The Leopard Sword: Empire IV (17 page)

Marcus raised an eyebrow.

‘Peace? And you think we’ll see that any time soon?’

His friend stuck out his bottom lip and shrugged speculatively.

‘There are only so many tribes. By the time we’ve found this Obduro and sorted him out the Britannia legions should have the Brigantes whipped into place. It’ll be back to the days of drill and route marching for us, and what will you do for a fight then, eh? And you with a family to care for? My advice to you, brother, is to learn to wind your neck in for the sake of those who love you, and for fear that you might leave them alone in the world without your protection. Can you do that for them, if not for me?’

Marcus returned his gaze, his face expressionless.

‘I can, but not simply for them. I have a score to settle in Rome, a blood debt with a man so powerful that I’ll only get one chance at getting it repaid. And keeping that in mind will be enough to help me stay out of trouble in the meantime. It wouldn’t do to miss my moment with the Praetorian Prefect and a sharp blade, for the sake of a few witless fools like them.’

He smiled down the room at the glowering locals, opening his hands in a gesture of goodwill. Julius gestured to a wine vendor, raising three fingers in the universal signal.

‘I’ll drink to that. Let’s use those knuckledusters of yours for their intended purpose and buy ourselves a cup of wine and something to eat, and then get into the hot room for some oil and a scrape. The tribune’s expecting us to be nice and clean for tonight’s briefing, and I don’t intend to—’

He stopped talking, watching as a familiar figure stepped into the warm room and looked about him until he spotted the Tungrians, then walked across to join them.

‘Greetings, Marcus, and greetings to you all, gentlemen of the First Tungrian Mule Cohort.’

It was an old joke, but never seemed to wear thin as far as Silus was concerned. Julius nodded, a wry smile twisting his lips.

‘Greetings, Silus. I was just saying to Marcus that I could smell horseshit, and then in you came.’

Silus tipped his head to acknowledge the retort, then looked about him again.

‘This place is full enough. I suppose the good citizens are getting their bathing in early, before your horrible soldiers take the place over once they’re off duty. Not that I blame them. And now, I suppose, you’re wondering what I’m doing here, given the place is off limits to all soldiers until sunset?’

Julius shook his head.

‘Not at all. Our assumption was that you’ve been told to come and get clean as a mercy to all those men that don’t live for the smell of month-old sweat, stale horse piss and fresh manure.’

Silus smiled, briefly and patently insincerely.

‘No, I’m here for the same reason I reckon you are. There’s a briefing with the tribune tonight, and your first spear wants me there in my best tunic and with polished boots. A bath was suggested, and in a manner which didn’t make it sound optional, so here I am. Old Frontinius didn’t say as much, but since you three are also here and busily ignoring the locals’ indignant stares, I’m going to presume that you got the same marching orders. And, given the looks you boys are getting from the men sitting next to you, it’s not a moment too soon.’

Dubnus swivelled his head to look at his neighbour, whose affronted gaze flicked away from him just a moment too slowly. He shook his head, standing up and stretching his heavily muscled body, then he bent to put his face inches from the now thoroughly alarmed civilian’s.

‘Didn’t your dad teach you that it’s rude to stare at soldiers in the bathhouse? Not to mention dangerous, because if I catch you looking at my cock one more time I’m going to bang your stupid fat head on that wall behind you.’ Shaking his head in disgust he turned back to his brother officers. ‘Right, let’s go for a sweat, shall we, and upset some more of these sheep?’

‘The contents of this briefing are utterly confidential, gentlemen, and are not to be shared with anybody outside this room. Our colleague Caninus here has every reason to believe that there are men within the city who are providing information to this “Obduro” character, and if wind of what I want you to do for me gets out we’ll lose what might be the only chance we’ll have to catch these people.’

Scaurus looked at each man in turn to make sure his message was completely clear. The first spear nodded, turning his gaze on Silus, Marcus, Julius and Dubnus.

