Quintus hurriedly obeyed. His stomach churned as Corax read it. If the centurion didn’t believe him, his entire contubernium was in for severe punishment. Even if he did, there would be a price to pay.
‘Do you believe this Thersites character?’
‘I do, sir.’
Corax ran a finger along his lips, thinking.
Quintus sweated some more.
After what seemed an eternity, Corax fixed him with his deep-set eyes. ‘One thing I’ve learned over the years, Crespo, is that an honest soldier isn’t necessarily the same as one who is good in battle. The reverse also applies. A good fighter isn’t guaranteed to be a decent, honest type. For a soldier to be both is a rare thing indeed. Now we both know that you joined the hastati under false pretences, which means that you’re a liar.’ He paused, waiting to see if Quintus would try to deny the accusation. Quintus bit his lip, and Corax continued, ‘So why should I believe this crazy, wine-fuelled story of yours? Can you imagine Pinarius’ reaction if I dragged you before him and this turned out to be a big, steaming pile of bullshit?’
‘He wouldn’t be happy, sir.’
‘Ha! Pinarius does not suffer fools gladly.’
Another silence, during which Quintus felt it important to keep his eyes locked with Corax’s.
‘What punishment do you think is merited for what you and your idiot tent mates have done?’
‘A whipping to start with, sir-’
Corax interrupted before he could continue. ‘How many lashes?’
‘Twenty at least, sir.’
‘Or thirty,’ added Corax coldly. ‘What else?’
Quintus tried not to think about the degree of pain from that many lashes. ‘Latrine duties, probably, sir. Extra sentry duties too. Rations of barley rather than wheat.’
Corax nodded in satisfaction. ‘That would be about right.’
Quintus locked his knees, trying to ignore the nausea that was washing up from his protesting stomach. His attempt had failed. He, Urceus and the rest would suffer Corax’s punishment, and it was down to the gods how many legionaries would die when the Carthaginians came stealing into the town some dark night in the near future.
‘You may be a liar, but you’re also no fool. And only a fool would come to me with such a madcap story when the consequences of revealing that he had disobeyed orders were so severe.’
‘Sir?’
‘I believe you, Crespo.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Quintus, feeling even more stupid.
‘You’re not going to escape punishment, but if the pieces of shit on Thersites’ list confirm what he told you, I will look at your case with a more lenient eye. Before we go to Pinarius, though, you’re taking me to Thersites. I want to assess him for myself.’ Corax pushed the table away and stood. ‘Breastplate,’ he said to the slave.
Quintus dived in before his instincts prevented him from doing so. ‘Your pardon, sir, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
Corax didn’t look pleased, but he waved his slave back. ‘Explain.’
‘Thersites said that everyone is watching everyone else. If a senior Roman officer goes to Thersites’ tavern for no apparent reason, suspicion might fall on him. By the time Pinarius acted, he could be dead.’
‘I wouldn’t shed too many tears at that,’ retorted Corax. ‘He’s not Roman.’
Quintus rallied his courage. ‘No, sir, but I promised to do what I could for him and his family. And his friends.’
‘So, you take it upon yourself to disobey orders, and you also bestow Roman citizenship on half of Enna,’ said Corax, his nostrils flaring.
Quintus didn’t dare to respond. I tried, he thought.
‘Put that back on its stand, damn it!’ Corax gestured at his slave, who retreated, breastplate still in hand. ‘Fetch my old cloak. The one with the hole in the back.’ To Quintus, he said archly, ‘Satisfied?’
Quintus studied the worn, hooded cloak that the slave had produced from a chest. ‘It looks perfect, sir.’
‘Good. I suggest that you take me to Thersites with all haste. There’s to be a public meeting later this morning. Pinarius has called the bluff of the town’s leaders and demanded that every adult male gather in the agora. A vote will be taken as to whether the keys to the town should be handed back to its people. It could be quite a volatile situation, clearly, so the entire garrison is to be present. Pinarius feels certain that those in favour of staying loyal to Rome will win, if only because the majority will be afraid to voice their opinion before our very eyes. Up to this point, I agreed with Pinarius, but what you’ve told me changes everything. They might riot. Even if the whoresons don’t, it matters little if they vote for Rome today while planning to open the gates to our enemies the next night.’
Quintus nodded, wishing even more fervently that he had not drunk so much. Despite his efforts, bloodshed of some kind was not just possible that day, but likely.
Chapter XVI
Quintus was still feeling like shit. He was in Pinarius’ quarters, with Corax. The good news was that Corax had believed the story that Thersites had told him; the bad that his centurion had dragged him along in case Pinarius wanted to question him. They had arrived in time for a meeting of all six centurions in the garrison. Leaving Quintus in the atrium of the large house that Pinarius had requisitioned, Corax had hurried into the courtyard where the other officers were already talking.
Quintus tried to distract himself from what Pinarius might do to him by wondering who owned the house. It had to have been built by a Roman, or someone who admired Roman building designs. It stood in contrast to most of the larger dwellings in Enna, which were styled in the Greek fashion — with a courtyard just inside the front porch, rather than the central position favoured by Romans. His efforts didn’t work for long. The headache that had been threatening all day erupted into a full-blown skull-splitter. And no matter where Quintus stood, the death masks of the owner’s ancestors seemed to glower at him from the walls to either side of the lararium. Unsettled by this and shaking from his severe hangover, he offered up a swift prayer to placate them.
‘Crespo.’
His wait was over at least. Quintus spun to see Corax framed in the doorway to the tablinum. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Pinarius wants to see you.’
‘Sir.’ Quintus moved to Corax’s side. ‘Did he believe you, sir?’
‘He did, I think, but he wants to hear it from you as well.’ He looked at Quintus and sighed. ‘Why did you have to get so pissed? You look fucking dreadful.’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Quintus, flushing.
‘Don’t be sorry. Be convincing.’
At this stage, Quintus felt wary of asking Corax anything at all, but he had promised Thersites that he would do his best. ‘The innkeeper, sir? Will some soldiers be sent to guard him?’
‘I might have to send a few of you lot, but yes,’ came the gruff reply. ‘It will only be until the suspects have been arrested, mind.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Let that be enough, prayed Quintus. He couldn’t be Thersites’ permanent protector.
In the courtyard, they found Pinarius and the others by a pattering fountain. Pinarius was a short, thin man with a perpetually severe expression. Quintus had never seen him this close, but he had a reputation for being a martinet. He knew Vitruvius, and Pera, but not Pera’s junior centurion or the centurion who was second-in-command of Pinarius’ maniple. They all watched him as he and Corax approached. Vitruvius’ was the one face showing any friendliness, and Quintus’ stomach tied itself in new knots. His troubles weren’t over yet.
They came to a halt before Pinarius. Quintus saluted.
‘This is Crespo, the soldier who brought me the news.’
‘The dog looks as if he’s still pissed,’ drawled Pera.