Marcus held his wife close, feeling her breath hot on his neck as she clung to his armoured body.
‘It’ll be a non-event. Gerwulf’s far too clever to still be in occupation of the mine by the time we get to the gates, he’ll have made a swift exit to the north with his gold long before we’re close enough to present any problem.’
Felicia pushed him away and held him at arm’s length.
‘All I’ll say to you is what I know Annia’s telling Julius. You’re all tired, and it’ll be much worse once you’ve marched all the way back to that damned mine. None of you will be in any condition to fight, so just make sure you don’t have to. And if that means letting that odious man escape with some gold, then so be it.’ She stared up at him with a fierce expression. ‘No amount of treasure reclaimed for Commodus to spend on circuses will compensate your son if he has to grow up without you!’ Her face softened. ‘And believe me, that was the gentle version. Annia probably has your first spear by his testicles about now, and not in a way he’d prefer.’
Marcus nodded tiredly and bent to kiss his wife goodbye, watching fondly as she ducked out through the tent’s flap. Taking a moment to strap on his swords, he went to follow her, only to stop and stare in amazement at the sight that presented itself as he stepped out into the early morning’s torch lit gloom.
‘No!’ He raised a finger to silence any protest, shaking his head vigorously. ‘No! You’re not coming with us!’
He looked down at the obdurate child standing before him beside his grandfather with exasperation, while Lupus stared back up with a mixture of anger and desperation. The boy was wearing the mail coat and helmet that had been made for him in Germania, and the half-sized gladius with which he was allowed to practise on special occasions was belted to his waist. The Roman shook his head again.
‘You’re not coming because we’ve four days of forced marching in front of us, thirty miles a day when you know very well your legs won’t last more than ten. We’re not taking any carts, so there’ll be nothing to ride on. You’re not coming because at the end of that forced march we’ll probably have to mount an attack on a cohort of barbarians which will turn into a bloody slaughter no matter who wins. You’re not coming because I won’t have the time to look after you, and because your grandfather will be too busy complaining about his feet.’ Morban raised his eyebrows in protest, but kept his silence. ‘And you’re not coming because-’
‘I carry him.’
The centurion spun on his heel to find Lugos standing close behind him with a gentle smile on his face.
‘What?’
The Selgovae tribesman shrugged, rolling his massive shoulders and putting the head of his war hammer on the ground, leaning on its handle and bending down to speak quietly in the Roman’s ear, his voice a rumble.
‘You forbid, I obey. But, Centurion, you think. Boy got warrior spirit, we all see that. Take him with is better than leave with women. I carry him. He weigh less than you, and I carry you before, eh?’
Marcus stared up at the Briton in bemusement.
‘But if we have to fight?’
‘Boy safe with me.’ Lugos straightened his back and folded his arms. ‘Is you to decide.’
The Roman narrowed his eyes, putting his head back to stare at the Briton.
‘You’ll carry him? For four days, thirty miles a day?’
‘I carry him.’
‘Very well. We’ll bring him along.’
Dubnus had joined the conversation while Marcus and Lugos were discussing the matter, and he stood with both hands on his hips as the ten-year-old wrapped himself around the giant Briton’s leg with a squeal of delight.
‘What? You’re seriously planning to bring a child on a mission which is likely to end up with us and the Germans hammering the living shit out of each other?’
His friend nodded, his lips pursed in comment on his own decision.
‘I know, it seems like madness. I should just leave him here with Felicia and Annia, but. .’
‘But?’
Marcus shrugged.
‘I’ve got an idea that I want some more time to mull over before I open it up to general ridicule.’
Dubnus snorted derisively.
‘Any idea that needs the services of a lad whose balls haven’t dropped yet won’t be getting past Julius any time soon. I can assure you that the first words out of his mouth are going to be “the first spear wouldn’t have. .”’
‘I know.’ Marcus shook his head. ‘And this time he’ll be right. Sextus Frontinius would have ripped me a new one just for considering it. I’ll square it with Julius once we’re on the move.’
The cohort mustered before dawn with a general atmosphere of disbelief that muted most of the potential complaints, although a few of the older sweats had still managed to find their voices despite their bone weariness. Centurions and chosen men were roaming the ranks of their men whose fatigued grey faces were near invisible in the pale light, counting and recounting to be sure that every man deemed fit to march was standing in the ranks. Equally as disgusted with the situation as their men, they were taking out their frustrations by ignoring, and in some cases exuberantly punishing, their men’s inevitable questions as to the sanity of their orders.
‘Cocidius knows I’m not a vindictive man. .’ Dubnus ignored the look of disbelief that was promptly focused on him by the half-dozen of Marcus’s men within earshot, all of whom had felt the sting of both his ire and his fists when he had been Julius’s chosen man. ‘But I swear if one more man has the balls to ask me what we’re doing freezing our tits off by breaking camp in the middle of the night, I’m going to follow Otho’s example.’
Marcus nodded absently.
‘In that case you’d better follow it closely enough to be sure not to provide any of them with an excuse to fall out.’
They had already witnessed their battered colleague’s spectacular temper being exercised on more than one of his men, although even in the depths of his anger the pugilistic centurion was delivering his discipline with slaps and kicks rather than the level of brutality to which he was more inclined. Morban muttered a terse comment from the side of his mouth.
‘In that case just give me one good dig now and spare yourself the trouble of having to bury me by the roadside later on.’
Both men ignored him, watching as Scaurus walked past with a nod, his face hard with determination as he spoke to them.
‘We’ll be on the move in a moment. It’s time to go and motivate your men.’
Dubnus sighed and turned away, leaving Marcus at the mercy of his standard bearer’s incredulity. Before the older man could wind himself up to speak again, the Roman shook his head with a look that warned of the danger in failing to obey his unspoken command. Looking up and down the ranks of weary, sagging soldiers arrayed before him, he smiled in the face of their collective disgust.
‘Well now soldiers, here’s a brutal thing to do to a man.’ He waited a moment for the words to sink in, and saw their faces fall further as the realisation that they would indeed be expected to march out into the dawn sank in. ‘You’ve marched, and fought, and marched again, and fought again, in wind, and rain, and snow. And here you are once more, faced with another march and more than likely another fight at the end of it. And you’ll do it, just as you always do. And if you want to know why?’
The soldiers stared back at him with blank faces, some verging on the outright hostility he knew was only to be expected, and which he would tolerate unless and until it spilled over into action.
‘You’ll do it because there’s an imperial gold mine being stripped bare, although I doubt any of you care too much about that. You’ll do it because there are several thousand miners being worked to death, although again, I don’t expect that to be troubling you overmuch, given all this. .’ He raised his hands into the cold night air, watching as a fine powder of snow fell around him. ‘But mainly you’ll do it because that’s what we do, gentlemen. We follow orders, we march, and we fight. Anyone that has a problem with that can take it up with me, after we’ve retaken the mine. It’s time to earn your corn again!’