Needing no second bidding in the face of the bearded officer’s request, the Tungrians slid past him to either side with forehead-touching gestures of respect. When they were gone his expression softened.
‘At ease, Morban.’
Morban relaxed slightly, putting his hands behind his back, staring intently at his former associate from the days when Dubnus had seemed stuck in the role of chosen man, before Marcus had found a way to have him promoted to centurion.
‘Doubtless you’re all speculating as to exactly where the tribune’s picked men might be going. Knowing your long history of illegal gambling it wouldn’t come as any surprise if you were already taking money on the outcome …’ Morban opened his mouth to deny the accusation, but closed it again when he saw the look on his officer’s face. ‘Wise, Morban. Perhaps you’re growing some wisdom in your old age. But I’m not here to warn you off. Far from it.’
He fell silent, watching the older man as Morban smiled hesitantly and then, as the full import of his words sank in, the expression slowly faded from his face.
‘But …’
The centurion raised an eyebrow,
‘But? But what, Morban?’
‘You can’t mean …’
Dubnus nodded slowly.
‘You have skills, Standard Bearer, abilities that will make you essential for the success of our venture. You’ve been requested, you specifically, to accompany the detachment that’s going north.’
The veteran frowned incomprehension.
‘Skills?’
‘Skills, Morban.’
Dubnus reached out a hand and tapped him on the forehead.
‘This, Standard Bearer, contains more guile and calculation than is possessed by any other man in the cohort. And, whether you believe it or not, those traits will be vital where we’re going. So pack your gear and report to the detachment’s barracks.’
The veteran soldier saluted tiredly.
‘Yes, Centurion.’
Dubnus turned away, then returned his attention to the older man.
‘Look on the bright side, Morban. Doubtless you’ll find a way to turn this to your advantage. Just as long as you don’t use your inside knowledge to make money before we leave for Germania.’
‘Germania? I thought-’
‘As intended. Trust me, Standard Bearer, where we’re going we really don’t want the slightest anticipation of our arrival, because that could only end very badly indeed. So if you don’t want to end up with a witch pawing through your innards you’ll keep your mouth shut. Won’t you?’
‘I’m coming with you.’
Arminius stared back into the boy’s eyes in the light of their solitary oil lamp, realising with a shock that the child whom he had looked down upon only a year before was suddenly a good deal closer to staring him in the face than before. He walked away to the barrack window, looking out across the dark parade ground on which the detachment would muster the next day before turning back to face the child, shaking his head, raising a hand to emphasise the point.
‘Not a chance. You’re too young.’
Lupus shook his head with a look that promised obduracy and a good deal more.
‘You left me behind the last time, and I was stuck here for a year without anyone to talk to except the women and babies. And then …’
The German resisted the urge to put his arms around the boy by force of will, watching in impotent anguish as Lupus’s eyes filled with tears.
‘I know. And if I had my time again I’d have been there.’
The boy looked at him with eyes as hard as any he’d seen on a man, and once again Arminius wondered at the change in him.
‘You would have died alongside Arabus. Nobody could have protected moth-’ He swallowed painfully. ‘Nobody could have pro-tected Felicia from those men. But given enough time someone will make them pay.’
The stone-hard stare lingered on the German for a moment, and in that instant Arminius knew he was seeing the man to come, implacable in his hatred, his view of the world around him forever tilted towards hard words and deeds by his childhood experiences.
‘Lupus … you shouldn’t-’
The boy shook his head flatly.
‘Not you, Arminius! The women can tell me that it’s not good to hate, but not you! You helped the Centurion to take revenge for his parents, you told me he was an honourable man for doing so!’
The German regarded him levelly for a moment before speaking.
‘So, ignoring the fact that you’re sworn to kill the emperor and half the praetorian guard, what do you expect to contribute to this task that the tribune’s been handed by the very man you’re determined to see dead?’
Lupus stuck his chin out.
‘My sword and shield. I’ve been practising with Centurion Cotta’s men ever since you left, and I’m as good as any of them except when they use their strength to push me over, when they get bored with not being able to beat me.’
Arminius smiled despite himself, recalling Cotta’s summary of the things the men he’d set to guard the two women while the cohort was in the east had told him about the boy’s progress with his weapons.
‘He’s fast alright. Faster than any of my boys, and someone’s taught him a halfway decent technique that I can probably get close to Marcus’s standard, given enough time.’ The veteran centurion had winked at the German’s wry smile, knowing full well that Arminius’s training had given the boy most of the sword skills he needed. ‘Once he’s grown another foot and filled out he’s going to be a right monster, you can see it in him already. It just amazes me that a squat little waddler like Morban can have sired the man who put that into a woman.’
His smile faded as he recalled Cotta’s other, less cheery comment.
‘Given you’re pretty much his father these days, there is something else for you to think about though. There’s something changed in the boy since the day Arabus was killed by the praetorians. Before it happened he was still a boy most of the time, when he wasn’t behind a shield and a sword, but from that day on my boys tell me they’ve not seen the child in him. He’s been brutalised, Arminius, had his childhood ripped away from him in a way that’s left him …’
‘Scarred?’
Cotta had nodded unhappily.
‘That’s as good a term as any other. I expect Marcus’s wife, the gods watch over her departed spirit, would have had a better term for it, but scarred covers it well enough. The boy’s gone, and what’s standing there is a man in a body that’s not quite ready to fight alongside men. But he will be, soon enough. And he’s going to need some help making the transition, if he’s not going to get himself killed before his time.’
Man and boy stared at each other in mutual unease for a moment before Arminius spoke again.
‘If you were to accompany us into Germania you’d be a boy among men. The tribune’s taking ten axes and ten bows, plus officers and a few hangers-on for skulking and thieving, every man with a purpose. Having you with us would be a distraction. You haven’t learned to fight with or against the spear yet, and that’s the weapon the tribes use for the most part.’
To his surprise the boy just shook his head, where a year before there would have been tears of frustration in his eyes.
‘So, you’re all going away again, only days after you came back. You, Centurion Marcus, my grandfather, all the people who promised to look after me. And what happens to me if you all get killed? I’ll be stuck here with no one to look out for me, other than Julius. Which means I’ll be a soldier soon enough and taking just the same risks, just without anyone to look after me.’ He stared the German in the eyes. ‘I’d rather die in Germany with you.’
3
Scaurus’s detachment paraded at dawn the next day ready to march, each man holding the reins of the horse he would ride north. The soldiers were wearing warm tunics and boots, their cloaks rolled up and strapped across saddlebags that contained everything they were likely to need during the march while a pair of doleful-looking mules were hitched to a cart containing their tents and cooking equipment. Every man had an oval shield strapped across his back and a long German-style spear in his hand, the Hamians’ bows and the Tenth Century’s axes carried in thick oiled leather cases attached to their mounts’ saddles.