these hostilities to one side. Not everything is as simple as it seems.’
Scaurus stared at his first spear for a moment, knowing that the older man’s cautionary words contained a core of wisdom that he would be unwise to ignore. At length he put a hand on Frontinius’s and gently freed himself from its grip, switching his pitiless gaze back to Belletor.
‘Agreed, First Spear. But when we discover the truth of these events there will be a reckoning with whoever is brought to justice, and as they suffer their death sentence I will look into the eyes of the men who would have defiled a pregnant woman. And you — ’ he pointed a finger at Belletor — ‘ you would do well to avoid lecturing me in the period between then and now. Make sure that the rest of your command knows that I have detailed a guard to the doctor, four veteran soldiers to be at her side at all times, some of them men who have recovered from battle wounds under her care. I have told them that they have orders to take whatever action they see fit, should they suspect any threat to the doctor. Any man who approaches the doctor with anything but the greatest circumspection can expect to find himself looking down the shafts of their spears, and to find unfriendly eyes behind them.’
5
The party was back on the hunters’ track at first light. Marcus’s eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep, which had refused to return after the night’s disturbance, despite the absence of any further sign of the nocturnal intruder that he resolutely maintained he had heard.
‘There was something else I heard, apart from the sound of breaking twigs, but I can’t say what it was. It didn’t sound like any noise a pig would make though.’
He pondered the fading memory as they made their cautious way along the track in the morning’s grey light, at length shaking his head and deciding to put the whole thing to the back of his mind. By the time the sun had reached its highest point they had covered another five miles by his reckoning, and he was starting to contemplate the stop for lunch when Arabus ducked into the cover of a gnarled elm, raising a hand to beckon them in but in such a manner that a silent approach was clearly required. Leaving a muttering Silus to hold the horses the centurions closed up on their guide in silence, squatting down in the cover of the tree and waiting for him to speak. Leaning forward to whisper, he pointed a finger at the path beyond the elm’s shelter.
‘I heard something. Not loud, but not natural. It might have been a man’s voice raised to shout, but it was so distant that I couldn’t be certain. We need to leave the path and scout forward.’
Julius nodded, and whispered his instructions in the same quiet tone.
‘Swords out, brothers. This ground’s so thick with trees that there’ll be no warning of any trouble. Marcus, go and tell Silus to get the animals into cover, and to wait for us here. Tell him the watchword is “Tungria” — and if he hears men approaching without using it he’s at liberty to make a break for it. If we get into trouble out there I’d rather the tribune knew something rather than nothing at all.’
Marcus briefed Silus, who promptly led the horses and mule off the track and away into the forest’s cover, unable to resist the temptation for a whispered parting shot at his comrade.
‘Never fear, Centurion, the first sound I hear without one of you lot bellowing the watchword and I’ll be on my toes without a second thought. Watch out for yourself, young Corvus, and try to avoid being attacked by any bad- tempered pigs, eh?’
The four men scouted forward in an extended line, keeping within sight of each other as they eased cautiously through the undergrowth. After a few minutes, and as the initial nervous energy prompted by the guide’s warning started to seep away from his muscles, Marcus found himself shivering with the day’s chill. He hunched deeper into his cloak as he slipped through the trees and bushes, the forest’s silence broken only by the gentle sigh of wind through leaves. He lost sight of Dubnus, the next man in line, as his friend moved silently down into a dip in the forest floor, and in the moment of distraction, as he glanced away from the thick undergrowth to his front, a pig burst from its cover in an explosion of movement and raced away across the soft ground. An instant later a man leapt through the bushes in pursuit, a spear raised in one hand held ready to throw.
Sergius reported back to the two tribunes after an hour’s swift investigation, his face sour with frustration.
‘The knife was stolen from the legionary named on its blade yesterday, while the man’s tent party were on fatigue detail. He reported it as missing early yesterday afternoon, and his centurion supports that claim. It’s fairly obvious that it was stolen for the purpose, as a precaution against its being lost, but that doesn’t provide us with any clue as to who it was that assaulted the lady last night. For what it’s worth, I’ve spread the word that there’s a reward on offer for information leading to the apprehension of these men, but I’m not holding my breath on a result. Nobody in the tent party in question is going to say a word, and they’re likely to have kept their plans to themselves.’
Scaurus paced across the room away from him, turning when he reached the wall, and his voice was hard- edged when he spoke.
‘To be expected, I suppose, and it leaves me without a means of identifying these soldiers, presumably as intended. I’ll not pursue justice against men that can’t be identified, but I will nurture my hunger for retribution for as long as it takes for them to make the mistake that will lead me to them.’
Prefect Caninus nodded firmly, picking up the knife from its place on the table’s scarred wooden surface and lifting it to stare hard at the blade’s glinting line of sharp iron.
‘I’m with you there, Tribune. One way or another we will have justice.’
The spearman stumbled to a halt and gaped in amazement at the uniformed Roman officer standing before him, his face distorting into the beginning of a scream as Marcus swept his sword round in a blurred arc that whipped the blade through his neck and sent his head spinning to the ground. The man’s body stood stock-still for a moment before slumping sideways to the forest floor, a jet of blood spurting from the corpse’s neck as it fell. From close by a man called out in the native tongue, and the Roman flattened himself against the nearest tree as the second hunter’s footsteps thudded softly towards him across the forest floor. As the man appeared to his right, his spear held loosely over his shoulder, Marcus kicked out with his right leg; he hooked the hunter’s feet from beneath him and pitched him onto his back, putting the sword’s point to his throat and looking down at his captive with a finger to his lips. The prostrate hunter swallowed, feeling the steel’s cold kiss against the skin of his neck, and froze into immobility while Arabus and the other centurions gathered around him.
‘ Kill him! ’
Julius put out an arm without even looking at Arabus, ignoring the threat of his long knife and taking a firm grip of his throat, hissing a warning from the side of his mouth.
‘Put the knife away before I’m forced to take it off you.’
The guide stared at him for a long moment, his knuckles white on the knife’s handle, before he realised that Dubnus had the point of his sword a fingernail’s width from his exposed armpit. The big centurion leaned in close, touching his knife to the soft skin with sufficient force to indent the vulnerable flesh.
‘Do as he says, or you’ll end up as a meal for those pigs you’re so fond of.’
Arabus slowly lowered the blade, sliding it back into the leather scabbard and stepping away from the terrified prisoner, but his face remained twisted in an expression of hatred and disgust.
‘He’s one of them.’
Julius grinned wolfishly.
‘You mean he’s a bandit?’
The guide nodded, not taking his eyes off the prisoner. His voice was cold, and as dead as his eyes.
‘He’s one of the men that took my woman and my son. Give him to me.’
The big Tungrian shook his head, shooting Arabus a warning glance.
‘No. Not yet, at least. I want to know what he’s doing here before anyone gets to play any revenge games with him. And I want to know one thing before we start.’ Stabbing his sword down into the soft earth he reached down and took a firm grip of the spearman’s sleeve, then he pulled out his dagger and opened up the coarse fabric with a single pass of the evilly sharp blade. He stared down at the man’s flesh, shaking his head slowly at what the knife’s pass had revealed. ‘And what do we have here, eh? Who’s a naughty boy?’
He tapped the skin of the man’s shoulder with the weapon’s point, indicating a tattoo crudely inked into the
