They marched back to the fort at a steady pace, Frontinius keeping their minds busy by ordering both centuries to belt out their lewdest marching songs in unison until they tramped over the final hill and drew up on the parade ground. The senior centurion walked down their ranks, taking the measure of his tired but erect men before calling them to attention.
‘Soldiers, you represent the cream of this cohort’s fighting skills. I’ve nothing better in my armoury than the one-hundred-and-sixty-odd warriors mustered on this parade ground. You are trained and disciplined fighting men, every one of you ready to stand in line and shed blood for the cohort. Now I suspect that there are a few scores waiting to be settled in these ranks, things that have been said and done that can hardly wait to be avenged. It’ll start with fists and boots, some fool will pull a knife, and I’ll have my two best assets at war with each other…’
He paused significantly.
‘And that is not going to happen. I will not allow it to happen. So here are the rules for these two centuries. Any man brought in front of me for fighting a member of the other century will suffer the maximum penalty I can apply under the circumstances. Up to and including dishonourable dismissal without citizenship. No excuses, no leniency, and no exceptions. So you choose.’
He strolled away across the parade ground for a few paces before turning back with a sly look on his face.
‘Of course, the situation might be different to that I imagined. You might march back into the fort as the two best damned centuries in the cohort, both so good I can’t separate you. You might take pride in your shared excellence. You might even take the attitude that it’s the others that take second place to you, not either of you to the other. Whatever you decide, collectively you are my best weapon. And I make a point of keeping my weapons razor sharp. Don’t test me. Centurions, take your units back to barracks. Dismissed.’
Marcus marched his men back into the fort, left Dubnus to chivvy them down to the bathhouse, and went to wash the dust from his feet, musing on the day. Antenoch had vanished, and for once the centurion was happy to be spared his presence, knowing that his clerk had already guessed the truth behind the result of his contest with Julius. The sound of his quarter’s door opening made him turn swiftly, as Julius came in without waiting for an invitation. He looked to the bed, where his belt gear and sword lay discarded, wondering whether he could reach the weapon if the older officer intended him harm. In the enclosed space of the quarter he doubted that he could resist a determined attack by the larger man without being forced to try to disable or even kill him. Julius held up his hands, seeing the swift glance.
‘No, I’m not here for a rematch. But we do need to talk…’
Marcus nodded, reaching for a flask of wine and two cups. Julius stayed silent while the wine was poured, tipping half the offered cup down his throat with a sigh of satisfaction.
‘Thanks. I should thank you for this afternoon’s performance as well. You could have put me down half a dozen times this morning. I knew it, I could tell that you were holding back from connecting with your attacks. You’re faster, and better trained than I am, and that’s all there is to it. You’re the better swordsman, although time will tell if you’re the better warrior when the shit really starts flying. You should have taken first place, and we both know it…’
He stared at Marcus until the younger man nodded slowly, letting out a sigh of release from his internal pressure.
‘Why? You earned that victory, built up your men to taking it from under my nose. Why didn’t you take it?’
Marcus frowned, starting to speak and closing his mouth again. After a moment he tried again.
‘You’ll laugh at me… I did it for the cohort. Uncle Sextus told me to think about what would be the best result for the cohort, and when I did, it was obvious that you had to win. If I’d beaten you, you’d be sitting in your quarter now, plotting revenge on me. As it is, you’re just puzzled. The cohort gets undivided leadership, Frontinius doesn’t have to deal with a series of running battles between our centuries… everyone wins.’
Julius looked at him for a moment without speaking.
‘Except you.’
‘Perhaps.’
The older man shook his head, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword.
‘Except you. Frontinius gave me something this morning, something I’ve wanted since the day you arrived. He gave me the responsibility to decide your fate. Said he was tired of pondering whether you have what it takes or not. And if I say you’re gone, boy, just a fading stain on this cohort’s proud history, what then? If I tell you that where you go is of no concern to me, and that all that matters to me is that you leave, and don’t come back? What do you say to that, eh?’
Marcus gazed back at him for a long moment, then nodded his head, half turning away to speak woodenly at the room’s wall.
‘I’m not surprised. I’ve known deep down that you and your brothers wouldn’t be able to accept me. This cohort can’t operate with a rejected officer at its heart, and I’ve developed too much affection for this place to risk that rejection turning into casualties. As to where I go, don’t worry yourself. I’ll be in another place before dawn, and that’s all you’ll be wanting from me. I’d be grateful if you could find a way to overlook the last few months, and recommend Dubnus to command the Ninth?’
He gestured to the door.
‘And perhaps now you could leave me in peace. Let me get on with what I have to do.’
The burly officer stared at him a moment longer, then shook his head wryly.
‘I’ll have to apologise to Sextus. I told him I was going to come here and say those words to you, and he told me you’d bite on the leather the way you did.’
Marcus turned back to face him, his face hardening, his eyes flicking again to the sword lying on the bed alongside him.
‘If you think that I’m going to let you stand here and calmly discuss my personality traits now that you’ve had your way you’d better look to your blade, Centurion, because in about ten seconds you’re going to be getting a very close look at mine.’
Julius opened his hands again, backing away slightly and talking quickly.
‘Hold! It was your last test, to see if you cared enough for the cohort to accept the hardest decision. You’ll do for Sextus, and, while it’s hard to admit, you’ll do for me too. Quite how we’re going to keep a swarthy bugger like you any kind of secret when we march to war is beyond me, but Sextus gave me the decision and I’ve made it. You stay.’
Marcus’s eyes narrowed, and Julius realised with a shiver that his temper was fully alight.
‘And if I don’t accept your gracious offer after this last little test? If I take that sword and fillet you like an old bull, then spill my own blood?’
The other man smiled, holding his ground and keeping his sword hand rock steady six inches from the hilt of his weapon.
‘I don’t doubt that you could spill my guts, although we’d have some fun finding out within these four walls, without much space for fancy sword work. I probably deserve it too, the way I’ve been hounding you and your men. But you won’t. The other thing Sextus has you nailed for is iron self-control. And, given that you’re now the centurion of the cohort’s lead century, likely to be first into the shit and last out of it, you’re going to need it. Get some sleep, young Two Knives, you’ve a hard month in front of you. But before you do, fill me up with a little more of that dog-rough piss you’re drinking, I can’t drink a cup to your success if my cup’s empty.’