Belletor snorted his disapproval, waving a hand in dismissal of his colleague’s argument as he proclaimed his verdict on the matter.
‘On the contrary, Tribune Scaurus, you have once again acted without the approval of your superior officer-’
Scaurus laughed out loud, the jaundiced tone of his outburst as much as the simple fact of its expression widening the eyes of the gathered senior officers.
‘Enough of this nonsense! Your approval would have taken half the morning not to be forthcoming. Why would I even bother? You’re not interested in anything that doesn’t suit your own needs, and you’re the closest thing to a military illiterate I’ve yet to meet in uniform. This was a decision that needed making immediately, not after the time required for you to wake, bathe, deign to see me and then spend an hour teasing the question through your clearly limited intellect, and so I made it on the spot. And now, I’m afraid, you’ll have to do as you see fit.’
Belletor’s response was an instantaneous, spluttering retort.
‘I’ll remove you from your command, that’s what I’ll do!’
Scaurus shook his head slowly.
‘You won’t, I’m afraid. That was a threat that only held good while we were on the southern side of the Danubius, never far from a legion fortress and the informed opinion of a legatus whose senatorial view of the world would match your own. Now that we’re on the empire’s very edge there are two problems with that course of action. For one thing, without a senior officer standing behind you, you’ve no means of backing up the threat. I have two cohorts of battle-hardened men to your one cohort of recruits and wasters, so you’ve no credible threat of force to offer. And secondly, I’ll not surrender those two cohorts to your incompetence, and neither will I allow you to put our inexperienced colleague Sigilis in charge of them, decent enough man though I believe him to be. So unless you’ve got a suicidal urge to take your iron to me, there’s no recourse to military discipline available to you until we both stand before a legion’s legatus, and while I’ll happily accept whatever it is that such an august personage decides should be my fate for ignoring your orders, until that day we’ll just have to rub along. Won’t we?’
Belletor looked about the room in search of some means of enforcing his impotent will. The Thracian cohort’s prefect looked down at the floor, clearly hoping to remain uninvolved, but Gerwulf met his gaze steadily.
‘Prefect Gerwulf?’
The German saluted respectfully.
‘Tribune?’
‘Will you obey my orders, Prefect?’
Gerwulf nodded.
‘I will, Prefect.’
‘Then disarm this mutineer and take command of his cohorts!’ Belletor’s expression went from enraged to crafty. ‘I believe there’s something he has which you want?’
Scaurus waved a dismissive hand at his colleague.
‘That won’t work either. You won’t be buying the prefect’s loyalty with the blood of a child because the boy has been hidden away where you’ll never find him.’
Gerwulf shook his head, ignoring Scaurus’s outburst.
‘With respect, Tribune, whilst your colleague is clearly in flagrant breach of your orders, I cannot come between you in this matter since it’s far from obvious to me that you’re really the senior officer here. Your best option now that the Ravenstone is safe from attack would surely be to march for Apulum and then head north, to seek the judgement of the Thirteenth Legion’s legatus. You could order me to do your will, of course, but my inevitable refusal can only provide you with more embarrassment, wouldn’t you say? The matter of the child will sort itself out soon enough, I expect.’
Belletor shook his head in frustration, and then came to an abrupt decision.
‘Very well, we’ll take this Galatas at his word and negotiate a peaceful end to this rebellion, after which I’ll march our three cohorts north to join with the main force. I’m sure the Thirteenth Legion’s legatus will be happy to receive reinforcements, and equally happy to sit in judgement of your insubordination. You, Prefect Gerwulf, can guard the mines in our absence and you, Tribune, will soon be receiving a harsh lesson as to what the price is for failing to obey the orders given to you by your betters!’
‘And that’s their king? That young lad riding in the middle of all those ugly looking bastards?’
Marcus replied without taking his eyes off the Sarmatae party, watching the men around Galatas carefully for any sign of a problem, with the fingers of his right hand touching the patterned spatha’s hilt.
‘Yes, Standard Bearer, that is indeed the king of the Sarmatae.’
Galatas was surrounded by the party of fifty horsemen that had been agreed in the initial negotiations, enough to represent a show of the tribe’s mounted strength without posing any threat to the defenders’ infantry cohorts, which had been drawn up on an open-sided square before the wall’s gate. His uncle Balodi was riding at their head, and the would-be usurper Inarmaz was mounted behind Balodi with his hands bound in front of him. The party stopped and dismounted, Balodi signalling to his men to help Inarmaz down from his horse before the three men stepped forward to meet the Roman senior officers waiting for them. After a moment’s discussion between the two sides Scaurus stepped away from the group and signalled to Marcus to leave his century and join them. Pacing out to meet the young centurion halfway, he spoke quietly as they walked towards the waiting men.
‘The king specifically requested you join us for the negotiations. I think he has a soft spot for you, and Belletor’s in no better position to refuse the request than he was when dear old Balodi insisted that I should be party to the treaty.’
Galatas smiled when he saw Marcus in the tribune’s company, stepping forward to take the Roman’s arm in a formal clasp.
‘Greetings, Centurion! It gives me great pleasure to see you again.’
Marcus bowed deeply.
‘As it does for me to see you in your rightful place, King Galatas Boraz.’
He bowed to Balodi, who nodded in return and gestured to Inarmaz at his side.
‘Greetings, Centurion, and well met once more. I’m sure my brother-in-law would greet you in effusive terms had I not taken precautions against him spreading more poison against the king as he’s done so many times before.’ The Sarmatae noble’s mouth was tightly bound with a strip of cloth, and Balodi laughed at the evil glare he received for drawing the Romans’ attention to his discomfiture. ‘Ah, if looks could kill, but then I’m afraid that looks are all my brother’s brother by marriage has left in his quiver. I’ve told him that any attempt to speak while he is thus restrained will only result in my having his mouth stitched closed, which would be a shame since I have a mind to deliver his final punishment before the sacred sword rather than watching him starve to death before we reach our homelands. But now to business, Tribune.’
Scaurus gestured for his colleague Belletor to step forward, and the other tribune did so with a venomous look of hatred at him which Balodi noted with a raised eyebrow. Gathering himself up, the Roman raised his head to point his chin at the Sarmatae nobles.
‘Very well then, King Galatas Boraz, I am Tribune Lucius Domitius Belletor, the officer commanding this mining facility and thereby responsible for your defeat. You have requested a negotiation of peace terms between your people and the Emperor Lucius Aurelius Commodus Antoninus Augustus. What terms do you seek?’