Altar of Blood: Empire IX Page 7

  ‘We wouldn’t want to set any higher expectation among your brother officers, would we, Centurion?’

  Qadir smiled thinly, recognising his comrade’s jibe for what it was intended to be, a reminder of the fact that they had all begun their military lives as simple archers, before their friend’s rise to command them which, given his birth, had been something of an inevitability.

  ‘Indeed, Husam. Why look professional when with just a little less effort you can remain a goatherd for the rest of your life?’

  His friend bowed his head in recognition of the returned insult.

  ‘How can we be of service, Centurion?’

  Qadir dropped his helmet on the desk of his quarter and gestured to them both to sit.

  ‘I have been selected to join the tribune and centurions Marcus and Dubnus in a delicate mission to the northern wastes. To Germania.’

  ‘You are clearly under the blessings of the goddess. Once more you have the opportunity to accompany your betters to a distant part of the empire, where unfriendly men will do their very best—’

  Husam fell silent as he realised that Qadir was smiling at him in a not entirely humorous manner.

  ‘That is correct. But you are mistaken in one thing, old friend. She smiles upon all three of us.’

  He turned away to place his vine stick on the office’s table, muttering quietly to himself.

  The younger of the two raised a tentative hand.

  ‘If I might enquire?’

  Qadir spread his hands wide, as if granting silent permission for the question.

  ‘Husam is your chosen man. I am your watch officer.’

  ‘And so you are asking me who is to lead the men while we are away from the city, Munir? Select someone. I very much doubt that there will be any call for our archers, here in Rome. They will be free to relax, and forget the horror of our recent battles against the Parthians. Whereas we will be reacquainting ourselves with the German forests.’

  ‘Cold, damp, miserably dark even in summer. There is little with which I have the urge to reacquaint myself. And their language, all that growling and gritting of teeth. I had not thought to sully my mouth with it again in this lifetime.’

  Qadir grinned at Husam.

  ‘With luck you won’t have to. The tribune hopes to be “in and out again” without ever being detected. But, just in case his fond wish for a boring and uneventful few days is denied, we are to take ten archers, including you two.’

  ‘Ten?’ The question was incredulous in tone. ‘What use are ten bows against a tribe of screaming painted lunatics?’

  His answer was an eloquent shrug.

  ‘I do not know, and I fervently hope not to find out. But, just in case the opportunity for that learning comes to pass, you must select eight more men to join us on this journey into the green half-light. And trust me in this, my brothers, you must not simply choose those men who are the most precise shots with their bows.’

  Husam nodded wearily.

  ‘I know. You want the best hunters, the stealthiest, and the most deadly shots when it comes to dropping a man with a single arrow.’

  Qadir nodded soberly.

  ‘I do. But I want them all to have one more essential quality, something which cannot be learned, but which must have been part of the man’s way of thinking when he fell out of his mother.’ Chosen man and watch officer stared at him in questioning silence. ‘Every man you select must have the ability to lose all fear of failure at the moment he releases the arrow, must be blessed with cold eyes that can measure the best point of impact for his last arrow even as the cataphract bears down on him in dust and thunder, knowing that if this last arrow fails him then he will surely die on the end of the horseman’s lance, or trampled under the hoofs of his warhorse. And, in the instant of releasing the arrow that he knows will surely fly true and fell his opponent, not to care.’

  The room was silent for a moment before he spoke again.

  ‘I know you both possess this detachment from the fears of the battlefield, or neither of you would hold the positions to which you bring great honour. Now go and find me another eight like you. Men who are not shy of killing, but who more importantly are not afraid to die.’

  The two men bowed to him briefly rather than saluting, and left him alone with his thoughts. On the steps outside the office the chosen man put a hand on his colleague’s arm.

  ‘Did you hear what he said in there, when he turned away and thought his words were private? That the goddess smiled on all three of us – if she smiled at all?’

  Munir nodded his head soberly.

