Varro nodded with satisfaction.
“Assuming they’re a normal outpost garrison, there’s only going to be two left up there.” He reached up and started to untie his reins from the branch. “And I’m guessing that our two friends are among the riders coming down here we’ll just have two lightly armed guards to deal with there.”
Salonius reached out and grasped his own reins. He stopped for a moment and then put a finger to his mouth and cupped his hand around his ear. The others fell silent and listened intently. The drumming of hooves was deadened somewhat by the undergrowth between the open clearing and the road around six hundred yards away, but there were clearly several riders pushing their horses as hard as they dare.
Once the sound of the hooves began to recede and the riders were out of sight in the direction of the village, the three slowly made their way out of the bushes and onto the road. There was no sign of the horsemen passing bar the slowly settling dust kicked up by their passage. As they mounted and began to move at a brisk pace up the valley Salonius, with a troubled look on his face, cleared his throat and looked across at Varro.
“I can’t do that again, sir.”
“What?” Varro replied in confusion.
“I’m a soldier” he said flatly. “It’s not fear. I’ll fight the enemies of the Empire. I’ll go into battle with no regrets, sir. But…”
“What?” the captain repeated, with a trace of irritation.
“I’ll fight the Empire’s enemies, sir, but I won’t execute any more of its men.”
Catilina raised an eyebrow and leaned across.
“I know Varro, Salonius. He won’t have liked this any more than you, but those men were no longer soldiers of the Empire. They were prepared to kill us. That makes them fair game.”
“Yes ma’am, I know. It’s just… well I don’t think a soldier should be required to torture or execute. That’s why we have provosts.”
Varro looked down for a moment and then fixed his young companion with a hard look.
“Sometimes you have to be everything from the accuser to the executioner. It’s not a nice thing, but it’s necessary. If you ever intend to make it as a sergeant or even an officer you have to understand that. It’s not easy, and everything about you tells you it’s wrong, but you have to push yourself past that and do what needs doing.”
“You’ve done that before, sir?” Salonius asked.
Varro nodded sullenly.
“A couple of years ago we had a problem with supplies. We were campaigning in the mountains about thirty miles west of here and had to drop to half rations for a week or so, to eke out our stores. But the supply trains never came. So we had to drop further, to quarter rations. I sent a request to Vengen for extra supplies but things were almost as bad there.”
The young man nodded and risked an interruption.
“I remember the time. Crop failures all over the north. The tribes were starving too.”
The Captain smiled sympathetically. “It was a hard time for everyone. Finally we were on emergency rations for more than a week; not really enough to feed a dog, let alone a human being. The men were beginning to lose their fighting strength, but we couldn’t afford to leave our position.”
He grasped the reins tighter and shared a look with Catilina that Salonius couldn’t see.
“Things just kept getting worse and the mood of the men got ugly. We started having to break up fights over food. We even had the occasional desertion, though why’s beyond me. If the army had no food, why would a man think he could do better for himself? And then one night the camp guards caught three men stealing food from the commander’s supply; from my supplies, you see. Well, it’s not as though I had any more spare food than any other man; I was living on the same rations as them, but some men will always think their officers feast on a roast hog while they starve. The thieves attacked the guards when they were spotted and almost killed one of them before they were overcome.”
He squared his shoulders.
“Well, what could I do? I know there were extenuating circumstances, but there comes a point when discipline has to be maintained, even at the expense of personal preference.”
“What did you do, Sir?”
“We found out who the ringleader was; a promising young soldier called Terentius. He took responsibility straight away. Good man really. It meant he saved his companions.”
Varro glanced across at his young audience and let out an explosive sigh.
“I had the other two beat him to death on the parade ground in front of the entire cohort.”
Salonius lowered his eyes.
“It’s all about discipline, Salonius” the captain added. “You sometimes have to make hard choices and do unpleasant things because, if you don’t, you lose control and without control an army turns into a wolf pack.”
Salonius nodded.
“I understand that sir; I’m just not sure whether I’d be able to do that.”
“Then I hope you’re never given the situation.”
The young man continued to nod, grimly. “So what do we do when we get to the outpost? Those two men are probably entirely innocent.”
“Relax” Varro smiled. “Catilina and I worked that out while you were keeping watch.”
The way station was more of a small fortress than a simple outpost. Four walls roughly two hundred feet long enclosed two barracks, a commander’s room, garrison office, a small granary and storeroom and a small house to provide accommodation for passing dignitaries, Imperial couriers or men of rank. The single, heavy gate was surmounted by a higher parapet. And yet this small fort seemed strangely quiet and empty as Catilina approached, the gentle breeze that flowed down the valley rippling the rough and basic cloak wrapped around her.
As she walked, she carefully kicked up as much dust as she could, to dirty her clothing and make herself appear more mean and poor than her clothes would normally suggest. Her arm was beginning to ache from the heavy bundle of sticks she carried awkwardly. The gate of the way station stood open, surprisingly. She narrowed her eyes and squinted through the dust she’d created. Two figures stood deep in conversation in the gate’s interior.
Salonius and Varro had been careful to stay far enough back that there was no chance of being spotted from the station but, given the soldiers’ lack of attention, they could likely have walked up to the gate before being seen. Still, while her father would have the men hauled over the coals for their ineptitude, she had no complaints since it all served their cause so well.
Finally, as she was little more than ten yards away, one of the men spotted her and held his spear point toward her menacingly.
“Who’s that?” he barked.
“Sir…” she called back, hurrying, but giving herself a slight shuffling gait.
“I said who goes there?”
Catilina smiled inwardly. Varro had insisted that they’d need a signal, but she’d been sure he’d be able to tell when she’d arrived. She shuffled to a halt and waved her sticks as best she could.”
“Magda… from the farm, sir!”
The spear wavered for a moment and the second man stepped out of the gate’s shadow and into the sunlight.
“What do you want, woman!”
“Your men…” she broke into a grating cough that positively reeked of serious illness. Her mother had always said that if the family lost their wealth and privilege Catilina had a future on the stage. It was important to both create the right impression and to drag this encounter out as long as she could.
“What!”
The man was quickly getting angry. Balance was required. She couldn’t afford to lose his attention, but she also could not have him run and fetch his horse.
“Your men… down to the village.”
“What about them!” As the first man grounded his spear, Catilina tried not to smile. The other, more senior, guard reached out and grasped her by the upper arms. Over his shoulder, she watched Varro step like a cat from the bushes beside the fort and creep along the wall toward the relaxing guard’s back. She looked up into the commander’s eyes.