Obduro stood in silence for a moment, absorbing the news Petrus had related, before replying in a voice that was harder than before.
‘I could burn you out, Petrus.’
The gang leader shrugged again.
‘Yes, you could. You could send your men to break in and set fire to my establishment, but I give you fair warning that it’s a solid old thing, this brothel, and I’ve added to its security since I bought it, in the event that I might need a bolt-hole if everything went wrong. Getting in might not be as simple as you imagine. And you might want to be aware that my men on the roof tell me they can see torches coming up the road from the west. A lot of torches. So you might want to be about the rest of your business and away, before a vengeful Roman tribune arrives and separates that helmet from the rest of you, with your head still in it. Just a thought.’
Obduro thought again, then turned away, calling back over his shoulder.
‘You’d best sleep with an eye open from now on, Petrus. A man with as much money as I’ll be taking with me can buy a lot of assassins!’
The gang leader watched him lead his men away, then called back softly into the room behind him to the leader of the heavily built and well-armed enforcers he had gathered to his side once the Tungrians had left the city.
‘Quickly, away down that bitch’s hidden staircase and follow him, but do it invisibly or it’ll be you paying the price of failure. We’ll wait until he’s opened the vault, then step in and take his profits. I’ll not be threatened with death in my own city and then let him get away with enough gold to buy a full century of hired killers.’
The leading Tungrian centuries deployed into line half a mile from the blazing grain store, the ground before them lit by the fire still burning on the store’s south-western side. As prefect and first spear waited in silence for the remainder of the cohort to complete their manoeuvre from column into line, another tongue of fire leapt skywards, further lightening the ground before them, followed a moment later by another huge explosion that slapped at the soldiers’ ears.
‘Whoever’s in command in there seems to be using his head well enough.’
Frontinius nodded dourly at the tribune’s comment, his seamed face ruddy in the light cast by the store’s blazing fires.
‘Indeed, if it’s still attached to his shoulders. And anyone within a hundred paces of that explosion won’t be hearing anything for a while.’ He looked about him, searching for the raised century standards that indicated that his centuries were in line and ready to advance. ‘The First Cohort’s ready, Tribune. I was going to wait for the second and third lines to be formed, but given what’s happening over there I suggest we get moving before Obduro’s men recover from their nasty surprise and make a run for it.’ Scaurus gestured his assent, his attention still held by the twin conflagrations before them. Frontinius pushed his way back through the first century’s line, bellowing an order at the closest centurion of the Second Cohort, whose line was still only half formed as each of its centuries split from the line of march to either side. ‘We’re attacking now. Follow us in once your line’s complete!’ He stepped back to his own front rank, pointing to his trumpeter. ‘Sound the advance to battle!’
At the trumpet call, its notes repeated by each century’s trumpeter, the Tungrians stepped forward holding their spears ready to strike, then they walked steadily towards the wrecked grain store. A man wearing the mail armour of an auxiliary soldier ran towards them out of the smoke, then, seeing the line of advancing soldiers coming at him out of the night, he turned and fled in the other direction, screaming a warning to his fellow Treveri. A spear arced out from the Tungrian line and took him between the shoulder blades, its heavy iron head punching through the mail’s rings and dropping him to the ground. As the line went forward the soldiers marched over debris thrown out from the explosions; at first it was scattered single bricks and splinters of wood, but as they drew closer the wreckage thickened until it was almost a carpet of rubble.
‘They’re falling back! Do you think we should pursue? Or should we let them go and round them up later?’
Frontinius shook his head.
‘Now’s the time to deal with them, not when whoever’s managed to get away has had time to sort themselves out. Otherwise we’ll be digging them out in ones and twos for the next six months.’
Scaurus nodded his agreement.
‘You’d better set your dogs loose, then; they’re not going to stand and fight.’
At the first notes of the signal for general pursuit the cohort’s line shivered and broke, men streaming forward, eager to kill, the weariness of their long march forgotten in the promise of monetary reward for the capture of bandits. They went forward in teams of two and three men, all focused on finding those bandits too stunned or stubborn to have run for the shelter of the night. Tribune and first spear walked past a surrendering Treveri auxiliary dressed in the tattered remnants of his uniform, Frontinius ostentatiously ignoring the heated debate between the two soldiers standing over him as to just whose captive he was. The grain store gates opened, and First Spear Sergius stepped through them to greet the two officers with a broad smile. Scaurus shook his hand, slapping the legion officer on the shoulder.
‘You seem to have done a very effective job of seeing off Obduro’s men, First Spear, even if you have reduced an imperial grain store to rubble and burned half its contents.’
Sergius saluted, then tapped his ear, shouting his response.
‘I’m sorry, Tribune, but I can’t hear a thing! That second explosion seems to have taken my hearing! Sorry about the damage, but we do seem to have seen off the bandits! Mind you, I can’t take much credit for beating them; the trick of setting fire to the grain dust was all your centurion’s idea!’
Scaurus nodded his understanding, speaking quietly to his first spear.
‘That will doubtless suit Tribune Belletor very nicely when the account for this destruction is tallied up. Ah, and speaking of Centurion Julius…’
The big man was hobbling towards them with a spear shaft for a support, his face wearing the same slightly baffled expression as Sergius’s. At that moment, with all eyes focused elsewhere, the two soldiers and their captive Treveri mutineer passed within a few feet of the officers, the Tungrians still bickering as to which of them had captured the man. Momentarily ignored, and not yet restrained by anything more than the threat of his captors’ swords, he snatched at the fleeting opportunity, grabbing up a spear from the ground and lunging forward, aiming the weapon’s blade squarely at Scaurus’s back with a berserk scream of incoherent rage. The only man to react quickly enough was Frontinius, stepping forward empty-handed to defend his superior. Grabbing at the spear’s head he pulled hard at it, his eyes widening as the bandit, rather than fighting him for control of the weapon, and as the soldiers around him stepped in with their swords raised to strike, thrust the spear through his mail and deep into his chest. A stab to the back felled the bandit, and another to the back of his neck killed him instantly, but as the first spear sagged to the debris-strewn ground it was clear that the damage was already done.
Obduro walked quickly down the temple’s steps with a torch held in his right hand, grimacing at the moisture coating the ceiling and walls of the tunnel-like staircase.
‘Two of you, down here now! There’s a heavy weight to move.’ He advanced on the altar, sizing up the massive stone frieze as a pair of heavily built men, clearly selected for their strength, came down the steps and joined him in contemplating the ornately carved slab of rock. He waved a hand at the altar.