Scaurus waved a dismissive hand.
‘Don’t trouble yourself with the history lesson, colleague. The centurions here both fought in that battle, and witnessed your legion’s betrayal by one of your predecessors, although I expect his part of the disaster has been quietly forgotten since then, given who his father was.’ He paused and waited for Sorex to acknowledge the open secret that it was the praetorian prefect’s son who had orchestrated the Sixth Legion’s disastrous losses for his own ends. ‘Centurion Corvus was part of the fruitless hunt for the legion’s lost eagle, and all three of us subsequently took revenge upon Calgus and his tribe for their actions.’
Sorex took a moment to master his irritation at being cut off.
‘I see. Well then, you may find my news on the subject of the eagle, the legatus’s head and this fellow Calgus of interest. We have intelligence that all three are gathered in the same place, ripe for capture.’
Marcus shook his head with an expression of disbelief.
‘That’s impossible, Tribune. I killed Calgus before we left the province.’
Sorex raised a patrician eyebrow.
‘You killed him, Centurion? You actually saw him die? Because the way I’ve heard it, he was crippled and left for dead by a Roman officer, in the expectation that the wolves would find him and exact an unpleasantly slow death. Except, it seems, by means which I neither understand nor particularly care about, he managed to avoid such a gruesome end. And more to the point, Centurion Corvus, he apparently still has possession of my legion’s eagle. An eagle whose loss, as you all well know, puts the Sixth on borrowed time and at constant risk of being cashiered and broken up to reinforce the other legions. In its place another legion will be raised, and the Sixth’s officers will either be sent to serve elsewhere under the cloud of their shame or simply dismissed from imperial service in disgrace, with their careers at a premature and ignominious end. All of which means that it will come as no surprise to you that before formally relinquishing his command to me, Legatus Equitius charged me with achieving just one task before his replacement arrives. He ordered me to spare no effort in finding and retrieving the Sixth Legion’s eagle, and I gave him my word that I would do so. And let me assure you, gentlemen, whatever else I may or may not be, I am certainly a man of my word.’
Prefect Castus leaned forward again, his gaze locked on Scaurus.
‘So here we are, Rutilius Scaurus, in possession of detailed knowledge of where the legion’s eagle waits impatiently to be retrieved, but without a single man we can task to its rescue without putting them at risk of dreadful retribution if their disobedience is discovered. Not to mention the strong potential for our own execution. But you and your men are subject to no such restriction. You can be away into the frontier zone in hours, and have the Sixth’s eagle safely back in friendly hands within days, not to mention the dead legatus’s head. It’s time the poor man was made whole, and allowed to sleep in peace with his reputation restored, and you’re just the men to bring that about, I’d say.’
When Scaurus and his officers returned to the dock in the company of the legion officers they were greeted by the sight of the first of the Tungrian cohort’s transports sidling up to the quayside. The ship had a round-bottomed hull, having been constructed for carrying capacity rather than for speed, and, with its sails for the most part lowered and only enough canvas spread to allow it to crawl carefully into port, it was wallowing on the incoming tide in a way that Marcus knew from grim experience would be making the men on board queasy and eager to disembark.
‘That’s your century, isn’t it, Dubnus?’
The big man stared hard at the ship for a moment before nodding his agreement.
‘Yes. There’s my miserable sod of a standard bearer busy heaving his breakfast over the side. A shame to have got so close to dry land and still not manage to keep your biscuits down.’ He winked at Titus and Marcus before snapping to attention and throwing tribune and first spear a vigorous salute, his facial expression the epitome of determination. ‘I’ll go and get them disembarked and off into the transit barracks, with your permission First Spear?’
Julius nodded, and Titus waved him away with a dirty look, leaning close to Marcus and muttering a comment in a rumbling tone so that only his colleague would hear it.
‘Someone needs to tell that boy that sucking up isn’t going to get him anywhere. Look at the smirk on the camp prefect’s face.’
The two centurions stared at the scene before them on the quay’s worn planks. The warship Mercurius had undocked and was backing away from the quay, the oarsmen pulling its heavy hull away from the land with slow, rhythmic strokes while the marines on deck stared impassively down at the legion centuries standing guard over the ten chests they had delivered from Germania. Julius looked over at the legionaries, then back at the warship’s slowly receding bulk.
‘They’ll anchor in the channel to make room for another transport, so you can bet that Tribune Sorex is going to want to get those chests away before another century of our lads is dumped into his lap, if they contain what we’re all thinking.’
The legion tribune was engaged in brisk discussion with the procurator who had accompanied the cargo across the German Sea, consulting a writing tablet that the other man had produced for his perusal. As the Tungrian officers watched, Avus pulled a purse from his belt and tipped out a handful of coins for the tribune to examine, waiting while Sorex picked one and raised it for closer examination. Titus’s eyes narrowed as he watched the two men discussing the chests’ contents, and at length he growled a single word.
‘Gold.’
Marcus nodded his agreement with his friend’s opinion.
‘Indeed. And if each of those chests is filled with coins like that one then we’re looking at enough money to pay all three Britannia legions for a year or more.’
Sorex placed the coin back in the official’s hand and nodded, gesturing to the nearest of the chests. He waited while the heavy lock was opened, waving the closest soldiers away before raising the lid and peering at the contents for a moment. Julius snorted, sharing a moment of amusement with his tribune.
‘Now there’s a man with temptation put before him.’
‘I doubt it.’ Marcus and Julius turned to look at Prefect Castus who had moved silently to stand alongside the first spear. ‘The tribune’s father is an extremely rich man. I doubt that the sight of even that much gold is going to excite him when his father’s property in Rome is probably easily worth two or three times as much. He’ll make very sure that the chests are carefully watched though, set guards upon the guards so to speak.’
Marcus frowned at the sight of the tribune moving on to the next chest and waving a hand to order the procurator to open it for his perusal.
‘What’s it all for, Camp Prefect? Why bring so much money into the country in one shipment and risk losing the lot in the event of a storm?’
Castus shrugged.
‘That sort of information is beyond my need to know, I’m relieved to say. My job is simply to make sure that it all gets to Yew Grove without any of it going missing, after which I shall bury it nice and safely in the treasury next to the chapel of the standards and then start praying for that gaping empty space in the chapel where there should be an eagle to be filled before the empire finally runs out of patience with the Sixth.’
He looked out into the mist, tipping his head to a dark spot which was slowly coalescing into the shape of another transport creeping into port to take the place vacated by the now invisible warship.