miles to the west. Morban and Antenoch, respectively the 8th Century’s standard-bearer and Marcus’s personal clerk, waited with equal impatience a small distance from Dubnus’s 9th Century. Morban cast occasional dirty looks at the 9th’s standard-bearer, and more particularly the standard held proudly in the younger man’s hands.
‘He isn’t keeping that statue clean, the lazy bastard. I’ve got a good mind to go and take the bloody thing away from him.’
Antenoch gave the 9th Century’s standard a sideways glance and shot the alleged offender a sympathetic glance, raising an eyebrow in commiseration and drawing a hurt rebuke from his friend.
‘I saw that.’
The clerk shrugged his indifference, huddling deeper into his cloak.
‘It looks fine to me. Anyway, leave the man alone, you grumpy bastard. I don’t remember you cleaning it all that often either. You should worry more about helping Two Knives get a brand-new century ready to fight, and leave the Ninth to Dubnus now that he’s their centurion. Hang on, here they come…’
The first of the replacement centuries appeared around the corner of Arab Town’s bathhouse, its soldiers stepping out strongly under the close scrutiny of Tiberius Rufius and his newly acquired chosen man and watch officer. Morban’s face split into a beaming smile.
‘Yes! Look at that! Eighty sides of prime Tungrian beef. Look at the muscles on those boys! The Bear’ll be after slipping a few of those lads into the Tenth to replace the axemen who fell at Lost Eagle.’
Antenoch nodded, keeping his eyes on the advancing century.
‘Yes… Grandfather looks happy enough with his new men, doesn’t he?’
Morban squinted at the advancing Rufius’s grinning face, seeing the smile turn into a laugh as the veteran officer found him among the waiting soldiers.
‘That isn’t happy, that’s pure piss-take. Look, he’s pointing back down the road. What’s he on about…?’
Antenoch craned his neck to see over the marching troops.
‘There’s Two Knives, I can see his helmet’s crest, but where the hell are his men? Hold on a moment…’
Realisation dawned upon him with a sickening thud.
‘I can see their helmets, but only just. It’s a century of fucking dwarves!’
Morban stood rooted to the ground as the first century marched past them and the second came into full view, his eyes widening with genuine horror. Rufius stopped alongside the staring pair, his face distorted with laughter.
‘Oh, Morban… if only… you could see… your face!’
He staggered away, clutching his sides. A grim-faced Julius, marching alongside Marcus, gave him a dirty look as the front rank of the Hamians drew level with them and halted at Marcus’s shouted command. He shook his head in disgust at the older man’s uncontrollable laughter.
‘I thought age blessed a man with wisdom as it took away his strength, but clearly not in your case, Tiberius Rufius. And what’s your problem, Standard-bearer?’
Morban came to sudden indignant life.
‘Rufius gets a century full of big strong lads, and we get a gang of… of… underfed Arab bow benders? What use are they going to be when the blue-noses come hammering at our shields? I…’
Marcus stepped between Julius and Morban, then bent to put his face an inch from the indignant standard- bearer’s, his finger dimpling his mailed chest to emphasise his point. His voice was low but insistent, his face dark with anger.
‘Be quiet and listen, Statue Waver. We’ve been bilked of a century by the bloody Second Cohort, who bribed them out from under our noses this morning. These men are the only troops left in the port, and probably the only ownerless soldiers in the whole of Britannia, so these are the troops we’re taking home with us. We’ll swap them with the Second at the first opportunity, you can be assured of that, but in the meantime you will treat them with the consideration due to the poor bastards. What’s more, these “underfed bow benders” speak Latin just as well as you do, in fact probably with a good deal more eloquence and a lot less profanity, and I doubt they’re all that happy with your reaction. It isn’t their fault they’re stuck here, and if they’re going to be a part of our cohort we’d better make them feel just a tiny bit welcomed. If you don’t like that you can always go back to the Ninth, and I’ll ask Dubnus for his new boy in return.’
Morban’s indignation melted to anxious disbelief in a second.
‘Not fair, Centurion, not fair at all. You know young Lupus ties me to you.’
Marcus kept his face stony, tipping his head towards the waiting Hamians with arched eyebrows.
‘In which case you’d better get your head out of your backside and greet your new century. Chosen Man Qadir, allow me to introduce the Eighth Century’s standard-bearer, Morban. He’s a good man, if a little overfond of drink and whoring. Not to mention the occasional wager. In fact, if Morban offers you odds on anything, the sun coming up in the morning, rain being wet, just anything, consider very carefully before putting your money down.’
Morban smirked just a little, his dignity sufficiently restored by his officer’s carefully chosen insults, and stuck out a meaty paw to the tall Hamian chosen man.
‘Welcome to the Eighth Century, Chosen.’
Qadir took the hand carefully, looking about him in mock incomprehension.
‘My thanks, Standard-bearer, although I see only one other man besides yourself. Perhaps it would be more fitting if the Eighth Century were to welcome you?’
Rufius, having recovered from his earlier fit of laughter, slapped the stocky standard-bearer on the shoulder.
‘He’s got a point, Morban. If Antenoch’s your century you’d best go and join these lads. I’m sure they’ll follow your standard round if you’re nice to them.’
Marcus nodded agreement.
‘And if you want them to regard it as something more than your personal badge of office, perhaps you’d better give them a bit of education?’
The standard-bearer nodded, squared his shoulders and stepped out in front of the Hamians. The voice of Rufius’s man was already ringing through the still morning air as he addressed the new 6th
Century. He cleared his throat before shaking the century’s standard at the wide-eyed archers.
‘Eighth Century! I am your standard-bearer, Morban, and this is your standard. I am entrusted with carrying this symbol of our century, and with keeping it safe from any threat at the cost of my own life if all else fails… which means if you’re all dead. You are collectively charged with a sacred duty to guard the standard, which is the heart and soul of our century, and to protect it during battle at any cost.’
He ignored Antenoch, who was making cross-eyed faces at him from behind Marcus.
‘You will follow the instructions of our centurion, Marcus Tribulus Corvus, which I will repeat through movements of the standard for those of you who do not understand them. If I lean the standard to the left, we’re turning left. To the right, we’re turning right. If I dip the standard, we’re starting the march, if I raise it we’re stopping. If I dip it two times we’re marching at the double, and if I reverse it we’re retreating. My mate here…’ He nodded to the trumpeter alongside him, who promptly blushed scarlet. ‘… will sound his horn when I’m about to issue an order with the standard, so pay attention and you’ll always know what we’re about to do.’
He paused for breath and stared at the men closest to him with a fierce intensity.
‘In battle, this standard is your rallying point. If we advance, the standard will be close to the front of the century, and if we advance to the rear it will be with the century’s rearmost troops. Where the shit flies the thickest, you will find me and this statue right behind you. And you will make us proud. Just don’t let us down. Centurion?’
Marcus stepped out in front of the Hamians, nodding to Morban as the standard-bearer waddled back to join Antenoch.
‘Soldiers, you may not be Tungrians, you may be what our esteemed standard-bearer calls “bow benders”, and I guarantee you that getting you ready for life in an infantry cohort is going to be a challenge for us all. However, and listen to me very carefully when I tell you this, because it means a lot to your new brothers-in-arms, all those difficulties mean nothing to me because you are now Tungrians. Let me say that again. You are now Tungrians.’
He paused, staring across the silent men, aware that Julius was standing just behind him and glaring at the wide-eyed Hamians with equal intensity.
