The Eagle's Vengeance (7 page)

Scaurus turned to his centurions.

‘Well now gentlemen, you heard the choices on offer. Will our approach to this task be overt or covert?’

Julius shared a momentary exchange of glances with Marcus before replying.

‘An open approach will bring the Venicones down upon us like a hammer falling on a clutch of eggs. We only escaped their wrath the last time we met because the gods sent us a storm to make the river between us impossible to cross, and I’m pretty sure that they’ll remember the design on our shields well enough, given how many of them we killed that day. The merest sight of us with our boots on their turf will be enough to bring them out to confront us in force. But if we send a scouting party to infiltrate this fortress in the sky unsupported they will almost certainly be run down and captured before they can return to the wall, if the Venicones’ strength is mustered around their fortress. We must find some way to lure these tribesmen away from The Fang, and allow whoever makes the silent approach a fighting chance of escaping with the eagle. Will you allow me to think on it for a while and to consult with my centurions?’

Scaurus nodded and turned back to the camp prefect.

‘And now, Castus Artorius, perhaps the time is right for you to introduce us to these silent assassins who lurk behind you?’

Castus frowned back at him with an apparent expression of consternation.

‘Assassins, Tribune? Whoever mentioned such a term?’

The younger man smiled wryly at him, shaking his head in amusement.

‘Nobody. And nobody needed to mention it for my mind to go back ten years to the German Wars. I seem to recall that you gathered a similarly nondescript group to you then as well, men whose natural demeanour was to fade into the background and leave the posturing to the soldiers while they quietly got on with doing whatever unpleasant but necessary task was required. So tell me, Prefect, what skills have you assembled to do your dirty work this time?’

The prefect gestured to the tallest of the four.

‘I’ll allow their leader to explain what his men are capable of. Drest here is that rare commodity, a Thracian possessed of both patience and subtlety, and I have learned to trust his judgement implicitly. And now, since my tired old feet are sorely in need of a dip in some hot water, I’ll leave you to it. Drest?’

He closed the barrack door behind him, leaving the two groups of men eyeing each other. The man to whom he had signalled stepped forward and bowed fractionally, extending a hand to his comrades.

‘Tribune, Centurions, allow me to introduce my colleagues.’ His voice was soft, but when Marcus stared at him he found the return gaze hard and uncompromising. ‘These two young men are Ram and Radu, twin brothers raised on the plans of Pannonia in worship of the sword …’

‘They worship the sword? They’re
Sarmatae
?’

Julius’s voice was cold, but both Drest’s expression and his voice remained level.

‘They
were
Sarmatae, First Spear, before their tribe, the Iazyge, rose against Rome and they were taken captive and enslaved. Prefect Castus found them in a slave market, and outbid a dozen other would-be buyers at my suggestion to secure their ownership.’

‘At
your
suggestion?’

Drest turned back to Marcus.

‘Indeed, Centurion. It is my pleasure to serve Prefect Castus, and to provide him with the benefit of my experience in the procurement of men with certain rare skills, men whose services will enhance his ability to discharge his responsibilities to the empire. In this case, since I see the question in your eyes, I suspected that these men’s origins might have endowed them with certain abilities with bladed weapons. Their tribe are famed for their skills with spear and sword, and those expectations proved to have been well founded.’ He studied the Roman with a curious expression. ‘Speaking of skill at arms, I believe that you, Centurion, have some reputation with your swords? Your men call you “Two Knives”, after the Dimachieri, the gladiators who fight with two swords, I hear?’

The young Roman smiled thinly.

‘You hear a lot, it seems. Is that the skill that you bring to the Prefect’s service?’

The answering smile was equally uncompromising, the small group’s leader clearly untroubled by the status of the soldiers before him.

‘An ability to listen is indeed one of the abilities I bring to my master’s service, Centurion. As to Ram and Radu, I suggest that you might like to train with them when the opportunity arises, and take your own gauge of their prowess. I find their speed quite breathtaking on occasion, especially when they meet opponents with sufficient skill to push them to their limits.
Perhaps
you might have sufficient skill to bring out their best …’

Julius snorted a quiet laugh into his hand and Marcus smiled again, his eyebrows arching in genuine amusement.

