Marcus took back the tablet, quickly writing a fresh line of text before handing it back to his friend. Silus read the response and shrugged helplessly.
‘And you think the fact you expect to be followed makes it any more sensible? You’d better watch your back, Centurion, that’s all I can say. You’re sure you don’t want a few of my lads to come along and watch it for you? I’m sure the tribune wouldn’t argue with the idea.’ Marcus shook his head. ‘I thought not. Very well, if you’re determined to do this on your own…’ He turned away and shouted a command to the men busy at work behind him, one of whom put his brush down and led forward the horse he was grooming. The animal stopped in front of Marcus, lowering its long face to nudge at his shoulder, and Silus laughed wryly, affectionately rubbing the horse’s flank. ‘See, Bonehead recognises a kindred spirit. He knows that wherever he goes with you there’ll soon enough be an opportunity to run wild and kick things, don’t you, you feather-brained bastard?’
Marcus waited while the horse was saddled, then led it away with a wave of thanks, walking the restive animal down the row of barracks until he reached the building that housed his own century. Qadir stepped out of the chosen man’s quarters to greet him, and he quickly grasped what it was that his centurion had in mind when Marcus handed him one of the two hourglasses and the tablet, nodding at the carefully worded instruction. He shouted a command over his shoulder, eyeing Marcus with a grave stare.
‘Cyclops! Your presence is required!’ The watch officer emerged from his barrack and shot Marcus a respectful salute before turning to listen to his chosen man’s orders. ‘I want the five most disreputable and unsoldierly looking men in the century here in tunic order as fast as you can.’ The Hamian turned back to Marcus. ‘We’ll need some time to get them out to the gates. Allow one hourglass to pass before you leave the city; that should be sufficient time for us to rustle up enough slovenly characters. I see that you’ve borrowed your usual horse from Silus, and I don’t doubt that he wanted to send some men along with you, so I won’t be surprised if you refuse any offer of help.’
Marcus nodded and patted his friend on the shoulder, then pointedly turned his hourglass over. Qadir shook his head resignedly before following his example, and the Roman turned away, satisfied that he had taken the only possible precaution against what he was expecting would happen once he launched himself on his intended path of action. Leading Bonehead by his bridle, he made his way to the armourer’s shop, where he was warmly greeted by the smith himself.
‘I have everything you wanted, Centurion, made exactly to your specifications. Come this way, and I’ll have one of my men watch your horse.’ In the forge behind the smith’s shop Marcus found his purchases neatly laid out for examination, and the smith took each piece in turn and offered it up for examination. ‘Your spear, with the head made just as you described. Although what use it will ever be is a mystery to me.’ Marcus examined the spear carefully, then nodded his satisfaction and put it aside, watching as a stout leather cover was slid over the weapon’s iron head to deflect the curious gazes it was likely to draw. The smith’s next offering was the helmet he’d ordered, and the young centurion looked at it closely from all angles before signalling his acceptance, writing in his tablet and lifting it up for the smith to read. ‘Hold it for you? Of course, Centurion. And here, just as you requested it, the shield. I had it painted with the design you ordered, and I have to say that my artist has quite excelled himself.’ He pulled off the shield’s thick leather cover, turning it for Marcus to examine. ‘See, it is constructed just as you wanted, although how useful it will be in a fight is doubtful, given how much it…’ His words trailed off as Marcus spun the slightly dished shield to display the artwork that decorated its face. He stared at it for a long moment, then nodded happily at the image that would face an opponent were he to use it in combat. The smith sighed with relief, pulling the leather cover back over his creation. ‘And lastly, the gift you requested of me.’ He handed over a heavy leather bag, indicating the strap by which it could be hung from a saddle horn. ‘I trust that you find all of this to your satisfaction, and will be able to…’
Marcus nodded, dropped a bag of coins into his palm and took his purchases out to the waiting horse, hanging the heavy leather bag from Bonehead’s saddle before slinging the shield across his back with the strap attached to its leather cover. Mounting the eager beast he rode to his last stop, the food shop where he routinely purchased his soup. The cook came out to meet him carrying a heavy water skin, whose contents were still warm, and he paused for a moment to swallow several mouthfuls of the broth before heading for the east gate, a quick glance confirming that the hourglass was close to empty. As he approached the gate he was pleased to see one of his men lounging idly against the wall of a building, dressed in a dirty tunic which was hanging below his knees in a decidedly unmilitary fashion. With a wooden-handled knife in his belt he looked like nothing more than the kind of man who could be found right across the empire: a sharp character who preferred living off his wits rather than the sweat of his labour. Sneering up at the passing officer he swept the street behind Marcus with a bored gaze, ignoring the centurion’s passage out through the gate and onto the road to the east.
Marcus spurred his horse into a trot, turning the hourglass as the last grains ran out of its upper section and starting a fresh period of measurement. He rode for a mile or so, then took advantage of a low ridge to leave the road unobserved by anyone watching from the city’s walls, tethering the horse to a tree far enough inside the forest that ran alongside the road as to be invisible to the casual glance. Walking slowly back down the line of trees, he paced forward until he found a spot from which the city was clearly visible but from which there was no risk of his body being silhouetted against the skyline. Taking out the hourglass, he waited patiently for the remaining sand to run out, keeping his eyes fixed on the walls of Tungrorum and only occasionally glancing down to view the sand’s slow but inexorable progress. As the last grains ran through the glass’s tiny aperture he locked his stare on the city, and after another long moment his patience was rewarded. A trail of black smoke etched an arc against the sky, the burning arrow drawing a thin charcoal line across the sky to the south of Tungrorum, and Marcus smiled grimly to himself, turning back to the horse’s hiding place.
Tribune Scaurus was back at his desk by late morning, refreshed by his bath and the short sleep he had allowed himself, and was patiently plodding through a stack of official documentation taken from the procurator’s office when Caninus hurried into his office. The bandit hunter saluted briskly and stood at attention in front of his superior’s desk, and Scaurus laid down the scroll he was reading to glance up at his colleague with an approving expression.
‘The more I read, the more I realise what a favour you’ve done the empire by bringing this squalid fraud to its inevitable conclusion. And what can I do for you now, Prefect?’
The other man’s response was crisp with urgency.
‘One of my scouts has returned to the city from Arduenna, Tribune, and he has delivered vital intelligence on the subject of Obduro and his gang.’ He walked over to the map on one wall of the office, pointing to a spot in the forest close to where the Tungrians had crossed the river only days before. ‘He tells me that he was hunting Arduenna for their stronghold as I have ordered, and as I promised would be my main focus of effort, but instead of finding their hiding place he stumbled across the bandits themselves, marching in strength through the forest. He counted their numbers as being over five hundred men. Once they had passed his hiding place he made his way to the river, swam across and then ran to the city. His sighting is less than three hours old.’ He pointed at the map again, now indicating the point where the road south to Augusta Treverorum bridged the Mosa to the forest’s west. ‘With their bridge destroyed they are forced to take the long way round to reach the Beech Forest road, using the path out of Arduenna’s north-western edge and then across the Mosa by the road bridge. As to where they are heading in such numbers, I am forced to conclude that the city may be their objective.’