Macro paused at the foot of the steps leading up to the gatehouse tower and leaned on his vine cane to take the weight off his wounded leg. He could still walk no more than a mile before the pain became acute and the joint grew stiff. He waited a moment and breathed out calmly before he addressed Fortunus.
‘Get another locking beam fitted to each gate. If there’s trouble, that’ll help keep the bastards out. And while you’re at it, have the blacksmith turn out as many caltrops as possible and sow them in the grass around the walls. That’ll put a stop to any attempt to rush the fort and take it by surprise. I’ve yet to meet the man who has impaled his foot on a caltrop and not screamed his guts out.’ Macro smiled fondly as he recalled the effect the vicious iron spikes had had on the Parthians he and Cato had once faced in the eastern deserts of the empire.
‘Do you really think there will be trouble, sir?’
Macro sighed. ‘Who knows? The point is that we have to be ready to face it at any moment. That’s what soldiers do, Fortunus. Professional soldiers, at any rate. You take the emperor’s coin and now it’s time for you to earn your pay.’
‘Yes, sir. I understand.’ Fortunus hesitated and glanced at Macro anxiously.
‘But? Spit it out, man.’
‘It . . . it’s you I’m concerned about, sir.’
Macro cocked an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, sir. You’ve not recovered from your wound. Better that you remain here and send another officer in your place to warn the legate.’
Macro felt an instinctive disdain for the transparency of the other man’s suggestion. He had little time for officers who did not step up to take the burden of responsibility that came with their rank, not to mention their enhanced pay. He was damned if he would let Fortunus hide behind him and lead his men from the rear. Still, it would do little good to berate the man out here in the open, in earshot of those who would be left in his charge. He bit back on his irritation and shifted his weight slightly so that he stood erect before the other man.
‘It is vital that the legate is informed of the enemy’s plans, and I am the best man to lead the effort to make sure the warning gets through. That is why I must go and why you must assume command.’
Fortunus stared at him bleakly and then cast his eyes down. ‘Sir, I am not sure if I am the best man for the job. It might be better if you chose another.’
Macro’s brow creased in an angry frown and he thrust a finger into Fortunus’s well-padded gut. ‘Shut your mouth. There’s no choice in the matter. I am ordering you to take command, and you will fucking well take command. Is that understood? You are a bloody centurion. Act like one. These men will be looking to you. Depending on you. And you will do your duty and lead them as well as they deserve. Their lives depend on it. So does yours, Fortunus. We’re all in this together. The difference is that officers must lead by example. You will set the example, give the order, and if need be, die at the head of your men.’
Fortunus winced and Macro paused, disappointed by the man’s lack of moral fibre. It would serve little purpose to fuel his anxiety. Fortunus needed a more subtle approach. Encouragement, perhaps. Macro softened his tone.
‘Look here, it’s no accident that you were promoted to the centurionate. Whoever decided to hand you the job must have had their reasons. I’ve been a soldier long enough to know that such men lead from the front and are the last to leave the fight when in retreat. You’re supposed to be a fire-eater, Fortunus. It’s your job to frighten your men just as much as you frighten the enemy. Maybe you’ve forgotten that and you need to find it in yourself again. But you will. You have to.’ He paused and made himself smile. ‘Of course, you’ll have to do a few more laps around the drill ground before you are fit enough to outpace your lads!’
Fortunus’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you saying I’m fat, sir?’
‘Well, I’m not saying you’re thin.’
They stared at each other for an instant before the auxiliary officer’s face creased into a smile. Macro joined him and they both laughed.
‘Right then, the job’s yours. Look after my fort, Centurion.’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.’
‘I expect nothing less. And if you need a word of advice, then sound out Diomedes. He’s a good man, and he’ll make a fine centurion one of these days. You could do worse than listen to what he has to say.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind, sir.’
‘Good.’ Macro clapped him on the shoulder and turned to climb the steps to the tower, gritting his teeth each time he had to flex his wounded limb. He was sweating slightly as they reached the top and moved over to the crenellations overlooking the fort. He leaned on the rail and pointed to the three other gatehouses. ‘I know the quartermaster doesn’t like having our artillery set up during the winter months, and the cold and damp does the kit no good, but get a bolt-thrower mounted on each tower. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the natives it’s that they have a mortal terror of our bolt-throwers and catapults. Especially when we use fire bolts. You should see them, Fortunus. Like fire from the heavens flashing into their ranks and bursting into flame and sparks. Nothing quite like it. So use them at the first sight of the enemy. If they get past those and over the ditch to the rampart, then it’s down to cold steel, brute strength, courage and good training. It’s the last that gives us the edge over the enemy, so keep the men drilling and push them to the limit. It’s when a man thinks he has reached the point of exhaustion that he finds that last reserve that will give him the confidence to face anything.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Macro looked the centurion in the eye and held out his hand. They clasped forearms and Macro nodded his satisfaction. ‘You’ll do fine, Fortunus. Trust me.’
‘Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.’
‘If you do, I’ll have your bollocks for breakfast.’
Fortunus chuckled, his jowls trembling with mirth. Then the laugh faded. ‘If we are attacked, do I take it that will mean the legate has been defeated?’
Macro thought a moment and shrugged. ‘Whether Quintatus has been defeated or is victorious makes no difference. You hold the fort until it falls, a relief column arrives or the enemy gives up and buggers off back into the mountains. That’s all that need concern you.’
‘Yes, sir. I understand.’
Macro caught sight of Optio Pandarus leading his section of mounted men towards the gate and straightened up. ‘Time for me to go. As of this moment, you are the garrison commander. The fort is in your hands, Centurion.’
Fortunus cleared his throat. ‘Yes, sir.’
They made their way down from the tower and emerged just as Pandarus and the others drew up. Macro ran his eyes over the Blood Crows and their latest recruit, the giant Lomus. The latter was leading a second mount and brought it forward to Macro. Like the other horses, it was laden with feed bags and the minimum kit that Macro would need for the ride to track down Legate Quintatus. He stood beside the horse, holding the reins and his vine cane in one hand, the other resting on the saddle horn. Instinctively he made to thrust himself up into the saddle, but his wounded leg refused to answer the call and he did not even leave the ground. Swearing under his breath, and embarrassed by the need to call for assistance he gritted his teeth and growled at Lomus.