he is, Centurion.’
‘In that case you’re in command of the Ninth until we come back from patrol. Silus has a couple of empty saddles, from the look of it.’ Morban saluted again, adopting a determined expression. ‘And I’d lose the frown, Standard Bearer. It makes you look as if you’re struggling with a particularly difficult bowel movement.’
Marcus and Qadir hurried down from the wall and headed off towards the west gate, while Morban gestured to the soldiers with whom he’d been speaking before.
‘Time to pay up, gentlemen. As predicted only a moment ago, I am now in command of the Ninth until that nice young gentleman decides his arse is sore and he comes back from playing with the donkey wallopers. Thank you.’ He took a coin from each of the soldiers, dropping his winnings into a heavy pouch on his belt. ‘Rest happy in the knowledge that your pay will shortly be making a powerful impression on the whores of this fair city.’
Marcus and Qadir found the mounted squadron waiting for them at the gate, and the young centurion threw a mock salute at their decurion.
‘Greetings, Silus. Your messenger said you had a pair of horses too flighty to be ridden by anyone but myself and my chosen man?’
Silus grinned slyly at him, extending a welcoming hand to indicate a pair of horses without riders.
‘Indeed, Centurion. Qadir is well known for his discernment with regard to horses, and his consummate skill in the saddle. With that in mind I have reserved the very best of our horses for him.’ He gestured to an empty saddle, raising an eyebrow at the Hamian whose sour mood had clearly lifted on seeing the horse in question. ‘You remember this beast, I presume?’
The Hamian threaded his way through the throng of horses, stroking muzzles and patting flanks until he reached his mount, a magnificent chestnut mare he had last ridden in Britannia. He nodded his thanks to Silus and jumped into the saddle with the practised grace of an accomplished horseman. Silus smiled at the sight of horse and rider reunited, leaning out of the saddle to mutter conspiratorially to Marcus.
‘I do like to see man and beast so well matched.’ Marcus raised a sardonic eyebrow, knowing what was coming next. ‘And no more so than in your case. For you, Centurion, I have an animal which we already know can match your quick temper and restless desire for a fight.’
He raised his arm and indicated a big rangy grey stallion waiting impatiently alongside his own horse. Marcus shook his head wryly then walked round to greet the animal, which responded by nudging at him with its muzzle.
‘You see, dear old Bonehead remembers you! He knows that he has only to put his ears back and you’ll happily allow him his head, certain that he’ll take you straight into the deepest shit available. I’ve never seen a horse and rider more made for each other.’
Marcus shook his head in mock disgust, climbing into the saddle and accepting a spear and shield from the cavalry officer.
‘Let’s be away, then, Decurion. I’ll do my best to remain in control of this high-spirited animal, although Mercury himself may struggle to stay with us if he spots a deer. You, I fear may be left far behind, given that your poor animal’s carrying all that extra weight.’
The men guarding the gate opened the massive wooden doors, and the squadron trotted out into the thinning mist.
‘Tribune Scaurus wants us to scout away to the west, as far as the point where the road forks to the south to cross the Mosa at Arduenna Bridge.’
They proceeded at an easy trot, allowing the horses a pace that wouldn’t overtax them. Silus led the way with the squadron’s standard bearer riding alongside him. The dragon standard’s long cloth tail hung limply in the damp air, droplets of moisture forming on the bronze head’s highly polished surface, much to its bearer’s disgust, and the occasional gust of air rippled the mist and elicited the faintest of moans from the reed concealed within its fiercely fanged mouth. Silus upped their pace to a brisk trot, and within a half-mile’s progress the rear of the legion centuries’ column appeared out of the mist before them. The decurion extended his arms to either side, his hands held out rigidly like blades, and he called back over his shoulder loudly enough to be sure that the infantry’s rearmost ranks would hear him.
‘Pass to either side, and ignore any comments that might come our way. Just content yourselves with the fact that they’ll be tramping through mounds of horseshit soon enough!’
The legionaries launched a barrage of insulting and occasionally witty comments at the horsemen as they trotted past the marching column, and, as was equally traditional, the riders kept their gazes fixed on the direction of travel and their faces set in expressions of utter disinterest. One wag in the leading century bellowed out the first line of a song beloved of foot soldiers across the empire, and his comrades joined in with all the gusto expected of them.
The cavalry love buggering sheep,
In various bogs and ditches,
When they’ve done the flock they all suck cock,
Those dirty sons of bitches!
The squadron rode on, the final rider turning in his saddle with a smile of glee as the horse in front of him lifted its tail to deposit a long trail of droppings in the marching column’s path.
Silus raised a hand to signal the canter, and the riders spurred their mounts to the faster pace, their clattering hoof beats rattling dully across the empty fields. After ten minutes of riding Silus frowned, peering forward into the light mist. A man was running towards them, staggering along the road’s cobbles in a manner that suggested he was close to dropping from exhaustion. Reining in his horse, the decurion jumped down from his saddle and caught the runner by his arm as he slumped to the road’s surface.
‘Bandits… attacking… carts…’
He pointed back into the mist from which he’d staggered, his chest heaving, and Silus, half carrying him to the side of the road, barked a terse question at him.
‘How many?’
The hapless carter shook his head.
‘Mist… too many…’
The decurion looked up at Marcus.
‘No telling how many of them might be waiting for us. We should probably wait for the infantry to catch up.’
His friend hefted his spear.
‘Probably. And probably lose them as a result. They’ll vanish off into this murk with their prize as quickly as they appeared from it.’
Silus nodded grimly.
‘Very well, we’ll go after them alone, but ride on the verge rather than the road. Let’s not give them any warning. Lower that standard too, or they’ll hear it howling from miles away once we get up some speed. Ride! ’
Tribune Scaurus found Prefect Caninus in his headquarters, a small building tucked away behind the forum. The prefect’s men were hard at work preparing their gear and sharpening their weapons as Scaurus walked between them to the office at the building’s rear, and he felt their eyes on his back as he knocked at the office door. Inside, by the light of the lamps that had been lit to compensate for the shuttered windows, the prefect was standing at a map of the area around Tungrorum painted on the wall behind his desk, an exact copy of the one they’d discussed in the basilica the previous day. The diagram was littered with hand-painted annotations, each one consisting of three lines of text beside a small cross to indicate a location. The crosses were for the most part aligned with the main roads to east and west, and the notes that accompanied each one were abbreviated in the official style. The tribune put down the bag he was carrying and shook his colleague’s hand before turning to examine the map with him.
‘You keep a record of bandit activity, then?’
The prefect nodded, waving a hand at the map.
‘That which is reported to my office, yes. I’m trying to spot a pattern. Something to give me an idea of where they might be hiding themselves, so that I can get on the front foot for a change, rather than just reacting to their attacks. It also gives me a clue as to how many of them are out there, and where they might be hiding. Look here
