The barracks outside Hispellum were well maintained by the town council and, having spent the previous two nights in goat-leather tents, the recruits and their officers were glad at the prospect of a warm and dry night's rest.
As night fell the officers met in the small mess where a slave had laid a fire and the town council had sent several jars of wine and some cured sides of venison to the new arrivals. No doubt they hoped that the soldiers would get drunk in the barracks and not need to venture inside the town walls. The officers were joined by a merchant, who said that he had been unable to find a room in the town. He sat apart from them and watched in silence as the soldiers talked.
'Any more drop out today?' Macro asked hopefully.
Minucius nodded. 'One. An old boy. Claudius Afer. He collapsed on the road this morning. I told him if he didn't catch up he was on his own. Looks like that's one we can scratch off the intake.'
'How many so far?' Macro asked.
'Aside from Afer, let me think. Eight. And we'll lose more as we cross the mountains. We always do. There's no more shelter for three days after Hispellum and we'll spend two nights high up. At this time of year there'll be snow and ice, and the new boys will hate every moment of it. By the time we reach Ravenna we'll have winnowed out most of the weaklings. Those that are left should make good enough marines. Cheers!'
As he raised his cup and drank deeply Macro was busy doing some mental maths. Eight men down, from a total strength of a hundred and fifty, was, on the face of it, disappointing. They'd need to lose another thirty-odd for him to win the bet safely. He looked up as Minucius emptied his cup and reached for the wine jar.
'How many do you expect to lose before we get clear of the mountains?'
'How many?' He puffed out his cheeks. 'Usually something like a fifth to a quarter of the new recruits. I'd expect a lesser proportion if these were men destined for the legions. The fitness test sees to that. For marines, alas, the standard is somewhat lower.'
'A fifth to a quarter,' Macro mused with a smile, and caught Cato's eye.'Better get used to the idea of a quiet first month in Ravenna.'
'We're not there yet,' Cato replied.'So don't go spending my money before it's yours.'
Minucius looked at them with a confused expression. 'Now, what's that all about?'
'It's nothing,' Macro smiled quickly.'Drink up. There's plenty more to get through before the night's done.' Macro turned back to Minucius. 'You've served with the auxiliaries, you say?'
'That's right. Four years with an infantry unit. In Syria.'
'Syria!' Macro's expression gleamed with sudden excitement and he scraped his stool closer to Minucius.
Cato raised his eyes despairingly. 'Here we go again. Bloody Syria…'
'Quiet, boy!' Macro snapped.'The grown-ups are talking. Now then – Syria. Tell me all about it. Especially the women. Are they as loose as I've heard?'
Minucius shrugged. 'Wouldn't know about that. I was posted at some shitty little frontier fort beyond Heirapolis for the best part of five years. Hardly saw a woman from one month to the next. Plenty of sheep, though.'
Macro's expression soured. 'You mean…?'
Minucius scratched his chin. 'That's why the cohort was known as "The Rams".'
'Oh. I'm sorry.'
'Sorry?' Minucius looked confused. 'Nothing to be sorry about. Most of them were good lays. And they didn't charge and give you any stupid back chat. Mind you, it was a bloody hard job catching any of the buggers in the first place. You'd have better odds on getting a dose of the clap from a vestal virgin. On second thoughts… Anyway, it took me a while, but I discovered the trick of it in the end. Want to know?'
Macro's distaste had given way to a prurient compulsion to know the sordid details, so he took another sip of wine and nodded. Minucius leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered his voice. Though not so low that some of the optios sitting nearby could not overhear and Cato noticed them giving each other knowing looks.
'The trick of it,' Minucius explained, 'is to creep up on them nice and quiet, like. Take your boots off first, and balance on the balls of your feet. Approach from downwind and move very slowly. Too fast and you'll startle the buggers and have to start all over again. With a bit of practice you should be able to get within ten feet of 'em. Now's the clever part.' He paused and looked at Macro.
Macro nodded. 'Go on.'
'You crouch down low. Take a deep breath, and make a sound like grass…' He stared at Macro a moment, then nodded seriously and leaned back on his stool.
After a moment Macro frowned. 'Like grass?'
'Yes, grass.'
Macro glanced at Cato to make sure that he wasn't going mad.'But… you're taking the piss. Aren't you?'
'Taking the piss?' Minucius glared at him in outrage for a moment, then the expression crumbled and he roared with laughter. The optios joined in and soon tears were rolling down the old centurion's weathered face. 'Of course I fucking am! You dozy twat.'
Macro's expression darkened dangerously and Cato leaned towards him. 'Take it easy. You asked for that.'
For a moment it looked as if Macro would not control his anger, then he glanced round the room and saw that expressions on the other men's faces were good-humoured enough, and he relented.
'Yes. Very fucking funny. You're a bloody riot, Minucius.'
'No harm intended, son.' Minucius slapped him on the shoulder and recharged Macro's cup.'Come on. A toast. To the harems of Syria. To the best watering holes, so to speak, and the best posting any clapped-out centurion can hope for!'
He downed the wine in one go, and after the briefest of hesitation Macro followed suit as Cato let out a sigh of relief.
'Seriously, though,' Minucius continued,'I doubt I'll ever get the chance to return there. Too old now.'
'How old?'
'Fifty-six. Joined up when I was twenty, to get away from the family of a girl I got pregnant. That was a long time ago,' he mused. 'Anyway, I'm happy enough in the marines. I've settled down and found myself a good woman. It's a nice, quiet life,' he added fondly, and then frowned. 'At least it was, until several months ago. When those pirates started causing trouble.'
Cato leaned forward. 'Tell us about the pirates.'
Minucius ran a hand through his grey thinning hair as he collected his thoughts.'It began with a few ships failing to make port. As I said, this was nearly a year ago, and there's far less shipping over the winter season. So at first we thought they must have foundered. Trouble was, when spring came, more ships went missing, enough to look suspicious. Then, one evening, a small cruiser made port. You know, one of those fancy yachts that rich men use. They'd been cruising down the coast of Illyricum when two pirate ships jumped them. It was touch and go for a few hours. The pirates damaged some of their running gear, and killed most of the crew with missile fire. But the survivors managed to get a small lead over the pirates, just enough to pull out of range, and they cut across the sea towards the Umbrian coast and made Ravenna. It was them that told us about the pirates.
'I guess that they must have known that their secret was out, and since then they've been operating freely up and down the coast – mostly their side of the sea, but there have been isolated raids into small ports on our coast. They're getting quite bold.'
'And what about our navy?' Cato asked. 'Surely they've done something about it.'
'Not that easy, lad. We can patrol our coast easily enough but the far shore is riddled with small islands and inlets, some of which have never been charted. You could hide a fleet there and not be discovered for months. And that's what they've got. The pirates must have been converting some of the vessels they'd taken. Last I heard they'd got hold of a couple of triremes. We've even lost some of our own ships.'