The Leopard Sword: Empire IV (9 page)

Marcus and Qadir found the mounted squadron waiting for them at the gate, and the young centurion threw a mock salute at their decurion.

‘Greetings, Silus. Your messenger said you had a pair of horses too flighty to be ridden by anyone but myself and my chosen man?’

Silus grinned slyly at him, extending a welcoming hand to indicate a pair of horses without riders.

‘Indeed, Centurion. Qadir is well known for his discernment with regard to horses, and his consummate skill in the saddle. With that in mind I have reserved the very best of our horses for him.’ He gestured to an empty saddle, raising an eyebrow at the Hamian whose sour mood had clearly lifted on seeing the horse in question. ‘You remember this beast, I presume?’

The Hamian threaded his way through the throng of horses, stroking muzzles and patting flanks until he reached his mount, a magnificent chestnut mare he had last ridden in Britannia. He nodded his thanks to Silus and jumped into the saddle with the practised grace of an accomplished horseman. Silus smiled at the sight of horse and rider reunited, leaning out of the saddle to mutter conspiratorially to Marcus.

‘I do like to see man and beast so well matched.’ Marcus raised a sardonic eyebrow, knowing what was coming next. ‘And no more so than in your case. For you, Centurion, I have an animal which we already know can match your quick temper and restless desire for a fight.’

He raised his arm and indicated a big rangy grey stallion waiting impatiently alongside his own horse. Marcus shook his head wryly then walked round to greet the animal, which responded by nudging at him with its muzzle.

‘You see, dear old Bonehead remembers you! He knows that he has only to put his ears back and you’ll happily allow him his head, certain that he’ll take you straight into the deepest shit available. I’ve never seen a horse and rider more made for each other.’

Marcus shook his head in mock disgust, climbing into the saddle and accepting a spear and shield from the cavalry officer.

‘Let’s be away, then, Decurion. I’ll do my best to remain in control of this high-spirited animal, although Mercury himself may struggle to stay with us if he spots a deer. You, I fear may be left far behind, given that your poor animal’s carrying all that extra weight.’

The men guarding the gate opened the massive wooden doors, and the squadron trotted out into the thinning mist.

‘Tribune Scaurus wants us to scout away to the west, as far as the point where the road forks to the south to cross the Mosa at Arduenna Bridge.’

They proceeded at an easy trot, allowing the horses a pace that wouldn’t overtax them. Silus led the way with the squadron’s standard bearer riding alongside him. The dragon standard’s long cloth tail hung limply in the damp air, droplets of moisture forming on the bronze head’s highly polished surface, much to its bearer’s disgust, and the occasional gust of air rippled the mist and elicited the faintest of moans from the reed concealed within its fiercely fanged mouth. Silus upped their pace to a brisk trot, and within a half-mile’s progress the rear of the legion centuries’ column appeared out of the mist before them. The decurion extended his arms to either side, his hands held out rigidly like blades, and he called back over his shoulder loudly enough to be sure that the infantry’s rearmost ranks would hear him.

‘Pass to either side, and ignore any comments that might come our way. Just content yourselves with the fact that they’ll be tramping through mounds of horseshit soon enough!’

The legionaries launched a barrage of insulting and occasionally witty comments at the horsemen as they trotted past the marching column, and, as was equally traditional, the riders kept their gazes fixed on the direction of travel and their faces set in expressions of utter disinterest. One wag in the leading century bellowed out the first line of a song beloved of foot soldiers across the empire, and his comrades joined in with all the gusto expected of them.

The squadron rode on, the final rider turning in his saddle with a smile of glee as the horse in front of him lifted its tail to deposit a long trail of droppings in the marching column’s path.

Silus raised a hand to signal the canter, and the riders spurred their mounts to the faster pace, their clattering hoof beats rattling dully across the empty fields. After ten minutes of riding Silus frowned, peering forward into the light mist. A man was running towards them, staggering along the road’s cobbles in a manner that suggested he was close to dropping from exhaustion. Reining in his horse, the decurion jumped down from his saddle and caught the runner by his arm as he slumped to the road’s surface.

