‘Save the punctilious displays of respect for parades, it would make a nice change from your usual slouching and coughing.’
The younger of the two men standing before him, his age roughly the same as his centurion with whom he had been enlisted on the same day, kept his face carefully impassive as was his usual rule. The older of them, a goatherd before his recruitment into the army six months before them both, and therefore by his own estimation a man of greater experience and cunning, grinned knowingly.
‘We wouldn’t want to set any higher expectation among your brother officers, would we, Centurion?’
Qadir smiled thinly, recognising his comrade’s jibe for what it was intended to be, a reminder of the fact that they had all begun their military lives as simple archers, before their friend’s rise to command them which, given his birth, had been something of an inevitability.
‘Indeed, Husam. Why look professional when with just a little less effort you can remain a goatherd for the rest of your life?’
His friend bowed his head in recognition of the returned insult.
‘How can we be of service, Centurion?’
Qadir dropped his helmet on the desk of his quarter and gestured to them both to sit.
‘I have been selected to join the tribune and centurions Marcus and Dubnus in a delicate mission to the northern wastes. To Germania.’
‘You are clearly under the blessings of the goddess. Once more you have the opportunity to accompany your betters to a distant part of the empire, where unfriendly men will do their very best-’
Husam fell silent as he realised that Qadir was smiling at him in a not entirely humorous manner.
‘That is correct. But you are mistaken in one thing, old friend. She smiles upon all three of us.’
He turned away to place his vine stick on the office’s table, muttering quietly to himself.
The younger of the two raised a tentative hand.
‘If I might enquire?’
Qadir spread his hands wide, as if granting silent permission for the question.
‘Husam is your chosen man. I am your watch officer.’
‘And so you are asking me who is to lead the men while we are away from the city, Munir? Select someone. I very much doubt that there will be any call for our archers, here in Rome. They will be free to relax, and forget the horror of our recent battles against the Parthians. Whereas we will be reacquainting ourselves with the German forests.’
‘Cold, damp, miserably dark even in summer. There is little with which I have the urge to reacquaint myself. And their language, all that growling and gritting of teeth. I had not thought to sully my mouth with it again in this lifetime.’
Qadir grinned at Husam.
‘With luck you won’t have to. The tribune hopes to be “in and out again” without ever being detected. But, just in case his fond wish for a boring and uneventful few days is denied, we are to take ten archers, including you two.’
‘Ten?’ The question was incredulous in tone. ‘What use are ten bows against a tribe of screaming painted lunatics?’
His answer was an eloquent shrug.
‘I do not know, and I fervently hope not to find out. But, just in case the opportunity for that learning comes to pass, you must select eight more men to join us on this journey into the green half-light. And trust me in this, my brothers, you must not simply choose those men who are the most precise shots with their bows.’
Husam nodded wearily.
‘I know. You want the best hunters, the stealthiest, and the most deadly shots when it comes to dropping a man with a single arrow.’
Qadir nodded soberly.
‘I do. But I want them all to have one more essential quality, something which cannot be learned, but which must have been part of the man’s way of thinking when he fell out of his mother.’ Chosen man and watch officer stared at him in questioning silence. ‘Every man you select must have the ability to lose all fear of failure at the moment he releases the arrow, must be blessed with cold eyes that can measure the best point of impact for his last arrow even as the cataphract bears down on him in dust and thunder, knowing that if this last arrow fails him then he will surely die on the end of the horseman’s lance, or trampled under the hoofs of his warhorse. And, in the instant of releasing the arrow that he knows will surely fly true and fell his opponent, not to care.’
The room was silent for a moment before he spoke again.
‘I know you both possess this detachment from the fears of the battlefield, or neither of you would hold the positions to which you bring great honour. Now go and find me another eight like you. Men who are not shy of killing, but who more importantly are not afraid to die.’
The two men bowed to him briefly rather than saluting, and left him alone with his thoughts. On the steps outside the office the chosen man put a hand on his colleague’s arm.
‘Did you hear what he said in there, when he turned away and thought his words were private? That the goddess smiled on all three of us — if she smiled at all?’
Munir nodded his head soberly.
‘It is not the first thing he has said in the months since the battle for Nisibis that has given me pause for thought. More than once his words have implied that he is a less fervent believer in the Deasura than was once the case. You have noticed too?’
Husam shrugged eloquently.
‘I was hoping that it was more a question of my imagination than his words, but it seems that our friend is losing his love for our goddess Atargatis. In any case our men must not discover his wavering belief, so keep this to yourself. I will speak with him, and encourage him to consider his position as our century’s spiritual leader in this city of unbelievers. I am sure that he will understand my concerns.’
‘Archers and axemen. The ability to kill at a distance or to hack an enemy to ribbons. We should have every eventuality covered …’
Julius looked across the table at Scaurus, tearing off a piece of the bread on the plate before him and popping it into his mouth, chewing vigorously as he responded to the Roman’s musing. The tribune and his centurions had climbed the Viminal Hill with the sun’s last light to join the senior centurion and his woman for dinner, and talk had inevitably turned to their preparations for the march north.
‘You can kill anyone you see, hack anyone to ribbons that gets past the archers, and generally outfight anything short of a full tribal war band. So what’s worrying you?’
His superior took a sip of wine before answering.
‘The lack of … guile, I suppose?’
Julius snorted, shaking his head.
‘Guile? Given some of the men you’re taking, I’d say what you’ve got is more like villainy.’
Scaurus shook his head.
‘You miss my meaning, that or perhaps my expression was poor. And you’re right, we have as much power to kill or terrify we can muster in a group small enough to evade detection, but we still lack something …’ He paused, spearing a piece of meat with his fork. ‘Given that we’re going to have to go in on foot, and cross the river into their territory at some point, I think it’s a lack of intelligence that’s the problem. We could make our way into the heart of Bructeri territory by the most subtle and devious of means and end up walking into something quite unexpected, simply because we’ll have no idea as to the state of play where it matters the most.’
Julius nodded slowly.
‘I take your point. You could always take Silus with you and send him ahead?’
Marcus shook his head, breaking the reverie that had descended on him upon entering the house’s painfully familiar confines.
‘Not Silus, and not any of our cavalrymen, I’d say. They’re too obviously serving soldiers, which would make them targets for suspicion anywhere east of the Rhenus.’
The senior centurion thought for a moment, then his face lit up.
‘If you’re looking for someone who’ll blend into the landscape, a man that no one would ever suspect of being a serving soldier, I’ve just the man for you. And he’s right under your nose.’