subject of whether I’m fit for command of your men. Am I right? After all, I’ve been here for a fortnight and never once even hinted at my experience beyond telling you what positions I’ve served in previously.’
Frontinius nodded grudgingly.
‘It’s often the case that a new commander will make a point of telling his officers about any fighting he’s taken part in, although I don’t really…’
He stopped talking as Scaurus turned to look at him with a half-smile playing on his lips.
‘I know. You want to know my capabilities, but you don’t want to overstep the mark in asking me to tell you where I’ve been and what I’ve done. Well, First Spear, let’s have an agreement, shall we? I won’t question you on the subject of your competence, other than wanting every last tiny detail about this cohort and this war from you, and in return you’ll let me demonstrate the way I work by just watching me work. Whether you take that as a sign of strength or weakness doesn’t really concern me very much, and we’ll learn a good deal more about each other than we might by trotting out lists of achievements that either of us could have gilded or even plain fabricated for all the other man knows. Agreed?’
Frontinius held his return stare for a moment before nodding slowly.
‘As you wish, Prefect.’
The cohort paraded, the ground’s sandy surface grey in the dawn’s weak light. Frontinius strode out in front of his eight hundred men, addressing them at a volume that made his words audible from one end of the parade to the other.
‘Good morning, First Cohort. This is an important day. This day will live as long in your memories as that little skirmish with the blue-noses a few weeks ago.’ He paused for a moment, watching the faces of those men in the ranks closest to him, their expressions betraying a mixture of faint amusement and sick apprehension. ‘This is the day we go back to war. Now that we’ve got a new prefect and two centuries of replacements, we are considered ready to fight. Our orders are to march east and join up with the Sixth Legion for one last effort before the weather gets too cold for us to stay in the field. Soldiers, this cohort was the first one on the list when the governor was deciding which units to put alongside his legions in the line of battle. You are proven battle winners, and your reputation goes before you.’
He paused, searching the same faces and finding them mostly set with determination. Good enough. ‘I know that you were hoping not to be called back into the war this year, but I also know that you are strong enough to give the emperor your best efforts for as long as it takes to finish this war, and put Calgus in chains and on his way to Rome. And now, before we start, let me introduce you to your new comrades. The Sixth Century, eighty home- grown Tungrian recruits to bolster our fighting strength, and the Eighth Century, a double-strength century of archers from Hamath in the province of Syria, far to the east of Rome. As of this moment they are fully fledged members of this cohort, and I expect them to be treated with the appropriate respect. It’s obvious to all of you that the men of the Eighth Century are different to the troops that we usually encounter, but I don’t expect that to make any difference to any soldier here. The first man in front of me at the punishment table for raising a hand to any of these men without very good reason will feel like he’s been hit by a falling tree by the time I’ve finished with him.’
He paused for breath, raking the impassive troops with a hard stare.
‘Nevertheless, our new Hamian comrades do present us with something of a problem in that they are unused to bearing the kind of weight that we routinely carry around on campaign. And so…’ He gestured to his officers, and then waited while Marcus, Dubnus, Rufius and Julius walked out in front of the cohort to join him. ‘The Eighth Century will need help to achieve the same performance as the rest of you, and so I am therefore temporarily detaching these three centurions from their centuries, and giving them and Centurion Corvus forty men from the Eighth apiece to work with. With a little luck we’ll have our new centuries ready for anything the blue-noses can throw at them by the time that we see action. Centurions, carry on with morning exercises.’
The four centurions quickly divided the 8th into four equal-sized groups, each of them pulling their temporary command into a tight huddle around them. Marcus, having retained Qadir in his party, spoke slowly, giving his chosen man time to translate his words for those men whose grasp of Latin was imperfect.
‘You may be archers, but you’re going to learn to fight as infantrymen and you’re going to do it quickly. Whenever we have the opportunity, you will train as one century, but with frequent and close attention to your sword and shield drill. My brother officers and I will help you learn how to fight in practice combat with their centuries, but first we need you to grasp the basics. And the first basic is shield handling. You, come out in front with me.’
The wide-eyed Hamian stepped away from the comfortable anonymity of his place in the front rank, eyeing his new officer uncertainly and casting the occasional nervous glance at Qadir.
‘Raise your shield until you can just see over the top. No, higher
… that’s right. Now, brace yourself, and remember that your shield is your only defence against the enemy’s swords and spears. We’ll worry about spears later, so let’s see how you do against a trained swordsman. Antenoch?’
His clerk stepped forward, swinging a heavy wooden practice sword and smiling at the nervous archer in anticipation as he limbered up to fight. He held up the sword, making sure the Hamian got a good look at its scarred wooden blade.
‘This is a practice sword. It’s heavier than the real thing to help build strength in the sword arm, and that means it will make an almighty bang when it hits your shield. It will jar your shield arm, but if you drop the shield then the next thing you know you’ll be face down with your guts hanging out. Ready?’
The Hamian managed a hesitant nod, triggering Antenoch’s attack. Hammering at the man’s shield with the heavy wooden sword, he beat back the panicking archer until the Hamian was almost on his knees, then thrust the blade over the top of his sinking shield to inflict a painful jab into the gap between his mail coat’s neck and the rim of his helmet. He stepped back from his grimacing victim, watching the man rub the sore spot.
‘You let the shield fall and opened yourself up for the kill. You’re dead. Get back in ranks. You, come out here.’
Another man stepped out to face him, his face set in determination.
‘Good, you look keen; let’s see what you can do. Remember, keep that shield up.’
Ten seconds later the Hamian was on his back, cursing at the pain in his right ankle while Antenoch reached down to pull him back to his feet.
‘That was better, but if an enemy sees that your shield is held too high he’s likely to try to go under it and cut your feet off. You need to keep your eyes open, and drop your shield to stop his attack if necessary. Let’s try that again.’
Qadir leaned across to Marcus.
‘And if two men attack at the same time, one high and one low? Surely then the man is doomed?’
Marcus smiled without taking his eyes off Antenoch’s demonstration.
‘Not if he’s in possession of the infantryman’s two most important assets.’
The chosen man raised an eyebrow.
‘And those are…?’
Marcus lifted the ornately decorated gladius bequeathed to him by Legatus Sollemnis halfway out of its scabbard, the razor-edged blade gleaming in the weak morning sun.
‘One of these, and those.’
He pointed at the gathered Hamians as they watched Antenoch’s demonstration with wide eyes.
‘Soldiers?’
Marcus shook his head.
‘Not soldiers, Qadir, brothers. And all in good time.’
Calgus strolled out of his tent later that morning, having apparently spent the night there. In reality he had entered it less then five minutes before through an opening cut in the side facing the forest, having made the return journey through the forest by the light of torches carried by his bodyguard. His adviser Aed was waiting for him as summoned, and the old man looked up at his king with a calculating gaze, the slight wind ruffling his thin hair.
‘My lord. I trust your venture into the forest met with acceptable results?’
Calgus nodded, looking out over the camp from their vantage point, the highest ground within the palisade wall.
‘Oh yes, very acceptable once their initial caution was out of the way. When the time is right, our trap will