‘I’m detaching the four of you for some independent duty. As far as your men are concerned you’ll have gone to Fortress Bonna to liaise with the First
Minervia. I expect the camp to presume that I’ve sent you in search of reinforcements, which is a good enough cover for what you’ll really be doing. Decurion Silus will provide horses from the mounted squadron, and you will indeed ride east as far as Mosa Ford. When you get there, you will present papers authorising you to travel on to Claudius Colony on the Rhenus, and from there up river to Fortress Bonna. However, once you’re out of sight of the Mosa Ford walls you’re going to leave the road, and head south-west into the Arduenna forest. Using whatever paths you can find you will then get as close to the objective as you deem possible on horseback before making camp somewhere quiet. Silus will stay there with the horses while the rest of you will scout along the edge of the forest, quietly and methodically, until you find some sign of what I want you to look for. When you’ve got the information I need you’ll pull back, making sure you remain undetected, and bring it back here as quickly as possible.’

‘And exactly what is it that we’ll be looking for, Tribune?’

‘A camp, Centurion Corvus.’

Marcus turned to face the man who was waiting quietly in the deep shadow of the room, beyond the lamps’ meagre illumination. Scaurus beckoned Caninus into the full light of the lamps set around the table.

‘Prefect Caninus has a theory that you’re going to test, Centurions.’

He gestured to Caninus, who walked over to the map on the wall, putting a finger on the north-western fringes of the huge forest on the opposite bank of the River Mosa from the city.

‘It’s logical to assume that Obduro and his band are operating from somewhere on this edge of Arduenna. If I were him there’s no way I’d want to risk a night in the open after a robbery big enough to bring out the whole Tungrorum garrison after me. Look at this cluster of robberies, the ones we think his men carried out.’ He pointed at a cluster of crosses on the map close to the forest’s edge on the northern side of the Mosa. ‘And this attack on the detached Treveri century that led to their mass desertion. All of them within a few hours’ march of this part of the forest, and so close to the city as to defy belief.’ He stabbed a finger at the forest, indicating a point roughly equidistant from the attacks. ‘I’m willing to gamble that he always makes sure he can be inside the trees before nightfall, and doubtless there’s a camp somewhere round here. That ease of access cuts both ways, of course, since it also makes it easier for us to find, and less of a problem to attack than a camp that’s hidden away in the deep forest. The big question for me is how he’s getting his men back across the river, given that the only bridges we know about are at Mosa Ford to the east, and where the road to the Treveri capital crosses the river further to the west at Arduenna Ford.’

He studied the map for a moment before looking up at the men gathered around him.

‘Apart from that, a man as wily as Obduro isn’t going to put all of his marbles in one bag; he’ll have somewhere to fall back on if the camp on the forest’s edge is compromised. It’ll probably be built on a hill, almost certainly heavily fortified, the ground around it will be littered with mantraps and nasty surprises. If they’ve built the kind of stronghold I’d expect, five hundred men could probably face off ten times their number in the absence of any artillery to batter the walls down.’ He paused for a moment, and Marcus saw the look of frustration that crossed his face. ‘My bitter experience with bands like this one is that the moment they see soldiers coming they’ll scatter in a dozen different directions, and fall back into the deep forest. And, once they’ve disbanded, catching them will be like trying to nail piss to a wall. If we give them time to run they’ll be snug inside their fortress, wherever it may be, long before we can find it and bring our strength to bear.’

Scaurus stepped forward again.

‘Which means that the secret of our success has to be in surrounding them with a nice thick ring of troops
before
they get the chance to retreat. And that means that we’ll need to find this camp at the edge of the forest, but without them knowing we’ve done so. If we can manage that smart trick, then when we attack the camp we should be able to feed a cohort in behind them before the rest of the detachment marches up and knocks at the front door.’

Julius nodded to the tribune.

‘At which point they’ll make a dash for the back door, only to find it locked and bolted. After that they can either surrender or die on our spears. Neat. And all we have to do is scout the edge of the forest until we find them.’

‘Indeed, Centurion.’ Caninus raised an eyebrow. ‘But do you think you can manage that delicate task? These are men who have had years to get used to the forest, whereas you, with no disrespect intended . . .’

Dubnus spoke, his voice sober yet powerful.

‘I was raised in the great forest that runs down the spine of Britannia. I am a woodsman and a hunter, and when
I
go into the forest I move in silence. I will find your bandits and they will never know of my presence.’

Caninus nodded.

