Enemies of the Empire (23 page)

The optio flushed. ‘I suppose you might describe it in that fashion, Excellence. The raiders have escaped us, certainly.’

‘Pausing only to steal my horses and humiliate my slaves?’

This time the optio made no response at all.

‘Well,’ Marcus went on in his dangerously reasonable tone, ‘you are – as you pointed out yourself – the officer in charge. What kind of strategy do you now propose? We are in the forest. There are bandits here and it is getting late. We have three vehicles, two corpses and no carriage-animals – only to be expected, I am sure, since we are protected by only half a hundred men, but posing a little problem all the same. How am I to get to safety for the night? I presume you don’t suggest that I should walk? Or, on second thoughts, perhaps you do. I could push one of the carriages, perhaps?’ His voice was rising and his colour too.

The optio had turned a dull, embarrassed red and was muttering something wretched to his boots when Regulus stepped forward and put in, ‘Permission to volunteer a suggestion, Excellence? I will take two of my colleagues, and we’ll ride out to the forest edge and bring back some carriage-horses for you from that staging-post we passed.’

The optio looked more cast down than ever at this but Marcus assented with a nod. ‘I suppose you’re right. We shall have to send back there, and pay that villain some inflated price for half a dozen of his hopeless nags, at least until we can requisition fresh horses. And this way we don’t break up the guard again into foolish little units which are easy to defeat, waylay and misinform. Permission granted. See to it at once.’

The optio snapped to attention. ‘Permit me, Excellence.’ He turned to Regulus. ‘Tell him the mansio will meet the bill, after we have reached home in safety – not before. That will prevent him hiring us some broken-down old mare so short of wind that it won’t get us to Isca. Horse-leasers in the area are famous for that sort of trick.’ In other circumstances it might have been comic to see how keen he was to show his grasp of local tradespeople and make some sort of contribution to affairs.

Regulus acknowledged his instructions with a bow, and set off at a run. A moment later he was riding off, together with two of his companions. Marcus watched him go.

‘Very well, optio!’ The ironic tone had vanished, now that some practical solution was in sight. ‘Draw up your men as I proposed before. We are still in danger of attack. I asked for some emergency provisions in the cart. You saw that they were packed, I think?’

‘Bread, cheese and fruit as you commanded, Excellence. I doubted you would need such rations on the way, but your foresight has proved valuable.’ The optio essayed a fawning little smile, and was severely glared at for his pains.

‘Provided that those sons of Pluto have not stolen it, thanks to your failure to mount a proper guard,’ Marcus snapped. ‘Libertus and I will eat, and my two slaves and those who stopped to guard the pigs can finish anything we don’t require. I believe your men were given some refreshment at the spring?’

‘That is indeed so, Excellence,’ the optio said, clearly understanding the unspoken message here. He and the guards who had failed to watch the carts were to be punished for their part in this affair by being offered nothing. It was not a major matter to the men, perhaps – soldiers carry water with them on the road, and are accustomed to marching long distances with little else to sustain them until the evening meal – but I was very hungry after all the exertions of the day, and even dry bread, strong cheese and withered apple seemed a welcome treat, although I thought again of Nyros’s aromatic venison, and sighed.

Marcus, however, dispatched his meagre meal without the least pretence of satisfaction in the task and ordered the remnants of the loaf to be distributed among the designated men. He was so displeased with the events of the day that I feared that at any minute he would instruct the optio to place half a dozen men between the shafts, and drag us back to Venta in that old-fashioned way.

However, that was not necessary. The guards who had been on duty with the pigs were still chewing the final morsels of their crust when Regulus and his companions rode back into view, dragging a string of horses after them. They were, as Marcus had so bitterly foretold, pathetic creatures – mostly skin and bone – and the ride into the forest had already winded them, but at least they were horses of a kind.

Regulus reined in and slid down from his mount. ‘Your animals, Excellence,’ he said, snapping his heels together and addressing Marcus with a bow. ‘The best that I could do. The hirer swears that they are used to pulling carts.’

