world. In some places the Imperial Raven and Wolf still hold little sway.”
The engineer continued to watch the captain carefully. The older officer’s eyes were starting to glaze and were already half closed.
“I think it’s time I went sir. You need to sleep.”
Varro nodded, his eyes flickering a couple of times and then focusing once more on his companion.
“You’re probably right, soldier. I want to speak to you again. Tell your sergeant that you’re excused departure duties in the morning. Report to my tent at reveille.” His eyes flicked closed once again, and it took the young man only a second to realise his commander was already asleep. He leapt forward and caught the captain, allowing the goblet to fall away and roll under the bunk while he gently lowered Varro down to the soft pillow.
Bending, he replaced the goblet on the tray, corked the bottle and quietly backed out of the tent, closing the flap as he left.
Chapter Two
Varro was awakened by the jarring blare of the horns calling reveille though, truth be told, he’d spent several hours drifting in and out of consciousness during the night through discomfort, so the interruption was not entirely unwelcome. The captain hauled himself very slowly and carefully from his bunk, still fully dressed in his bloodied tunic and the leather vest worn beneath the armour to prevent chafing, the sheets stained pink with the leakage from his wound. Wincing and gritting his teeth, he pulled himself slowly upright and reached out to the cupboard to steady himself. A little further movement brought on a wracking cough that threatened to floor him.
There was a respectful knock at the door and a voice called out.
”Are you alright sir? Can I help?”
Varro stood a moment, shaking, disconnected thoughts flittering around him like the memories of dreams. Slowly he focused on the tent flap and recalled the young engineer. Ah yes. He’d told the lad to come at reveille, hadn’t he?
“I’m ok lad. Come in. Is my body servant out there?”
The soldier lifted the heavy leather tent flap with one hand and poked his head through.
“He was here a few minutes ago, sir. He left toward the laundry tent saying something about your uniform.”
Varro nodded. Martis, his ever-efficient servant would be preparing clean clothes for the journey back to camp. He turned, staggering slightly, and the engineer was there in the blink of an eye, supporting his commander’s shoulder. Varro smiled a weary smile and, as he sat to regain his balance and began to unlace the boots he’d slept in last night, a thought welled up and he eyed the engineer speculatively.
“What’s your name, lad?”
“Salonius, sir,” the young man replied, stamping his feet and coming to a perfect salute.
Varro finished unlacing his boots and stood, allowing Salonius to take the brunt of his weight as he swayed slightly. Two steps forward and he swept aside the tent flap and gestured at one of the two soldiers on guard outside, bearing the white horsehair crest of the command guard.
“Send word to the sergeant of engineers that I’m seconding one of his men. Salonius is being reassigned. And get him a white crest and pass the details along to my clerk.”
“Sir!” barked the guard as he snapped a salute and jogged off toward the engineers’ compound, visible above the lines of tents as a collection of tall, oak-beamed siege engines and plumes of smoke, accompanied by the sound of smiths hammering iron. Varro glanced round at his newest guard.
“Go and get your personal gear. Ignore the tent or any shared equipment and report back to here in an hour to help take the headquarters tent down. We’ll be moving out just after lunch.”
Salonius was still blinking in shock, but pulled himself together sharply, saluted his captain and ran off toward the lines of tents that lay outside the engineers’ compound.
As the young man left, a thought occurred to Varro, and he called after him.
“Salonius! Go by the hospital on the way back and pick up my armour.”
The soldier spun on his heel, almost losing his footing and saluted before turning once more and disappearing among the tents.
Varro watched him run out of sight and then turned to the other guard, standing at attention beside the tent flap.
“Break him in, but gently. I might need him.”
“Aye sir,” the guard saluted.
Varro retreated inside the tent and let the leather flap fall. For a moment, he staggered, and then sank onto the edge of the bunk once more, letting his unlaced boots fall away. One of his woollen socks was crusty and dark red from where his lifeblood had pooled in his boot. That was going to take some cleaning. He briefly scanned his breeches and tunic and realised the job wouldn’t stop at his ankle. He felt unpleasant. Sleeping in his sub-armour had given him aches and pains that only added to his general discomfort, and the clothes soaked with sweat and blood had given him a smell that, he was sure, would be noticeable from a considerable distance.
Slowly and with care, he removed the leather vest and let it fall to the floor with a thud, tiny droplets of sweat bouncing as it landed. Gently he lifted the shreds of his tunic to one side and tugged at the dressing. The sudden pain and the smell from the wound almost made him vomit and he gently toppled backward onto the bunk.
This was no good. He couldn’t disturb the wound, but he was going to have to clean himself up and get rid of this mind-rotting smell. He began to force himself slowly upright again, when he noticed the figure standing just within the tent flap: Martis, his body servant. Relief swept across the captain.
“Oh good. Martis, I’m very much going to need help cleaning up. I need to wash down properly without touching my dressing and wound. And I might need a bit of help getting down to the wash tent too.”
Martis, a short and stocky bald easterner, frowned and shook his head. He was a man of few words, but as efficient and careful as they came. He’d been the most expensive servant available at the Vengen markets five years ago, but had been worth every corona over those years, and probably more. Soon Varro was going to have to raise his wage, or he’d leave for a position more sedentary and considerably less dangerous. Yes, a raise was definitely due.
The servant pointed to the rear of the tent and, turning gingerly, Varro noticed for the first time a low steel bathtub, wisps of steam rising gently from it.
“Prepared it while you were sleeping sir.”
Reaching out, he gently took his master’s arm, helped him across the tent to the tub and began to remove the grimy and bloodied clothes. Varro moved as much as he dare, but in the end resigned himself to luxury and allowed Martis to finish undressing him and help him step into the tub.
“I have to be careful not to soak my wound.”
Martis nodded and produced a square of leather, smeared around the edge with a dark shiny substance. He slowly and carefully removed the captain’s dressing and placed the patch over the freshly sealed wound, very lightly but firmly pressing down at the edges to form a water-tight seal.
“Propolis and waxed leather; watertight as long as we’re careful, sir”, he said quietly.
Varro smiled and nodded. Where had Martis found bees’ glue in a temporary camp? The man really was a marvel. With gratitude, he sank slowly into the warm water and allowed himself finally, properly, to relax. He was dozing gently as Martis took away his bloodied clothes and left a fresh set on the stool nearby before retiring to the corner where he began the laborious job of repairing the three leather strops on the armoured skirt as seamlessly as possible.
For a moment Varro panicked and splashed, and then suddenly two stocky arms were around him, gently hauling him upwards. The panic quickly receded as the captain remembered where he was and allowed himself to be helped out of the now lukewarm tub. Though he’d fallen asleep before he could scrub himself clean, the difference the hot water had made to him was tangible. He felt fresher, cleaner and considerably more relaxed.