‘And there’s another of those skills for which the Prefect selected you, I imagine? The ability to probe at a man’s defences with nothing deadlier than words, seeking to pique his pride and thereby betray his weakness?’

Drest bowed again, his expression equally amused.

‘And I see that I have met my match in you, Centurion.’

Marcus shook his head.

‘And I doubt you’ve even really tried yet, have you? But when the appeal to pride fails, perhaps there’s an ego that can be massaged?’

The Thracian raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

‘In which case, enough! I’ll deploy more of my verbal lock picks later, when I can see more clearly which one to use. It is my experience that there is no man alive whose personality will not open to me if I only find the right tool. Speaking of which, allow me to introduce the other member of our small but efficiently constructed band. This is Tarion, an Illyrian from Virunum, in the province of Noricum.’

He waved the last man forward, and as Tarion bowed to the officers, his face carefully neutral, Julius shook his head in confusion, waving a hand at the knife hanging from his belt.

‘I see no sword on this man’s belt, only that toothpick. How can he fight when he lacks any proper weapon?’

Drest nodded to his colleague, who put a hand into his tunic and then flicked it forward with the fingers opening as if he were performing a magic trick. A slim sliver of polished iron hissed across the room between Marcus and Julius and buried itself in the wooden wall behind them.

‘Check the point of impact, if you would Centurion?’

Marcus smiled to himself again at the peremptory tone of command in Drest’s voice, staring back at him for a moment to make the point that this fresh verbal trick had not gone unnoticed before turning on his heel and examining the spot where the blade protruded from the wood, still quivering from its impact with its point neatly bisecting a small knot in the thick plank.

‘Not only can Tarion throw a blade to hit a target the size of a man’s eye, but the “toothpick” he carries on his belt is quite the most deadly weapon I have ever seen when used at close quarters. While a man armed with a sword is still struggling to bring his weapon to bear, Tarion will have stepped in close, opened his throat and then moved on to his next victim. But I can assure you that he was not selected for his abilities with knives; they were a happy discovery once his service had been secured from the magistrate in Virunum.’

Julius’s face darkened in disapproval.

‘He was a bandit?’

Drest shrugged.

‘It would be more appropriate to use the term “thief”. Tarion here was before the magistrate having been caught with his hand upon another man’s purse, a crime compounded by his then committing the worst possible error for a man in his line of work, namely failing to run fast enough when the fingers were pointed.’

‘So he’s not only a thief, but not even a good one? What use would we have for a dishonest incompetent?’

Drest shrugged in the face of Julius’s scorn.

‘That’s hardly for me to say, I have such a small basis for comparison. Perhaps the man himself might venture an opinion?’

He gestured to the thief, whose face was set in what Marcus assumed was professional neutrality.

‘I was caught because I broke my own rules and attempted to rob more than a single mark in the same place. The man was a merchant from the looks of him, and possessed of a purse so heavy that to have left it there unplucked seemed improper.’ He shrugged. ‘That was my mistake. He had the purse doubly secured to his belt by a hidden chain, having been robbed before. As to whether I am an effective thief, I’d say that you, First Spear, might be the best judge. I found this in your belt pouch as we were coming through the door …’

He held out his closed fist and opened the fingers to reveal Julius’s brass whistle resting on his palm. Dubnus sniggered behind his colleague, trying and failing to muffle his uncontrollable amusement behind a hand, and even Marcus was forced to smile at his brother officer’s discomfiture.

‘I’d say that’s sufficient evidence for us to accept that your man here has some ability in his chosen profession. But what good will it serve us? Our task is one of infiltration and murder, not the picking of merchants’ purses.’

Drest spoke up, stepping forward and taking the whistle from his comrade’s outstretched hand.

‘He’s a good deal more than a simple thief, Centurion. He has silent feet to complement his swift fingers, and an uncanny ability with a lock. If I were going to attempt to get into The Fang unnoticed, then he would be my first man over the wall.’