  ‘It is not the first thing he has said in the months since the battle for Nisibis that has given me pause for thought. More than once his words have implied that he is a less fervent believer in the Deasura than was once the case. You have noticed too?’

  Husam shrugged eloquently.

  ‘I was hoping that it was more a question of my imagination than his words, but it seems that our friend is losing his love for our goddess Atargatis. In any case our men must not discover his wavering belief, so keep this to yourself. I will speak with him, and encourage him to consider his position as our century’s spiritual leader in this city of unbelievers. I am sure that he will understand my concerns.’

  ‘Archers and axemen. The ability to kill at a distance or to hack an enemy to ribbons. We should have every eventuality covered …’

  Julius looked across the table at Scaurus, tearing off a piece of the bread on the plate before him and popping it into his mouth, chewing vigorously as he responded to the Roman’s musing. The tribune and his centurions had climbed the Viminal Hill with the sun’s last light to join the senior centurion and his woman for dinner, and talk had inevitably turned to their preparations for the march north.

  ‘You can kill anyone you see, hack anyone to ribbons that gets past the archers, and generally outfight anything short of a full tribal war band. So what’s worrying you?’

  His superior took a sip of wine before answering.

  ‘The lack of … guile, I suppose?’

  Julius snorted, shaking his head.

  ‘Guile? Given some of the men you’re taking, I’d say what you’ve got is more like villainy.’

  Scaurus shook his head.

  ‘You miss my meaning, that or perhaps my expression was poor. And you’re right, we have as much power to kill or terrify we can muster in a group small enough to evade detection, but we still lack something …’ He paused, spearing a piece of meat with his fork. ‘Given that we’re going to have to go in on foot, and cross the river into their territory at some point, I think it’s a lack of intelligence that’s the problem. We could make our way into the heart of Bructeri territory by the most subtle and devious of means and end up walking into something quite unexpected, simply because we’ll have no idea as to the state of play where it matters the most.’

  Julius nodded slowly.

  ‘I take your point. You could always take Silus with you and send him ahead?’

  Marcus shook his head, breaking the reverie that had descended on him upon entering the house’s painfully familiar confines.

  ‘Not Silus, and not any of our cavalrymen, I’d say. They’re too obviously serving soldiers, which would make them targets for suspicion anywhere east of the Rhenus.’

  The senior centurion thought for a moment, then his face lit up.

  ‘If you’re looking for someone who’ll blend into the landscape, a man that no one would ever suspect of being a serving soldier, I’ve just the man for you. And he’s right under your nose.’

  He opened his mouth but before he could expand on his idea one of Cotta’s men escorted a newcomer into the room. The officers watched as he saluted Scaurus.

  ‘Rutilius Scaurus, a pleasure to see you again.’

  Scaurus stood, returning the salute with grave solemnity.

  ‘Gaius Vibius Varus. It’s a pleasure to see you, even if somewhat unexpectedly. Will you join us for
dinner, if the lady of the house can muster another seat?’

  Varus smiled.

  ‘I would be delighted, Tribune.’

  Silence descended upon the room as another place was set at the table, and Varus took his seat with a bow of thanks to Annia.

  ‘So, what brings a man of the senatorial class to this table? Shouldn’t you be reclining gracefully on a padded couch and listening to poetry while the house slaves feed you delicacies and young ladies compete to catch your eye?’

  The younger man took a piece of bread from the proffered basket.

  ‘Thank you. As it happens I did have a dinner invitation tonight, an invitation issued by one of my father’s closest friends. It seems I’m quite the social must-have at the moment, with a dinner to attend every night of the week and sometimes more than one.’ He sighed. ‘They all want to hear my war stories and have me tell them how I spilled blood for the emperor. As the only man of senatorial rank who took part in our mission to Syria, everyone makes the automatic assumption that I must have been in command. At first I insisted on telling the truth of it, but the collective incredulity that an equestrian such as yourself might have commanded a legion seems to be just a little too hard to believe for most of them. The ladies flutter their eyelashes at me and lick their lips, while their fathers and husbands slap me on the back and compliment me on my modesty. I could dine out for a year on the reflected glory of our victory, and probably share a bed with a different woman each night, and yet …’

  ‘And yet what?’ Julius stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘You did your part as well as any other man, and you’ve earned the opportunity to make the most of it. Eat, drink, suffer the bullshit and f—’ He shot a guilty glance at his wife, whose eyebrow was raised in an unmistakable signal of disapproval. ‘Er, enjoy as much female company as you can. The chance might not be along again for a while.’

