This isn’t the place to be theatrical, thought Tullus, even as a pair of soldiers grabbed Germanicus’ right arm and held it tight.
‘Calusidius is my name, sir,’ said another man, shoving his face into Germanicus’. ‘I think you’ll find this a little sharper than your toy.’ To loud applause, he proffered a standard issue gladius, its wooden handle shiny with use, and its steel blade well oiled. ‘You’re welcome to use it.’
‘I will choose the time of my death, legionary. Not you,’ snarled Germanicus.
Cowed by Germanicus’ contempt, Calusidius lowed his weapon.
Bony Face was harder to dominate. ‘Don’t be fickle, governor. If you’re so loyal, kill yourself,’ he jibed. ‘Go on!’
‘Do it!’ roared a hundred voices.
‘You’ll be no loss,’ added Fat Nose. ‘The more patricians who go into the mud, the better.’
Tullus was watching the men around him like a hanging hawk focuses on a mouse far below. He had noted their expressions changing throughout the unfolding drama, from impatient to awed, uncertain to angry to fearful and back again. Now he saw bloodlust creeping in. It would take but a word from Bony Face or his cronies to have the mob descend on Germanicus in a flurry of fists and blades.
He was moving at once. ‘Fenestela! After me!’
Two, three, six steps and he was in beside the soldiers who were holding Germanicus. Despite the press, Tullus was able to draw his sword underarm. Pushing its tip against the nearest man’s lower back, he hissed, ‘Release the governor. Don’t protest, or I’ll split your right kidney in two.’
‘You heard him,’ said Fenestela, using his blade to encourage the other soldier.
The shocked legionaries did as they were told. As those in the immediate vicinity struggled to realise what had happened, Tullus was speaking in Germanicus’ ear, motioning to his escort, and retreating away from Bony Face, Fat Nose and the twins. Pre-warned by Fenestela, Tullus’ twenty men formed a narrow, V-shaped wedge in front of Tullus and his valuable companion. Germanicus’ escort of three were quick to take their places in the formation. The party was twenty paces away before Bony Face and the rest began to hurl abuse after them, and fifty before the lead mutineers were calling for Germanicus to be apprehended.
At this point, Tullus slipped his hooded cloak over a protesting Germanicus, and pulled the cowl low over the governor’s face. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to bear with me,’ he muttered. ‘MOVE!’ he barked at his soldiers.
They were two hundred paces from the platform, and the gathering was thinning, before Bony Face had organised enough men to pursue them. Loud cries trailed over the crowd’s heads. ‘Catch him!’
‘With Germanicus as a prisoner, our demands will be met!’
The legionaries further away weren’t listening, were too pissed, or had no interest in apprehending Germanicus. There were curious stares aplenty, but few even remarked at the group’s passage. Nonetheless, Tullus did not let Germanicus lower his hood until they had reached the principia.
‘By all the gods,’ said Germanicus, recognising Tullus. ‘It’s you.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Tullus, concerned at once that there be no mention of their meeting in Rome. Despite Germanicus’ leniency, the fewer people who knew about it, the better. ‘I’m sorry for manhandling you back there.’
‘No apology is necessary, centurion.’ Germanicus dipped his chin. ‘It was fortunate indeed that I acted as I did when last we met.’ Tullus breathed a sigh of relief at the way their encounter had been mentioned, and Germanicus continued, ‘I appear to owe you and your men my life, perhaps. If not that, my freedom.’
‘I was just doing my job, sir.’
‘You risked much, and when things seemed as if they might get out of hand, you acted with real initiative. Take the praise, centurion.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Tullus.
‘It’s good to know that I have men like you behind me. Things are likely to get worse here before they get better.’
‘Blood will flow, sir?’ It was dispiriting to hear his worries given voice by another.
‘I’m sure of it, centurion. Even when the mutineers have been brought to heel, some of their leaders will have to die. The best way to remove canker is with the first cut of the knife, my father used to say.’ Germanicus’ eyes now looked like two chips of flint. ‘If you don’t do that, the rot soon spreads.’
‘As you say, sir,’ agreed Tullus. Inside, he was horrified by the idea of killing his fellow soldiers.
What choice had he, though, other than to obey?
Chapter IX
While Germanicus closeted himself in the largest tent with Caecina and the senior centurions, news reached Tullus of Tubero’s arrival while he had been outside the camp. It threw him into a foul humour. Tubero had escaped through the back of his tent, it seemed. Disguised as an ordinary legionary, he had made his way unhindered to the headquarters. ‘Somehow the maggot always comes up as a winner,’ Tullus grumbled to Fenestela.
‘You never spoke a truer word,’ observed Fenestela, spitting.
‘One law for them, and one for us, eh?’
Fenestela grinned. They both spoke the same lines every time. ‘As it has always been, and always will be.’
‘I heard it was bad out there,’ said a voice.
Tullus found Senior Centurion Cordus standing ten paces away, his podgy face pale and strained. I don’t need this now, Tullus thought, remembering their angry exchange in the Net and Trident. ‘Bad enough.’
‘They’re saying that you rescued the governor.’
‘Aye.’ Tullus rolled his eyes at Fenestela, and waited for the sarcastic response.
‘You went into the midst of thousands of unhappy legionaries, men who have murdered centurions, and somehow extricated Germanicus,’ said Cordus. ‘That was well done.’
Tullus gave Cordus a startled glance. What in hell’s name was he playing at?
‘It would have been a terrible thing if the governor had been killed,’ Cordus went on. ‘We are all in your debt.’
‘Anyone would have done the same,’ demurred Tullus.
‘Except they wouldn’t.’ With a friendly nod, Cordus walked away.
‘Prick,’ muttered Fenestela. ‘I’d trust him as much as a sewer rat. What was he up to?’
‘No idea,’ replied Tullus. ‘Maybe he’s changed his mind about me.’
Fenestela made a phhhh noise of contempt.
‘I need wine,’ said Tullus. Cordus’ comment had driven home the magnitude of the danger that they had been in. ‘See if you can scrounge some from the quartermaster. Enough for the men who came with us too.’
‘The words “blood from a stone” spring to mind.’
‘Tell him it’s for the man who “saved” the governor,’ said Tullus with a wink. He pulled an aureus from his purse and handed it over. ‘That should move his fingers towards his keys. I want a decent vintage, mind, and lots of it.’
Fenestela winked back. ‘I’ll drive a hard bargain.’
Tullus busied himself for a time by congratulating the twenty legionaries who had come with him and Fenestela. They were good boys, he told them. He was proud of what they had done, and so was Germanicus. ‘It’s quite a thing to have saved the life of the emperor’s heir,’ Tullus said. ‘You’ll only get one chance to do that in this lifetime.’
They gave him the fierce, relieved grins of those who have survived the storm of iron and steel. There had been no combat, but the risk of dying had been as high as it was in the fiercest battle, and every one of them knew it.
‘All centurions, gather round!’
Flanked by Germanicus and Tubero, Caecina stood in the doorway of the main command tent.
Tullus made his way over, and was pleased by the recognition he received from other centurions: nods, muttered congratulations, even a few claps on the back. It was heartening that some of the acknowledgements came from men who had shunned him before. Perhaps the stain on his character – for having survived Arminius’ ambush – wasn’t impossible to wash away. Not everyone was pleased for him: Victor, Cordus’ ox-like henchman, was among those who said not a word. He glowered as Tullus was allowed to take a place at the front.