Ironroot (10 page)

Corda’s expression hardened.

“I’m going to go see the quartermaster and go through the loot; see if I can find an Imperial sword.” He looked up at Scortius as the captain sank wearily back to the table. “You get him up and about. I don’t care how you have to do it. Just get him moving.”

Corda gave his captain a last determined glance, grasped his shoulder, and then strode out of the tent as though he’d do battle with the Gods.

Varro watched Scortius approaching the table once more, his soul hardening like baked clay as he lay there. There was more to this than simple chance. Someone had engineered Varro’s death, and that made him angry. Hopefully angry enough to stay alive long enough to settle this. Someone was going to pay for this. Someone would pay.

And cleft in two does history lie…

I opened my eyes. It took a few moments for me to place myself and my surroundings, but after a minute or so I remembered being helped back to my house by two medical orderlies. Scortius had given me some compound that quickly begun to clear my head and return the strength to my body. I know I was still feeling a little strange and confused as I woke, but some of that could well have been natural grogginess on waking from deep sleep.

I wasn’t prepared for what happened.

Clearly I was still hallucinating. Of course, a few hours later I began to doubt that, and in retrospect I’m now totally convinced of the reality of the situation; or at least the reality of it to me. But nothing prepares you to wake from fuddled sleep and find yourself staring deep into the eyes of a stag.

Needless to say, my first reaction was to turn my head this way and that, convinced that this was some trick of the light or reaction to Scortius’ medicine in my brain. Evidently the early morning sunlight streaming in through the glass panes of my room, squeezed to a sliver by the heavy drapes, was colliding with the many dust motes and creating a vision my battered subconscious had forced into the shape of a stag.

Yet as I turned my head and squinted, the creature was still there. I think I chuckled to myself as I struggled off the couch and my feet touched the tiled floor, sending a cold throb through them. I pulled myself upright with little pain and stood, swaying slightly. I remember the smell. I didn’t notice it at the time, but later conversations brought it flooding back to me. The scent of a forest. The mulched leaves and pine needles.

I reached forward, fully expecting either for my hand to pass through the beast like a fog, or to wake with a start and realise that I’d still been asleep. I felt a shudder pass through me as my fingers brushed the fine white hair of the creature’s nose. I had read stories of unwary hunters being gored by the antlers of even small stags, and yet this was no ordinary stag and no ordinary circumstance. In fact, this was impossible, I told myself again.

And yet for some reason it felt right. And more important than that, whereas the previous day I’d felt panic and horror, fear and anger, at that moment I felt none of those. On the first morning of my remaining days as a condemned man, what I actually felt was peace. And not just peace; peculiarly, peace and hope. Peace was a feeling I hadn’t felt in so long it almost floored me with its intensity. An absence of fear and anger.

Cernus had bestowed something indefinable upon me; or possibly removed it from me.

All I can truly tell you is that the stag snorted very gently and as I felt the warm breath brush my face, all I felt was happiness. Without really understanding why, I returned to the couch and lay down, drifting into a pleasant sleep with a smile on my face.

I dreamt of white stags, of glittering swords and, finally, of Catilina.

Chapter Four

Corda sat in the cohort’s small and austere command office within the headquarters building. Behind him, the unit’s raven and boar standards and pay chest sat, protected by a thick iron-grille gate to which only three people had a key. There was only one seat in the room, positioned behind a sturdy table commonly used for maps, charts, unit strength reports, rosters, casualty lists and the like. The commanding officer’s chair. Corda would habitually, as the cohort’s second in command, stand slightly behind and to one side of the seated Varro while the other various sergeants and lower non-commissioned officers would stand at attention while briefed. It seemed wrong to be sitting in Varro’s chair. He considered resuming his usual place but quickly put that aside. As temporary commander, he had to be seen to be acting as such, with full authority.

He leaned forward across the table with a sigh. This was not how he had pictured the victorious return from campaign. This morning was going to be difficult for everyone.

A knock at the heavy wooden door was followed a moment later by a click, and the door swung in to admit one of the two fort guard stationed permanently outside this important room.

As the portal clicked shut, the two men waited a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dimmer interior, lit only by the two small windows high in the outer wall and an oil lamp burning in an alcove opposite.

“You’re Salonius.” A statement; not a question.

“Yes, sir. Formerly second catapult torsion engineer, currently attached to the command guard,” Salonius replied with a clear voice.

“You had been seconded to the command guard for all of an hour when you became involved in a fistfight with three of your fellow guardsmen. This is not the sort of behaviour we expect from the command guard. What do you have to say?”

Salonius straightened, a hard look flattening his features.

“With respect sir, that was a matter of personal principal and was before I had officially reported for guard duty on my first parade.”

“I’m not on a witch hunt here, lad, but I can’t have the command guard involved in that sort of thing. They are supposed to represent the highest quality of soldiery in the cohort. Tell me something. Just something.”

