Scaurus nodded, turning to Castus with a questioning look.
‘What do you think, Prefect? After all, I’ve no desire to spill blood in a legion headquarters.’
The older man shrugged.
‘I share your reticence to dishonour this place. And it’s hardly Fulvius Sorex’s fault if he happens to find himself a victim of unhappy circumstance.’
‘Very well colleague, we’ll let you live. There is, however, the small matter of making your silence on the subject of our whereabouts look convincing. Surely the record of our presence in the headquarters tonight will leave you open to the question as to why you didn’t simply call out the guard to take us captive, if you had even the slightest suspicion as to our intentions? No, we have to make this look more convincing …’
Castus held up a hand, reaching into a belt pouch for a small bottle.
‘One of the curses of thirty years’ service is that I tend to be troubled by the ghosts of men long dead. On those infrequent occasions when I find myself unable to sleep, a few drops of this extract of certain medicinal herbs puts me to sleep as quickly as a lamp being snuffed.’
Scaurus turned back to his colleague.
‘There you have it, the perfect answer. You will consume enough of the Prefect’s draught to put you to sleep for the night, and I’ll tell the duty centurion that you’re so drunk that I couldn’t get any sense out of you. After all, it isn’t every day that a man gains the glory of having regained his legion’s eagle, is it? You could be forgiven for having taken a cup or two of wine on board, I would have thought?’
Sorex nodded, the relief he was feeling transparent to every man in the room.
‘And a good night’s sleep thrown into the bargain. Of course, it’s an excellent idea.’
He reached for the wine flask, pouring two cups of wine and handing one to Scaurus, then turned and offered the other to Castus with a small bow. The camp prefect carefully tipped his medicine bottle to allow three drops of the dark, oily mixture to drip into the cup, chatting to the tribune as he did so.
‘I must warn you, even this diluted the draught is almost revoltingly sweet. The best way to consume the drink is to tip it straight back, or you may find yourself so put off that you’re unable to force the rest down your neck. Here’s one more drop for good luck, eh? Gods below but you’ll sleep well tonight, and I have to warn you that you may have a bit of a headache when you wake up …’
Every man in the room started as the sound of a sword being pulled from its scabbard rasped out, and all eyes turned to Marcus as he stepped forward with Legatus Sollemnis’s eagle’s-head-pommelled sword shining in the lamplight.
‘You’re going to let him live? The traitor who sent us north to The Fang with the intention of having the Venicones overrun an entire cohort in the hope of killing just one man? The bastard who’s been trying every trick at his disposal to put my wife on her back despite knowing her to be an honourable Roman matron?’
He advanced towards the terrified tribune with a look of unbridled fury, raising the gladius until its point was aimed squarely at his face. Scaurus raised a hand to Julius, who was readying himself to leap at his friend from behind, forestalling the attack as he stepped into his centurion’s path.
‘Centurion Corvus, lower your sword. You know that there is no honour to be gained from revenge taken in this way. And besides, you can console yourself with the knowledge that Fulvius Sorex will have a lifetime to regret the choices he made in this matter.’
He stared at Marcus steadily, watching as the young Roman looked first at Sorex, still rooted to the spot with fear, and then darted a glance at Castus, who simply raised his eyebrows in reply. Nodding slowly in recognition of the tribune’s order, he sheathed the sword and stepped back into the shadows alongside Julius, ignoring the glare that the first spear played upon him. Heaving a sigh of relief, Scaurus beckoned the camp prefect forward, and watched as Castus handed the wine cup to the red-faced Sorex with a wink.
‘Remember, down in one’s the only way to tolerate the sickly taste.’
He watched approvingly as Sorex upended the cup. The tribune shrugged at them, his face baffled at the absence of any unpleasant taste.
‘A little fruity, but there’s really nothing to it. So, how long will it take to have effect?’
Castus smiled at him, indicating his chair with a hand.
‘I’d sit down now, Fulvius Sorex, if I were you. The drug works quickly at that concentration.’
The tribune turned to walk back around his desk, but swayed where he stood as the concoction started to take a grip of him. Scaurus and Castus took an arm apiece and helped him into the chair, and the senior tribune took the replica eagle and fitted it into his hands with a faint smile.
‘Here, you can cuddle up to this. It’ll look all the more credible if anyone puts their head around the door. I’ll look after the fake for you.’
Sorex opened his mouth to speak, but although his mouth moved it made no sound. Castus tousled his hair affectionately.
‘Lost your tongue, Sorex? It’s no surprise to me, the lady who gave me the draught told me that it often silences its victims, in that short time between ingestion and the onset of the poison’s symptoms, and it seems that she was right. So I feel it only fair to tell you that while you were gibbering at Centurion Corvus, the Prefect here added another dozen drops of that rather powerful medicine to your drink.’ He smiled down at the tribune’s twitch of an eyebrow, his body apparently already paralysed by the drug’s powerful dose. ‘Yes, you’ll be dead very shortly now, and without a single mark to hint at the manner of your death. Sat here cuddling up to your legion’s eagle, I don’t doubt that the centurions will be quick to deify you as having died of the sheer joy of your success. After all, you didn’t seriously think we were going to fall for that “my word as a Roman gentleman” nonsense, did you?’
Sorex started, his tongue protruding from his mouth as he shuddered and fought for breath. Castus lifted his uncomprehending face, his smile hard and cruel as the younger man fought for his life, his breath coming in tiny pants as the poison slowly but surely squeezed the last vestiges of life from his body.
‘And now come the shakes, Sorex, the terrifying struggle to breathe and the slide into unconsciousness. Fitting punishment for a man with your delight in forcing others to your will, like my beautiful Desidra and others before her, I don’t doubt. She confessed it all to me earlier, Sorex, she told me what you’d forced her to do in defence of the last years of my career, and made me promise not to ruin my life by taking my sword to you. Fortunately your other victim had already provided me with the perfect means of taking my revenge …’ He stopped talking, realising that the last light had faded from the tribune’s eyes. ‘I think he’s gone now.’
Scaurus put a finger to the tribune’s neck.
‘Indeed he is. Let’s be on our way. You can have this, Centurion, as the reward for restraining that magnificent temper of yours.’ He passed Marcus the genuine eagle. ‘I think it’s best if we keep this for the time being, and I can’t think of a man who’s better qualified to care for it until the time comes to return it to the right person. And now I think it’s time that we were on our way. We’ve a lot to prepare if we’re going to march south at first light, and little enough time in which to do it.’
The legion’s senior centurion was waiting for them outside Sorex’s office, his pre-arranged presence clearly making the legionaries on guard nervous to judge from the sweat running down their necks, and the camp prefect took him aside with a broad smile.
‘It’s the best possible news, First Spear; the eagle that the tribune and his men captured yesterday is clearly genuine. You can’t fake that level of craftsmanship, and it has all of the secret marks that confirm it was made in Rome at the imperial armouries. Mars be praised, we’ve restored the legion’s good name!’ He handed the centurion a tablet bound in ash and secured with a shining brass hook and eye. ‘Here’s the record of its markings that your last eagle bearer kept which will help you to prove its provenance. I congratulate you upon the return of so important a symbol of imperial power, and the removal of the threat that has hung over this legion since the battle where it was lost.’