“Care to tell me what that was about now?”
Varro glanced back quickly to see the impatient sergeant hustling his men along.
“As I said: an impossible letter. “ He frowned. “A letter from an impossible source… or a lie.”
“Varro…”
“It’s from my cousin Petrus.”
Salonius frowned. “Why is that so strange, sir?”
Varro took another quick look behind him and saw that the provosts were hurrying to catch up. He settled into the saddle and growled.
“Because Petrus has been dead for a decade now.”
As the party rode slowly in through the gates of the fort, two of the provosts peeled off from the group and made for the hospital with the body of the unfortunate soldier. The sergeant exchanged quick words with another of his men and as the rider trotted off ahead, he pulled alongside Varro and eyed him suspiciously.
“My subordinate has gone ahead to arrange to meet with the marshal and the prefect.”
Varro nodded.
“Good for him.”
The whole party continued on in silence along the busy main street of the fort, though all the occupants hurriedly shifted out of the way of a senior officer and a noblewoman in the midst of a group of provosts. Two minutes later they reined in at the side of the headquarters building, where the other provost stood waiting. As they dismounted, he remained expressionless and at attention and followed in behind his sergeant as they entered the building. Members of the marshal’s guard joined them inside the doorway and escorted them through the colonnaded courtyard and through the main hall, into the main room where Sabian sat at a wide oak table with prefect Cristus on his left.
Salonius came to a halt next to the captain and scanned the room quickly and subtly. It was rare that anyone other than an officer or a guardsman saw the inside of the prefect’s office. Office was perhaps an understatement. The room was large enough to mount and fire a catapult in. Bright light streamed in through large leaded dormer windows high in the roof some twenty five feet above him. The floor was decorated in a mosaic depicting the Imperial raven, and maps and trophies adorned the walls all around. To a soldier who’d spent most of his time in a shared barrack block, the effect was quite breathtaking.
“Sergeant.” A curt acknowledgement of their presence from Sabian, who was busy studying paperwork on his table, drew Salonius’ attention back to the reason for their presence.
Sabian glanced up and Varro assumed he was not the only one who saw the anger in the marshal’s eyes or heard the irritation in his voice as he said sharply “Catalina! Join me.”
For a moment Catilina looked as though she might argue, but in the end good sense won her over and with a quiet “father,” she walked across the room and took the free seat to her father’s right. He gave her a quick look that Varro couldn’t see, though he was sure he knew what words that look conveyed. Then the marshal pushed the ledger away from him and sat back.
“Sergeant, what’s this all about?”
The provost stepped forward.
“Sir, three locals came to the gates this morning to inform us they had found a body. The father, whose name…”
”A succinct version if you please” barked Sabian. Varro sighed. Catilina had clearly put her father in a sharp and uncooperative mood.
The sergeant shifted uneasily.
“They found the body of a soldier in a ditch around a mile away. He’d been stabbed six times. The locals had quickly searched the soldier for any identification and had discovered a sealed leather wallet addressed to Captain Varro. The captain visited the body with us and had confirmed that he does not know the soldier in question, but now refuses to relinquish the item back to the provosts.”
“Is this true, Varro?”
The captain nodded.
“You know, captain, that in matters of military law, the provosts have the right to seize and withhold what they consider to be evidence. You may outrank the sergeant, but his authority is clear.”
“Ordinarily, sir, I would agree,” Varro stated clearly. “However, I feel that in the circumstances, certain aspects need to be considered before I’ll agree to let this go.”
“What aspects?” Sabian was beginning to look annoyed.
Varro drew himself up straight.
“If I said the wallet was connected with Petrus, would you expect me to relinquish it, sir?”
Sabian sat back heavily.
“Petrus?”
“Yes, marshal.”
Sabian waved his hand dismissively at the provosts.
“Sergeant, this is no longer your issue. Take your men back to barracks.”
The sergeant blinked in surprise, and then cast an angry glance at Varro before saluting, turning on his heel and marching from the room, followed swiftly by his provosts. Sabian frowned at Varro and the captain cleared his throat meaningfully.
Sabian rubbed his brow wearily and then turned to the fourth army’s prefect.
“Cristus, would you be so kind as to allow Varro and myself a little privacy.”
The prefect nodded sharply and stood, striding quietly from the room, though Varro couldn’t help glimpsing the irritation on the man’s face as he walked past the two men standing in the centre of the room.
“Sir?”
He turned to his side and realised that Salonius was awaiting the order to withdraw.
“No, Salonius. I need you to stay here.”
Sabian glanced briefly at Catilina and then beckoned to the captain. The room suddenly seemed remarkably large and empty with only four occupants. Varro nodded at Salonius and the two soldiers approached the table. Varro fiddled with the tie on the leather wallet.
“You remember Petrus, sir?”
As Sabian nodded, Salonius cleared his throat.
“Sir, if you’ll pardon the question, who is Petrus?”
The marshal leaned forward over the desk and cradled his fingers.
“Do you know the story of your prefect and the defence of Saravis Fork, soldier?”
Salonius nodded respectfully. “I know the story, sir. And Petrus?”
“Was my cousin,” Varro stated in a flat voice.
Salonius turned and blinked in surprise as the captain faced him and continued.
“My cousin, and the senior sergeant in Cristus’ cohort. We were the same age and both served under the marshal when Velutio ruled, along with Corda. But by the time Cristus pulled back from Saravis Fork, he’d lost three quarters of his men. Petrus had died in the siege.”
Sabian turned his gaze to the young soldier by Varro’s side.
“Your captain came to see me on Cristus’ return. He requested permission to take a scouting party out to the mountains to look for survivors; to look for Petrus, I suppose. I turned down his request. Cristus was already being commissioned to lead a punitive campaign.”
He coughed and reached out his hand towards Varro.
“I assume you have no objection to me reading this note.”
“Of course not, marshal. There’s not actually much to it, but… well I gather you’ve heard my news?”
Sabian let his hand fall to the table, and patted the rough wood reflectively.
“I have. I was intending to come and see you this afternoon to talk about it, but events seem to have run away with us.”
“Well, sir” Varro continued, “I’m fairly sure someone within the fortress is behind this and, given that, I’m doing my best to keep anything that might be remotely relevant under wraps.”
The marshal leaned back.
“You fear you have been poisoned by one of our own men?”
“I have reason to believe so, sir. I’m not sure of how all this ties in yet, sir, but I’m pretty sure it does. I was wounded in battle, as you know, but the wound was inflicted using a fine imperial blade coated with poison, albeit wielded by a barbarian. The sword seems to have vanished like a morning mist, but I intend to find it. It’s the only connection I had to my enemy… until this morning.”