They stood in uncomfortable silence until the last century had marched on to the square, and the entire cohort was stood at attention. Furius strode out to face them, self-assured confidence in his authority apparent in his stride and bearing.
‘Second Cohort…’ The ranks of troops waited expectantly to be ordered to stand at their ease. ‘… normally I would order you to stand easy for my morning address, but this morning isn’t normal, so you can all stay at attention. In point of fact, there hasn’t been a normal day in this cohort since one of you put a spear through the spine of your last prefect.’ If anyone had been dozing in the ranks before, it was certain that nobody was doing so now. ‘Until now, nobody in this cohort has taken the trouble to find the man that killed Prefect Bassus. By rights he should long since have been avenged by the penalty that military law demands of his murderer — public execution. It seems, however, that this cohort is content to brush its problems under the mat. Until today, that is. Today, Second Tungrians, that failure to act will be rectified in the most public way possible. Before you leave this parade ground I will know who killed him. Either that, or you’ll all rue the day you ever set eyes on him. I’ve sworn to Mars to take the murderer’s life as revenge for Bassus’s, sworn on an altar with witnesses and a noble sacrifice, with no way back from the promise. And I will, I promise you, exact revenge for him. How many more men die here alongside the prefect’s killer depends entirely on you.’
He took a breath and looked across their packed ranks, playing the moment out, feeling the tension crackling through the men arrayed in front of him.
‘Since I seem to be the only man seeking justice here, I’m going to need some help. I know that the first spear will stand alongside me, so now I want to know where the other officers stand. Any centurion that is willing to support justice for Prefect Bassus, stand forward three paces from your centuries.’
There was an instant ripple of movement, so fast that Furius suspected that his first spear had blown quietly in a few ears some time since he had first briefed the man as to what he intended. All ten of his officers stood forward of their men, having crossed, whether they realised it or not, their own personal Rubicons from which there would be no turning back.
‘Very good. At least this cohort’s officers recognise the enormity of the crime we’re going to take retribution for. So, we have one man out of the eight hundred of you facing me to expose. What will it take to make that happen? I wonder. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it for the last five weeks, ever since the moment I found out about my new command, and the way in which it became available.’ He paused for a moment, allowing a powerful silence to settle on the gathered soldiers. ‘Some years ago I served in the Moesian border wars with the Twelfth Thunderbolt. There was a unit with true Roman discipline.’ He stared across the cohort, sneering into his troops’ collective wide-eyed stare.
‘Yes, the Twelfth knew about crime and punishment, and any example of cowardice was met with the harshest of penalties. I’m tempted to follow their example, and decimate this cohort, literally to condemn one man in ten to death at the hands of his peers as punishment…’ Furius paused again, sweeping his gaze across the rows of stony faces. ‘… but I realise that while that would be a fitting punishment, the odds of killing the murderer would be far too low to justify the lost fighting strength. So, I have decided on a different approach.
‘You men are a disgrace, willing to allow the death of your commander to pass unpunished, and so I’m going to punish you collectively to the maximum extent I can without causing any loss of your fighting capability. As a result, the following punishments are effective immediately. First, you will all be fined an amount of pay equal to that which you have earned since Bassus’s murder. On top of that, no further pay will be issued until his killer volunteers himself for punishment.’ He waited for a moment, allowing the enormity of three months’ lost pay to sink in. ‘Second, if the killer is found, and justice granted to Prefect Bassus today, before the sun sets, I will commute that fine to one month’s pay. And lastly, if the prefect’s killer is not identified today, I will randomly select a man from each century for execution by his comrades. Execution which will be carried out without the use of any weapons other than your bare hands.’
He looked across their ranks, staring hard at faces whose gaze was locked firmly to the front, not daring to meet his eyes.
‘You choose. I’ve got no orders other than to scout this area for barbarians, so we can stay here as long as you like while the man I’m looking for makes his mind up to come forward, just as long as you’re all clear that every new day will start with each century choosing a soldier to be beaten to death… not to mention someone to do the dirty work. I’ll be in my tent…’
The quartermaster’s meaty hand made a loud thwack as he smacked it down on the counter. His pale eyes flicked between the two men on the other side of the desk, one hand distractedly smoothing his slicked-back hair.
‘Are you pair mad? You pitch up as if you own the place, and then you offer to relieve me of two centuries’ worth of equipment?’ He glared across the wooden expanse at Marcus and Qadir. ‘An officer fresh out of his napkin, and a chosen man in fancy dress with a bad suntan. Well, the pair of you can fuck right off.’
Marcus’s face hardened, his well-being of the previous evening already forgotten.
‘You’re making a big mistake, storeman, I…’
The quartermaster’s eyes widened.
‘Storeman. Fucking storeman!? I eat storemen for breakfast. I shit storemen when I go to the latrine. You, boy, do not call me a storeman, you piece of auxiliary shit.’
Qadir raised an eyebrow at the tirade, and then turned his head minutely as if only very slightly surprised as Marcus put a hand to his sword. A voice from behind them pulled his attention away from the scene of impending violence. It was Rufius, speaking from the shadow of the store’s doorway.
‘I wouldn’t if I were you, young Two Knives. I’ve known the big-mouthed idiot for longer than I care to remember and he’s been the same for all those years, all piss and vinegar just as long as there’s a nice wide counter between him and the men he’s robbing. There’s two ways we can do this. Either you can argue with him, show him your requisition all nice and official with all the right names and a pretty seal, and eventually jump the counter and offer him a new set of lumps in the time-honoured fashion, or I can simply remind him of one of life’s oldest rules. I suggest we try it my way first, and if that fails you can have another go at doing it your way. Now, Storeman Brocchus, let’s see how well you remember your old comrades, eh? Let me give you a clue. I retired from the legion after twenty-five years only eighteen months ago. No?’
Brocchus frowned with concentration, thrown off balance by the as yet unknown officer’s supreme confidence.
‘No? Here’s another clue. I was the best first spear ever to grace the parade ground at Yew Grove. No? I thought not, you never did recognise quality in either supplies or soldiers. One last clue, then. I never did tell anyone about you and that lady you used to see on the side, did I? Despite her being very close to a rather unpleasant centurion of our mutual acquaintance, a man who would bite your throat out if he ever even suspected you of diddling his woman.’
Brocchus recoiled from the counter with a look of combined amazement and horror. ‘Tiberius Rufius? But…’
Rufius walked out of the shadows, swept his helmet off and slapped it down on to the counter’s surface, a wolfish grin painted across his face.
‘I know! It’s the sheer delight of seeing me again. I heard you shouting the odds like a stallholder’s wife from outside and I thought, “Bugger me, it’s that old fool Brocchus giving out just like old times.”’