‘Bandits . . . attacking . . . carts . . .’

He pointed back into the mist from which he’d staggered, his chest heaving, and Silus, half carrying him to the side of the road, barked a terse question at him.

‘How many?’

The hapless carter shook his head.

‘Mist . . . too many . . .’

The decurion looked up at Marcus.

‘No telling how many of them might be waiting for us. We should probably wait for the infantry to catch up.’

His friend hefted his spear.

‘Probably. And probably lose them as a result. They’ll vanish off into this murk with their prize as quickly as they appeared from it.’

Silus nodded grimly.

‘Very well, we’ll go after them alone, but ride on the verge rather than the road. Let’s not give them any warning. Lower that standard too, or they’ll hear it howling from miles away once we get up some speed
. Ride!
’

Tribune Scaurus found Prefect Caninus in his headquarters, a small building tucked away behind the forum. The prefect’s men were hard at work preparing their gear and sharpening their weapons as Scaurus walked between them to the office at the building’s rear, and he felt their eyes on his back as he knocked at the office door. Inside, by the light of the lamps that had been lit to compensate for the shuttered windows, the prefect was standing at a map of the area around Tungrorum painted on the wall behind his desk, an exact copy of the one they’d discussed in the basilica the previous day. The diagram was littered with hand-painted annotations, each one consisting of three lines of text beside a small cross to indicate a location. The crosses were for the most part aligned with the main roads to east and west, and the notes that accompanied each one were abbreviated in the official style. The tribune put down the bag he was carrying and shook his colleague’s hand before turning to examine the map with him.

‘You keep a record of bandit activity, then?’

The prefect nodded, waving a hand at the map.

‘That which is reported to my office, yes. I’m trying to spot a pattern. Something to give me an idea of where they might be hiding themselves, so that I can get on the front foot for a change, rather than just reacting to their attacks. It also gives me a clue as to how many of them are out there, and where they might be hiding. Look here . . .’ Smiling grimly he pointed to a tight cluster of a dozen crosses ten miles or so to the west of the city. ‘There’s one group of robberies, more or less where you ran into that band of thieves on your way here. Perhaps we’ll hear no more from them.’

Scaurus examined the map for a moment.

‘So we have clusters of robberies here . . .’ He pointed to the east, on the road between the city and the small settlement at Mosa Ford, ten miles distant from Tungrorum. ‘Here . . .’ His finger moved to indicate the road to the south, passing within a few miles of the forest of Arduenna in its path to Augusta Treverorum, the city of the Treveri tribe. ‘And here, on the main road to the west.’

Caninus nodded, slapping a finger into the middle of a group of twenty or so crosses.

‘Exactly. That’s where they’ve been attacking the grain convoys, seven times this year, and always when we’re elsewhere, as if they have some inside knowledge of my men’s movements. They always strike in force, never less than two or three hundred strong, and that means the carters never have enough men to hold them off. Especially since they managed to subvert the auxiliaries sent from the frontier to hunt them down.’

Scaurus shook his head.

‘That’s been puzzling me ever since you first mentioned it. What happened to make a whole cohort of trained soldiers throw in their lot with a gang of bandits? Why abandon any hope of becoming a citizen for a life of constant uncertainty and a good-sized chance of a violent death?’

Caninus waved a hand at his chair.

‘Take a seat and I’ll tell you.’ He paced across the office before turning back, his face bearing the look of a troubled man. ‘It’s the band that is operating out of the forest that’s most of the problem here. The rest of them are disorganised, slaves and deserters trying their luck, and taking advantage of the fact that we’re overstretched. If that was all there was to it I could probably keep a lid on things with the men I have, but the fact is that the man in control of that gang is undisputedly good. Almost supernaturally lucky, or skilled. Or both. They must have some sort of hiding place deep in the woods, somewhere off the usual hunting tracks, because I’ve not found any trace of them in the months we’ve been searching the forest, which we do whenever I can spare the manpower. I know, it’s not enough to explain the desertions . . .’ He rubbed his face wearily with one hand before continuing.

