The Tungrian centurions were unusually subdued as they gathered after the parade at which they’d witnessed the crucifixion of Caninus and his cronies, despite the thoroughness with which imperial justice had been administered. Whilst a barely conscious Caninus had, as expected, succumbed to asphyxiation within minutes, unable to use his shattered legs to relieve the pressure on his chest, both Petrus and Tornach had showed every sign of facing protracted deaths, despite both having been soundly scourged before being nailed into position. In perfect silence the assembled men of the three cohorts had listened to their helpless cries for mercy as they had writhed on their crosses to either side of Caninus’s inert corpse, both men panting in pain and terror as the enormity of imperial justice bore down upon them. The chained and shackled line of freshly branded slaves, the only remnant of the bandit army, had filed past the crucified men in silence, their overseers punishing any sound from the shuffling men with swift strokes of their whips. It had been, the officers of the Tungrian cohort agreed, sound punishment swiftly delivered to men that deserved nothing less. Their acting first spear had ordered a gathering of his officers once their men were back in barracks, and he now stood in the middle of his colleagues with a neutral expression, waiting until the last of them was holding a cup of wine.
‘Brothers, our first duty is to pay our respects to First Spear Sextus Frontinius in the time-honoured manner. Raise your cups.’ He waited in silence until every man had his cup in the air. ‘To Uncle Sextus! The best damned first spear I ever served under, and taken from us before his time was due! Sextus Frontinius!’ He drained his cup, looking around him as his brother officers echoed his toast and did the same. ‘Before we leave this city I’ll have an altar to his name built into the grain store wall, to mark the place where he fell.’
He stood for a moment as the other centurions nodded their agreement. Frontinius’s body had been burned the previous evening, his funeral pyre saluted by a march past of both Tungrian cohorts and a deputation from the legion cohort led by a temporarily abashed Belletor, but an altar was the accepted way for a revered officer who fell in battle to be honoured by his men, and Julius knew there would be no shortage of donations to pay for the mason’s careful work.
‘But now, my brothers, we have important business to discuss. The matter of First Spear Fontinius’s replacement requires discussion. Whilst the tribune has nominated me, I don’t-’
A deep rumbling voice interrupted him.
‘We all know it has to be you, Julius. We don’t need to vote on the subject.’
‘Titus-’
Julius got no further with his reply, as Otho shook his head and interrupted him again.
‘It’s you, Julius. We all feel the same way. Now get on with it before I’m forced to beat some common sense into you.’
Julius saw that all seven centurions gathered around him were nodding agreement.
‘Even you, Dubnus? You’ve been heard to voice the opinion that I wasn’t fit to command a legion century, never mind one formed of real fighting men.’
Dubnus grinned back at him.
‘That was before, when I was carrying the pole and pushing soldiers around for you, before I got the chance to serve alongside you. You’ll do.’
Marcus raised a hand.
‘If I might comment, brother?’
Julius raised his eyebrows and looked up at the ceiling with a smile.
‘If only I’d seen Morban and placed money on a lecture from our only properly educated brother I might very shortly be a good deal richer. Go on, Marcus, but keep it quick.’
His friend returned the smile.
‘Your brothers are all expressing the blindingly obvious, Julius. It has to be you. Dubnus, Caelius and I are too wet behind the ears..’ The older centurions all nodded vigorously. ‘Otho, Milo and Clodius are too solid between the ears…’ He ignored the good-natured grumbling that greeted the opinion and pressed on. ‘And Titus…?’
The massive centurion turned to face him, bending slightly to look him in the face, his eyebrow raised.
‘Yes, little brother? Are there ears involved?’
Marcus kept a commendably straight face.
‘Titus is simply too terrifying a prospect for any of us. After all, he is rumoured to collect ears…’
The big man nodded knowingly, while the men around him muttered their apparent disgust at his evident failure to take offence, as Marcus continued.
‘You were First Spear Frontinius’s chosen replacement were he to fall in battle, and there’s not one of us will go against his judgement in making this decision.’
Julius looked around his fellow centurions one last time, and to Marcus’s eye his face took on an expression that was almost pleading.
‘You’re all sure?’
‘For fuck’s sake, man, accept the sword so that we can have a bloody drink!’
Bowing to the ever irascible Clodius, Julius nodded.
‘Agreed, brother Badger. But before we pour the wine again and celebrate our fallen brother’s achievements in life, we have an empty slot to fill within this brotherhood. I will move to command the First Century, as is expected of me, which leaves the Fifth in need of a centurion. And in response to that need, my decision is this. Acting Centurion Qadir will assume command of the Ninth Century, and Centurion Corvus will move to command the Fifth. And look after them properly, you young pup, I’m genuinely quite fond of one or two of them.’
Heads nodded around the circle.
‘And now, I think it’s time to drink the rest of that rather tasty Gaulish wine that Petrus sold us back when he was just a merchant.’
Wine was poured, and the officers fell to talking amongst themselves. Marcus watched in silence as his new superior walked across to the barrack window and stared out at the city’s east gate, before slowly walking across to join him.
‘For a man who’s just reached the pinnacle of his career, you’re not the happiest soldier I’ve ever seen.’
Julius replied without taking his eyes off the gate’s massive timbers, his eyes shining in the daylight streaming in through the window.
‘I don’t know if I can do it, Marcus. Fifteen years I’ve wanted this, and now that I have it…’
Marcus patted his shoulder.
‘Your life has changed in more ways than you could have expected. You’ve seen more fighting in a year than most men see in twenty-five; you’ve had friends killed and wounded; then, just when you take on the biggest, most unforgiving job of your life, you have a woman to care for, one you thought you’d never see again.’ He waited in silence until Julius sighed, nodding his agreement. ‘In which case I’ll remind you of a conversation we had in the bathhouse a few days ago. You told me that family was my main responsibility, and I’ll turn that advice back on you. Except this cohort is your family and, like it or not, you’re now our father. Why else do you think we all deferred so readily to your taking the sword? These men will go through torture for you, they will stand and die with you when all else is lost, but they need you to lead them, and to give them the certainty that we will always come through whatever shit we’re thrown into. And if your woman doesn’t understand that then she’s not as astute as I make her out to be. So take a moment to get a smile back on your face and join your brothers, First Spear. To remind you of your own words, do it for them, if not for me.’
Julius smiled quietly back at him, took a deep breath and turned back to the room with his cup raised for a refill.
‘Fair advice, Centurion. Just don’t start treating me any differently. And make sure that Dubnus learns to stop stealing my.. ’ He paused, looking around the room. ‘Where is Dubnus? He was here just a minute…’ He looked about him again, his face hardening with sudden understanding. ‘Bugger, Dubnus! Where’s my bloody vine stick!?’