dagger’s blade, twisting it to catch the early morning sun and send a pattern of sunlight sparkling from its rough- sharpened blade, then he lifted the terrified man’s tunic and put the dagger’s point under his testicles, prodding at the soft skin with a snarl of barely controlled anger. ‘I’ll have your fucking manhood off and make you watch while the dogs eat your sausage.’ Petrus nodded slowly, staring up into the Tungrian’s enraged eyes and knowing that his only option was to remain silent. ‘And one more thing, the tribune told me to tell you that Albanus will be under a similar house arrest to yours, and that should anything unfortunate happen to him I’ll be free to come for you with licence to inflict whatever punishment I think fit. And trust me, Petrus, I can be surprisingly inventive when it comes to men like you.’
8
Marcus took his leave of the prefect and walked back to the hospital, where Felicia had not long since started her working day. Her Tungrian escorts saluted as he walked into the surgery and he returned the gesture, temporarily dismissing them with a waved hand. They went off around the corner to give the couple some privacy, one man nudging the other once they were safely out of sight, first miming the doctor’s swollen belly and then winking at his mate, bending his legs and pretending to take a handful of a woman’s hair from behind. Marcus ignored their poorly muffled snorts of mirth and held his wife against his body for a long moment before releasing her, smiling down into her sleepy eyes. The doctor in his wife took charge, untying the bandage wrapped about his face and examining the bruising around his jaw line with a critical eye.
‘Not too bad, Centurion. I’d say that’s healing at just about the rate I would have expected. You’ll be keeping the bandage, I presume?’ He nodded, and she fetched a fresh length of linen with which to renew the injury’s protection. ‘You look tired. In fact you look worn out. Are you going back to our quarters to get some sleep?’ Marcus held up his tablet, and Felicia read the neat lines of script carved into its soft wax surface with a look of resignation. ‘Are you taking anyone with you?’ He shook his head, pointing to a line in the tablet’s message, and her eyes narrowed with concern. ‘You’re a diligent man, Marcus. Nobody could accuse you of lacking commitment. But doing this alone must be more of a risk than having Dubnus or Qadir alongside you. You’ll have to sleep sometime or other, and if you get the reaction it seems you’re hoping to provoke…’
Her concerns ran dry in the face of his gentle smile, and he simply tapped the hilt of his new spatha with a meaningful expression.
‘One man against the world, is that it? Well, just you be sure to keep your wits about you. A pretty new sword isn’t much use if you’ve got a spear in your back that you never saw coming. And speaking of swords, make sure you bring that one back. I’m depending on the proceeds from its sale to keep me and your child fed and warm when you finally meet someone who’s better than you are with a blade.’ He smiled again, then raised his eyebrows in an expression of injured amazement, forcing a laugh from his wife. ‘Yes, I know. A better man with a sword than you? Impossible.’
He kissed her and turned away, and the doctor watched with a pensive smile as the soldiers retook their positions to either side of the surgery door.
‘Let’s hope that your customary self-confidence is justified, Marcus Valerius Aquila. I’m not yet ready to wear a widow’s red again.’
Leaving the hospital, Marcus paused to watch as a long column of soldiers marched out through the city’s west gate. Spotting his friend Caelius at the head of his 4th Century he waved a hand, and the young centurion dropped out of the line of march with a smile.
‘Greetings, Marcus! It’s good to see you looking better. As you can see, we’re away to the west to make sure the bandits don’t snatch up the grain convoy that’s coming up the road from Beech Forest.’ He looked up at the clear blue sky with a wry smile. ‘And it’s such a nice day that Uncle Sextus has decided to take all of the Second Cohort and half of the First along for the walk! Think of us sweating away down the road under the lash of his temper while you’re idling around the city eyeing up the girls!’
