The captain sat for a long moment, focusing on the young man, shook his head once again, and waved his hand in the direction of the small stool bearing the goblets.
“You do the honours while I start as I mean to go on,” he rumbled, as he fished in the small pouch Scortius had given him and dropped some of the contents into one of the goblets.
The engineer carefully filled the goblets, pouring the dark wine across the medicinal herbs in one and, replacing the wine bottle, reached up for the jug to water down the heady liquid. Varro lunged forward, gently knocking aside the water jug and wincing with the sudden sharp and violent pain that lashed him. As he slowly and carefully let out a measured breath and the pain subsided, he noticed the look of concern on the young soldier’s face. He waved his arm dismissively.
“Smells like good wine. Don’t waste it with water. B’sides, I think the stronger the better right now.”
The engineer nodded uncertainly and replaced the water jug.
“Perhaps I should go, sir? You need to rest.”
Varro frowned and, moving as slowly and carefully as possible, leaned forward, bringing his face close to his companion’s.
“Frankly, soldier, I’m groggy, in pretty constant pain, daren’t stand in case I topple and can’t reach out for fear of opening the wound up, so you stay. Where were we? Mind’s getting a little hazy.”
The young man nodded. “Sergeant Corda, Sir.”
“Ah yes. Known Corda since before there was a regular army; back in the days of the private armies. We were both on the field when Darius took the throne. Hell, I got splashed with Velutio’s blood when his head came off. ‘Course we were both non-commissioned then. There’s not a man in the army, nay the Empire, that I trust more than Corda.”
He reached down gingerly and took a deep pull from the goblet, wiping his hand across his mouth. He eyed the young engineer from beneath arched brows.
“How old are you lad?”
“Nineteen sir.”
Varro smiled. “You won’t really remember the chaos, do you? Before the Emperor?”
The young man shook his head.
“Actually sir, I was born to one of the tribes on the border. We weren’t really counted as part of the Empire then. It’s only since the borders have been settled we’ve even been allowed to enlist again.”
The captain continued to nod slowly, mulling back over the last few sentences when a thought struck him and his brow furrowed. He took another sip and shuffled back onto the bunk.
“You’re from one of the tribes up here?”
The young engineer looked up at the captain, his face worried. “Yes sir. I’m totally committed to the Empire, though. I…”
Varro waved aside the boy’s uncomfortable defensiveness.
“I’m not suggesting anything, lad. I’ve some questions, though.”
The young man nodded nervously and Varro continued.
“My knowledge of the Gods of these tribes is fairly limited, but I know a little. The white stag is Cernus, yes?”
The engineer nodded. “That’s right sir. Cernus of the beasts; Lord of the woodlands and more. He’s a symbol of nobility and pride.”
Varro squinted through the growing haze in his mind. He stared down into the almost empty goblet where the dregs of the wine lapped at the bedraggled remnants of the herbal mixture. Perhaps he’d underestimated the effects of Scortius’ medicine? Once more he forced himself to focus on the young man. Couldn’t afford to fall asleep quite yet. He was on the edge of something… something important. If only he could think what it was.
“Cernus. He’s connected with chieftainship, isn’t he?”
“Yes sir,” the young man took a sip of the wine and tipped his head to one side, unsure of the direction the conversation was taking. “He’s a God of portents and change. Just seeing him can alter a person’s life. Some see him on more than one occasion, but still not often. There’s the tale of Faenn An Ghalaeg who was visited by the Stag Lord each full moon, but then that’s just a legend and he ended up becoming a God himself.”
He noted the look on his commander’s face and swallowed nervously. “Of course, it’s all just barbarian folklore, sir.”
Varro shook his head. “Don’t put your origins down, lad. Only a fool believes he knows everything about the world. In some places the Imperial Raven and Wolf still hold little sway.”
The engineer continued to watch the captain carefully. The older officer’s eyes were starting to glaze and were already half closed.
“I think it’s time I went sir. You need to sleep.”
Varro nodded, his eyes flickering a couple of times and then focusing once more on his companion.
“You’re probably right, soldier. I want to speak to you again. Tell your sergeant that you’re excused departure duties in the morning. Report to my tent at reveille.” His eyes flicked closed once again, and it took the young man only a second to realise his commander was already asleep. He leapt forward and caught the captain, allowing the goblet to fall away and roll under the bunk while he gently lowered Varro down to the soft pillow.
Bending, he replaced the goblet on the tray, corked the bottle and quietly backed out of the tent, closing the flap as he left.
Chapter Two
Varro was awakened by the jarring blare of the horns calling reveille though, truth be told, he’d spent several hours drifting in and out of consciousness during the night through discomfort, so the interruption was not entirely unwelcome. The captain hauled himself very slowly and carefully from his bunk, still fully dressed in his bloodied tunic and the leather vest worn beneath the armour to prevent chafing, the sheets stained pink with the leakage from his wound. Wincing and gritting his teeth, he pulled himself slowly upright and reached out to the cupboard to steady himself. A little further movement brought on a wracking cough that threatened to floor him.
There was a respectful knock at the door and a voice called out.
”Are you alright sir? Can I help?”
Varro stood a moment, shaking, disconnected thoughts flittering around him like the memories of dreams. Slowly he focused on the tent flap and recalled the young engineer. Ah yes. He’d told the lad to come at reveille, hadn’t he?
“I’m ok lad. Come in. Is my body servant out there?”
The soldier lifted the heavy leather tent flap with one hand and poked his head through.
“He was here a few minutes ago, sir. He left toward the laundry tent saying something about your uniform.”
Varro nodded. Martis, his ever-efficient servant would be preparing clean clothes for the journey back to camp. He turned, staggering slightly, and the engineer was there in the blink of an eye, supporting his commander’s shoulder. Varro smiled a weary smile and, as he sat to regain his balance and began to unlace the boots he’d slept in last night, a thought welled up and he eyed the engineer speculatively.
“What’s your name, lad?”
“Salonius, sir,” the young man replied, stamping his feet and coming to a perfect salute.
Varro finished unlacing his boots and stood, allowing Salonius to take the brunt of his weight as he swayed slightly. Two steps forward and he swept aside the tent flap and gestured at one of the two soldiers on guard outside, bearing the white horsehair crest of the command guard.
“Send word to the sergeant of engineers that I’m seconding one of his men. Salonius is being reassigned. And get him a white crest and pass the details along to my clerk.”
“Sir!” barked the guard as he snapped a salute and jogged off toward the engineers’ compound, visible above the lines of tents as a collection of tall, oak-beamed siege engines and plumes of smoke, accompanied by the sound of smiths hammering iron. Varro glanced round at his newest guard.
“Go and get your personal gear. Ignore the tent or any shared equipment and report back to here in an hour to help take the headquarters tent down. We’ll be moving out just after lunch.”