‘Gods below, you lot might not like marching, but give you a peak to climb…’
The view from the top of the hill was worth the climb. Down in the valley below they could see some of Tertius’s men working their way up the hill on the far side of the river, while other tent parties had split off to left and right to follow the line of the river to north and south. The marching camp was already half built, its wall casting an appreciable shadow in the late afternoon sunshine. The land was pretty much bare of any vegetation bigger than small bushes except for a number of trees scattered down both banks of the Red River to the south of the falls. To the north and west were rolling hilltops of much the same height, although a succession of gradually higher peaks rose towards the highest of all, a good ten miles distant. To the east, the southern slope of the hill facing the ford ended abruptly in a near-vertical drop.
‘That’s interesting.’ Marcus pointed down at the river. ‘See, there’s a shelf of hard rock running through the hillside, that’s what makes the waterfall so tall. This side of the river it’s hidden under the ground, but on the other side of the river it’s been uncovered.’ He stared down at the seam of rock running away into the distance. To the south of the outcrop was gently sloping land seamed by tributary streams of the Red. ‘You know, that makes the riverbank below the falls much easier to defend. It would take a good while to get a body of men down that rock face to the far bank, it’s steep enough to make for a slow climb, and far too tall to jump.’
‘Yes, but look over there.’
Marcus followed Qadir’s pointing finger. Off to the east, almost at the limit of visibility, a line of smoke was rising from a valley three or four peaks away.
‘Might that be the barbarian camp?’
Marcus nodded.
‘I’d guess so. And if we can see that…’
They turned to the south-east, taking in the view down the Red River’s valley. Far away, down on the flat land out of the hills’ undulations, they could see the occasional flash of sun on polished metal.
‘The legions. They’ll be camping for the night too, probably busy doing exactly the same as us. Hacking out a marching camp and dreaming of a dip in the river.’
‘Yes. Unaware that up here there are two cohorts who have already washed their sweaty backsides in the water that will flow past them in an hour’s time.’
Marcus laughed at him, unable to contain his amusement at the Hamian’s turn of phrase.
‘If I didn’t know better, Chosen Man Qadir, I’d say that you’ve spent too much time consorting with Morban of late. “Washed their sweaty backsides…?”’
Qadir grimaced.
‘It’s inevitable. You should hear some of the things that our men have started coming out with.’
First Spear Frontinius caught Tertius watching him again as they reached the crest of the valley’s eastern slope. The 2nd Cohort centurion had been shooting him surreptitious glances ever since the first spear had declared his intention to join them in fording the river and exploring the ground on the other side. The river’s fast-flowing water had been delightfully cold, cooling and refreshing the troops of Tertius’s century and breathing fresh vigour into their tired bodies as they waded across the calf-deep stream.
‘Amazing what a bit of running water will do for a man, eh, Tertius? Ten minutes ago this lot were puffing and groaning at the thought of more marching, and now they’re off up the hill like fourteen-year-olds on a promise.’
Tertius answered with a non-committal grunt, continuing his climb up the valley’s side. The first spear smiled to himself. This was a game he played with loaded dice.
‘So tell me, Centurion, since we’ve not met before, how long have you served with the Second Tungrians?’
The other man took a long moment to answer, his tone cautious.
‘Thirteen years, First Spear. I joined a year after the cohort moved to Fair Meadow.’
‘Local boy?’
Tertius’s reserve was still evident in the guarded tones of his reply.
‘Not really. My father was a centurion with the Twentieth Legion, he retired to Veteran’s Hill with my mother before I was born.’
Another officer that had settled down with a girl from a fortress vicus, Frontinius mused, a marriage of convenience for both parties. An older man with money and influence, but lacking a companion with whom to share his retirement, and a woman past her youth and staring into the abyss of approaching middle age, with soldiers’ money getting harder to come by as her looks started to fade. She would have provided him with company and comfort in return for respectability and security. A new start in one of the veterans’ colony towns was the usual way to provide suitable anonymity to such a union.
‘A soldier’s son, then. He must have told you a good number of tales about his time following the eagle. The Twentieth was heavily involved in putting down the last bit of local stupidity, back in the sixties.’
Tertius smiled.
‘That he did. I grew up with the old man’s stories, that and his mates forever showing up to sit round and relive their glory days…’
‘And so you ended up on the wall, eager to make him proud.’
‘He died five years ago, before I made centurion. It was his last ambition to see me with a vine stick in my hands, but making it to officer rank takes the time it takes… for most of us.’
The last comment was added in a tone so quiet that Frontinius half wondered whether he had imagined it. He pushed on, as the men in front of them turned up the slope towards the saddle, the lower ridge between two hills.
‘You have a good first spear, one of the best. And how’s that new tribune shaping up… Furius, isn’t it?’
Tertius grimaced slightly, although it could have been the effort they were now having to put into climbing the valley’s side.
‘Tribune Furius is a strong man, First Spear. He does what he thinks is right, and allows the consequences to fall out as they will.’
Frontinius snorted.
‘Don’t I know it! I’ve a double century of archers to prove that. I hear he’s a man with a taste for the crucifix as well.’
Tertius looked startled, his mouth working without anything coming out, the sudden reminder of his brother turning the words to dust in his mouth. Frontinius ploughed on in a gentler tone, recognising the emotion washing over the centurion.
‘I heard about your man falling foul of him, and the way that Neuto and the rest of you spared him the indignity of the nails. I would have done the same in my colleague’s place.’
Tertius took a moment to reply, his eyes moist as he stared out across the rolling hills.
‘All I can tell you, First Spear, is that if there’s an irregularity to be found, anything this tribune can turn to his own advantage, he will find it and he will use it.’
He turned to face Frontinius for a moment, taking a deep breath of the cool breeze.
‘Anyone with a secret to hide would be better off somewhere else
…’
Frontinius nodded his understanding, then clapped a hand on the centurion’s shoulder.
‘Well then, Centurion, let’s get to the top of this pimple and see what we can see. Look, the Eighth Century have already got to the top of their hill.’
‘So then he as good as told me that Furius already knows about young Corvus, and advised me to move the lad or risk discovery. He was less subtle with Marcus yesterday…’
Tribune Scaurus took a sip from the single cup of wine to which he had rationed himself for the night before replying. The first spear had come to his tent soon after the evening meal was finished, and double-strength sentries had been posted both around the marching camp and as listening patrols out across the river.
‘Which means not only that Furius has a pretty fair idea that Corvus is not what he seems, but he’s not doing all that good a job of keeping the fact to himself. So, First Spear, what to do?’
Frontinius scowled darkly into his own cup.
‘Not as simple as you might think, Tribune. The boy’s a member of the cohort now, not the friendless fugitive he was six months ago. He’s fought and killed alongside these men, formed the kind of bond that sometimes takes