‘Good. Although I suggest that I provide you with a local guide, a man who has called the forest home for as long as he’s lived.’

Scaurus raised an eyebrow.

‘Isn’t there a risk he might be their man in your camp?’

The prefect winced.

‘He’s one of the very few men of whose loyalty I am absolutely sure, and I implore you not to mention any such idea in his presence. His family were taken by this gang last summer while he was serving me as a tracker, and he does not know whether they still live. I’d advise you against making an enemy of him, but he does know every path through the forest, and if you treat him well I’m sure he will be an asset to you.’

Scaurus looked at the first spear, who nodded his agreement with a shrug.

‘Very well, Prefect, we accept your offer of guidance.’

Caninus pointed to the city’s west, running his finger along the road into Gallia Belgica.

‘In that case I’ll take my men away on a sweep down the road to the west towards Beech Forest tomorrow morning. That way, if Obduro’s spy is one of my men, I can at least make sure he knows nothing of your departure to the east, no matter how innocent it may appear at face value.’ He looked down at the map and nodded. ‘You may just provide us with the one small piece of luck I’ve been waiting for these last few months.’

The news that the three centurions were heading east to the fortresses on the Rhenus inspired more than one comment in the Tungrian cohorts’ makeshift officers’ mess that evening.

‘Don’t worry, brothers.’ Titus, commander of the 10th Century, formed from the biggest men in the cohort and equipped with the heavy axes only they had the strength to swing in battle, leaned over the three men as they sat enjoying a cup of wine, his voice a baritone rumble. ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’ He winked at them. ‘Uncle Sextus told me all about what you’re going to be doing while you’re away.’

‘He did?’

Julius shot him a surprised glance, and Dubnus shook his head at Marcus in disbelief.

‘Oh yes, he told me about it in great detail. It was a load of rubbish, of course. I could tell from the look on his face, that one he always gets when he’s not being entirely straight with whoever it is he’s talking to. All that stuff about talking to the legion’s fortress supply officer about equipment? All nonsense. I know what you’re really doing.’ The three men stared at him in consternation. Never the brightest of the cohort’s officers, Titus’s main value lay in his ability to command the respect and quite frequently the abject fear of the biggest and often nastiest men in the cohort. If he’d already worked out their mission from a shifty first spear and simple deduction, there was no chance of their delicate task remaining a secret. ‘Yes, you’re going to find out all about the Fortress Bonna vicus. Every bar, every whorehouse. You’re going to visit them all in readiness for our next move. I’m right, aren’t I?’

Julius’s incredulous stare hardened to a sly grin in the instant it took him to grab the big man’s misconception and run with it.

‘For Cocidius’s sake, Titus, keep your
bloody
voice down! If the other officers find out why we’re really going east there’ll be a mutiny! As far as everyone else is concerned we’re going to talk to the Fortress Bonna stores officer, and that’s the way it needs to stay.’

Titus guffawed, slapping his colleague on the shoulder and rocking him sideways.

‘Of course it is, brother, of course it is! Here –’ he lowered his mouth to Julius’s ear conspiratorially – ‘I was talking to a trader on his way through to the west yesterday when I was on guard duty, and he was telling me about a one-toothed whore—’

‘
Enough!
We’ll give you a full briefing when we return, only spare me any more of your speculation. I don’t want to hear another word about it until we’re back. You keep our little secret, and I guarantee to tell you all the details myself.’

By the time they’d had another cup of wine the story of their impending trip to the east and its ‘secret’ purpose was all over the camp, and as Morban addressed his centurion on the subject Marcus found himself admiring the first spear’s genius in managing to generate such artful misdirection with a single seemingly innocent conversation.

‘Off to Fortress Bonna, eh sir? Off to see the
lay
of the land, I hear. I’m told there’s a one-toothed whore who’ll stick her—’

‘Standard Bearer?’

The razor edge in his centurion’s voice silenced Morban in an instant.

‘Sir?’

‘Hold out your hand.’ Squinting at his officer in discomfort and puzzlement, Morban extended his right hand, the fingers curled protectively into his palm in obvious expectation of a stroke from the Roman’s vine stick. ‘Turn it over and open your palm.’