“Sir, I was promoted from a basic green engineer to one of the most prestigious posts in the cohort. There would have to be some ‘settling in’ if you see what I mean, sergeant.”

“The problem is, Salonius, that the other guards don’t like you. They’ll never like you because you came from the engineers, not through the infantry ranks. They will always consider you a young upstart, and the fact that you stood up for yourself could just as easily turn around and make them hate you as make them respect you.”

Salonius nodded. “With all due respect, sir, I’m willing to take the risk.”

“Well I’m not.” Corda sighed and leaned back in the chair. As the young engineer stared at him open-mouthed, he cleared his throat once more.

“Salonius, the captain selected you specifically for a role close to him. There are any number of more qualified men for the post, even if we were short of guards, which we’re not. And while he’s an exceptionally fair and good man, the captain is not soft in the head and he wouldn’t promote someone unfitting without having a good reason. So there seems to me to be an excellent solution presenting itself here.”

“It’s true. I don’t like it any more than you appear to. But for the time being it’s necessary. The captain is currently unable to resume his position, and so it becomes my job. This means that I will now have the command guard assigned to me. In theory I should post a detachment of them to assist and protect the captain, but that’s not going to happen.”

Corda watched the young man with sharp eyes. He may be little more than a boy, but there was something about him. He was short, but strong and brave enough to take on three bigger and more experienced soldiers and now, as he stood in the low light of the headquarters, Corda could see the lad’s mind racing, piecing things together. He smiled.

“Go on, lad…”

“Well sir,” Salonius said quietly, “the captain’s wound isn’t bad enough to keep him away from his post for any length of time, especially while we’re in quarters. And, well, I don’t like to listen to rumour, but…”

“Go on…”

“Well, I heard the captain was taken to the hospital last night. And that the marshal actually visited his house last night. And I was in the quartermaster’s office last night finalising my kit change when you came in asking for a list of all the military salvage from the battlefield.”

“And…” Corda prompted.

“I’m not sure sir, and I apologise for my bluntness, but there’s something going on; something you’re not telling me, and something I think you’re keeping from the rest of the cohort too.”

Corda nodded.

“Sharp. I can see why the captain wanted you in the guard. But the fact remains that I don’t. I don’t want to spend half my time separating you and the other soldiers. And I don’t want you ending up knifed in the latrines one night. But I don’t want you to slide back into the engineers either; I suspect you were being wasted there.”

Salonius nodded. He could see where this was going.

The sergeant sat up straight and unfolded his arms. “I want you to report to the captain’s house. He might want to brief you on the situation straight away, or he might prefer to wait until I get there. I have a few things to do, but I shaln’t be far behind you.”

He rose from the chair and straightened.

“You’ll retain your new rank, pay, uniform and all benefits, but I’m assigning you on detached duty to the captain himself. You know where his house is?”

Salonius shook his head slightly.

“No, sir, but I can find it.”

“Good.” Corda stepped round the table and reached out, grasping the younger man by the shoulder. “Get going and tell the captain that I’ll meet you there when I’ve got the morning briefing out of the way.”

Salonius saluted and, turning, unlatched the door and strode out into the morning sunshine. The captain’s house would be close and easy to find. As he stepped between the guards at the door and out into the street, he noted the sergeant of the command guard, followed by all the senior officers of the cohort, marching along the street toward the cohort office.

Stepping respectfully to one side, he hurried across the main square toward the two senior officer’s houses that lay between him and the cohort’s barrack blocks. A swift glance at the house to his left revealed a tile cemented into the wall next to the door with FC. Fortress command; wrong house. A few steps across the thoroughfare and the tile on the house opposite read IIC; commander of the second cohort. Salonius stepped up to the door and knocked firmly.

The door was opened by the captain’s body servant, Martis. The older man gave Salonius a shrewd once-over and then stepped aside without a word. The young guard took a tentative step inside and glanced around. Captain Varro sat in the main room in his tunic and breeches, cradling a bronze cup in his hands and staring down into the contents, seemingly deep in thought. Stepping stiff backed into the room, Salonius came to attention and cleared his throat.

There was clearly something bothering the captain and Salonius realised he himself had an indescribable itch beneath the skin. Risking breaking his attentive stance, he cast his eyes momentarily about the room and sniffed deeply. The room had a peculiar smell; an old smell that he remembered from the days of his youth all those years ago in that village on the edge of the Northern Woods. A smell of wet forest and disturbed undergrowth had been badly masked with some kind of fragrance. In the old days they’d have burned some herbs over the fire in the centre of the room to remove the smell. Someone… Martis, he suspected, had burned a scented oil throughout the house and then opened the windows to drive the combined thick, cloying scent out on the breeze. It had largely worked, but Salonius knew something Martis didn’t.

He smiled nervously.

Varro grunted and took a sip of his heated drink, a wisp of steam wafting up into the air-chilled room. A faint hint of lemon accompanied the steam, adding to the already complex aroma of the room. The captain leaned back.