My patron bestowed a smile on him, turning his back upon the optio, who fumed. ‘No trouble with the rebels?’ he enquired. ‘I feared you might be set on while you were bringing them.’

Regulus was bold enough to laugh. ‘We were quite safe, Excellence. Not even the rebels want horses such as these. I never saw such broken-winded nags. All the same, if they are harnessed up, I think they will suffice. They’ll get us to the marching-camp, at least, and we can pick up other horses there.’

‘Very well.’ Marcus nodded to the optio. ‘See to it at once.’

The officer looked resentful, but he could not protest. Instead he poured out his irritation on the men, who scurried frantically about in obedience to a barrage of commands. It was effective, though. The animals were strapped and in the shafts faster than I thought possible, and soon the whole procession was on the move again. The pace was a good deal slower now, of course: the men were weary and the hired horses could only plod sluggishly along. We would have made a tempting target for any ambush-group, but we saw no one on the way except the fat man with the cart, who – still cursing – moved his wagon to the ditch to let us through a second time that day, and shouted imprecations at our backs.

We were glad to reach the safety of the marching-camp, although our arrival there caused quite a stir. The centurion in command had not expected us – only the return of his own troops and animals, and even that not for a day or two after they had delivered us to Isca safe and sound.

The poor man was clearly horrified to find himself suddenly playing host to a man of Marcus’s rank, but he did his best, and soon had his soldiers scurrying around preparing food and looking after us. The wounded man was lifted from the cart and treated by the army doctor on the spot, orderlies took our weary horses away to feed and water them, while the corpses were carried off to be given decent burial. There was a fire already lit outside every tent, and soon there was oat-porridge on the boil – not a tasty dish, but welcome all the same, as was the fresh water which was brought so that we could rinse our dusty hands and feet.

Marcus was anxious to get back on the road and wanted new horses and an escort found at once, but though the centurion was only too eager to oblige it was obviously impractical to arrange for that tonight. It was already getting dark, the men were tired, the hired horses were so jaded they could hardly stand upright, and no fresh draught animals could be produced to pull the carts.

‘It is most regrettable, Excellence, but earlier today there were reports of rebel movements in the north, and we were required to send cavalry support and a supply-train to provision them. We don’t have the animals to spare – we can hardly take those creatures that you hired in exchange for ours. We’ll have to send to Venta at first light. Will there be something suitable at the mansio by then?’

He glanced at the optio who was crouching on a stool, finishing his bowl of army gruel. The enquiry was an acknowledgement of his authority at the inn, which usually made him preen with pride. Now though he just looked miserable and shook his head. ‘It’s possible, though we are not expecting anyone in particular.’

‘Then we may have to requisition some. There are pro-Roman farmers round about who will pleased to help. And we’ll see that those hired nags of yours are taken back to where they came from, too.’

He had addressed this to the optio again, but Regulus could not resist the opportunity to make it clear whose effort had obtained for us such horses as we had. ‘I don’t suppose the owner will be very pleased,’ he said. ‘He obviously makes a living from the staging trade – taking in tired horses from weary travellers, and letting out those broken-winded things. Make sure he gives you the deposit back.’

The optio scowled. Tempers were beginning to fray, and it was clear that we were stuck there for the night. Worse, it was becoming obvious that we would have to return to Venta next day to reprovision and regroup. Marcus himself was clearly furious at this, but he did attempt to hide it: murmuring rather ungracious thanks to the commanding officer, who gave up his tent and the few luxuries the camp possessed and moved in with his second-in-command so that my patron should have a proper bed. The rest of us were forced to share the draughty leather shelters which always formed the temporary barracks of a marching-camp like this, ready to move off at any time. There were quite a lot of us to house, and the troops that had gone off to join the peace-keeping patrol had taken their tents with them in their packs, so numbers in some of the remaining ones had to be doubled up to make sufficient room.

