The Leopard Sword: Empire IV (7 page)

Scaurus stared at the map for a moment.

‘Which puts the grain convoys at constant risk. I see the size of the problem.’ He turned away from the map, his hard stare raking across the faces of the men sitting around the table. ‘First things first. Now the magnitude of what we’re facing has been made clear, my first priority is to get my men under solid roofs, with proper food and stoves to cook it on. Once that’s achieved, you, Prefect Caninus, can show us the ground we’ll be operating across. And so, gentlemen, to business. I need enough wood, nails and tools to build barracks for fourteen hundred soldiers, plus stabling for thirty horses, and my food supplies for both men and beasts will have run out by the end of tomorrow. So are we going to work this out with the professionalism the empire expects from us, or am I going to have to show you all my teeth?’

‘It’s not much of a market, is it? I remember this place from when I was a boy, with every wall lined with traders, and all of their stalls loaded with fruit and vegetables. But this . . .’

Julius stood with his hands on his hips and looked about the forum’s thin population of traders and their limited variety of produce, shaking his head slowly. Marcus and Dubnus had volunteered to come with him on the task to which he’d been appointed by Frontinius, and the two men exchanged a glance. The state of the city’s housing had also become apparent to them in the daylight. There were empty houses in every street, many of them falling into sad disrepair and at least one with a sapling sprouting through an open window.

‘The city’s population seems to have been slashed in size from those days, by the plague, I suppose. And since the whole province appears to have been turned over to growing grain, from what we saw on the march in, perhaps a shortage of meat and vegetables is the price they have to pay. There doesn’t seem to be any shortage of bread though.’

The big man nodded at Marcus’s observation.

‘Which is one small mercy, but I wonder where the meat and vegetables to feed two cohorts of big strong lads are going to come from if this is the best they can do. Anyway, forget the food, what we’re looking for is someone that’ll sell us something to wet our—’

He stopped talking abruptly, drawing curious glances from his colleagues as he stared in silence at a small party walking past them through the forum, a woman flanked by two burly men who could only be bodyguards, to judge from their size and demeanour.

‘Come on, Julius, stick to the job in hand. You’re not going to get what Uncle Sextus sent you out for by ogling every good-looking floozy who walks past.’

If their colleague had heard Dubnus’s jocular comment he didn’t acknowledge it, and he strode out into the forum without a backward glance, his attention locked on the woman’s back. His friends exchanged baffled glances, Dubnus frowning irritably after his colleague.

‘We’d better go with him. Those two have the look of men who’ll reach for their knives rather than waste time on pleasantries.’

When he was a half a dozen paces behind the small group Julius called out a single word to the woman.

‘Annia?’

She stopped walking and turned to face him, and to Marcus’s eye her expression was a combination of hope and dread. At close quarters he realised that she was a beauty, her features enhanced by cosmetics of a quality and subtlety that he hadn’t seen since leaving Rome the previous year, her black hair artfully arranged to frame a face that, if it wasn’t in the first flush of youth, was still strikingly handsome. Her eyes narrowed on seeing the big centurion standing before her, and her lips tightened. Marcus guessed that her frown of recognition wasn’t the reaction for which Julius had been hoping. The men to either side of her moved quickly, stepping forward to intercept the Tungrian without any sign of deference to his uniform. With a tight smile one of them, a bulky man, put a firm hand on Julius’s chest, dropping the other onto the hilt of his knife. His hair was cropped close to his skull while a bushy moustache bristled under a nose which had clearly been broken more than once. The other man, whip thin and with a dark, brooding look to him, reacted with equal professionalism, taking a quick step to one side and putting his hand to the handle of a long blade, clearly ready to unsheathe the weapon if necessary. If they weren’t military trained, they clearly had enough experience of their roles to perform them competently.

‘That’s close enough, soldier boy. The lady doesn’t want to be bothered by the likes of you.’

The bodyguard’s harsh voice was hard-edged with the promise of force to back up his words, and Marcus felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising as the familiar urge to fight made his nostrils flare and his eyes widen. The second bodyguard, alert to the situation’s potential for violence, noticed as the young officer rose slightly onto the balls of his feet, unconsciously poising himself to fight, and he shook his head in caution. His voice was more reasonable than his colleague’s, if no less confident in his abilities.