  Scaurus looked at the younger man for a moment before speaking.

  ‘But that’s not enough, is it, Vibius Varus? You’re not content to play the hero and take the kudos, are you?’

  Varus shook his head.

  ‘I need something more. To be alive again, and see the world in vivid colours, to feel the blood sizzling in my veins …’

  Marcus nodded knowingly.

  ‘You’ve stepped over the threshold that divides us from those men who’ve never taken sharp iron to another human being, never spilled an enemy’s blood to stop him spilling yours. And never laid awake in the middle of the night pondering those deaths.’

  The younger man nodded.

  ‘I want to march with your spears again. You’re getting ready to go somewhere, perform some mission for the emperor.’ He raised a hand to forestall the denial. ‘Don’t try to palm me off on this, Tribune, I quietly strolled down here this afternoon, with a couple of ugly slaves to make sure I wasn’t interrupted, and I watched the most amusing thing I’ve seen in a long time. Archers and axemen learning to ride? Whatever next? And so I wondered to myself what the purpose of such an exercise, unless the men in question, a small number of men, I noted, are going to have to ride somewhere a long way away?’

  Scaurus raised an eyebrow.

  ‘And your conclusion?’

  Varus leaned across the table, his eyes alight with speculation.

  ‘You’re only taking thirty or so men, from the look of it, which means it’s something covert. If the job entailed fighting for whatever it is you’ve been tasked to win, or destroy, you’d be going in strength, whereas this, I’ll wager, is something subtler. So I discussed the state of Rome’s relations with her neighbours with my father. It seems that most of the frontiers are quiet now, especially since we put Parthia back in her place, but there are one or two spots on the map where the sparks of resentment still burn brightly. Places where, in some cases, there are Varus family members serving their emperor, hence my father’s interest in the affairs both of those provinces and their neighbours as well.’

  He leaned forward in his chair.

  ‘Take me with you.’

  Scaurus stared at him for a moment in silence.

  ‘And your father? Where does he stand in all this? I’d be more than a little surprised if he were supportive of your disappearing from Rome just at the time when your exploits in the east have probably guaranteed you a favourable marriage, and made you the talk of the city?’

  Varus shook his head.

  ‘I’ve taken the precaution of not consulting him on the matter. He would most certainly say no.’ His face hardened. ‘And that wouldn’t end well.’

  Scaurus spread his hands wide.

  ‘And as a tribune I have no suitable rank to offer you.’ He saw a confident grin spread across the younger man’s face. ‘But you’ve already thought that through as well, haven’t you?’

  ‘Make me a centurion. You know I can carry it off.’

  Julius closed his eyes and muttered something unintelligible. Scaurus stared at Varus for a moment and then nodded slowly.

  ‘You might have something there, if you’re idiot enough to lower yourself to such a thing. You know this will be looked upon askance by the influential men who have been so much in your favour though, don’t you?’

  Varus waved the thought away.

  ‘Victory is a child with a thousand fathers, Tribune, you told me that some time ago. If I come back from wherever it is we’re going in the company of men who’ve achieved a great success for the empire, then all will be well, perhaps even better than now. And if I don’t come back? Well in that case you can be assured that no one’s going to be all that worried about the rank I was carrying when I died.’

  Scaurus looked at Marcus.

  ‘No view on this, Centurion?’

  His friend’s haunted face turned to match gazes with him.

  ‘We only have one life, and it’s better to have lived it the way that feels right. Even if only for a short time. And doubtless one or two of our men will be honoured to keep an eye on our colleague and ensure that he comes to no more harm than the rest of us.’

