The Wolf's Gold (10 page)

Not one of the trio standing before Scaurus showed the slightest sign of discomfort at the acerbic tone in which his question was pitched. Theodora spoke again, waving a hand at the valley sides.

‘Contrary to appearances, Tribune, the mountains around us are not the dry towers of rock that they appear from the outside. They are riven by faults, cracks in the rock through which water runs down from the ground above them. If we abandon a mine for as much as a day the lower levels will be knee-deep in water, and a week would make them unworkable. Those men that you don’t see here are performing essential work to keep the workings dry, and to prevent our absence from causing problems when you finally allow our men back to work.’

Scaurus exchanged a long glance with her, gauging the truth of her statement.

‘Indeed. I recall Procurator Maximus mentioning the requirement for constant water removal. He also told me that you need hundreds of men to keep your mines dry, but not, I should point out, thousands. Once we’ve finished this discussion and your labour is put to work making this valley defendable against the Sarmatae, I shall pick a mine at random and take a tour,
unguided
, I should add, and see what I can see. And be assured, madam, if I should find as much as a ten-year-old child digging for gold with a spoon, then all three of you will taste the harsher end of Roman military justice. So I suggest that you all send men to your mines, just to be sure that my prohibition is being obeyed to the letter. I
will
have every fit man not required to keep your investments from drowning out here in the sunlight building our defences, whether you like it or not. It’s either that, or all three of you can take a turn on
that
.’ He waved a hand at the parade ground’s whipping post, a constant reminder of Roman military discipline. ‘It’s not the best way to start off what we all must hope will be a short and productive relationship, but the three of you will all take five strokes of the scourge if any one of you disobeys me in this.’

Lartius smiled a lopsided grin, revealing white teeth in his grimy face.

‘If you catch us, that is.’

Scaurus shrugged, his return smile hard and mirthless.

‘Try me. If
any
of you forces my hand I’ll have all three of you naked and bleeding in front of your workers.
When
I catch you.’

Felix stepped forward, his face set in the uneasy, placating smile of a penniless debtor confronted by thugs sent to collect his dues, and raised a manicured hand to the soldiers.

‘This is easily remedied, Tribune. I’m sure the message simply has yet to reach the furthest parts of our businesses. With your permission?’

Scaurus nodded magnanimously, and Felix drew his colleagues away for a moment of whispered discussion.

‘Would you really put a woman on the whipping post, Tribune?’

Julius’s quiet question creased Scaurus’s face into a smile, and he turned away from the miners to ensure that his words were not overheard.

‘No, or at least not from choice. But if they believe that I will then that, First Spear, is really all that matters. If we show these men – and especially, I suspect, that woman – the slightest hint of weakness, then they will treat us like the fools we probably are here in their world. This is a confidence trick, Julius, so let us hope that we’ve gulled these three, at least for the time being. I just wish that bloody fool Maximus had warned us that one of them was a woman.’

Nodding their mutual agreement, the mine owners turned to their closest aides with hasty instructions, then stepped back in front of Scaurus.

‘All is resolved, Tribune. Messengers will be sent to our mines to ensure that all men not drawing off the water will attend whatever work it is you have planned for us.’

Scaurus nodded graciously.

‘A wise decision, and one that will hopefully spare us all from any unhelpful indignity. And so to business. You’re doubtless wondering what you people can do in defence of your mines that three cohorts of well trained and fully equipped soldiers can’t, and my answer is simple. Nothing. But what you can do is make our preparations to defend this valley, and your investments, complete in much less time. And time is the key to this situation, my friends, because to be blunt we don’t have very much of it.’

All three of the mine owners stared at the tribune blankly, and Julius realised that they hadn’t the first clue as to what he was talking about. Scaurus shook his head, muttering an imprecation at the absent procurator.

‘I see all of this means nothing to you. In which case I should inform you that this part of the empire is at war.’