Scaurus spoke, having stood in silence while the introductions were made.

‘“If” being the operative word, as you so correctly identify. It is clear that Artorius Castus hopes that we will accept your services in this matter, and equally obvious that he reposes a good deal of trust in you, but you can be sure that I do not yet share his views as to your suitability.’ Drest stood in silence and waited for the tribune to continue, his expression untroubled, while Scaurus played a calculating look across his comrades. ‘Some proof of these abilities is called for.’

Drest shot the tribune an amused glance, clearly unabashed by the tribune’s status.

‘And you have a fairly specific idea as to how we might provide you with that proof, don’t you, Tribune?’

The Roman smiled grimly at him.

‘Indeed I do. But be very careful in considering whether or not you can accept this challenge. I’d imagine that the punishment for being caught attempting what I have in mind will involve a vigorous session on the sharp end of a scourge, rapidly followed by the enthusiastic application of a hammer and three big nails.’

2

The next morning was clear and bright, overnight mist burning off in less than an hour as the Tungrians prepared to march north. Marcus stood with his helmet under one arm and watched as the Sixth Legion’s three centuries readied themselves to escort Tribune Sorex’s gold chests back to their fortress at Yew Grove. He nodded in wry recognition as their centurions undertook the ritual final preparations, inspecting the waiting soldiers alongside scowling chosen men who had already scrutinised their troops’ readiness with sharp and unforgiving eyes. Camp Prefect Castus stood and watched beside Marcus with a look of satisfaction at the scene before him.

‘Is there any better sight in the entire world than a few centuries of battle-hardened infantry commanded by men at the peak of their powers? I’ve trodden parade grounds across the length of the empire, from the burning sand of Syria to the ice and snow of Dacia, and nothing has ever put a lump in my throat like the sight of good soldiers ready for whatever the day might throw at them.’

He paused for a moment, and Marcus sneaked a sideways glance that found the older man gazing misty-eyed at the ordered lines of men before him.

‘This is my last posting, young man, and I had to beg the powers that be for this chance to be a fighting man one last time, even if I am only supposed to be the officer who organises the legion’s food and pay. Take a lesson from where I find myself, Centurion, suddenly clinging on to the arse end of my career and wondering where all those years went. Make the most of each and every day you have under the eagle.’ He laughed, shaking his head to dispel his melancholy. ‘Well at least Procurator Avus should be happy that his precious cargo will be travelling under suitable protection. Doubtless he’ll be expected to report to some exalted person or other as to the state of affairs he discovered here …’

Marcus followed his gaze to find the imperial official standing a short distance away with a look of approval at the soldiers’ ranks. Looking back at the column his eyes found his wife Felicia and her assistant Annia, an island of femininity in the column’s sea of iron. The young centurion stared wistfully as his wife handed their infant son up to the now heavily pregnant Annia, who had already taken her place in the cart that had been procured for them at Castus’s order. The camp prefect had readily agreed to take his wife, his baby son Appius and the doctor’s assistant with him to the Sixth Legion’s fortress at Yew Grove, as part of the well-protected convoy of wagons that would deliver Tribune Sorex’s gold to the buried strongroom safe behind its heavy stone walls. The final member of the women’s small party was his standard bearer’s grandson Lupus, whose furious protests at being made to accompany the women had fallen on deaf ears. Marcus had taken him aside once his initial anger at the decision had burned out and the boy had been reduced to tearful silence, squatting down on his haunches to look up into the child’s resentful eyes.

‘We don’t always get what we want, young man, and nor should we. What use is a life that doesn’t contain the occasional disappointment to remind us just how pleasant success tastes, eh? This time you have to go with Felicia and Annia, and that’s all there is to it.’

Lupus had shaken his head, his reply petulant even though he knew that when the centurion spoke so firmly his will was not to be questioned.

‘But I came with you last time you marched to fight.’

Marcus had smiled, conceding the point.

‘And we were lucky enough not to get you killed. But this time I need you to go with the women. Besides, I’ll feel happier with one of us close to them.’