‘This is that interesting, perhaps life-defining, moment, Tribune, that we all encounter when we least expect it, that moment of truth when the pit opens up before us, and we have only to step forward to be in it up to our neck. Do you have any questions you might want to ask me before we get down to the good old-fashioned contest to see which of us has the bigger cock? Any doubts as to which of us might end up raising his hand in respect at the end of that conversation?’
The legion tribune shook his head, clearly holding onto his rage by a fine thread.
‘I am Lucius Domitius Belletor, Military Tribune commanding the Seventh Cohort of Imperial Legion First Minervia, on detached duty to safeguard the city of Tungrorum. I have orders from my legion’s legatus to command the services of any and all suitable forces that come within my reach. Which means you, and your men, Prefect.’
He raised an eyebrow at Scaurus, who, holding his gaze, replied in a louder tone than before, ensuring that all of the men around the table could hear him.
‘Very well. I am Military Tribune Gaius Rutilius Scaurus, commanding the First and Second Tungrian Cohorts and on detached duty from the army of Britannia to seek and eliminate bandits, deserters and rebels from the province of Germania Inferior. I have orders from the governor of Britannia not to allow my force to fall under the command of any other officer unless I deem this to be in the interests of pursuing my given orders. Perhaps he foresaw just such an eventuality as this one.’ Belletor opened his mouth to speak, but Scaurus held up a hand. ‘I can see I haven’t yet convinced you, and I see nothing to be gained from our discussing this matter in public. Perhaps we ought to ask our colleagues and these other gentlemen to leave us alone for a few minutes?’
Belletor nodded slowly and turned back to the legion centurions, who were, to a man, gaping in silent amazement at the drama playing out before their eyes.
‘Leave us.’
The officers rose and headed for the door through which the Tungrians had entered, followed after an embarrassing pause by the two civilians. Julius, last to leave the room, closed the heavy oak doors and, spotting a thick curtain clearly designed to improve the privacy of the room, drew it across them.
‘I’m guessing you’re the senior man here?’
He turned to face the speaker, a grizzled man with broad shoulders and big hands, his face riven by a heavy scar that ran from his right eyebrow down across his upper cheek, bisecting his lips and reaching down to the point of his chin. Julius braced himself for the expected torrent of abuse, and both Dubnus and Marcus shifted their stances fractionally, subconsciously positioning themselves to fight. The speaker raised his eyebrows and lifted his hands to forestall any argument although he didn’t, Marcus noted, step back from the challenge.
‘No, there’s no need for you to feel threatened. We’re all on the same side here. I’m Sergius, First Spear of the Seventh Cohort.’ He put out a hand, and Julius shook it without hesitation. ‘Whatever’s going on in there probably has to be said between the two of them and then forgotten, so it’s best we’re out of earshot, right?’
Julius nodded, finding himself starting to warm to the other man despite the unfulfilled expectation of hostility.
‘I’m Julius, Centurion, First Tungrian Auxiliary Cohort, and these two are Dubnus and Corvus. Our first spear’s waiting at the west gate with the rest of the men. Any chance we could get them inside before it gets dark?’
Without the restrictions of an audience of their subordinates, Belletor promptly went on the offensive, putting his finger in Scaurus’s face and spitting a stream of fury at him.
‘How fucking dare you speak to me that way in front of my officers?’
The older man smiled into his anger, shaking his head.
‘You brought it on yourself, colleague. A simple quiet question or two would have shown you the real position of status between us, rather than what you’d like it to be. But let’s ignore your inability to ask questions before throwing your weight around.’
‘My legatus will hear about this soon enough! I’ll have you-’
Scaurus stepped forward, his face white with anger, putting his face inches away from the other man’s and making him take an involuntary step backwards.
‘That was the wrong choice of words, Tribune! Any sorting out between us is going to be done here, between us. Put any idea of using your legatus to deal with me out of your mind, because I’m here and he isn’t! I’ve dealt with your type of officer before, and I’ve learned that allowing your type of officer to delude yourselves only brings more grief than shattering your illusions nice and early. The days when even the least capable man with senatorial rank could tell veteran field commanders with equestrian rank what to do are dying away, Domitius Belletor. And as far as I’m concerned, in this particular small corner of the empire they may as well never have existed.’
He picked up the scroll from the table in front of him.
‘First, Tribune, my orders, which were handed to me by my provincial governor, insist that I operate independently of any other command unless I choose to do otherwise. Secondly, Tribune, the facts are that you’ve less than half my strength in spears and you’ve been given the Seventh, one of the traditionally weaker cohorts in any legion. Your command is highly likely to be packed with raw recruits and boys barely out of the first year’s training. And thirdly, Tribune, my perceptions of your achievements, if I’m being blunt, are that you’ve done little more since you got here than line the walls of this city with your troops. My officers were assaulted by a score of bandits little more than ten miles from these walls, and none of them showed any of the fear for our uniforms that I would have expected if your men were patrolling with anything like the necessary vigour. My two cohorts are hardened from recent battle in the barbarian uprising across the water in Britannia, and I have no intention of wasting their abilities by allowing them to sit around and go soft under your command.’
Belletor shook his head decisively, still refusing to concede the point, his lip curling in amazed contempt.
‘I am a legion tribune! That automatically gives me the right to command you, a mere auxiliary! Anything else is simply-’
To his obvious fury, Scaurus had turned his back and walked away from him, his boots rattling against the floor’s flagstones as he examined the murals decorating the walls. He replied without turning to face the other man, his voice rich with irony.
‘A legion tribune? I’ve stood in your boots as a legion tribune, but that was years ago, in the wars against the Quadi. I know how much power a broad-stripe tribune has, Domitius Belletor, hemmed in between the legion’s legatus and the more experienced narrow-stripe tribunes and their senior centurions, all of whom expect the right to tell you what to do. I’ve been fighting for the empire for the last ten years in one province or another, and I’ve earned my second tribunate the hard way, with this.’ He tapped the hilt of his sword. ‘So, far from being your subordinate, Tribune, I consider myself at worst your equal, and, in terms of my command’s strength and abilities, my own training, and my combat experience, clearly your superior. You’re free to play the big man with the local officials to your heart’s content, and you’re probably wise to keep your men behind these nice thick walls and out of harm’s way, but if you lift one finger to impede me as I go about ridding this province of the men preying upon it you will find me a very dangerous enemy indeed. You choose.’