbeliever who is foolish enough to venture into the dark woods, and many are her weapons. Other men like you have ridden into Arduenna to hunt in her kingdom without paying her the appropriate respect, and they have never been seen again. You are fortunate to be accompanied by a believer, to shield you from her anger.’

With that he fell silent again, and after a moment Marcus felt compelled to offer an opinion, glancing round the fire at his colleagues and finding their faces set as sceptically as his own in response to the guide’s impassioned words.

‘There could be… other explanations?’

He was about to suggest other causes for a man disappearing in the forest when Arabus spoke again, his voice harsh.

‘Yes, they could have become lost and starved, or been taken by wolves; those things could happen. But I told you, many are her weapons. If you knew Arduenna the way that I do, you would not look for complicated explanations for the disappearances when the simplest answer is also the most obvious. We know the goddess, Centurion, we know what she can do, and we choose to respect her power where men like you blunder into her kingdom and pay the price for their lack of caution. But you are lucky. While you are under my guidance and protection you will be safe, as long as you follow the same rules that I follow. Now I suggest that we sleep.’

Julius stirred, shrugging off his blanket and standing up, warming himself in the fire’s glow.

‘I’ll take first watch.’

Arabus frowned.

‘There is little need. We are quite safe here out of sight, and-’

The heavily built officer shook his head and turned away.

‘We have our routines, friend, and they don’t vary. One of us will be on guard at all times until we leave this forest and return to the city.’

He walked away over the clearing’s rim and into the darkness, and the other soldiers bedded themselves down in their cloaks and blankets.

Felicia left the Tungrorum hospital two hours after sunset, having been delayed longer than she’d intended by the treatment of a soldier from the legion cohort who had suffered a deep cut to his thigh in training. Depressingly, the man’s wound had started to smell, with the fetid aroma of infection so horribly familiar to her, as if sepsis were setting in. After scrubbing her hands, she had dosed him with a mixture of wine, honey and the dried and ground sap of the poppy, and then set to work on the wound with her surgical equipment, working to cut and scrape away any hint of dead flesh, ruthlessly sacrificing healthy tissue in the hope of saving his life. It had been with a heavy heart that she had finally bandaged the wound and left him to sleep off the opiate mixture.

Stepping into the street she pulled her cloak about her, feeling the thick wool tight over her gently swollen belly. The baby was getting heavy now, and already her gait was slightly changed to accommodate her increasing weight and the feeling of ungainliness that the pregnancy was inflicting upon her. Taking a deep breath of the cold air she put her head down against the wind’s icy caress as it funnelled down the narrow street, pushing forward doggedly against the blast. A voice spoke from the shadows, making her start at the unexpected and unseen presence.

‘Here we are! I told you that good things come to the man with enough patience to wait for them.’

A dark shape detached itself from the darkness of the hospital’s stone wall, the faint light of the hospital’s torchlit entrance revealing a man wearing a legionary’s white tunic. Felicia took one look at his face, the nose and mouth masked by a strip of dark material, and recognised the intent in his palely gleaming eyes. She turned back to the hospital entrance less than twenty paces distant, but then froze as another man appeared out of the building’s shadow in front of her, his face similarly concealed.

‘You were right; she’s well worth waiting for.’ She could see from the set of his eyes that he was smiling at her, although she doubted that the expression would be particularly pleasant were it not concealed by the mask. ‘We’ll soon warm you up, darling. A little bit of compensation for your lot getting us banned from the city four days out of five, eh?’

She felt the first man’s strong hands grip her arms from behind, and knew that even if she’d been carrying Dubnus’s knife it would have been impossible to use the weapon in such close quarters.

‘I’m pregnant.’

The second man laughed disparagingly, his voice no more troubled than if their would-be victim had announced that she had red hair. Reaching out he flicked her cloak aside, then, with a leer the mask did little to conceal, he cupped her breasts.

‘That doesn’t matter, darling. It won’t bother us, and let’s face it, if you weren’t already baking a loaf you soon would be once we’ve all been up you a few times.’

