The massively built Briton grinned at Arminius across the fire, earning a snort of derision in return.
‘When that monstrosity can best me with a sword — with a sword mind you, Lugos, not that bloody great hammer — then you’re all his. Until then I’ll do what I’m sworn to, and hope that young Lupus will make a good enough swordsman to replace me at your side before my master is ordered to a different command.’ He gave Sigilis a dirty look. ‘Or to put it another way, until your friend Belletor decides he’s had enough of being made to look like a fool.’
Marcus and Sigilis exchanged glances. The well-known fact of the young tribune being the obvious choice to succeed Scaurus in the event of his provoking Belletor one time too many had been hanging over their conversation all evening. Sigilis sighed and put down his bowl, looking about him at the cooking fires that studded the hill’s northern slope, then leaned forward and looked first Arminius and then Marcus in the eyes.
‘I wouldn’t do it, you know.’ The German’s return stare was hard with disbelief, the Roman’s carefully neutral, and the younger man shook his head in irritation, showing a spark of maturity beyond his years. ‘Don’t patronise me, Centurion! Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.’ He pointed at Arminius, his lip curling. ‘See, the truth of it is there in his eyes. I told Domitius Belletor that if he were to try getting rid of our colleague Scaurus I wouldn’t be prepared to take on his cohorts. For one thing I lack the experience, and for another. . well it just wouldn’t sit well with me.’
Marcus raised his eyebrows.
‘And your career? Surely refusing such an opportunity would be an ignominious start to the sequence of offices?’
Sigilis laughed loudly enough to turn heads at the nearest cooking fires.
‘The sequence of offices can be buggered, Centurion. Unlike my father I have no appetite for politics, that’s the whole reason I insisted on being posted to the frontier rather than allowing him to manipulate his contacts and slide me into some carefully purchased position in the empire’s heart. If he’d been doing the choosing I would have ended up in a role that was all kudos and no real responsibility. Besides, it seems that even Roman politics isn’t all that safe a calling at the moment.’
He held Marcus’s stare for a long moment before looking away, with the disquieting air of a man who knew more than he was saying, then took another mouthful of stew. While he was chewing the gristly meat a figure appeared out of the gloom and took a seat next to Marcus, gratefully taking the bowl of food waiting for him and speaking in a softer tone than the young tribune had expected.
‘I have checked all of the scouts. None of them has seen or heard anything to indicate that the enemy is attempting a night approach.’
Marcus put down his empty bowl, swallowing the last of his stew before addressing Sigilis.
‘Tribune, this is my friend Centurion Qadir. He is from Hama in the east, and his men are expert hunters. If they say that we are under no threat then I think we can be assured that the Sarmatae will not attack tonight.’
Arminius stretched, lying down on the grass and making himself comfortable.
‘They will come with the dawn, most likely. Wake me when the sky in the east turns from black to grey.’
The Roman stood up, putting a hand on Qadir’s shoulder to prevent him following suit.
‘You’ve done enough tonight, my friend. Get some sleep, and I’ll wake you in plenty of time to be ready for the fun and games. It’s time for me to do the rounds of the men and make sure that my brother officers understand tomorrow’s plan.’
Sigilis jumped to his feet.
‘I’ll come with you, Centurion.’
They walked away from the fire, Marcus putting out a hand and pulling the tribune’s sleeve.
‘Walk further to the right, Tribune, unless you want to end up with your foot full of holes and faeces. Titus’s men have the endearing habit of emptying their bowels into the stake pits they dig.’
Sigilis was silent for a moment, looking up to contemplate the blaze of stars above them before he spoke again.
‘Centurion, my father told me something a long time ago that I’ve never forgotten, back before the last emperor’s death. He said that all that was necessary for evil to flourish was for the decent men in the empire to be cowed into taking no action when injustices are perpetrated. And then two years ago he repeated that statement in connection with the death of a well-respected senator, a man known for putting his family’s long tradition of service to Rome ahead of his own interests. He told me that this man, whilst held in high regard by his peers and at the height of his powers, had nevertheless been murdered on false charges of treason whose main objective seemed to be the seizure of his considerable fortune. Understandably, given his closeness to this senator, a man with whom he shared much of his political attitudes, he took particular pleasure in the fact that the man’s son had apparently been spirited away to an unknown part of the empire and seemed to have escaped this perversion of justice. It was the talk of the Forum for a while, until it became clear that the son was not going to be found any time soon.’ He looked long and hard at Marcus in the firelight. ‘And now here I stand before an obvious Roman whose background is shrouded in mystery but who seems to me very much alike to that murdered man’s son.’
Marcus shrugged, long prepared for the moment when he might be recognised.
‘It wouldn’t be the first time a man’s been mistaken for another, Tribune, and it’s not as if you’ve much of a physical description to go on. We should turn uphill a little, I suspect we’ll find Otho just about to beat the snot out of one of his-’
Sigilis shook his head, putting a hand on Marcus’s arm as he made to turn away.
‘Hear me out, Centurion. Before I joined the legion my father made a point of making sure that I understood the nature of service to the empire by arranging for me to make a series of visits to military units stationed close to the city. I sailed on a warship out of Misenum, I watched as the Third Augusta paraded in the dust at Lambaesis in Africa, and most interestingly of all, I spent a day at the Praetorian Fortress on the Viminal Hill. I remember the view of the city from the vantage point of the fortress’s walls, I remember the spotless turnout of the soldiers, but most of all, Centurion, I remember the young officer who was given the duty of showing me around the fortress. You were younger then, unscarred by either iron or your fate, but you were very much the man standing before me now. You recognised me the instant you set eyes on me back in Fortress Bonna, of course, I could see it in your eyes even if I didn’t realise what it was that was bothering me about you for a while.’ Marcus stopped walking and turned to the other man with a rebuttal ready, only to see Sigilis shaking his head, his eyes hard in the fire’s red light. ‘Don’t waste your breath denying it, Valerius Aquila, I won’t betray you. There’s been too much murder in Rome of late without adding another name to the list.’
Marcus nodded, his face set in stonelike immobility.
‘So why tell me all this now?’
‘That’s simple. Tomorrow, if your expectation is well founded, we will face thousands of barbarian warriors across this narrow strip of ground, and for me this coming battle is a thing of mystery. It may well find me lacking. It may even kill me. If I fail to speak my mind to you now I may never have the chance to do so again. In which case you will continue to live in ignorance of information that might well be of inestimable value to you if indeed you are, as I believe you to be, Marcus Valerius Aquila.’
Marcus looked up at the stars for a moment before speaking.
‘In truth, I have almost ceased to consider myself by that name. I am Marcus Tribulus Corvus, centurion, husband and father, and nothing more than that. My former life is a grey memory of something I once had, but which is burned and gone for ever. I’ll admit that there are times when I dream of revenge, and I am haunted in my sleep by the ghosts of my family. .’ He shook his head wearily. ‘And yet I also wonder why I should give any more thought to something I cannot change, inflicted upon my family by men whose names I will never know and whose damage can never be reversed? How can one man hope to take on the throne and hope to find anything other than death both for himself and his loved ones?’