the bedroom, at the building’s rear, he got to work on the locked wooden catch that secured the window’s shutter, prying it away from the frame until the wood splintered and broke, allowing the shutter to open.
Blowing out the lamp that was the room’s only illumination, he eased the shutter open a crack and looked cautiously through the thin slit. The street between the residence and the fort’s defensive wall was quiet, and he was about to open the shutter properly and climb through it when a helmeted soldier appeared in his restricted field of view, having passed by the window without noticing that it was ajar. He waited until the guard had turned the corner and then eased himself noiselessly to the ground and pushed the shutter closed again, hurrying to the corner of the residence around which the guard had disappeared. Peeping round the brickwork in trepidation, fearing that the man might have reversed his steps and be advancing towards him, he saw to his relief that the sentry was just turning the next corner, clearly walking a simple path around the residence. He had a couple of minutes before the soldier could cover the other two sides of the building and come up behind him. Taking a moment to calm his breathing, he took the only course of action open to him, walking boldly across the road and into the cover of the barrack block facing the residence, waiting for the sounds of pursuit. None came. If the guards watching the building’s front door for Licinius had spotted him, they had failed to connect the apparently confident figure crossing the street with the man held captive within.
He moved quickly now, sticking to the shadows and heading for the barrack block in which his temporary quarters were located. The patrolling Tungrian guard coughed in the cold evening air, standing in his position at the far end of the block. There was no sign of the man who would normally be posted in front of the prefect’s rooms.
‘No need, given my new status…’
Finding what he believed to be the right door, he opened it and stepped inside with light feet, not sure whether there would be a guard placed inside, but the room was empty. His sword and dagger were lying on the bed alongside his other effects, and he picked them up, strapping the belt and baldric over his tunic. Stepping over to the window, he cautiously peered through the shutters at the hospital opposite. A group of four orderlies came out of the building, the sleeves of their tunics spattered black where their aprons had failed to provide protection from the blood of the wounded men they had been treating throughout the evening. They headed off towards the main gates, and the fort’s vicus.
‘Off to the beer shop, are we, gentlemen? Who does that leave minding the patients while you’re wetting your whistles? I wonder.’
He searched down the building’s row of windows until he found what he’d been hoping for.
‘Oh yes, that would make a very acceptable reward for refusing to go quietly.’
In the officers’ mess, crowded with the presence of the centurions of both infantry cohorts and the Petriana’s decurions, First Spear Frontinius was enjoying a rare moment of leisure with his men. The Votadini prince Martos stood among them self-consciously with his drinking horn held in one hand. He had sought to avoid the invitation at first, but Frontinius had refused to take no for an answer.
‘You pulled our backsides out of the fire yesterday, and as far as we’re concerned you’re a brother now, no matter what happened before or might happen in the future. Besides, if you refuse I’m pretty sure that the Bear will just come down here and carry you over to the mess, so why not make it easy on yourself?’
Frontinius lifted his beaker, and the cohort’s centurions gathered more tightly around their leader to hear his toast. His voice rung around the room in the sudden hush, as all three groups of officers strained to hear the words.
‘Brothers, we drink to the Venicones. May they long remember the day that two cohorts of Tungrians repelled ten thousand of the bastards…’ He lowered his voice theatrically, knowing that he had the whole room’s attention. ‘… with a little help from Jupiter, sender of rain…’ He raised his voice to shout out the last few words of the toast. ‘… and an honourable mention for the Red River!’
A cheer rang out, every man in the room lifting his drink in salute. Frontinius turned to Julius with a raised eyebrow.
‘Dubnus?’
‘Should be fine, if a small nick to his liver heals clean.’ He raised his beaker to Martos, speaking in quiet tones that would be heard only by the tight knot of men standing around him. ‘To you, Martos, and your warriors. Without you our brother Dubnus would be dead now, and likely most of the rest of us too.’
The Briton nodded acknowledgement of the honour as the officers raised their cups, taking a draught of beer from the drinking horn.