‘With
who
?’ Lartius’s question was both loud and incredulous, his big dirty hands spread wide and his head shaking in disbelief. ‘The whole reason I took on this mine was because Procurator Maximus assured me that the Sarmatae were no longer any danger. He told me that the legions beat them all ends up, and sent most of their warrior strength to some shithole island on the other side of the empire to keep the savages there in their place . . .’

He fell silent in the face of Scaurus’s knowing smile.

‘And that’s exactly what the histories will say. Victory coins were minted, the Blessed Marcus Aurelius took the name “Sarmaticus”, a triumph was held in Rome, and the Sarmatae were declared to be a broken threat. And yet here we are, getting ready to fight those same tribesmen once again. Will our efforts here ever be recorded for posterity?’ He shook his head with a smile. ‘Given that any formal war with the Sarmatae is not possible without undermining the glory of the current emperor’s recently deceased father, then whatever happens here will most likely be recorded as “a border dispute”. But trust me when I tell you that a man can die in a skirmish just as easily as in the course of a full-blooded war. These tribesmen mean business, which requires us to all be ready for them, if you value your own lives.’

He looked across the silent crowd, judging his moment.

‘But ready for what, you ask? Let me show you.’

He gestured to Julius, who in turn nodded to his chosen man. A quartet of soldiers led forward an aging mule, and the chosen man carefully pulled a red-painted arrow from the quiver taken from one of the dead Sarmatae, jabbing the jagged bone head deep into the animal’s flank. For a moment the beast’s reaction was no more than an indignant bray and a kicking struggle against the ropes securing it, but within a few heartbeats its demeanour changed abruptly. Emitting a high-pitched squeal of distress the animal staggered sideways, away from the chosen man, then sank to its knees, its eyes rolling as the poisonous mixture coated onto the arrow’s head took fuller effect. Collapsing to the ground it lay still, panting hard with a dribble of bloody foam running from its open mouth, and Julius had to force himself to keep watching as the beast twitched spasmodically. Scaurus reached out for the arrow, taking it from the chosen man with delicate care before raising it over his head for all present to see.

‘That, my friends, is the death that awaits us all if the Sarmatae reach this valley before we complete the fortifications needed to defend it. They combine snake venom with fresh cow dung to make a paste, age it for a while to allow the two to combine, then smear it onto bone arrowheads which soak up the mixture. My men have shields and armour, but you’re all completely unprotected, and so when they send showers of these over our defences it’ll mostly be
you
dying like that. You, and your families. Speaking of which, if you have women with you then you can be sure that they will be raped out of hand, and many of you men will probably suffer the same indignity. After which you will be put to work in the mines to quarry gold for your new masters.’

A man spoke out from the safety of the crowd’s anonymity.

‘Working the mines? What’s so terrible about that?’

Scaurus smiled at the shouted question.

‘Well for a start you’ll be unpaid, because they’ll have robbed the procurator’s strongroom of every coin. However little it is that you receive now, I’m sure it will be better than working for nothing. Then they’ll rob you of anything and everything of value. And you’ll be sharing your rations with twice your number of armed men who care nothing for your survival. Times will get lean very quickly and so, I expect, will all of
you
. But worst of all, don’t forget that any Sarmatae occupation can only be a temporary one, until two angry legions come marching up that road and drive them off, and they’ll know that all too well. They’ll work you day and night, driving you like animals to dig every last tiny piece of gold they can get out of these hills before that day. Many of you will die from exhaustion and for lack of enough food to support your exertions, and others will be executed simply to give the rest of you an example of what will happen if you slacken your work rate.’

He looked across the men gathered before him with a harsh expression.

‘By the time the legions manage to chase them off, the Sarmatae will have turned this valley into a charnel house, and all that will be left for the survivors when the legions free you, if the Sarmatae don’t slaughter you all as one last kick at the empire, will be to burn the rotting corpses of your fellow workers. I’d suggest that you think on it, but as you can see, I really don’t have time for this to be an exercise in persuasion. So, you
will
do exactly what you’re told, under the guidance of my soldiers, and any of you that feel like discovering what it feels like to be scourged
will
get their opportunity simply by stepping out of line. We have only a day or two to make this valley impregnable, which means there’s no time to be wasted. First Spear?’

