Neuto nodded grimly.
‘Yes, Prefect. Centurion Tertius commands their century. Centurion?’
Tertius stepped forward and saluted briskly.
‘Soldiers Secundus and Aulus, Prefect. They have admitted to killing the prefect.’
Furius walked up to the pair, looking both men in the eyes for several seconds before speaking again. ‘You both admit to the crime of murdering your commanding officer?’
Aulus said nothing, simply turning his bruised face away. Secundus nodded, his face a mask of contempt. ‘I done the most of it. Put my spear through his bronze and his spine in one go and dropped the bastard face down. All he did…’ jerking his head towards the man standing alongside him ‘… was take his iron to him once he was down. You want to take your revenge, you take it from me.’
‘Why?’ The soldier spat on the ground in front of the prefect’s feet, sneering into his face. ‘He wasn’t an officer, nor a gentleman, he was just a right bastard. Punishments for this and punishments for that. Never a nice word for a good job, never a day off for the lads when we made him look good. I did it, but there was plenty more that wished they had. I never had to buy a drink for weeks that followed, not until they all started to worry about how revenge might be taken.’
Furius looked to Tertius with a raised eyebrow. The officer shook his head, never taking his eyes off the man in front of them as he spoke. ‘Soldier Secundus is an inveterate waster, Prefect. He drinks, he idles whenever he can, he whores. He’s a good fighter, but he lacks discipline.’
‘I see. And this one?’
Aulus’s face was turned away from his officers, and his eyes turned to the ground as if to deny the weight of events now pressing down hard on him. Furius pulled his sword from its scabbard, putting the blade’s point under the silent soldier’s chin and forcing it round until they were face to face. The blade’s tip dug into the soft flesh, starting a trickle of blood down the terrified man’s neck. ‘Why? Why attack your prefect when he was already dying?’
There was silence for a long moment before the soldier found his voice, quavering with desperation. ‘I hated him. He had me flogged…’
Furius looked to Tertius for confirmation.
‘Twice, Prefect. Ten lashes the first time, and twenty-five the second. Soldier Aulus is good for nothing, slovenly, lazy, not even a decent fighter. Prefect Bassus had hoped to knock some sense into him.’
Furius nodded, scowling into the soldier’s face.
‘And then there he was, helpless on the ground and you with a sword in your hand and your blood up from chasing barbarians, eh? What did you do?’
Aulus’s eyes closed with the memory. ‘I stabbed him in the neck. Just once. He didn’t move, so I didn’t do it again.’
Tears ran down his cheeks, provoking a weary sigh and a sad shake of the head from his centurion. ‘You see the problem with the man, Prefect, he can’t even make his confession like a man.’
Furius nodded decisively, then lunged forward without warning, burying the sword’s point deep into the weeping soldier’s throat, angling the blade upwards under the man’s jaw. The man crumpled nervelessly, his blood spraying across both the officers’ polished armour. Furius stepped back from the falling corpse, swinging the bloody blade back to point at the other man. ‘I made it easy for your comrade here, because he was misguided and ineffectual in his complicity with your crime. You are the real murderer here, and for that you will pay a little more dearly than this simpleton did. Tie his hands!’ He stepped back, the blooded sword still clamped in one hand. ‘Second Tungrians! Hear my words…’ The cohort stood in absolute silence, every man straining to hear whatever their new officer was about to proclaim, their former disdain suddenly fascinated attention. The prefect pointed to the horizon, where the sun was dipping to almost touch the hills to their south and west. ‘You have given your comrades up to justice in time to save yourselves two months’ pay. This man’s crime…’ he pointed to the corpse huddled on the ground in front of him ‘… was to be weak, and to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. This man, on the other hand…’ he pointed the bloodied blade at Secundus ‘… deserves the heaviest penalty I can award against him. Tomorrow morning he will be scourged, fifty lashes to be administered by the cohort’s centurions. And then
…’ He paused, smiling slightly with a clear relish for the sentence he was about to pass. ‘… once the scourging has been completed to my satisfaction he will be crucified, and the cohort will parade past him to receive an example of the punishment to be expected for a crime of this severity. His legs will not be broken, since he does not deserve anything other than a slow and painful death.’
At the mention of crucifixion the cohort started visibly, and even Neuto’s eyes widened as he stood behind his new commanding officer.
‘I know that you will be wondering how I can order such a punishment. I know that it is more usual for the crime of murder to meet with death by beating with staves, to be administered by the killer’s tent party, but this man will meet his fate like the criminal scum that he is.’ He paused for a moment, jaw jutting, and stared out across the cohort’s ranks in challenge. ‘He will be guarded tonight by his own century. If he dies before the time I have appointed for him, or escapes in some amazing and unexpected manner, I will have that century’s officer, chosen man and watch officer crucified in his place, and the rest of his century decimated, not once but three times. Thirty men will die tomorrow if this man fails to make his appointment with the hammer and nails for any reason.’
He turned to First Spear Neuto, inclining his head to indicate that the senior centurion should carry on, and then turned and walked back to his tent, the bloody gladius still held in his right hand.
Centurion Tertius turned to the first spear in amazement once the prefect was safely out of earshot. ‘Crucifixion? First Spear, in Maponus’s name…’
Neuto snapped at him, his tired face contorted with anger. ‘Don’t you dare bring shame on this cohort by appealing to the gods for the life of a senior officer’s murderer, you fool! You told me you had no idea who killed Bassus, and I’ll continue to believe that since you swore an oath, but that man dies tomorrow and that’s an end to it.’ He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘In the meanwhile you can work off that bitterness by getting your man nicely secured against any unforeseen accidents. I expect you’ll find your chosen man and watch officer more than happy to make sure nothing remiss happens to him. Then you can build me a cross. You’ll find plenty of wood and nails in the remains of the fort. More importantly, we’ll need something to hold your man upright tomorrow while he’s being flogged.’
Tertius frowned, puzzlement written across his face. ‘Upright? All the scourgings I’ve seen have only needed one thick post. You bend the victim over it and tie his hands and feet to keep him there while he’s having his back opened up.’
The first spear rolled his eyes upwards. ‘Yes. I know. And this one’s going to be different. I want that idiot to be held upright while we’re flogging him to death, if you take my point. So I want two posts set in the ground, tall enough to hold him up and wide enough to stretch him out standing up with ropes tied around his wrists. You can angle them forward just a little too; make sure he’ll stay up even if he loses it halfway through. Angle them away from the parade ground, mind you. Dismissed.’