Tullus had no answer.
He tried not to be despondent. Casualties that day had been heavy, but not overwhelming. Arminius wasn’t dead, but he’d been thwarted in his attempt to kill Caecina. The baggage train had been lost, yet the rest of the army – including the rebellious soldiers – had made it here. Morale throughout the legions was poor, but not at its nadir. Despite his effort to be optimistic, Tullus knew that another day of heavy assaults could break the legionaries.
‘Eaten anything yet?’ Fenestela followed his voice out of the darkness.
‘My food was in the baggage train. Along with old Ambiorix,’ said Tullus, hoping that the Gaul had died fast. His nose twitched. ‘What are you hiding?’
From behind his back Fenestela produced a chunk of sweaty-looking ham. ‘This.’
Saliva filled Tullus’ mouth. ‘Where’d you find that, you dog?’
‘I have my sources.’ It was a typical Fenestela remark. He got to work with his dagger, hacking off a slice. ‘Here.’
‘Jupiter’s arse crack, but that’s good,’ said Tullus, chewing.
‘A hungry man isn’t the best critic,’ replied Fenestela with a chuckle. ‘It’s seen better days, this meat, but I’d rather have it than nothing.’
They didn’t talk further until every scrap was gone.
‘How are the men?’ asked Tullus. The legionaries of the entire cohort were his responsibility, but between him and Fenestela, the ‘men’ would always be those in his century.
‘Cold, wet and hungry. Apart from that, they’re not too bad.’ Fenestela’s expression grew serious. ‘Don’t worry. They’ll follow you, and they will fight. They’d appreciate seeing your face, though.’
Tullus let out a pleased grunt. ‘I’ll get to them soon.’
‘Want me to come with you?’
‘No. Sit by the fire. Get some rest.’ Fenestela began to protest, and Tullus growled, ‘You’re as tired as I am, if not more so. Thieving supplies is tiring work, or so I’m told.’
‘Ha! Those are fighting words.’
‘We’re both too old for that,’ said Tullus, pushing Fenestela towards his blanket. ‘Sit. Stay. That’s an order.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Fenestela’s tone was mocking, but the look he gave Tullus was full of feeling. ‘I’ll save this until you get back.’ Out of nowhere, it seemed, he had a small leather bag in one hand. It made a welcome, slopping sound. ‘Tastes like vinegar, this stuff, but it leaves a warm glow inside.’
‘I knew there was a reason I promoted you to optio,’ said Tullus, grinning.
Perhaps he would get some sleep after all.
Leaving Fenestela by his fire, Tullus wandered the muddy avenues, using the light cast by the soldiers’ fires to find his way. As before, he held brief conversations with the centurions of each century. He also kept talking to the men, making sure that their morale remained as high as possible. Whether the officers in the other cohorts were doing the same, he had no way of knowing, but Tullus hoped so. Chance alone, or perhaps Fortuna’s goodwill, had been all that had prevented the earlier foolishness of the Twenty-First and Fifth resulting in complete catastrophe.
Having spent time with all but one of the remaining centuries, and conferred with their centurions, he at last approached the lines where his own unit was camping out. His bone-shattering weariness eased by the warmth of his reception, Tullus moved between the contubernia, sharing a joke here, praising soldiers whose actions had stood out there. It touched him how many men offered him food and drink, although they themselves had so little. ‘I’ve sunk low before, but stealing from the mouths of you scoundrels would be a step too far,’ he demurred as they chuckled.
‘Today was hard, brothers, but tomorrow will be worse. Our losses will have given the savages a real appetite,’ Tullus told each group. ‘More of us will get hurt. Some will join our comrades in the underworld. Stick together, though, and we will get out of this fucking bog. I’ll be with you, every cursed, muddy step of the way, worse luck. My vitis will be with me too, so best watch out!’
It was usual for soldiers to wince, scowl or even look away when Tullus mentioned his vine stick, but tonight they let out full-throated roars of approval. Satisfied, he worked his way down the century, coming last to the contubernium in which Piso and Vitellius served. Before he approached, Tullus hung back in the darkness, watching the seven men as they sat talking by their fire.
Tullus would never admit to having favourites among his soldiers, but those who’d been with him in the Eighteenth did hold a special place in his heart. The still-gangling Piso and his acerbic comrade Vitellius ranked highest in his opinion – Piso’s actions earlier that day had cemented this feeling. Since they had helped to rescue Degmar’s family, Tullus also held Saxa and Metilius in particular regard.
Poor Saxa, thought Tullus. Like Ambiorix and White Hair the wagon driver, he was dead. Everyone unfortunate enough to have been with the baggage train would have met the same grisly fate. If Saxa and Ambiorix weren’t worm food, they were being tortured this very moment by German warriors. Tullus hoped it was the former.
‘Greetings, brothers,’ he said, stepping into the light. They made to jump up, but he waved a hand. ‘Rest easy.’
They grinned at him, eager as puppies, and Tullus’ heart warmed. ‘How are things?’ he asked, moving to stand near the crackling blaze.
‘All right, sir.’ ‘Not too bad, sir.’ ‘Things have been worse, sir.’
Tullus glanced at Vitellius, who hadn’t yet spoken. ‘And you?’
‘I’m wet through, sir. Half-starved too. My nose hurts like a bastard,’ replied Vitellius, giving him a sour look. ‘The front of me is toasty, thanks to the fire, but my back is fucking freezing. Oh yes – Saxa’s dead. Apart from that, I’m fine, sir. Thanks for asking.’
Surprised, Tullus roared with laughter. ‘Honest as always, Vitellius. I can’t offer you much succour.’
‘Didn’t think you could, sir.’ Vitellius’ shrug was resigned.
‘Are you ready for tomorrow?’ asked Tullus.
‘I’ll be there, sir, you know that.’
Tullus threw him a pleased look and turned to Piso. ‘How’s the head?’
‘Sore, sir.’ Piso’s smile was lopsided.
‘You able to march?’
‘Aye, sir, and to fight.’
‘You’re a good man. If it wasn’t for you, well …’ Tullus found himself at an unusual loss for words. ‘… I wouldn’t be here. Thank you.’
‘Any one of us would have done the same, sir,’ protested Piso.
‘Maybe so, but it was you who did it today. You who saved my life.’ Tullus held Piso’s gaze for a moment. ‘I won’t forget that.’
Piso gave him a solemn nod. ‘Sir.’
‘I’ll leave you lot to it,’ said Tullus. ‘Get some rest – tomorrow will be no joke. Sleep in your armour, just in case. Arminius is craftier than a fox.’
Thoughts of the Cherusci leader filled Tullus’ mind as he paced back to Fenestela. After so long, it had been startling to see Arminius again – and galling beyond belief to have crossed blades with him, lost men to him, but not to have slain the whoreson. The Fates must be sitting up there, watching me and still cackling, thought Tullus with a dour glance at the sky. Miserable Greek bitches. You separate our threads for six years, then bring them close enough to touch, but whip them away again before I had a decent chance to put the treacherous rat in the mud.
Give me another opportunity, he swore now, and I won’t waste it.
Tullus was deep in a most pleasant dream involving Sirona – he had managed to persuade her to lie with him at last – when a loud cry interrupted it. In the dream, it sounded as if someone was shouting outside Sirona’s room, or downstairs in the inn. Tullus did his best to ignore it, and kissed Sirona again. ‘Gods, but I’ve waited a long time for this,’ he murmured.