Recovering his wits, he bowed formally.
‘Yes, ma’am, I’m told that almost everyone that made it here survived. The Tungrian cohort is in your debt.’
She smiled, and Marcus’s heart leapt in his chest.
‘That’s probably no recommendation for our care. Anyone that survived that journey was probably going to live anyway…’
The more vocal of the Tungrians butted in indignantly on her behalf, one of them volunteering to remove his bandages and show Marcus the truly horrible wound the doctor had cleaned with delicate care three times a day, picking out the dead flesh so carefully that he hadn’t even felt her working, until Marcus’s irritation overcame his embarrassment, and he shooed the men back to their beds. With order restored, he turned back to Felicia with fresh confidence.
‘If their exuberance is any guide, I’d say you’ve done a fine job on them, Doctor. Perhaps we could discuss their likely further treatment somewhere a little quieter, and I’ll pass your diagnosis on to their prefect when I see him next.’
She smiled a secret smile, beckoning him down the ward and into her tiny office. In the small room, lit by the sun’s light through an open window, he noticed that her tunic was not dark blue, as he’d supposed in the less well- illuminated ward, but simple black. She followed his gaze and pursed her lips.
‘My husband was killed in that battle you fought against the barbarians.’
Marcus frowned, confused.
‘He was alive the last time I saw him.’
‘It happened later in the day, apparently, during the pursuit. His cohort cornered a barbarian band which turned and fought them to the death. He was found dead after the fight. It was a spear apparently, although the circumstances seem to have been confused…’
‘I’m sorry. I mean… I read your tablet… and he told me that…’
‘I know. I hated the man for the last year of our marriage, and his death has freed me to do whatever I want, within reason, but I still feel guilty about what happened.’
Marcus leaned back against the wall, looking closely at her face.
‘I’m… I…’
‘Yes, Centurion?’
‘I would prefer it if you would call me Marcus. And I’d like to think, given time, of course, that we might…’
‘Be together? Yes, I thought so too. I think I still do. But I do need time to let all this work itself out. Come and see me next time you’re in camp. I won’t be going anywhere in the meanwhile.’
He nodded his understanding, turning for the door.
‘Centurion… Marcus?’
‘Ma’am?’
‘Firstly you could stop calling me “ma’am” as if I were some Roman matron. You know my forename…’
He managed a smile in return.
‘Yes, Clodia Drusilla. But, if you’ll forgive me, I won’t use it until I know whether we’re to be friends or something more. Call it superstition. And secondly, ma’am?’
‘You could hold me for a moment. Remind me what male affection feels like.’
He took her in his arms, holding her slim body against his armour and stroking her hair with his right hand. After a long moment she pulled away, smiling again.
‘Next time we do that, I’ll make a point of your not being dressed in twenty pounds of chain mail. We don’t all have a compulsion for men in uniform. Now, off with you, I’ve got work to do.’
Marcus ran the gauntlet of the wounded Tungrians, all of whom had stupid smiles on their faces and some of whom went so far as to wink and nod vigorously at him, pulling his helmet on as he walked out past the guards to cover up his own stupid smile. From the knowing looks and sideways glances he got from the men waiting for him outside the principia, he guessed that the wounded had found some way of passing the news to their colleagues. Thinking what he would have to put up with from Antenoch, he shook his head, only making his men smile more widely behind their hands.
When Equitius emerged from the building half an hour later, the look on his face was neutral, neither happy nor troubled.
‘I’m in command for the rest of the summer, at least, and then we’ll see what happens. There’s still the small matter of a lost eagle to be dealt with, of course. Entire legions have been cashiered for losing their standards, broken up for reinforcements, so who knows what’ll happen when the news reaches Rome…Twentieth and Second Legions are going to camp here for three weeks, since the barbarians will be too busy getting the harvest in to worry much about fighting us for the rest of the month. I’m taking the Sixth south to Yew Grove, to collect three cohorts of reinforcements that are expected there from Gaul within the week. So, you can head west to the Hill and rejoin the cohort. Give Uncle Sextus my thanks for the loan of your men, and tell him that I’ll have a couple of centuries of replacements put to one side for him for when he brings his people back to Noisy Valley. That should get him back to full strength. There’s a troop convoy expected into Arab Town soon with initial reinforcements, real Tungrians from northern Gaul, apparently.’
One more surprise awaited Marcus before he turned his men west. Rounding a corner on his way to the stores, he bumped into a squat man in uniform, his hair cropped short in the military style.
‘Young Marcus!’
‘Quintus!’
They embraced with delight, Rufius standing back to look his friend up and down.
‘A bit thinner, a bit more muscle… and a scar or two, I’d bet. Not to mention an attachment to a rather attractive and recently widowed lady doctor, from what I’ve heard.’
Marcus shook his head in mock anger.
‘Isn’t there anyone in this bloody camp that can mind their own business? But why are you here, and not at the Hill?’
‘I asked Sextus for some leave, and a chance to sort out some of my business affairs. It’s amazing, you go missing for a month or two and suddenly you have to get the money people owe you at the point of a sword. Anyway, tell me what you’ve been up to in the hills since we turned south, you young puppy.’
The older man backed away as Marcus prodded him playfully in the belly with his vine stick.
‘Not so much of the puppy, Centurion, I’ve done a good deal of growing up since we met on the road to Yew Grove.’
Rufius inclined his head gravely.
‘Indeed you have. Do you have time for a drink and a natter?’
They repaired to the officers’ mess and drank local beer while Marcus related what had happened since their parting after the Battle of the Lost Eagle. At length Rufius sat back, nodding his head sagely.
‘You have been busy. At least all this excitement has taken everyone’s mind off looking for a young man called Marcus Valerius Aquila for a while. Let’s hope that bastard Perennis and his Asturian cronies were the only people that knew enough about you to be dangerous. You know that Annius died soon after the Battle of the Lost Eagle? Apparently he was found with an issue spear stuck right through him. Somebody strong must have taken a dislike to him… Anyway, you’re safe now.’
‘That’s to be seen. I hardly look like one of the locals, do I?’
‘True, but you’re among friends. Anyway, I must go. I’m due back on the Hill by nightfall tomorrow, and there’s still a nasty little shopkeeper that owes me three months’ rent on his premises.’
He stood to go, offering his hand to Marcus.
‘One question, Rufius.’
‘If I can answer it.’
‘You were Legatus Sollemnis’s man. Why would he leave me this?’
He tapped the sword’s hilt, raising an eyebrow in question. Rufius looked at him with calculation.
‘Lad, the legatus was a good friend of your father. Think of the risk he took to look after you the way he did. Surely that’s enough reason? Don’t go looking for what isn’t there to be found…’
From the thoughtful look in Marcus’s eye, he wasn’t sure that his bluff had succeeded.