‘The lady doesn’t want to be disturbed, sonny. Better if you were to go and bother someone else, eh?’

Julius turned to his friends and momentarily bowed his head as if accepting the bodyguards’ rebuttal, then struck without warning, grabbing the hand that was still planted on his chest and bending it back with savage force, twisting it to his left to put the man off balance before using the bodyguard’s instinctive resistance to heave him to the right, shoving him into his colleague hard enough to put them both on the ground. The bodyguards leapt to their feet to find three hard-faced centurions ready for them with their swords drawn, and looked at each other in consternation. From the corner of his eye Marcus saw a man turn and leave the forum at something close to a run, and realised they only had a matter of moments before reinforcements arrived to back up the angry bodyguards. Julius lowered his gladius, putting up a placatory hand.

‘Steady, boys. Don’t make the mistake of biting off more than you can handle. All I want is a quiet conversation with the lady, and then you can go on your way with no more damage done than a bit of embarrassment. Or we can fight, and when Tungrians fight it’s all or nothing. So don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

While the bodyguards were still pondering Julius’s words, their faces reflecting their confusion, the woman stepped forward and lifted her hand.

‘It’s
my
decision who I speak with, not yours.’ She gave the two men a pointed stare before turning back to Julius. ‘And not yours either, Julius. That
is
you, isn’t it, behind the beard and the hard words?’

He nodded, bowing his head.

‘I’m sorry. Your men were a little too quick to give offence.’

‘And you were more than ready to take it. Just as you were fifteen years ago, as I recall? So here you are, back in Tungrorum after all this time. I’ll assume you didn’t come back to find me, and that this is just a coincidence?’

Marcus heard a note enter Julius’s voice that he’d not heard in all the time they’d served together.

‘I meant to come back for you, Annia, but you never answered the messages I sent with the men who came back here to retire. I supposed that you’d met someone else.’

One of the bodyguards smirked, and Marcus’s eyes narrowed as, in a sudden flash of insight, he worked out what it was about her that had been bothering him. The woman’s hollow laugh confirmed his guess.

‘I met a few other men, as it happens. Look at me, Julius, look properly.’ She raised her arms and performed a twirl on the spot. ‘Does nothing bother you about what you see? The toga I’m wearing, for example? I know it’s not made of the prescribed floral pattern, but it’s still quite a giveaway. Or perhaps you’ve noticed my lack of footwear? The city authorities are quite strict in enforcing that nice little rule.’

The centurion stared at her for a moment before realisation dawned.

‘You’re a . . .’ He shook his head and tried again. ‘I – I mean, you’ve become . . .’

‘Yes, I’ve become a whore. And, as I’m sure you can tell from the quality of my clothing, not to mention the men paid to make sure I’m not bothered when I walk through the city, really quite a good whore. Your precious love of all those years ago turned to servicing men for money to survive. I didn’t have much choice in the matter, not with my father dead, and my mother and I dependent on whatever money I could bring in.’ She shook her head in dismissal of the memory, her voice hardening. ‘So, here we are, the soldier and the whore reunited after all these years. What stories we could tell each other. But perhaps it’s better if we leave it there, and try to forget what might have been, if only you hadn’t felt compelled to join the army and leave me here to rot.’

The big man stood aghast, and the man he’d disarmed opened his mouth to make some cutting remark, only to close it again as Dubnus caught his eye with an extravagant glare.

‘Why didn’t you write and tell me? I would have sent you money, all my money . . .’

‘And how would I have done that? We didn’t have enough to buy what little we needed to survive, never mind paying someone to carry a message to Britannia. I’ve done well, all things considered. I’m well looked after, and I’m in partnership with a local businessman who supplies the city with grain and fresh provisions. We have an arrangement that ensures I’m left to run my house without fear of harassment, and a dozen girls working hard can turn over more money than you’d think, even with a healthy percentage for protection. I’m a wealthy woman compared to most people in Tungrorum.’

