not yet managed to unearth the guilty men. Even Frontinius, who found himself cast in the unusual role of peacemaker alongside his colleague Sergius, had commented privately that he would have found the culprits in less than a day.
‘Honey and shit, that’s the way it works. Nice and nasty. Rewards for the men that turn the bastards in, and collective punishment for the whole bloody cohort until they come to their senses.’
Belletor stood alongside Scaurus in unhappy silence while his colleague explained to the centurions what it was he planned for their combined force. He pointed to the map of the area on the wall of the basilica’s main hall, a map which he had requested for the evening’s briefing with a studied mannerliness that had left Procurator Albanus with little option but to agree. The civilian administrator was standing off to one side, and clearly fighting to contain his irritation at seeing a host of army officers in the building where he usually conducted his business.
‘Centurions, we’re here to safeguard the supply of corn to the legion fortresses on the Rhenus. Without that supply their existence becomes precarious, which makes our task of the utmost importance. Exterminating the bandit threat in this part of the province is also going to be of benefit to the local inhabitants, of course, but first and foremost it is about preserving the empire’s north-western flank. As you can see from this map, our destruction of two of the opportunist bands that were troubling the roads to the city means that the most obvious remaining threat to the supply routes to the legions comes from here.’ He slapped his pointer onto the dark green mass of the Arduenna forest. ‘The forest is currently host to the largest of the bandit gangs, perhaps as many as five hundred of them, and they must now be our main focus. When we find and destroy their base of operations, kill as many as we can and scatter the rest, when we have their leader’s head on a spear point…’ He paused and looked around the gathered officers with a wry smile. ‘… with or without his famous mask, then we will have broken the back of this problem! And make no mistake, there’s nothing mystical about the man, or his followers. He’s just another thug, for all his fearsome reputation, and his gang are no more than that. I don’t know about you, but my experience in my younger days was that when you take down the leader of a gang its members tend to lose heart. When they see the strength we muster, they’ll pretty soon decide to put survival before profit, you can be sure of that! Intimidating civilians and suborning poorly led local auxiliaries is one thing, but facing up to two cohorts of battle-hardened infantry is quite another.’
He took a sip of wine before speaking again.
‘So, tomorrow morning we’ll muster at dawn and march west. A brisk morning’s march will take us to the junction with the road south to the city of the Treveri, and then we’ll turn south and cross the River Mosa. By the end of the day I expect us to be within spitting distance of the forest’s edge, and we’ll camp under full wartime conditions just in case they see us coming and try to take us by surprise. The day after that, we’ll start probing towards their camp, which, thanks to a scouting party from the First Tungrian Cohort, we now know is here, close to the river.’
He pointed to the map behind him, and Marcus flicked a glance around his colleagues to find Titus staring back at him with a knowing expression. His brother officer had walked up to Julius with a wry smile moments earlier, putting a massive hand on Marcus’s shoulder and muttering, ‘A one-toothed whore, eh? Smart work, brother.’ Scaurus continued, his face hawk-like in the torchlight.
‘It was always logical to assume that Obduro and his band are operating from somewhere on this edge of Arduenna. They need to get back into the forest’s cover as soon as they can once they’ve carried out a robbery, but now we actually know where to find it. There it is.’ He tapped the map. ‘Only a few hundred paces of the river and astride the main forest path that leads west until it reaches the road south to the Treveri capital. That ease of access cuts both ways, of course. It makes their lair easier for us to find, and less of a problem to attack than a hideaway in the deep forest. That’s the good news. The bad news is that they must have another camp further into the forest, and on higher ground, which they can fall back to if the first one is compromised. It’ll probably be built on a hill, almost certainly heavily fortified, and very likely with the ground around it littered with mantraps. It’s likely that once they realise we’re coming they’ll scatter in a dozen different directions and fall back into the deep forest. And once they’ve disbanded catching them will be like trying to bottle smoke. What we have to do is surround the camp with a nice thick ring of troops before they get the chance to run for it, and get them bottled up and ready to either surrender or die. Either of which will suit me very well. So this plan must remain confidential from anyone not in this room until the time comes to make it work on the ground. That is all, gentlemen. Go back to your centuries and make sure that your men are ready for battle when we march tomorrow. And now, let’s have a toast.’ He raised his cup. ‘Shared victory!’
