The four men saluted and trooped out of the office, heading for the officers’ mess. The oldest of them, a stocky veteran with iron-grey hair, put an arm around Marcus’s shoulders and ruffled his coal-black hair affectionately.
‘Not to worry, young Marcus, I was watching the wet-nosed aristocrat like a hawk and I’ll swear he never made the connection. Let’s go and get a drink, eh? You and I have new centuries to collect tomorrow, eighty big strong Tungrian boys apiece and an end to marching around alongside our old centuries while other men undo all our good work.’ He ducked away from Dubnus’s playful slap. ‘Current company excepted, of course.’
First Spear Frontinius made his way from the headquarters building to the prefect’s residence with a reflective look on his face, the heavy torc carried in one hand. The new prefect had been posted to take command of the cohort less than two weeks previously, a post made vacant by the promotion of their previous commanding officer to lead the 6th Legion earlier the same summer. The two men had hardly begun the gradual process of getting to know one another, so essential if they were to lead their cohort successfully once the fight with the rebels north of the wall was rejoined, and yet there was already something about the man that made him feel uncomfortable. Unlike his previous prefect, now the legatus of the imperial 6th Legion and privy to the secrets behind Centurion Corvus’s position with the cohort, Gaius Rutilius Scaurus had made no attempt to seek any sort of relationship with his first spear.
He nodded to the sentries standing guard on the residence and stepped into the building’s cool shade, waiting while the prefect’s taciturn German bodyguard went to fetch his master. After a moment’s delay his superior appeared at the door of his office. A tall man in his early thirties with a thin, almost ascetic face, he was dressed in a simple white tunic with the thin purple stripe on his left shoulder denoting that he was a member of the equestrian class. Scaurus’s eyes were a watery grey, their seemingly soft gaze set below black hair in a narrow face and with a chin that the first spear was unsure whether to characterise as aristocratic or simply weak, but his bearing was confident and his voice was cultured, almost urbane.
‘First Spear. Won’t you come and join me?’
Frontinius stepped into the prefect’s office, accepting a beaker of water and taking a seat opposite the prefect. The room was lit by a single lamp, its shadows pressing in on the two men. Prefect Scaurus took his seat on the other side of his desk, his face half lit by the lamp’s soft glow, and took a sip from his own beaker before speaking.
‘The detachment has returned, I hear. I presume that the job of dealing with the locals went well enough, since we don’t seem to be overrun with wounded?’
‘Yes, sir. We played our part as requested, broke into the fort and dealt with the defenders easily enough. Three dead and half a dozen wounded, none of them seriously enough to need transferring to Noisy Valley. Flesh wounds for the most part. The officers also managed to retrieve this…’ He put the heavy gold neck ring on the prefect’s desk, watching as the other man picked it up and inspected the finely worked bull’s heads that knobbed both ends of the torc. ‘… a nice donation to the burial club.’
The prefect put the torc back on the desk and nodded with satisfaction, but his next words instantly put the older man on his guard.
‘And centurion Corvus?’
‘Prefect?’
‘I said, “And Centurion Corvus?” By which, First Spear, I meant to ask you how your youngest officer performed during the defeat of the Carvetii.’
Frontinius shifted uncomfortably.
‘Centurion Corvus played a full part in the action…’
‘Despite only having gone along for the experience, eh? My man Arminius tells me that the rumour around the fort is that Corvus did in five hundred heartbeats what the legion cohorts might have toiled to achieve in five thousand, and with a good deal more losses, if the natives had managed to get their palisade gates closed. And that a certain legion tribune has had his nose put out of joint in a quite spectacular way by his inability to reward one of his own centurions for finishing off the campaign. Which would probably be just another war story for both of us, except that I’ve been reading the cohort’s war diary, First Spear Frontinius.’ He lapsed into silence for a moment, fixing Frontinius with a level gaze, his grey eyes unblinking in their scrutiny of his subordinate. ‘And in the record of this cohort’s war to date your man Corvus seems to have played a full part in just about everything that’s happened in the last six months. He must be quite the man with his colleagues, not to mention the troops.’
An uncomfortable silence played out for several seconds before the prefect spoke again. ‘As I read the story of your cohort’s actions early in the campaign I began to wonder two things, First Spear. I began to wonder just how one man could cause so much disruption to the enemy’s plans…’
‘He was commanding the scout century, Prefect, and so he was always going to…’
‘And more importantly, First Spear, I found myself wondering just how on earth he managed to avoid the eye of the succession of senior officers who must have heard of his exploits and decided that they wanted to know more about this remarkable young centurion of yours. I’m sure you can understand my pondering on these questions about this cohort of mine, given that it’s my responsibility to ensure its complete loyalty to the emperor.’
The first spear opened his mouth to reply, but found himself forestalled by the prefect’s raised hand.
‘Before you answer, First Spear Frontinius, I’ve got one more question that I’m pondering. And I would be very careful with your answer if you value your place here. Just why is it, I’m wondering, that I find myself commanding a cohort which has an officer who, as we speak, is still being hunted by the emperor’s secret police as a traitor to the throne?’
Frontinius sat in stunned silence for a moment, the prefect’s face darkening with his failure to reply.
‘Come on man, just how stupid do you think I am? The man’s obviously Roman. The name “Marcus Tribulus Corvus” shouts alias, and he’s blessed with skill and speed with arms that probably cost him ten years’ training with the best teachers. As it happens, I hear that the son of Senator Appius Valerius Aquila, a man of high position and reputation who was tortured and executed for treason earlier this year, is known to have spent most of his young life having fighting skills drilled into him by his father’s tame gladiators in preparation for service with the praetorians. He is known to have shipped out for Britannia on faked orders only weeks before his father’s death at the hands of the emperor’s investigators. And, First Spear, he is known to have vanished into thin air after two attempts to kill him, both of which ended with other men’s blood spilt, but not, apparently, that of their intended victim. This man Valerius
Aquila, who was more or less the age that your “Tribulus Corvus” appears to be, is believed to have benefited from the assistance of local troops, and the finger of suspicion was pointing squarely at the Sixth Legion’s former legatus until he was careless enough to leave both his legion’s eagle and his own head on the battlefield last spring. Perhaps Legatus Sollemnis was fortunate that his death was both quick and honourable…’
He paused, raking the first spear with a long, hard stare.
‘The man behind the throne, First Spear, remains convinced that the Aquila boy is sheltering with an army unit somewhere in northern Britannia. And if Praetorian Prefect Perennis ever lacked motivation to have him found and killed, the death of his own son in this province earlier this year, coupled with extraordinary rumours of the younger Perennis having been murdered while apparently executing an act of treason, will only have stiffened that resolve. The emperor’s ‘corn officers’ will be out in force across the northern frontier, with orders to kill not only the fugitive but the leaders of any military unit found sheltering him, and to exercise their discretion in further punishing the men of that unit. I think we both know that the dirty-jobs boys have never been backward when it comes to handing out summary justice, and I’d imagine that you for one would end up choking out your last breath on a cross, with every centurion in the cohort likely already dead in front of you. Your men would be decimated at the very least, and as for your previous prefect, now Legatus Equitius, I believe, well, I wouldn’t care to occupy his shoes either. So, First Spear, you’d better explain to me just why my cohort is sheltering an enemy of the empire, and why on earth I should tolerate the situation for a minute longer?