‘In which case Ulpius Marcellus would have no choice other than to have us put to death immediately.’
‘Exactly, Tribune Licinius, both succinct and correct. Which would leave your family here in the province somewhat at the mercy of anyone minded to make them pay for your treason, wouldn’t you say?’
Licinius stared up at the corn officer with murder in his eyes, and then shook his head in slow, angry resignation, his eyes burning with hate as he spread his hands in a gesture of surrender.
‘Very well, Centurion. You have us all by the balls. What do you want?’
Excingus nodded gravely.
‘Very pragmatic, sir, and just as I expected. What I want is very simple, Tribune, and without either choice or alternative. Put simply, both Decurion Felix and Centurion Aquila, to use his former name, will divest themselves of both weapons and armour, and then ride with me and my escort to a place not very far from here, where Aquila will be executed for his treason by my praetorian colleague. This will be carried out quickly and cleanly, for we take no special pleasure in this duty, and when sentence has been carried out then Felicia Clodia Drusilla will be released and indeed escorted to join you here…’
Scaurus raised a hand to restrain Marcus as he tensed to leap at the corn officer.
‘No! Unless you want her dead, or worse, you must restrain yourself! Explain yourself, Centurion!’
Excingus leaned forward on his saddle horn and smiled down at the hostile faces gathered around him.
‘There’s not really all that much to explain, Tribune Scaurus. Having gathered that the centurion here has something of a reputation as a fighting man, we thought it best to have an additional means of subduing him for our short ride to justice. If I fail to return within a specified time period then the lady will find herself on the receiving end of some rather degrading behaviour on the part of my praetorian escort. It’s just a precaution, of course, I’m sure there’ll be no need for any unpleasantness. Now, given that time is passing, shall we proceed, or would you rather keep the centurion here and allow all the consequences of non-cooperation that we’ve discussed to come to pass?’
Marcus shook his head, fumbling with the buckle of his belt.
‘There’s no choice. I’ll go with this reptile and face the “justice” that’s been stalking me ever since the throne decided my father’s estate would make a nice contribution to the treasury.’
He met Excingus’s eyes with a contemptuous stare, but the corn officer’s shrug was eloquent in its indifference.
‘I don’t judge the men on whom I’m ordered to exercise the imperial will, Valerius Aquila, I’m simply an instrument of my master. If Prefect Perennis says that you have to die, that’s simply the way that it is. Shall we? You too, Decurion Felix, although obviously you’ll be staying with us for a while longer. I have so many questions to ask you.’
Marcus tossed his belt and swords aside, and tried to lift the heavy mail shirt over his head but was frustrated both by the armour’s weight and his own sudden exhaustion in the face of his impending death.
‘Let me help you, Centurion.’
Martos stepped forward with a look at Scaurus, and took a firm grip of the heavy mail coat’s shoulders, lifting the armour over the Roman’s head. As he did so, Scaurus stepped forward with renewed anger, putting a hand on his sword’s hilt and sliding the weapon halfway from the scabbard before Licinius caught his arm and stopped the movement. Excingus, momentarily startled, resumed his confident pose as he watched the two tribunes’ momentary battle of wills, grinning smugly as the older man tightened his grip on Scaurus’s arm and clamped his other hand on to his incensed colleague’s sword hand. Shaking his head firmly, Licinius pushed the blade home into its scabbard, ignoring the rage in his colleague’s eyes and speaking to him calmly, in a tone akin to that used by a father to a recalcitrant son.
‘I don’t know about you, Rutilius Scaurus, but I’d like to keep my family out of this mess. If you draw that sword he’ll have his praetorian animals rip apart the lives of everyone we care about. Think about it.’
Scaurus stood stock still for a moment, his body shaking with repressed anger, and then turned away, putting a hand to his eyes. Excingus smiled wryly at the sight, shaking his head.
‘You really do need to learn to take this sort of thing with a touch more equanimity, Tribune. If this is the worst thing that ever happens to you then you’ll have had a fortunate life by comparison with most of us.’
Marcus stepped past his tribune with a reassuring pat on the other man’s arm, staring up at the mounted man with a look of disgust.
‘Very well, Centurion, if you’re ready?’
Excingus gestured wearily to the horse alongside his own.
‘Climb aboard, Valerius Aquila, and let’s get this over and done with. You, Decurion, can ride your own beast. A fine-looking animal, you really are a very privileged young man.’
The three men turned and rode away from the knot of officers and soldiers watching them, while Scaurus, Licinius and Martos stood and watched them disappear over the ridge. Licinius raised an eyebrow at his colleague, his tone reflective.
‘That went about as well as we could have expected. The rest is up to the pair of them.’
Martos walked away from the tribunes briskly as soon as the corn officer turned his horse away, knowing that Arminius wouldn’t be far from his master at such a moment. He found the German waiting a dozen paces distant, his arms folded with disapproval.
‘We should have fought. Allowing them to take our friend away without any resistance shames us all.’
The Votadini prince shook his head.
‘They have his woman. And that bastard was very clear that he will tear through the tribunes’ families if he even suspects them of attempting to rescue the boy.’
They shared a dour glance before Arminius spoke.
‘All of these things will happen whether we resist or not. Those animals are strangers to any idea of honour.’
‘So you think we should follow them?’
The German nodded.
‘They’ll be looking behind them for horsemen, but they won’t see a pair of dirty barbarians trailing them along the forest edge if we stay far enough back.’
Martos snorted with laughter.
‘If we stay far enough back? With them on horses and us on foot? Staying far enough back isn’t going to be much of a problem. Come on, then…’
He turned for the treeline, only to find Lugos standing behind them, towering over both men. Martos raked him with a hostile stare.
‘What do you want, Selgovae?’
The warrior flexed his shoulders, great ropes of muscle moving beneath his scarred skin, and hefted the war hammer that he had liberated from the growing pile of captured barbarian weapons. Similar to Drust’s heavily decorated weapon, the hammer hanging nonchalantly from his hand was, if anything, heavier, its iron beak sharpened to a point and the handle’s counterweight formed from a disc of iron which had been patiently worked to produce a ragged edged and a viciously hooked half-moon blade.
‘Roman spared my life, now I pay back debt. And you not call me Selgovae. I have no tribe.’
The prince grimaced at Arminius, tightening his sword belt a notch in readiness for their run to the east.
‘It’s up to you. Does he run with us?’
The German nodded, tossing aside his round wooden shield.
‘Yes. Since you and I are also both dispossessed of our tribes, it seems we have no option but to accept a fellow exile. Now run!’
Marcus managed to hold to his initial resolve, to treat the corn officer with a frosty silence as they rode to meet the praetorians waiting on them, for no more than a minute. Felix kept silent as his friend’s indignant anger boiled over, stroking Hades’ neck gently as if savouring the feeling one last time.
‘So this all means nothing to you? You’re happy to carry out your master’s instructions without giving any thought to the innocent lives you’re destroying?’
Excingus’s response to the question was a look of near-incredulity.
‘And what would you have me do, Valerius Aquila? Tell the second-most powerful man in the Empire that I’m sorry, but the man you’ve sent me to kill isn’t really guilty of anything, other than being born into the wrong family at the wrong time. Should I tell him that his son, far from being the innocent victim of a fugitive from justice, was in