The centurions echoed the sentiment and raised their own cups, every man in the room draining whatever remained of his wine. One of the legion centurions spoke in the silence that followed his words.
‘Ready for battle tomorrow, Tribune? I thought your aim was to engage the bandits the day after that?’
Scaurus nodded grimly, fixing a hard smile on the centurion.
‘Indeed it is. But our experience of warfare, no matter who the enemy is, is that they come to fight at the most inconvenient times. We may well find ourselves in battle tomorrow whether we like it or not.’
‘Typical fucking army. We sweat our bollocks off for a week building barracks to keep out the rain, with our tents falling to pieces, and then just as we finish the job, they decide that a few days’ campaign in the open is a good idea. Whichever genius came up with this idea needs his fucking head looking at. I reckon…’
Scarface snapped to attention as a tall figure leaned over his shoulder and a quiet but authoritative voice spoke softly in his ear.
‘And I reckon that you would be better advised keeping your opinion to yourself, soldier. For while it is the right of every man to complain as often and as long as he wishes, this rule only holds true for as long as he takes good care not to be overheard. If I were actually to hear such a complaint, it would be necessary for me to deliver the appropriate discipline to you.’ Scarface stood in flushed and rigid silence, his gaze locked on the line of new barracks before which the cohort was paraded. It was common knowledge that the Ninth Century’s chosen man was not the happiest of men that morning, given the biting cold that had taken a grip of Tungrorum overnight, and the veteran soldier was experienced enough in the ways of his superiors to know when the time had come to wind his neck in. ‘As it happens, soldier, and despite your much-vaunted mission to keep our centurion from harm, on this evidently rare occasion I happen to know a little bit more about the reason for our excursion into “the open” than it seems you do. Shall I enlighten you?’
He walked along the rear of the century’s line with his brass-knobbed pole resting on his broad, mailed shoulder until he came to its end, then retraced his steps along the unit’s front, speaking as he went.
‘It is Tribune Scaurus’s opinion that the time has come for us to deal with the bandits who hide in the Arduenna forest. And that is his decision, not the centurion’s, not mine and most certainly not yours. Very shortly now you will be inspected and briefed in more detail by Centurion Corvus, and then we will march to join the other cohorts outside the city walls. Given our orders to be ready for battle, soldier, you would be better questioning yourself as to whether your sword is sharp and your arm strong, since you may have need of both before the day is ended.’
‘Cheeky Hamian b-’
Scarface bit off the last word of his muttered imprecation as Qadir’s pole swung out from his shoulder with surprising speed, and he winced as the brass knob struck his helmet’s iron plate with a heavy clang. The pole was more usually employed to push a century’s rearmost men into action should they prove reluctant to advance, but Qadir was as handy with its secondary use, as a forceful instrument of his authority, as any other chosen man in the cohort. He paced down the row of men with his face set in a neutral expression, although the abashed Scarface, despite the fact that he was concentrating on the barrack in front of him with as much force as he could muster, knew only too well that the Hamian’s eyes would be burning with barely suppressed anger.
‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, since you’re a senior man. The next time you challenge me to ignore a casual insult made within the range of my excellent hearing, you and I will be enjoying a swift but ugly discussion behind the barracks.’ Scarface redoubled his close attention to the wall in front of him and kept his mouth firmly shut. For all his own prowess in the dirty art of barrack-block squabbles, usually settled in the first few seconds with instinctive brutality, Qadir was known to be both fast with his fists and boots and, when sufficiently roused, utterly without scruple in using them to make his point to the rare recalcitrant that chose to ignore his deceptively gentle admonishment. That the veteran soldier would give the big Hamian a decent fight was without doubt, but that he would end up on the losing end of the matter was also fairly obvious. The chosen man gazed levelly at him for a moment before continuing. ‘Good. Order is restored. Since the soldier here feels the need for a better understanding of the plan for today’s activity, I will elucidate, which, for those among you whose education has primarily been