Her eyes widened in horror, and as she felt the grip on her arms tighten the man behind her leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

‘Oh yes, darling, all of us. There’s another six blokes waiting for you in our barrack, and we’re going to show you a right old time. In fact we’re going to fuck every-’

A shout rang out from the far end of the street, and the man standing in front of her spun to face the source of the noise, pulling a dagger from his belt. A cloaked figure was charging towards them along the hospital’s wall, and as the man ran he unsheathed a sword, its long blade flashing gold in the light of the torches burning at the building’s entrance. The soldier behind Felicia pushed her away, turning to run as his comrade sprinted past him and dropping his dagger in his haste to escape. Felicia fell to her knees, one hand stopping her fall while the other clutched instinctively at her stomach. Her rescuer ran past and then, realising that the two soldiers were outpacing him, he abandoned his pursuit and sheathed the sword, turning round with a brisk bow to help her back onto her feet.

‘Madam. Are you…?’

‘I’m fine, thank you, whoever you are.’

‘Caninus. Quintus Caninus. I am the prefect of the city’s bandit-hunting detachment. And you must be the Tungrian cohort’s doctor?’ She nodded, relieved that the pain she was feeling was from skinned knees rather than in her abdomen. ‘Those men, they were soldiers?’

‘Yes, Prefect. Legionaries with a grudge against my husband’s cohort. They were planning to abduct and rape me, or at least that’s what they-’

Caninus gaped at her.

‘ Rape? I thought they were robbing you! And you’re sure they were legionaries?’

Felicia pointed at the dagger hidden in the building’s shadow.

‘That might help?’

Caninus bent to pick up the weapon, frowning as he held it up to the light.

‘It looks like army issue. Come along, I think we need to show this to your tribune. A grudge I can understand, but this… this is beyond my experience, or my understanding, for that matter.’

Marcus took the second watch, smiling to himself as Julius rolled himself up in his blanket and was asleep within seconds. He looked around the camp in the fire’s meagre glow, watching Arabus closely for a moment, but the guide was soundly asleep and snoring gently. He put some more wood on the fire before padding out into the darkness, then he climbed up the hill until the fire’s gentle crackle was lost in the wind’s hissing passage through the branches above his head. Settling into the shadow of an ancient oak he listened to the noises of the night-time forest and watched the stars above his head, following the training that Dubnus had imparted to him months before and giving his senses time to adjust to the ambient noise. Allowing his thoughts to stray, he mused on impending fatherhood, and the responsibility of bringing a child into the world whilst he and anyone associated with him were still under the threat of a death sentence, and subject to an imperial manhunt driven on by the vengeful Praetorian Prefect.

A tiny sound reached him, almost too gentle to be heard above the wind’s susurration; it was the crack of a twig breaking somewhere not too close but still within earshot. Waiting with his breath held he heard another sound, again almost too quiet to be heard, and he turned his head slowly towards it, avoiding any sudden movement that might alert whatever had made the noise. Another sound came, slightly to the right of the first one, and Marcus reached for his sword’s hilt, easing the blade out of its scabbard with a care to avoid any repeat of the noise that had betrayed his presence earlier that day. The sword’s blade shone in the moonlight, and he held it upright behind his back to avoid the bar of reflected silver giving his position away.

Easing back down the slope, testing each footfall with delicate care before putting his full weight down, he slid back into the clearing’s hollow bowl and touched Dubnus on the shoulder. His friend woke instantly, his eyes flicking open to find Marcus kneeling over him with a finger to his lips. The big man rolled silently to his feet, nudging Julius with his foot, and he too rose from the ground, shedding his blanket and drawing his sword without a sound. Leaving Silus and the guide asleep, the three men climbed out of the clearing, their swords shining in the moonlight. Marcus pointed with his left hand held flat, indicating the direction from which he felt the sound had come, more or less the same place where the wild boar had taken flight earlier. They spread out a little, advancing slowly and silently into the night’s gloom, their senses alert to any tiny sound or movement. From somewhere behind them an animal grunted disconsolately into the cold night air, and a moment later another replied from the opposite direction.

‘ Go! ’

Julius’s urgent whisper sent them forward at a faster pace, sacrificing silence for speed as they weaved through the trees in a rustle of grass and snapping twigs, but after thirty paces he held up a hand to halt them, listening hard in the renewed quiet.

‘ Nothing.’

Dubnus nodded his head in agreement with Marcus’s whisper.

‘If there was anything out here, it’s gone to earth. We’d have heard anything of any size if it had run.’

Marcus looked out into the darkness unhappily.

‘There was something out here. I know that much.’

They returned to the clearing and found Silus and Arabus still asleep. The guide awoke when Marcus touched his shoulder, blinking his eyes open and staring up at the Roman in a moment of incomprehension.

