Flavius was not the only one to discern the cause but it was not something the others would discuss with him, he being seen as too close to the man driving them towards something approaching defiance. The words Ohannes had used about unpopular officers came to mind; if they got into a fight, some of these men might be tempted to spear him in the back.
So he began to take on as many of the duties as he could, using the excuse of youthful exuberance to cover for what he saw as a necessity. He would go round Ohannes’s charges every time they broke the march to ensure they were fit to continue, leaving the old soldier to take his ease; showed eagerness when anything had to be communicated to Forbas, the centurion who led them; was ever out in front once they had been directed as to where to camp, to take from the commissary the tally needed to draw their food and wine – acts which were seen in a far from flattering light.
‘Grovelling little shit.’
Flavius had just overseen the marking out and erection of the tent, one of the tasks Ohannes was duty-bound to perform; instead he had stood back and let the youngster get on with it. Was he meant to overhear what the speaker was calling him, was he meant to see the nods the insult received from several others?
Tent up, Ohannes lay himself down on the floor, the way he made it to his comatose position, with suppressed moans at the pains in his joints, evidence of the strain he was under, every groan getting from his soldiers lifted eyebrows or an under-the-breath curse. There was no harmony in this group and any fellow feeling, if it existed, did not include Flavius or Ohannes, made doubly obvious by the way their supposed comrades sought other company and separate campfires as soon as they could.
The centurion Forbas, a leathery veteran who, if not as old as Ohannes, had done nearly as much time, was no fool. He could see what was happening and was wise enough to also be aware how easily discontent could spread, it being a disease to an army as deadly as the plague. In doing his rounds he had seen Ohannes stretched out and early asleep too often and it was not a position anyone of his rank should be observed in.
Forbas was setting the camp guards and the contubernium of which Flavius was part were due to mount part of it, this while the man tasked with ensuring they stayed awake and at their posts was, having wolfed his food, flat out, fully dressed and snoring his head off. His equipment was clean, but only because Flavius had taken care of that.
‘You, outside,’ he barked. Obliged to comply Flavius left the tent to be confronted by a less than sanguine countenance. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I don’t know what you mean, sir.’
‘Don’t fanny me, boy. I have been watching your friend the last few days.’
‘He’s my decanus-’
‘Don’t interrupt and more importantly don’t lie to me, or you’ll find yourself strapped to a wheel and hard leather stripping the skin off your back. I have eyes to see, so I know you are close. Question is, can he do the job he has been given and accepted?’
There are times when you look into another pair of eyes and know that a lie will not serve; in the case of Flavius it had always been those of his mother. But Forbas replicated that now, which obliged the youngster to respond with the truth.
‘Five leagues a day would tax any man.’
‘No excuses, boy,’ came the response; if the tone was softer it did not seem much less threatening. ‘Even if we struggle to manage the five and might be forced to do more.’
‘He is feeling his years.’
‘For which I can have some care, but my task …’
Forbas paused; he did not have to say that if he had sympathy for another old sweat he was in no position to indulge it. Being seen to be soft with anyone in the century would lead others to take advantage and that was made doubly so by the rapid assembly of a host in which discipline was fragile.
‘I can do what needs to be done, sir.’
‘Carry out his duties?’
‘Only those that do not diminish him in the eyes of others.’
‘It’s a noble notion, boy, but it won’t serve. Who else is there to take his place?’
The reply was as much a defence of Ohannes as the truth. None of the men he had so far marched with had impressed with either the qualities to lead or the desire to replace the man who did, added to which none had soldiered before; all they were good at was moaning.
‘Then you must undertake the duty, since you’re practically doing it already.’
‘At my age?’
‘Wouldn’t be tolerated in a proper army, but something tells me that you don’t need to be told how far this lot is from that.’
‘But will the men follow me?’
‘They will, for if they do not, they will have to deal with me.’
‘And Ohannes?’
‘I will tell him and if it eases your mind I will be kind about it. Now find out where your lot are and get them ready for guard duty. As for your old friend, he is excused for tonight. But on the morrow, like everyone else, he will march.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The night was a nervous one for Flavius, who should have slept but dared not. The method of ivory tallies used to ensure the sentinels were at their post and awake kept him on tenterhooks, for if any of the men he was now nominally in command of fell into a slumber it might not only be the miscreant who paid a price. The centurion on duty, a man unknown to the youngster, made his rounds and handed out his tokens to all who were alert; woe betide any man who could not return the requisite number come daybreak.
He had to see them changed at intervals, so that each man had four full glasses of sand with his head down and only two split shifts of duty on the section of the outer encampment ring for which they were responsible. Such was his worry, and his fear that he would not be woken by a disgruntled inferior, that he kept himself awake by seeking to recall how his father had handled his role as a commander and how he could apply it now, thoughts that were as daunting as they were enlightening.
Dawn brought little relief, though the night had passed off without alarms; the men, Ohannes aside, were in a foul mood and it was moot as to the cause. Lack of rest or the notion of being ordered about by a lad just turned fifteen and a voice that occasionally cracked to prove his adolescence; he suspected the latter but what kept at bay outright and vocal complaint was the proximity of Forbas, who was never far off and obviously willing, a message sent by many a glare, to intervene if anyone was insubordinate.
They breakfasted, struck their tents, loaded their personal possessions and the tent onto the cart that served the whole century and once they were blessed at Mass it was time to be back on the road, marching four abreast. Flavius was in the front of the two files and on the right, Ohannes beside him, and had a chance to quietly put to them what he could not do in the hearing of anyone of higher rank: that if they were so disgruntled by his elevation and annoyed by having to obey his commands he would happily step aside for anyone they proposed, albeit such a person would have to be approved by Centurion Forbas.
‘Suits me,’ Ohannes declared, somewhat restored after his slumbers and marching with seeming brio. ‘Who would want to care for this lot?’
‘You took pleasure in it,’ came a loud reply, from a fellow called Helias, the Greek name for watchman, which was backed up by a loud ‘Aye!’ from two of the others. ‘Not that I saw much care.’
‘So you might think,’ the Scythian shouted, clearly stung, ‘but if I took it, it was to get out from being under the likes of you.’
‘Must have slept well,’ came the call from another. ‘Let’s hope his legs are as strong as his voice.’
‘That’s past now,’ Flavius declared, looking behind to see if anyone in the ranks to the rear had heard the Scythian bellow, only to find he was staring at a row of blank eyes; if they had heard, and they must, all were pretending not to. ‘And Ohannes, keep your voice down. Helias, if you want the position of decanus speak up, the rest too for I will not put it to you again.’