It was crowded, uncomfortable and cold but I was glad to rest. I must have slept, despite the lumpy straw-packed sack which had been provided as a palliasse, because I was wakened by a trumpet-call at dawn, and the sounds of soldiers tumbling from their beds and struggling with their clanking armour as they dressed. I came out blinking into misty chill, to find Marcus already up, and looking fresh.

He was smiling as he greeted me. ‘The commandant has already detailed two lots of volunteers to get fresh horses from the town and take the hired ones back. In the meantime he’s invited me to review the troops.’

It was obviously that piece of flattery which had improved his mood, and after a meagre breakfast of grey army bread, washed down by water from a leather flask, I joined him on the parade ground in the enclosure opposite.

The real working business of the camp – the fatigues, patrols and working parties, the duties and the password of the day – had already been decided at the centurion’s meeting earlier, but all troops ‘fit for duty’ were now drawn up on parade. Their officer harangued them and assigned them to their tasks, and led them in the oath of loyalty. Then he stepped back and Marcus’s inspection began.

A chilly morning followed. We walked up and down the columns – Marcus imperious in his purple-bordered robes, flanked by the optio and Regulus; I trailing obediently in his wake. A rostrum was produced and Marcus, looking suitably severe, addressed the men. He was always a good speaker and they roared applause. I hoped that this would be the end of it, but our horses had presumably still not arrived, because a display of weapons training was announced, and I stood and froze while soldiers threw heavy wooden javelins, or thrust at wooden stakes with wooden swords.

Marcus had done service with the legions once and was genuinely enthralled, but it was of no real interest to me until I was offered one of their wicker practice shields to try, and found it was very difficult to lift.

That made our centurion laugh aloud. ‘The training shields are twice the weight of regulation ones. Makes you strong,’ he said, and lifted it to shoulder height.

The optio was not to be outdone. ‘I’ll show him what’s involved. I used to be the champion at this.’ Stepping forward, he raised the shield one-handedly and whirled it effortlessly about his head in a series of complex feints and blocking moves which earned him a smattering of surprised applause.

Only Regulus was not impressed. ‘Trust him to take an opportunity for showing off,’ he grumbled. ‘Thank heaven the supply party has returned, or he’d want to prove before His Excellence that he was best at everything.’ He nodded towards the tented camp, where indeed a group of men had just galloped in, leading a string of other animals.

The inspection was brought to a hasty close and we returned to find that the men had brought us not only proper horses from the military inn, but also my clean tunic, which had come back from the fuller’s by this time. People at the mansio were awaiting our return. The kitchen in particular had been forewarned and was preparing stuffed sow’s udder for His Excellence, to make up for the porridge yesterday.

Marcus was suddenly anxious to be gone, and the optio – encouraged by the response to his parade-ground feats – leapt into noisy action once again, ordering his men to get things organised. We did not really need a full escort for the journey back along the open road, but it was provided just the same, and no sooner had I changed my clothes than we were on our way.

Even so, our troubles were not over yet. It was not far to Venta but the biting wind had settled into pouring heavy rain, which made the journey seem far longer than it was. No sooner had we streamed into the mansio, wet, travel-stained and dispirited, than the junior officer who’d been left in temporary command came hurrying from the guard-room area to see the optio.

‘Your pardon, sir, but there are people here to see that gentleman.’ He kept his voice low, but I heard the words, and saw to my surprise that he was indicating me. ‘One of them is a wealthy townsman of some influence. He came here yesterday as well. I told him you were on the way to Isca and I didn’t know when you were coming back, but he refused to leave. His family has been humiliated in the courts, he says. Something about a young man being forced to witness on behalf of somebody he didn’t know, and without his
paterfamilias
being told.’

The optio looked impatient, but the soldier pressed the point. ‘I think it should be dealt with quickly, sir – the complainant in question is a wealthy individual and serves the civitas in several ways – although he’s not actually a citizen. You know what these Silurians are like. If he sees this as a personal affront and we don’t sort it out he’ll get his friends to back him, and before you can say “Mars Lenis” there’ll be riots in the street.’

I looked at Marcus and he looked at me, with a scowl that told me that this was all my fault.