Scaurus laughed, flashing a glance at Frontinius.
‘Confident even in the face of execution, Valerius Aquila?’
‘I’ve lived with the prospect of an unjust death, like the one visited on my father, my mother, my brother, my sisters, my uncle and my cousins, for several months now. It’s hard to stay scared for that long, Prefect.’
He closed his mouth and waited for the prefect to speak. Scaurus looked into his eyes for a moment, then shrugged slightly and continued.
‘Like you, I was born and raised in Rome. Unlike you, although I am the son of an old and respected line, I was not born to a wealthy family. Our clan fell on hard times during the Year of the Four Emperors. My ancestor was unlucky enough to back the wrong man a hundred years ago, and the Emperor Vespasian made him pay for it with enough severity that for a while it was touch and go as to whether the family name would survive at all. We’ve managed to rub along well enough since then, but we’ve never been sufficiently well connected to amount to very much beyond the usual imperial service, a rather shabby existence for a family that can trace its line almost seven hundred years, back to the overthrow of the last king of the city. My mother died in childbirth, and my father was killed serving on the German frontier when I was young, and so I found myself living with my uncle’s family, essentially a burden to them and, if not resented, hardly welcomed with open arms. It was inevitable that I would seek a means of escape from their charity, and I found it in the patronage of a man of great power.’
He paused, a half-smile playing on his lips as he surveyed the listening men.
‘And now you’re wondering in just what way I prostituted myself to make that connection. Exactly what was it I had to offer an older man that would make him take me into his house and treat me like a son? What did I give him in return for the status and favour that he bestowed on me?’ He laughed harshly. ‘I’ve lived with the sideways glances and innuendos for half of my life now, but in point of fact my benefactor simply took a chance on me. He plucked me from a life destined to disappoint everyone involved, not least me, and he raised my face to see the heights to which I might climb. He did this because he saw something in my wildness that he believed was worth his time and effort to bring to fruition. He looked into the eyes of a disaffected youth and saw a warrior waiting to be released.’
He stood, raising the sword to point at the complex statue standing amid its ring of tiny bright flames.
‘He made one small change to my life, almost insignificant compared to what you’ve been through, Valerius Aquila, but just as deep in its impact as the traumas you’ve endured. He brought me to the worship of the god Mithras, the Unconquered Sun, the soldier’s true god, and in doing so he gave me the purpose I was lacking. I won’t bore you with the changes that my service to Mithras has wrought on my life, but I will tell you this — his decision to take the chance that I could be rehabilitated led me to the path I still follow, a life of service to Mithras and the warrior code followed by my sponsor and his brothers. Men who became, through my service to the god, my brothers too.’
He stared at the statue for a long moment before continuing.
‘Don’t underestimate Mithras, either of you. I have been in more than one tight situation, with weaker men around me reduced to little better than panic, including some that were appointed to lead their fellow men into battle, and my faith in him has kept my sword hand steady, and ready to exploit the opportunities that he always provides.’
He turned, pointing the sword’s long blade directly at Marcus.
‘I can see in you the same restless purpose that I felt fifteen years ago, and which my sponsor chose to harness in the service of our god. You can do great things, Valerius Aquila, or you can continue with your current path and eventually be discovered and put to death alongside those you have come to regard as your brothers. Every day that you remain here is another toss of the coin, another chance for the emperor’s head to land face down and destroy everything you hold dear. I have a choice for you to make, between service to a noble god in the pursuit of the soldier’s ideal and hanging on here until the day that your hiding place is discovered.’
He paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow at the younger man.
‘You offer to… protect me, Prefect?’
The prefect smiled, his teeth a white flash in the gloom.
‘I offer you rather more than that, Valerius Aquila. I offer you friendship, a kind of kinship if you like. I can never replace your family, but I can give you something to which you can belong without forever endangering it simply by your presence.’
‘And as the price for this bargain you will take me from this place and these people?’
‘When the time is right, you will leave here.’
Marcus frowned slightly.
‘There is a lady…’
Scaurus nodded.
‘I know. First Spear Frontinius enlightened me on that subject. And when the time is right she can accompany you to wherever you travel, if she will. Mithras wants your service, for you to live the life of a warrior, not for you to cut yourself off from the world. There is room in your life for both your god and your woman.’
Marcus nodded slowly, his face creased in thought.
‘It is a generous offer, Prefect Scaurus, although I still wonder exactly how you can protect me from the empire’s hunters.’
Scaurus smiled tightly.
‘So do I, given your apparent talent for drawing attention to yourself. In time you will come to better understand both the forces hunting you and those arraigned behind me, but for the time being it will be enough for you simply to trust me. So, your decision?’
Marcus thought for a long moment, staring into the room’s shadows.
‘I will do as you bid, Prefect. I will follow you as you command, and I will serve your god to the best of my ability.’
Scaurus nodded decisively.
‘Good. Perhaps in this way we’ll be able to keep you from the throne’s hunting dogs, and avoid the danger of your friends and comrades being taken down alongside you. Quite how we are to keep you out of public scrutiny in the meantime is a different question altogether.’
2
The first arrow missed its target by less than a foot, hissing unheard past the heads of the rearmost rank’s soldiers. Of the other four arrows, fired a second later, one flew cleanly past the astonished faces of four soldiers near the back of the century’s column, another fell short owing to a weak bowstring, and the last two found targets among the marching soldiers. The first flicked off the metal boss of a shield slung over its owner’s shoulder in the marching position, ricocheting into the throat of one of the soldiers in the following rank, while the other hit a man three ranks farther up the marching column in the calf. He stumbled out of the line of march, hopping a couple of paces before falling to one knee. The century’s chosen man, marching in his usual place at the column’s rear, pointed at the treeline with his brass-knobbed pole and shouted a warning to his centurion.
‘Archers!’
Julius reacted immediately, drawing his sword and pointing it at the trees.
‘Buckets and boards! Get your bloody guard up!’
He turned to the leading century, gesturing urgently for Dubnus to take his men around to the right through the trees that ran almost to the side of the road as the forest’s edge curved around from the barbarian archers’ position.
‘Dubnus, hook right! Get into the bastards!’
Another flight of missiles arced across the space between the forest and the road, hammering into shields hurriedly swung from their carrying positions to face the unexpected threat. Julius bellowed again, ignoring the arrows flicking past him.
‘Fifth century, face the threat! Get ready to attack. The Ninth will attack into the trees to our right! At the march, advance!’