In truth, the big man still looked as ill at ease in his finery a month and a half later, as if he’d been dressed in equipment that, whilst it all fitted perfectly, still had the appearance of having been borrowed for the day.
Ignoring the German’s witticism, Julius turned to look out over the docked ships again.
‘Forced to wear armour that makes me look like the emperor’s favourite bum boy, with my woman held as a hostage in Rome while I sail thousands of miles to a place I’ve never even heard of …’
His look of disgust deepened, and Scaurus nodded his agreement.
‘And why us, eh Julius? After all, there are plenty of other troops who could have been sent to Syria? Dozens of eager men of the senatorial class who would have jumped at the chance of the legion command that I’ve been granted, all of whom would be spitting blood to know that an equestrian like me has been chosen over them. You know the answer as well as I do …’
‘Cleander.’
Julius spat the name out, shaking his head in combined disgust and anger, and Scaurus nodded, his eyes fixed on the ship behind them.
‘Indeed. Marcus Aurelius Cleander, former slave, arch schemer and, in consequence, the current imperial chamberlain. The man who controls the empire on behalf of a man with much better things to be doing, and therefore the man with absolute power of life and death over me, you, my man Arminius here, your woman, and anyone else that either of us hold dear. When Cleander invites the most exalted men in the empire to jump, those of them with any sense, which is to say just about all of them, will only pause to enquire as to the height he expects them to achieve. And we’ve no one to blame but ourselves, Julius, you know that just as well as I do.’
The first spear shrugged.
‘What were we to do, wrap the man in chains to stop him going after the bastards who killed his father, slaughtered his family and forced him to abandon the name he was born with?’
Scaurus looked across the parade ground’s wide open space, to where the man in question was making his rounds of the troops waiting to march, in the company of Cotta and a hulking centurion carrying a pioneer’s axe over his shoulder.
‘I doubt that would have worked too well. Tribune Corvus isn’t the type to take no for an answer, is he?’
All three men contemplated their comrade for a moment, Scaurus’s lips creasing in a quiet smile.
‘And unfortunately for us, he was rather too effective in his quest for justice. The chamberlain now sees us as a means to an end, dangerous men whose obedience must be guaranteed by a simple and direct threat to those we love.’
His eyes hardened with the words, the line of his jaw tautening with anger.
‘And he’s right.’
Legatus and first spear fell silent, both reflecting on the overt threats Cleander had made to the former on the day that their transports had sailed from the Praetorian fleet’s base at Misenum. Staring out over the huge harbour’s glittering waters at the assembled Praetorian fleet, waiting to carry the two cohorts away to the east in defiance of the lateness of the season and the imminence of the seas’ closure for the winter, he had spoken with his usual amused candour.
‘You have your orders, Rutilius Scaurus, you simply have to carry them out to the letter. Succeed, and your status as a legion legatus may last longer than the time required for this simple task. Not to mention the equestrian status I’ve granted to your man Corvus, or rather Marcus Valerius Aquila, the son of a disgraced and executed traitor, as the events of the last few days have so conclusively proven to be his true identity. Fail, on the other hand, and you’ll find the welcome on your return more than a little chilly …’
The object of their discussion of a moment before walked steadily back across the wide open square towards them, the centurions strolling half a pace behind their tribune. Scaurus looked at the three of them for a moment, resisting the temptation to smile at the fact that while his newly promoted tribune wore his usual thoughtful expression, and his friend Dubnus was pulling at the collar of his armour with the frown of a man unaccustomed to such warmth in the middle of winter, Centurion Cotta’s demeanour was more that of a man enjoying an extended and leisurely holiday.
‘Your men will be pleased to have their feet back on solid land for more than a night, I presume, gentlemen?’
Cotta shook his head briskly.
‘On the contrary, Legatus, I think I’ve adapted to the ocean-going life, especially seeing as we had the biggest ship in the whole of the ocean for a private yacht. Now we’re ashore again it’ll be back to shouting at idiots and trying to get the sand out of my arse crack again.’
Julius raised an eyebrow at Scaurus.
‘I’ve said it before-’
The veteran centurion nodded with a soft snort of laughter, seemingly unconcerned by the big man’s superior rank.
‘And you’ll say it again, First Spear?’
‘And I’ll say it again. Bringing this insolent, worn out and retired officer along for the ride might have seemed like a bright idea back in Rome, when all he had to do was walk around behind the women and tell his men when to carry their shopping, but-’
A rare smile creased Marcus’s face, and the first spear turned a hard stare on his former centurion.
‘Is there something amusing you, Tribune?’
The younger man shook his head, bowing slightly in recognition of both Julius’s irritation and his own temporary status as superior officer to the man from whom he’d been taking orders only two months before.
‘Nothing, First Spear. Please do continue.’
‘Thank you, sir. Where was I …?’
‘Carrying the shopping.’
‘Thank you, Martos …’
The first spear attempted to skewer the one-eyed barbarian warrior who had joined the discussion with the same glare he’d used on Marcus, but the Briton simply raised a knowing eyebrow until Julius turned back to the object of his ire.
‘Do you really think you’ll be able to keep up on the march? At your age?’
Cotta shrugged.
‘We’ll know soon enough, won’t we First Spear? After all, given that I joined up at fourteen, I’m still younger than a good few of your old sweats.’
Julius opened his mouth to retort, but Scaurus raised a hand, his face set in the expression that every man in the group had learned to recognise as meaning the discussion was over.
‘The main reason that Centurion Cotta has been recruited to our ranks is obvious enough. I have been directed to take control of the Third Gallic, and the centurion here ended his service as a centurion with the very same legion.’
He opened his mouth to continue, only to close it again as Cotta beat him to it, his tone suddenly deadly earnest.
‘There are one or two other reasons, although the legatus here is trying to spare you your blushes, First Spear. Shall I name them?’
Julius looked at the veteran centurion from beneath lowered brows, and Marcus wondered if he’d detected a hint of a twitch in his friend’s lips.
‘Go on then.’
Cotta straightened his back.
‘Not that you’ll recognise any of them, given you’ve spent most of your life chasing blue-nosed tribesmen round some small wet island, but here they are. Zeugma, Edessa, Nisibis, Singara, Hatra, Ctesiphon …’
He paused, looking at Julius with a questioning expression, but the first spear’s shrug was eloquent.
‘None of which means anything to me.’
The veteran smiled grimly.
‘They all mean something to me. Garrison duty, skirmishes, pitched battles, even a burning city with the legion turned loose to do its worst, may the spirits of the dead forgive us. What it means, First Spear, is that I’ve been this way before, and with the very legion your legatus here has been sent to take a grip of. I fought all the way down the Euphrates to the Parthian capital twenty years ago under the emperor Verus, and then I watched the Third fall to pieces when the plague took hold, and we retreated back up the river with half of the lads either dead or on their last legs. I know that legion inside out, Julius, and all of the current crop of centurions were no better than chosen men when I left.’