‘What?’

Julius sank back to the ground and reached for his blanket.

‘There was something moving around out there.’

Arabus grimaced, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

‘The boars hunt at night sometimes. You can hear them digging for roots when it’s quiet, and grunting and snorting at each other. It was probably the same animal we saw earlier. You see how Arduenna already has you all jumping at shadows?’

Silus opened an eye to squint at the men standing over him.

‘It’s a good thing I’ve got all you big strong infantrymen around to make sure that nothing sneaks up on me while I’m busy dreaming of beer and women. The only problem is that I don’t seem to be getting much dreaming done.’ He yawned hugely, then turned his back on them and nestled into his blanket again, muttering a last comment from beneath the rough fabric. ‘And I’ll bet not one of you dozy buggers has even thought to check the horses.’

Tribune Scaurus, predictably, was incandescent in his anger at the night’s events, hammering the point of the discarded dagger deep into the polished wood of the basilica’s wooden table. The knife remained there, standing upright and wobbling slightly from side to side in front of Belletor, as Scaurus walked away from it to the far wall, leaving the horrified tribune staring at the weapon. Turning back to face his colleague, white-faced with a rage he had fought to control ever since Caninus had brought Felicia to his quarters the previous night, Scaurus spat his fury at his incredulous colleague with the pitiless force of a fully wound ballista.

‘I’ve seen all manner of brutal and bestial acts in the last ten years, but I never thought I would see the day when a Roman soldier would offer violence and the threat of rape to a respectable matron, a military doctor, and a pregnant woman, to boot! I find myself more than amazed, Tribune; I am quite literally revolted by the idea that allegedly civilised men would stoop to so base an act by way of revenge! Were it not for our esteemed colleague Quintus Caninus’s timely return from his day’s patrolling, my doctor might still be suffering the unwanted attentions of an entire fucking tent party!’ The last words were roared at the top of his voice, and he advanced on the seated Belletor with such malevolence in his eyes that the usually aggressive tribune froze in his seat. First Spear Frontinius gave his colleague Sergius a meaningful glance and limped out from his place to put a restraining hand on his superior’s arm, his hard, cold grip enough to arrest Scaurus’s advance and switch the furious tribune’s attention from Belletor to himself. He leaned close to his superior, muttering into his ear in low tones intended not to be overheard.

‘This will not undo what has been done, Tribune, and while offering violence to this man might seem appropriate to you now, you will regret it in the days to come.’

Refusing to bend under his superior’s ferocious stare, he nodded to Sergius, who stepped forward and wrenched the dagger from the wood’s grip, leaving a deep scar in the smooth surface.

‘This is one of ours all right; it’s standard issue. Ah, the soldier in question seems to have been stupid enough to use his own weapon for the crime.’ He held up the dagger, turning it to the light to display letters and numbers formed out of patterns of tiny holes punched into the handle’s metal. ‘See? “Julius, VII II IV”. Soldier Julius, Seventh Cohort, Second Century, fourth tent party. The man’s as good as condemned, unless he can prove that the weapon left his ownership before the crime was committed. With your permission, Tribune?’

He looked at Belletor, who dragged his gaze away from Scaurus and distractedly waved an assenting hand. Sergius saluted, nodded to Frontinius and left, the weapon in his hand.

‘First Spear Sergius will know the truth of it soon enough, I expect. In the meantime I’d suggest that we put these hostilities to one side. Not everything is as simple as it seems.’

Scaurus stared at his first spear for a moment, knowing that the older man’s cautionary words contained a core of wisdom that he would be unwise to ignore. At length he put a hand on Frontinius’s and gently freed himself from its grip, switching his pitiless gaze back to Belletor.

‘Agreed, First Spear. But when we discover the truth of these events there will be a reckoning with whoever is brought to justice, and as they suffer their death sentence I will look into the eyes of the men who would have defiled a pregnant woman. And you — ’ he pointed a finger at Belletor — ‘ you would do well to avoid lecturing me in the period between then and now. Make sure that the rest of your command knows that I have detailed a guard to the doctor, four veteran soldiers to be at her side at all times, some of them men who have recovered from battle wounds under her care. I have told them that they have orders to take whatever action they see fit, should they suspect any threat to the doctor. Any man who approaches the doctor with anything but the greatest circumspection can expect to find himself looking down the shafts of their spears, and to find unfriendly eyes behind them.’