He slapped his friend on the back and hurried away up the line of men to retake his place at the head of his century. Marcus watched with pride as the remainder of the long column ground away through the gate, leaving behind them only the echo of their passing and the first snatches of a marching song. Turning away from the arched entrance to the city he walked swiftly through Tungrorum’s narrow streets, returning the salutes of the soldiers and legionaries he passed and ignoring the curious glances of civilians out shopping for their day’s provisions. He visited one of the shops and made the purchase of a pair of matched hourglasses before continuing on his way to the previously empty ground where the Tungrians had established their barracks. The 1st Cohort’s mounted century had erected their stables at the far end of the main run of the infantry’s closely packed barracks, and it was a scene of bustling activity as the horsemen finished their daily routine of feeding and brushing their mounts and made ready for their first patrol. Decurion Silus saw his friend approaching and walked out to meet him, extending a hand with a broad smile.
‘We heard you’d taken a bash in the face, but I didn’t realise it was bad enough that you’d be forced to cover up your disfigurement.’ Marcus smiled ruefully in return, pointing to his jaw and miming the breaking of a stick, then he leaned forward to sniff at his friend’s clothing, recoiling in mock disgust. Silus put both hands on his hips and raised his eyebrows in admonishment. ‘Yes, very funny. I smell of horses. Whereas you — ’ he leaned forward in turn and sniffed — ‘you smell of a lady’s perfume. And I know which of those two rides I would prefer!’ He looked his friend up and down in appraisal. ‘So, whilst I’m delighted to see you, I’m sure that this isn’t a social visit, not with you in full armour and dangling sharp iron from both hips. What can we do for you, Centurion Corvus?’
Marcus handed over his tablet, waiting patiently as Silus read the words he’d written, the decurion’s lips moving as he ran a finger along the lines of text.
‘You want to borrow a horse, do you? Are you sure that you’re ready for anything more vigorous than catching grain thieves?’ Silus’s tone was light, but his gaze was calculating, and he raised a finger to point at Marcus’s face. ‘If you’ve cracked the bone then another smack on your chin would probably shatter it, and even your lovely wife would be hard pushed to put a broken jaw back together. I’ve seen enough busted faces in the last ten years — men who fell off their horses and ploughed up the ground with their mouths — and it isn’t a pretty sight, I can tell you. One poor bastard I remember had his jaw ripped clean off, and all we could do for him was put him out of his misery quickly and cleanly.’ He shook his head grimly at the thought, and put a hand to the silver penis amulet hanging from his wrist to ward off any evil that lurked in the memory. ‘Every man I ever saw bust his jaw properly ended up with a lumpy face, and most of them could only mumble like drunks. So you’re sure you want to risk spending the rest of your life with your face whatever shape the bones set into, and your orders no clearer than a pisshead’s mutterings?’
Marcus took back the tablet, quickly writing a fresh line of text before handing it back to his friend. Silus read the response and shrugged helplessly.
‘And you think the fact you expect to be followed makes it any more sensible? You’d better watch your back, Centurion, that’s all I can say. You’re sure you don’t want a few of my lads to come along and watch it for you? I’m sure the tribune wouldn’t argue with the idea.’ Marcus shook his head. ‘I thought not. Very well, if you’re determined to do this on your own…’ He turned away and shouted a command to the men busy at work behind him, one of whom put his brush down and led forward the horse he was grooming. The animal stopped in front of Marcus, lowering its long face to nudge at his shoulder, and Silus laughed wryly, affectionately rubbing the horse’s flank. ‘See, Bonehead recognises a kindred spirit. He knows that wherever he goes with you there’ll soon enough be an opportunity to run wild and kick things, don’t you, you feather-brained bastard?’
Marcus waited while the horse was saddled, then led it away with a wave of thanks, walking the restive animal down the row of barracks until he reached the building that housed his own century. Qadir stepped out of the chosen man’s quarters to greet him, and he quickly grasped what it was that his centurion had in mind when Marcus handed him one of the two hourglasses and the tablet, nodding at the carefully worded instruction. He shouted a command over his shoulder, eyeing Marcus with a grave stare.
‘Cyclops! Your presence is required!’ The watch officer emerged from his barrack and shot Marcus a respectful salute before turning to listen to his chosen man’s orders. ‘I want the five most disreputable and unsoldierly looking men in the century here in tunic order as fast as you can.’ The Hamian turned back to Marcus. ‘We’ll need some time to get them out to the gates. Allow one hourglass to pass before you leave the city; that
