In the event, Scaurus’s good reputation with his officers and men had resulted in a conspiracy of silence across both of the cohorts under his command, and the soldiers had contented themselves with bringing a particular gusto to those of their marching songs with any relevance to the legionaries marching alongside them. Julius walked to the door, cup in hand, and looked out at the toiling soldiers for a moment before turning back to his tribune with a shrug.
‘If it’s of any consolation, Tribune, my colleague Sergius is as embarrassed as ever at being told to sit on his hands while we do all the work.’
Scaurus nodded his understanding.
‘I can imagine. But any soldier sharp enough to reach the rank of first spear in a legion cohort knows very well when to keep his mouth shut. He’s of far more value to us as a friend in Belletor’s camp than for any brief excitement he might whip up by protesting our case. And in any case, I think the worst part of our ordeal is over. Now that we don’t have to dig out a marching camp every night we can get back to some real soldiering. There’s a decent fight waiting for us somewhere out there, and I don’t intend for my men to be found wanting.’
Marcus walked wearily into the Fifth Century’s lines as the sun was falling toward the western horizon, finding Arminius and Morban’s grandson Lupus waiting for him outside his tent, the child still wet with the sweat of his evening lesson with sword and shield. The big German got to his feet and pointed to the tent’s door.
‘Inside if you will, Centurion, and get that gear off so that the boy can get to work with his brushes. It’s all very well you working on the turf rampart alongside your men, but we can’t have you covered in mud on parade tomorrow morning. The boots too. We’ve laid out a clean tunic and your soft shoes, and there’s a bowl of warm water in there for you to wash your face. The doctor came to see us a while ago and asked me to pass on the message that she would indeed be delighted to take a cup of wine with you before bed, if you can tear yourself away from your usual feats of military engineering.’
Marcus washed, taking pleasure from the sensation of the clean water drying on his skin after a full day’s labour, then pulled on the clean tunic and belted it so that the hem was above his knees in the approved military fashion. Re-emerging into the evening sun he found Lupus hard at work on his boots, buffing them back to their customary morning shine. He squatted next to the boy, noting that the sword he and Arminius had purchased for him in Tungrorum was laid alongside him in the grass in its battered metal scabbard.
‘We haven’t spoken much recently, Lupus. .’ He paused, struggling for words as the boy continued his polishing without looking up. ‘I’ve been really busy, and little Appius, well. .’
Lupus rescued him, still intent on his work as he spoke into the silence, his voice still high and clear.
‘Arminius told me that my job is to keep your equipment clean and to learn to fight as well as he can. And that nothing else matters. When I can fight well enough he says I can be a soldier, and serve in your century like my daddy did.’
Abashed at the boy’s matter-of-fact acceptance of the harsh facts, Marcus thought for a moment before replying.
‘Your father was a brave man, and when you can hold your own in a fight with Arminius I’ll be proud to serve alongside you. But you do know that your grandfather loves you too, don’t you?’
Lupus grimaced at the boot.
‘My grandfather loves me well enough, but he also loves drink, and ladies, and most of all he loves to gamble. But all I love is this. .’
He lifted the metal scabbard, and Marcus thought his heart was going to break.
‘Give me the boot, Lupus.’ The child frowned and handed it to him, and Marcus looked down at the shining leather with a quick nod. ‘Perfect.’ He tossed it into the tent behind him, then reached over for the other, still streaked with mud, and repeated the act.
‘But it’s not clean. .’
Lupus fell silent as he realised that the centurion’s hand was held out palm upwards.
‘Now give me the sword.’
The boy’s face crumpled, on the verge of tears.
‘But. .’
Marcus took the weapon from his hands, forcing a smile onto his face.
‘You can have it back later, I promise.’ He reached over and plucked the weapon from Lupus’s unresisting hands. ‘It can sit alongside mine while we’re away. Nobody’s going to risk taking liberties with a pair of dangerous swordsmen like you and me.’
He leaned back into the tent, and laid the scabbard down next to his blades, shaking his head at the stark simplicity of the weapons’ purpose.
‘Now then, come with me. We’ll worry about the boots and the armour in the morning, eh? Tonight you can join Felicia and me for our meal, and little Appius too, if he’s awake.’ He squatted onto his haunches, looking up at the boy’s mystified face. ‘Lupus, you’re going to make a perfect soldier, when the time comes. By the time you’re fifteen you’ll probably be able to do more with a sword than I can now, but we’re making you into a soldier before your time, and it’s not fair.’ He put a finger under the boy’s chin, lifting it until the boy met his eyes, his voice soft with the memories of his own younger brother. ‘There’s another life you need to live before you take the oath, Lupus, you need to be a boy for just a while longer, and have as much of a family as we can make for you. Come on, let’s go and see which one of us can get little Appius to give him a smile first. .’
Tribune Scaurus was busy with a long-overdue review of the cohort’s records when the beneficiarius appeared at the door of his tent with an apologetic salute.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Tribune, but you did ask me to find you again when I had the chance.’
The tribune sat back from the table and nodded to his clerk, running a hand through his hair.
‘That will be all for the time being, there’s nothing much wrong with it all from what I can see. Do come in, Beneficiarius.’
Cattanius stepped inside the tent, and the two men waited in silence while the clerk gathered his scrolls and left. Scaurus gestured to the chair that the administrator had vacated, and allowed the soldier to take a seat before speaking.
‘Where are you from, Soldier Cattanius?’
‘The province of Noricum, Tribune, from a little village in the mountains above Virunum.’
‘And you’re how old?’
‘Twenty-four, Tribune, I joined the legion when I was sixteen.’
Scaurus raised an eyebrow in recognition of the younger man’s achievement. Whilst his failure to progress beyond the rank of soldier might be considered disappointing for a bright young man in some quarters, Cattanius was clearly far better suited to the careful calculation frequently required of a legatus’s representative than the casual brutality needed to rule a century as a watch officer or chosen man. As if reading his mind, the beneficiarius smiled knowingly.
‘I’d have been a soldier for the rest of my life if not for Legatus Albinus, and not a particularly good one either.’
He fell silent, waiting while Scaurus appraised him more closely. After a long pause the tribune sat back in his chair with an inquisitorial air.
‘So who is it?’
‘Tribune?’
‘Don’t play it coy with me, Soldier Cattanius. Beneficiarius or not, I outrank you quite severely, and I’m not a pleasant man when I believe I’m being played for a fool. You’re bright enough to understand the question, and quite possibly devious enough to know the answer too. So, in your opinion, who is it?’