‘Disappointing, gentlemen, if that’s the best we have. You evidently need a great deal of training. Speed and technique will disarm the strongest and bravest of opponents. You will have noted that the use of the shield in attack is as important as the sword. You will learn to fight this way, as well as in the standard formations and drills. You will be the best century in this cohort with your personal weapons, or I and my chosen man will want to know why.’ He dropped the practice weapons to the ground, reaching to collect his vine stick.
‘Bastarrrrrd!’
Marcus swung quickly to face the shout, taking in a split-second image of Antenoch, his face distorted by rage, charging at him with a flat dagger held out towards him, held ready to strike. Holding his ground, he waited until the last possible second before sidestepping the blade, pivoting on his left foot to swing his body away from the thrust. At the same time, he lifted his left arm, bent double, to point the elbow at Antenoch, gripping his left fist in his right hand as he leant back to avoid the knife’s point. As the blow went past his neck he stepped smartly back in, jabbing his elbow into his onrushing assailant’s face and stopping his charge dead, following up with a viciously powerful side-fisted hammer blow that spun the reeling Briton on to his back, his eyes glazed. Out of the corner of one eye he saw the First Spear moving from his position at the far end of the line of centuries at a dead run, his clerk trailing in his wake. He crouched close to the other man’s head, bending over to whisper urgently into his dazed face.
‘Stupid, with the First Spear watching. Now, decide, do you want to live?’
‘Eh…?’
The Briton’s eyes struggled to focus, and for a second Marcus was afraid he’d done too good a job of stopping the attack, and left Antenoch without the ability to save his own life.
‘Everyone dies. You have the opportunity to cross the river this morning, or stay a while longer. Decide which you want, now.’
He prised the dagger from Antenoch’s unresisting hand and stood up to meet the First Spear as he arrived on the scene, allowing the weapon to dangle casually at his side. Frontinius looked livid, his eyes wide with shock and anger.
‘I was watching from the review stand, Centurion, and I clearly saw this man attempt to strike you while you were disarmed.’
He pointed down at the prostrate Antenoch, whose wits were returning as the threat he was under became clear.
‘Sir…’
‘Shut your mouth! I’ll have your head on a pole above the main gate for this, you scum! Attempting to strike a superior officer carries the death penalty, which I…’
‘First Spear, with respect?’
Frontinius turned on Marcus, his eyes narrowed with premonition.
‘Centurion?’
‘Sir, I asked Soldier Antenoch to attempt a surprise attack upon myself, to show the rest of my men the standard of ability and speed I’ll be expecting from them.’
‘And why did he call you a bastard at the top of his voice while doing so?’
‘Enthusiasm, I’d expect, sir.’
‘Enthusiasm. Very likely, Centurion, he felt enthusiastic about the idea of putting a knife between your ribs. An illegal weapon too, I’d say, not our standard issue, although no doubt you lent it to him. You’re defending this man from a charge of assault upon you?’
The watching soldiers tensed visibly, waiting for the answer.
‘Yes, sir. I believe that Soldier Antenoch is a valuable member of the century. He’s agreed only this morning to act as my orderly and clerk, and to provide advice as to the best way of getting things done in this cohort. Isn’t that right, Antenoch…?’
The Briton started up open mouthed at his officer, realising with sudden resignation that he’d been backed into a corner that had only two exits, acceptance or death.
‘Yes… Centurion…’
Frontinius smiled then, without mirth, his eyes locking with Antenoch’s.
‘Good. Very good. I shall look forward to hearing reports on your progress, Soldier Antenoch. Let us hope that you demonstrate your abilities sufficiently well that I forget all about this interesting episode. In the meantime, I’ll keep a pole sharpened above the gate…’
He turned to return to his place, brushing close to Marcus in the process and hissing a whispered comment at him.
‘Don’t push your luck, Centurion…’
Marcus turned back to his men, squaring his shoulders and glaring across the lines of suddenly fixed faces.
‘Very well, Antenoch, back into rank. We can discuss your new duties after morning exercise. Now, let’s examine what happened there. There are a couple of basic techniques for close combat that I want us to practise this morning…’
Morban smirked up at the lanky soldier standing next to him, enjoying the sick look on his face.
‘I believe that’s fifty you owe me, sonny. Did I forget to mention that our new centurion was a member of the imperial bodyguard before he asked the emperor if he could come and see the blue-noses at first hand? Never mind, since you’d only have spent it on whores at least it’ll end up in the same purse. Even if they’ll have a harder time earning it!’
Off parade, Dubnus drew Antenoch into Marcus’s quarters with irresistible force, pushing the defeated soldier into the room in front of him. Marcus, waiting in his chair with his sword unsheathed across his knee, nodded to the chosen man, who pushed the soldier into the middle of the room. With the shutters closed against the rain and cold, and the room only dimly lit by a pair of oil lamps, the young centurion’s face looked brooding, lit with menace. Antenoch turned and glared at him, putting his hands on his hips in carefully calculated insult. The big chosen man bared his teeth in a half-snarl, half-sneer, pulling the dagger from his belt.
‘I’ll go and sharpen the stake over the main gate. It’ll be waiting for you.’
He looked over at Marcus as he turned to leave, shaking his head.
‘Do not trust him. Keep your sword ready.’
When the door was closed, Marcus reached into his tunic, holding out the other man’s knife. Antenoch took it from his outstretched hand, looking closely at the blade for a long moment, staring past it at Marcus.
‘Wondering if it’d be worth another try at planting that thing between my ribs?’
The Briton said nothing for another moment, pursing his lips as he slipped the weapon back into its familiar resting place.
‘No.’
‘Because I spared you even after you tried to kill me?’
‘No.’
‘Then why?’
‘Because I don’t think I’d get close enough… They’ve got a nickname for you, those cattle out there, they always do with officers. It was going to be Wetnose, until this morning. Now it’s Two Knives!’
He spat the words out. Marcus smiled levelly.
‘Two Knives? Like the gladiator? It could be worse, for a man in my situation.’
Antenoch’s eyes narrowed.
‘The rumours are that you’re the son of a rich man, just stupid enough to want to slum it with us for a while.’
‘Rumours you’ll encourage if you want to be my clerk…’
The Briton bristled at the suggestion.
‘Want to be your clerk? Fuck you!’
Marcus sat back, laughing gently at the incensed soldier, tapping the hilt of his sword.