‘You may yet have to return the favour, Centurion, but I thank you for your kind words. Here’s my toast, if I may…?’ Frontinius nodded, motioning him to continue. ‘I’ll drink to your archers. Untrained and unready for the fight they may have been, but they stood taller than all the rest of us so-called ‘warriors’ by their deeds yesterday. They were the real champions of the fight.’
He lifted the drinking horn and the Tungrian officers nodded soberly, starkly aware that half of Marcus’s century had been killed or badly wounded in the battle on the banks of the Red. The first spear drained his beaker and set it down on the nearest table.
‘Well said. And now, my brothers, I’ll bid you goodnight. Drink up and get yourselves into your racks for a few hours. Tomorrow’s march will be just as savage as today’s was, and I’ll have you bright eyed and ready for anything if it’s all the same to you.’
He made his way out of the mess, walking past the 2nd Cohort’s barracks as he headed towards the main gate and his own cohort’s quarters, returning the guards’ respectful salutes as he mused on their marching route for the following day.
Furius watched him from inside the hospital’s lobby until he was out of sight, waiting another moment in case he turned around for any reason. When he was satisfied that there was no risk of the veteran officer discovering him, he turned to the hospital’s main corridor, walking quietly down the passageway off which the wards opened, his boots making quiet creaking noises with each step. Each room was packed with wounded men, all oblivious to his presence as a combination of the brutal shock of their treatment and the drugs prescribed for them by the doctor had rendered them senseless. At the end of the corridor he stopped and listened, hearing his quarry’s quiet voice as the doctor talked herself through the notes she was making on each of the surgical cases she had dealt with that evening. He opened the door and walked into her cramped office, enjoying the warmth of the fire burning in a small hearth on the far wall. The woman started at his unexpected presence, relaxing as she realised who the newcomer was. That, he mused with an inward smile, would change soon enough.
‘Good evening, Prefect Furius. You’ve come to see your wounded, I suppose. They’re…’
Furius rode over her tired voice, his tone harsh enough to make Felicia lean back in her chair.
‘No, Doctor, the person I’ve come to see is you. And you’re a little out of date with your greeting; I am no longer Prefect Furius, but just plain Furius now. Furius the failure, the coward. Furius the dismissed is what I am now, but strangely enough my new-found status has finally liberated me from expectations of how a senior officer should behave.’ He closed the door behind him, smiling hungrily down at the seated woman. ‘You won’t be aware of it, but my sexual tastes have troubled me for most of my adult life. You see, my dear, I enjoy women the most when they struggle…’ Felicia stared up at him in dawning horror, then around the office for some way to defend herself. ‘The problem is that some of the women I’ve favoured with my manhood have struggled so hard that I’ve been accused of rape.’ He sighed, shaking his head sadly. ‘My father paid off the families the first couple of times, but I soon took to strangling the women whose bodies I enjoyed in order to ensure their silence. That’s how I ended up being moved on from First Minervia, a pretty young thing that I took a fancy to but who was just a little bit too well connected for the matter to be brushed under the mat. Nobody could prove anything, but there was enough suspicion for the legatus to send me away. In my own best interests, of course, or so he told me. The lady’s brothers had sworn their revenge on an altar to Nemesis, apparently.’ He raised an arm and declaimed: ‘“Nemesis, winged balancer of life, dark-faced goddess, daughter of Justice.”’
He smiled, and Felicia recoiled again at the blank look in his eyes. ‘Of course, the legatus couldn’t tell my new superiors why he was moving me on, or they would have refused to accept my onward posting, and so here I was with no one any the wiser as to my very particular needs. Nemesis, daughter of justice? Hah! There is no justice.’ He squatted down, bringing his face close to hers. ‘If there were I would not be locked up safely in the prefect’s residence waiting for a quiet and ignominious departure tomorrow morning, or so everyone else but you and me believes. Which, of course, gives me licence to do whatever I please with you, my dear, and without fear of discovery as long as I cover my tracks well… I presume you’ll be well aware of what I like to do to my partners,