  Scaurus nodded decisively.

  ‘Very well. Get yourself kitted out tomorrow morning – I’m sure Julius will be delighted to help you make sure you look the part. Just don’t come complaining to me when there are hundreds of German tribesmen baying at the moon for your head.’

  Varus smiled beatifically.

  ‘Germania? I’d hoped as much. With a bit of luck you’ll be able to make your acquaintance of my cousin. I think you’ll find him a most entertaining and useful man to know.’

  ‘Thugs, Tribune?’

  Scaurus stared at Cotta for a moment before answering.

  ‘Your hearing clearly hasn’t deteriorated, Centurion Cotta, although what I actually specified was the Briton Lugos and some thugs. We can’t leave him here, he’ll be lost without us.’

  The veteran raised an eyebrow at the younger man.

  ‘Far be it from me to contradict as fine a specimen of the equestrian class as yourself, Tribune, but my impression was that you were planning a swift raid on these Bructeri, an in and out with as little noise as possible, and with the Germans not even knowing that we’re there until we’re back on the right side of the river with the prize.’

  The tribune nodded with an approving expression.

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m planning. My congratulations not only on the state of your hearing but your general cognitive powers as well.’

  Cotta shook his head with a look of mystification.

  ‘If it’s all got to be done on tiptoes then why would you be asking me to recruit thugs to bring along, given that we both know that thugs usually operate in a manner that’s the direct opposite of either subtle or restrained? Not that I would ever have thought to describe Lugos in those terms.’

  Scaurus raised a knowing eyebrow.

  ‘The why, Cotta, is something that I shall keep to myself for the time being, so I suggest you concentrate on what I’ve asked for, and who would be best sele
cted to deliver it. Suffice to say that I need a few soldiers along for the ride who can pass for the sort of men one sees outside the rougher sort of brothel after dark. Men who can quite clearly handle themselves, and who, when the need arises, punch first, punch again and only then give even the most fleeting consideration to explaining to the man on the end of their knuckles exactly why it is that they’re punching them.’

  Cotta looked at him for a moment.

  ‘And whatever it is that you think you’re going to achieve by unleashing the ugliest men in the cohort, you want me to select them. Which also means that whatever it is you plan for them to do, I’ll probably be right in the middle of it. Am I right?’

  ‘Almost. Yes, I want you to be their leader in that part of the plan I have in mind for you. And you can thank Julius for that, this was his idea. But I didn’t say I wanted the ugliest men in the cohort, but rather the most criminally minded and, if need be, the most violent. I want thinkers, Centurion, men who’ll be working out the odds before they raise their fists and not after, when it’s too late.’

  ‘You’re asking me to find the cleverest, most brutal bastards in the whole cohort and then keep them under control until the time comes to let them loose?’

  Scaurus’s smile deepened, and the veteran officer rubbed his face wearily with the palm of his hand, puffing out his lips in an exaggerated exhalation of breath.

  ‘Whatever it was I did to deserve this, it wasn’t worth the punishment.’

  ‘Why us?’

  Cotta stared back across the tavern table at the soldier called Sanga with an expression verging on disbelief.

  ‘Why you? I tell you that I’m looking for a pair of men to do dangerous and dirty work, men who know which end of a dagger does the damage, men who can talk their way out of trouble but know when to stop talking and start fighting, and you ask me “why us”?

  Sanga stared at him, apparently uncomprehendingly, and the veteran centurion sighed wearily.

  ‘If I must …’ Without warning he lunged across the table, putting a finger in Sanga’s face and smiling as the soldier visibly suppressed his urge to take the hand and break the wrist attached to it. ‘There, that’s why you. Your first spear tells me that you, Sanga, are without a doubt the most violent man in your century, possibly in the entire cohort. Not a pretty fighter like your mate there …’ The Dacian Saratos grinned at the description. ‘But nasty as a week-old latrine trench once you’ve decided to put a man down. Fists, elbows, feet, teeth …’