Julius stepped forward, his gruff bark stiffening more than one back in the throng of miners.

‘My soldiers are going to build a turf wall right across this valley, with your assistance. It will be fifteen feet tall and fifteen feet deep at the base, with a fighting platform to the rear of the wall ten feet off the ground to allow my men to fight off attackers with their spears. Some of you will be cutting turf blocks, some of you will then carry them to the wall for laying by skilled builders, and we will work as long as we have enough light. The turfs weigh five pounds apiece, which doesn’t sound like much, but we’ll be laying about a million of them, so I think it’s safe to say that you’ve all got a full day ahead of you.’

At his command the waiting centurions stepped up to the mass of soldiers, detailing each of their men a party of ten miners to command. Scaurus, his lips pursed in speculation, watched Theodora walk away in the company of a pair of heavily built bruisers, whose role in life was clearly to ensure that she remained untroubled in a sea of sex-hungry labourers.

‘What do you think?’

Julius stared at the miners for a moment, seeing a combination of resentment and disgusted resignation in their eyes before answering Scaurus’s question with an amused expression.

‘What do I think, Tribune? Are you asking me about this rabble of work-shy tunnel rats, or the woman?’ He waited until Scaurus turned back to face him with a rueful grin. ‘I think they hate us marginally less than they fear the Sarmatae, which is only marginally less than they fear us. I think they’ll show us their arses when we march away, and piss in our water supply given half a chance. But I also think we’ll have a wall across the valley by nightfall tomorrow, and a few nasty little tricks up our sleeve besides. And that, Tribune, is all I really care about.’

He saluted and went off to join the officers marshalling their work gangs into some sort of order, leaving Scaurus staring out across the valley with a calculating gaze.

Left behind in the Tungrian camp when the centuries marched out about their various tasks, Lupus found himself alone for the first time in months. Knowing that the few remaining soldiers left to guard the camp would be of little entertainment, he took up his practice sword and shield and set about going through the set fighting routine that Arminius had taught him, and which he was expected to practise every morning and evening without fail. The boy was beginning to understand the German’s purpose in teaching him by means of the routine’s apparently endless repetition, as his wrists and ankles strengthened and his stamina improved to the point where he was no longer walking through the moves after an hour’s practice, but still fresh enough to perform in almost as sprightly a fashion as when he had begun. Stabbing and cutting at imaginary enemies, ducking and weaving in response to their attacks, he flowed from attack to defence and back again, building towards the routine’s final move, a stab to the front while thrusting his shield to the rear to deflect an attack from behind, followed by a lightning-fast spin and hack with the sword’s blade. Grunting with the effort as he made the penultimate attack, he spun into the routine’s last move only to find himself face-to-face with a slightly smaller boy whose eyes were wide at the sight of his gyrations. Surprised, he stepped back with the shield instinctively raised.

‘Who are you?’

The answer was instant, the younger child untroubled by their apparent age difference.

‘I’m Mus. What are you doing?’

Lupus frowned, thinking the answer altogether too obvious.

‘Practising. Arminius says practice makes perfect.’

‘Who’s Arminius?’

A proprietorial note entered Lupus’s voice.

‘My sword teacher. He’s German.’

‘Do you live with the soldiers?’

Lupus nodded, and Mus’s eyes misted over as he fought back tears.

‘My father used to be a soldier. Some bad men killed him and burned down our village. They hurt my mother and my sisters. And they killed my brothers . . .’

Lupus responded solemnly, his own father’s death suddenly raw, as if the younger boy’s revelation had ripped away a long-hardened layer of scar tissue.

‘My father was killed by barbarians too. I live with my granddad now, but Arminius looks after me most of all.’

The two boys were silent for a moment, before Mus spoke again, wiping away a tear that was trickling down his cheek with the briskness of a child who had quickly learned there was little to be gained from crying.