‘It’s their leader. He seems to have them all convinced that they’re not bandits, but rebels against the empire. He tells them that it was the imperial army that brought the plague back from the east, and that it’s the emperor’s fault we all lost friends and loved ones. He’s got them believing that they’re freedom fighters, rather than the thieving scum they really are. Worse than that, they seem to believe that he’s invincible. He wears a cavalry helmet with one of those flashy reflective face masks whenever he thinks he’s running the risk of being seen, so nobody has any idea of who he is, or where he’s come from. He carries a sword made of some strange metal which is reputed to have the strength to cut through just about anything, including, believe it or not, iron sword blades. And he’s utterly ruthless.’

Scaurus shrugged slightly.

‘I’ve seen a lot of hard men in my time. What do you mean by ruthless, exactly?’

Caninus was silent for a moment before speaking.

‘You asked me why a cohort of auxiliaries would desert. Well, it wasn’t a full cohort; it was three centuries of Treveri soldiers.’

Scaurus shook his head unhappily.

‘Some idiot sent men recruited in the Treveri lands, which are, what, fifty miles to the south of here, to deal with a local banditry problem?’

Caninus nodded.

‘You’ve guessed it. The legatus at Fortress Bonna, clearly a man without much understanding of local history, detailed the Treveri cohort’s prefect to take four centuries and clear this particular gang of bandits from the forest. If he’d been any kind of student of recent history he would have known that the Treveri have had a mixed relationship with the empire ever since their initial cooperation with the Blessed Julius in defeating the Nervians. The very fact that they threw in their lot with the Batavians when they decided to revolt should have been enough of a clue, but I suppose that after a hundred years the memory’s become a bit distant. All the same . . .’

He raised his eyebrows at the irony of it all, sharing a moment of dark amusement with Scaurus, who sat and waited for him to continue.

‘Anyway, nothing much went amiss until they sent a century out on outpost duty to guard the road to Claudius Colony. The bandits overran it one dark night, slaughtered every soldier who raised a sword to them and took the rest prisoner. They then put the centurion’s head on a spear. It didn’t take whoever
he
is – the local nickname for him is “Obduro”, by the way – to work out where the men of the other three centuries were from. He surrounded their camp the next night and called on them to kill their officers and join him in the fight for “their people’s” independence in the name of the goddess Arduenna. And so they did. Her name has a powerful magic for men raised in the shadow of the forest.’

Scaurus opened the bag at his feet, fishing out the dented cavalry helmet.

‘This won’t have been his, then, from the sound of it?’

Caninus picked up the helmet and examined the face mask, badly dented from the impact of Julius’s brow guard.

‘Sadly not. It would have solved most of our problems if it had been – cutting the snake’s head off, so to speak – but this is far too shabby to have been his. I presume that you took this from one of the bandits that attacked you during your march here?’ Scaurus nodded, and Caninus spread his hands, palm upwards, in a gesture of frustration. ‘You see the man’s influence? Even the dimmest of common robbers has worked out that the myth of Obduro can work for him too.’

‘Why “Obduro”? Why call yourself “hard”?’

Caninus smiled wryly.

‘Oh it’s not his choice. That’s the name the people of the town gave him when his modus operandi became clear, after the first couple of times his men overran a guard post, or a detachment of soldiers. He has them killed, as I said a moment ago, almost literally to the last man. Nothing protracted, but no mercy shown either, except to the few men he takes back into the forest, presumably for the purposes of sacrifice to their goddess, and the one man he chooses to bring the news of his latest victory to me.’

Scaurus frowned.

‘Specifically to you?’

The prefect grinned at him without humour, his expression suddenly bleak.

‘Oh yes,
most
specifically to me. He’s developed something of a determination to see me dead, it seems. He mocks me with every fresh message that we receive from him, making sure that the survivor seeks me out and tells me in graphic details what will happen to me when I’m captured. He tells them that he’ll know if they don’t pass the message exactly as he tells them to, and that he’ll visit the same fate he has planned for me on them unless they follow his instructions to the letter. He tells them to do it publicly, not in private, so that the people around me hear everything.’