CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘Hey!’ Macro called out to the other centurion as he followed him out of the building into the darkness of the small courtyard at the front of the fort’s headquarters. A single torch flared in a bracket above the entrance gate, though the other officers had already left. ‘Severus!’
The man stopped and turned to face Macro, who grinned.
‘I knew it was you! By the gods, man, how long has it been?’ Macro strode up to him and clasped him by the shoulders. The centurion was thin and his face looked drawn. A thin fringe of wiry grey hair ringed his head and his bald crown gleamed dully in the light of the torch flame. ‘You’ve changed, Severus. I almost didn’t recognise you. What happened to that athletic legionary with the fine head of blond hair? The one who broke the hearts of all the local women in the vicus outside the Second Legion’s fortress?’
‘He grew old, and fearful,’ Severus replied quietly. He glanced past Macro towards the corridor leading to the hall. ‘Will the prefect be keeping Quertus for long?’
‘If I know Cato, they’ll be talking for a good while yet.’
Severus looked relieved and he offered Macro a tired smile. ‘Well, at least you haven’t changed that much. Still the same bull of a man with coarse curly hair you could brush your boots with.’
‘So you recognised me too then?’
‘The moment I saw you in the hall.’
‘Then why didn’t you say? I doubt there’s any of the original training section left these days. Fuck, it’s good to see a familiar face in this nightmare of a place.’
Severus’s smile faded. ‘It’s a nightmare all right.’
‘And that Quertus is a piece of work. A regular cold killer.’
Severus stared back at Macro. ‘You don’t know the half of it. That’s why I didn’t say anything about recognising you back in the hall. I’m in enough danger already without drawing any more attention to myself.’
‘Danger? What do you mean, Severus?’
The other man looked around anxiously, but nothing moved in the shadows of the courtyard. They were alone. ‘Look here, Macro, we need to talk. But not here. Let’s get over to our side of the fort, away from these Thracian bastards. I’ve still got a few jugs of Gallic wine. I’ll share a cup with you.’
‘Fine. Let’s go!’ Macro clapped him on the shoulder. ‘There’s a lot to catch up on. Be good to have a drink before I take charge of the cohort.’
They left headquarters and turned into the main thoroughfare that bisected the interior of the fort. To their left Macro could see some of the other officers making for the long barrack blocks where the troopers had their quarters on one side while their mounts were stabled on the other. They turned right, towards the smaller barracks of the legionary cohort. As they made their way through the fort Macro could see signs of neglect. Weeds were thrusting up in the alleys between the timber and daub buildings. Some of the drains had blocked and small pools of foul-smelling water were backing up. There were none of the usual sounds that Macro associated with the forts he had known for most of his life. The barracks were silent — no raucous laughter from men sharing a drink as they played dice. There were no men sitting on stools outside the section rooms cleaning their kit. There were few men to be seen at all. As they reached the quarter assigned to the legionary cohort they passed a high timber cross frame with a footplate nailed into the riser. Macro glanced at it, but said nothing as he made small talk with his companion.
‘Good to see that we both made centurion,’ said Macro. ‘It took me a fair amount of time, and the usual helping of good luck. How about you? You were transferred out of the Second fairly quickly, as I recall.’
Severus nodded. ‘They were stripping men from the Rhine to fill out the ranks of the legions earmarked for a campaign across the Danuvius into Scythia. Where our commander hails from originally. As you can imagine, I keep quiet about that part of my career.’
‘He’s not the commander any longer. The fort has a new prefect now.’
Severus shot him a quick look. ‘You think so? I doubt that Quertus is going to hand over control of the garrison that easily.’
‘He has no choice. Chain of command.’
Severus laughed bitterly. ‘I think you’ll find that things operate a little differently at Bruccium.’ He changed the subject. ‘So what happened to the rest of the lads in the section after I left the Augusta?’
Macro scratched his jaw as he recalled their old comrades. ‘Postumus was drowned when his boat capsized on a river patrol. Lucullus was bitten by a hunting dog. The wound went bad and killed him. Barco, the big bastard, you remember? He got picked for the legate’s bodyguard, then caught the eye of Caligula and was transferred to the Praetorian Guard. Last I heard he’d got a promotion to centurion in the fleet at Misenum. Aculeus became a clerk at headquarters and was discharged for fiddling the books. Piso was killed in a skirmish with some Germans who had refused to cough up their taxes, and Marius, well, you’ll find this one hard to believe: Marius was kicked to death by a mule.’
They both laughed before Severus looked at his companion curiously. ‘I heard something about your promotion to centurion. I gather you were summoned to Rome to be decorated and promoted by Claudius himself.’
‘Yes,’ Macro replied quickly. ‘Just a bit of a ceremony, a few months’ leave in the city and back to the Rhine.’
‘Oh.’ Severus looked disappointed. ‘I heard rumours there was more to it than that.’
‘So how did you end up here?’ Macro clumsily redirected the conversation. ‘Bruccium, the absolute arse end of the empire.’
Severus shrugged. ‘You go where you are sent. Ostorius is determined to push on and crush the last centre of resistance to Rome. So he’s been constructing a number of big forts like this, strong enough to hold off any attacks and with enough men to make life difficult for the surrounding tribes. The forts are out on a limb, but that was a risk the governor was prepared to take, with our lives.’
Macro glanced round. ‘Some forts are more out on a limb than others.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘I was rather hoping you’d tell me.’
Severus said quietly, ‘Not out here.’
He raised his hand and pointed out the end of a barrack block twenty paces ahead. ‘That’s mine. Home to the Second Century, Fourth Cohort, Fourteenth Legion. Or what’s left of my century. The cohort commander’s quarters are there at the end of the street.’
‘Who is the ranking centurion at the moment?’
‘That would be me. It should be Stellanus but he’s gone over to the Thracians. As it is, only Petillius and I are left. And we’ve barely enough men to fill out the ranks of two centuries.’
‘Two centuries?’ Macro raised his eyebrows. The full complement of a legionary cohort was four hundred and eighty men, organised into six centuries of eighty soldiers. Barely a third of that number remained. ‘What happened to the rest?’
They had reached the door to Severus’s quarters and he ushered Macro inside. An orderly had been sitting by the small fireplace warming himself and he jumped to his feet as the officers entered.
‘Titus, build the fire up, then fetch me a jug of wine from my stores.’ He turned to Macro. ‘Have you eaten?’
Macro shook his head.
‘Then bring us some bread. Any of the cheese left?’
‘No, sir. You ate the last of it two days ago. Same with the bread. There’s biscuit, sir.’
Severus sighed. ‘Biscuit then, and more bloody dried mutton.’
The orderly bowed his head and then turned his attention to the fire, carefully stacking some split logs on to the low flames.
‘Trouble with food supplies?’ Macro queried.
‘Not if you like salted or dried mutton and biscuit. Quertus has resorted to living off the natives as part of his effort to cut himself free from Glevum. It means we eat what Quertus and his men pillage from their villages. Since their crops have only recently been planted that leaves only what they set aside for winter.’