‘So, what will happen now?’
Balodi looked up at Marcus with an expression of resignation, chewing on the last piece of meat and swallowing before answering.
‘I am not gifted with the ability to see the future, Centurion, but a man doesn’t need the skills of a seer to know that with my brother and I unlikely ever to see our people again, my nephew is very much alone in a sea of enemies. He finds the easy prize that Inarmaz promised his father fiercely guarded, preventing him from giving the tribe a swift victory, and the huge wealth they have been promised will be theirs. And at his back lurks a man of infinite cunning whose sons, Amnoz and Alardy, give him an edge of terror over the tribe’s nobles. They are mad dogs, both of them, and neither of them would have either difficulty or scruple in killing my nephew “for the good of the tribe”. He will make his move in the morning, I would imagine, suggesting to Galatas that he must lead a fresh attack on your defences, and pledging his sons to fight on either side of their prince to ensure his safety. And at some point in whatever battle ensues, whether our warriors be winning or losing the day, one of Inarmaz’s sons will slip a small blade into my nephew’s armour and let his life run out, shielded from view by the press of the king’s bodyguards who, I strongly suspect, have already been turned to their service.’
Dubnus nodded his understanding.
‘And you? If you were standing on the other side of that wall, what could you do to change this prediction?’
Balodi got to his feet, taking a deep breath and eyeing the burly centurion with a gentle smile.
‘You take me for a beaten man, do you, resigned to the end of my father’s line? The blood that carved a kingdom out of the plains beyond these hills is strong in me, Centurion, and were I to stand against Inarmaz I would command the support of thousands of those spears you see camped before your walls. I would not stand by and watch my father’s legacy be stolen by the second son of a rival king, and neither would my nephew go to his grave with a knife in his back if I stood alongside him. He might still die, of course, but the wound would be in his front, and his defeat inflicted in a fair fight, not by deception and assassination.’ He shook his head with a bitter smile. ‘But since I stand here under your spear points that’s all of precious little import, wouldn’t you agree?’
The tent’s flap parted, and a soldier put his head through the gap with a respectful salute.
‘Begging your pardon, Centurions, but I have a message for you from the hospital. The doctor gave me this for you and she said it was urgent.’
Marcus took the tablet and read for a moment, then handed it to Dubnus, calling for Quintus.
‘Chosen Man, keep this man under guard. Centurion Dubnus and I must consult with the tribune.’
‘You really don’t have to do this.’
Marcus continued with the painstaking task of re-strapping the leg windings that secured the bottom of his leggings around his boots, working carefully, ensuring that nothing could flap loose in a fight.
‘I really do. I promised. .’
‘You promised to love and care for me, and for Appius, that was the promise I remember. What will we do if you climb down that wall and never come back? What if the next time I see your face it’s stuck on a spear point? What if the-’
Marcus shook his head, retying the other legging and getting to his feet. Taking Felicia in his arms he pulled her close, wrapping both arms about her.
‘I promised to deliver the king’s body to his son if he died. And I am a man of my word.’
She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes.
‘And his uncle promised to kill you if you were ever to cross paths again.’
Shaking his head again, he smiled grimly.
‘That’s the last time I tell Julius anything I don’t want you to know.’
‘But it’s true, isn’t it?’
Marcus nodded.
‘Yes. And I take him for a man of his word.’
‘So you’ll go unarmed into a barbarian camp in broad daylight without even wearing your swords?’
He looked reflexively at the twin scabbards propped against his field chair.
‘There’s little point in provoking them by an ostentatious display of weaponry. I expect they’ll provide me with a blade if I’m called upon to defend the empire’s honour. Just make sure you get a good price for mine, if. .’
Felicia snorted derisively.
‘You’re sure you haven’t promised them to one of your friends?’
Marcus opened his mouth to reply, but the tent flap was abruptly pulled aside to reveal Julius waiting outside.
‘It’s time to do this thing, if you’re set on putting your head into the trap?’
He nodded curtly at Julius and, kissing Felicia on the cheek, turned to leave.
‘I’ll be back soon enough.’
‘And if you’re not?’
The Roman turned, stroking a tear from his wife’s cheek.
‘Then I’ll be with Mithras. In which case, my love, honour my memory?’
He stepped out of the tent and started walking towards the wall’s looming bulk, Julius falling in alongside him and speaking quietly in the morning’s calm.
‘You’re a stubborn bastard, I’ll give you that much. Will you reconsider?’ The only reply his friend offered was a curt shake of his head, the pugnacious set of his jaw making the first spear sigh in only partially affected despair. ‘I know, you gave your word, and the trustworthiness of a Roman gentleman is the last thing he can afford to lose. Except you’re not a Roman gentleman any more, are you Marcus? You’re a centurion in an arse end of the empire auxiliary cohort, and to those people out there your word’s not worth the steam off your piss. So give up this lunacy, and we’ll lower the stiff off the wall by rope. They can have a truce to come and get their dead king. You’ll never see this man Galatas again, so there’ll be no-one any the wiser. What do you say; shall we all decide to live to see tomorrow’s dawn?’
Marcus stopped walking and turned to face him.
‘And if you’d given your word to a man that you would do a thing? What then, Julius? What if your only reward was likely to be cold iron, but you’d looked a fellow warrior in the eye and made a solemn vow? How would you be able to tolerate your own company for the rest of your life if you walked away from that promise?’
The first spear shook his head in bemusement.
‘Marcus, nobody’s going to think any the less of you for not committing suicide at the hands of this pack of howling barbarian scum. Think of your wife and child.’
The Roman nodded, turning back to the wall and resuming his steady pace.
‘I am. I’m sparing them the indignity of watching me deal with the bitterness and self-castigation that will be my fate if I deny my instinct in this matter. Now let us get this done, with no further attempts to dissuade me from following the path my honour dictates.’
Realising that he was beaten, the first spear fell silent for the remainder of the walk to the wall, following his friend up the rampart’s steps to where the king’s body waited on the fighting platform in its tight wrappings. Tribune Scaurus was standing alongside it looking out over the enemy camp, and when he saw Marcus he pointed a finger at the archers waiting patiently outside of the range of the Thracian’s bows in the grey of dawn.
‘You’ll be inside the reach of their arrows by the time you’ve taken fifty paces, Centurion. You won’t be able to make a run without them peppering you with arrows before you can cover half the distance back this way. I suggest you give up this insane idea before I find myself lacking yet another experienced officer.’
Marcus shrugged.
‘I won’t be running, Tribune. Whatever it is that’s waiting for me in that camp is better than dying within sight of our wall with an arrow in my back. You can give me a direct order not to go out there, but you’ll be sacrificing two things if you do.’