‘And that, I think, is enough.’ The moustached bodyguard stepped forward with his confidence rediscovered and his expression painfully close to being one of mockery, jerking his head to indicate several men approaching them across the forum. ‘The lady needs to be on her way, and this reunion, touching though it’s been, is over.’ Julius nodded with a faraway look on his face, and Marcus tensed himself to strike if the bodyguard made any move to take advantage of the centurion’s distraction, but the lady’s escort did nothing more than shake his head disparagingly and mutter an insult under his breath. ‘
Cunt-struck prick
.’

Dubnus bristled with anger and made to step up to him, but stopped with a frown as Marcus put out a hand to restrain him. Sheathing his sword, Marcus then moved forward and put his face within a few inches of the bodyguard’s, speaking in quiet but fierce tones.

‘I’d be a little more careful who you insult, if I were you. And when you’re done with trying to get yourself killed, you can take a message to your employer. Tell him that there’s a customer looking for enough wine to keep twenty thirsty centurions happy for a month, and quickly. We’re camped on the empty ground by the west gate, and he needs to ask for First Spear Frontinius. The good stuff, mind you, and we’re paying in gold.’

Unabashed, the bodyguard raised an eyebrow at his mate, a slight smirk on his face.

‘In gold, is it? We’ll pass your message on, soldier.
Fresh
gold’s always welcome here.’

He turned away, putting a proprietorial hand on the lady’s arm and leading her towards one of the market’s exits. Julius watched them walk away across the forum, his expression still wistful as he addressed his colleagues, ignoring the newly arrived bruisers who closed ranks behind Annia’s bodyguards to deny the Tungrians a chance to follow her.

‘And that, brothers, was my first love. The blows that life deals you just when you least expect them, eh?’ He sighed, his voice hardening as he regained control of himself. ‘Feel free to mention this meeting to anyone you like, but be prepared to sleep with one eye open if you do.’

To his surprise Dubnus, usually the first with a quip at his expense, shook his head dourly.

‘It wouldn’t be funny, brother. Forget you ever laid eyes on her, and we’ll do the same.’ He winked at Marcus, tapping his pouch with a significant stare at the back of Julius’s head. ‘And if you ever want someone to cheer you up, I’m your man. All you have to do is
whistle.
’

The view to the west from the top of the Tungrorum city wall was less than impressive, Qadir decided, its monotony made all the worse by the frequency with which the 9th Century’s Hamians were being allocated the duty of standing watch over the open fields beyond them, while the two Tungrian cohorts were on construction duties. Half of the century, and among them all of the twenty-odd Hamians who had elected to stay with the cohort, were dispersed along three hundred paces of the wall’s eastern length, while the rest were hard at work with the other centuries below them. The sounds of hammering and sawing were an incessant accompaniment to their vigil, as the soldiers below laboured, sweated and bled to erect the wooden barrack blocks required to house their numbers. Empty fields that receded into the featureless grey had been intriguing to the Hamian members of the century at first, but their interest in the open ground’s potential for archery had quickly palled with the continued presence of the bitterly cold fog that wreathed the landscape beyond the city’s walls.

‘There!’ The man at his side started and pointed into the mist, his voice lowered to avoid spooking the cautious animal. Following his arm Qadir saw the outline of a magnificent stag advancing slowly out of the murk, bending its heavily antlered head to pick carefully at the sparse grass. The soldier shrugged the bow case from his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at his chosen man. Qadir looked long and hard at the animal, calculating the amount of meat that his men’s skilled hands would strip from its carcass, before regretfully shaking his head and putting a restraining hand on the man’s arm.

‘Our goddess will not look with favour upon the man who looses an arrow at such an easy target. That animal was made to be hunted with skill and stealth through the great forest, not to be shot down for straying into this unnatural wilderness of empty land. Spread the word: the man that shoots a single arrow at the beast will suffer my displeasure, and likely that of Our Lady the Deasura too. Go.’

The soldier nodded and turned away to pass Qadir’s command to his fellow Hamians. The big chosen man was a placid individual for the most part, but every man in the 9th Century was only too well aware that they crossed him at their peril, such was his temper when eventually roused. Qadir watched with satisfaction as the soldier walked down the wall’s broad fighting platform, taking pleasure from the fact that he had spared an innocent creature of the forest from an ignoble death.