The older man backed away as Marcus prodded him playfully in the belly with his vine stick.
‘Not so much of the puppy, Centurion, I’ve done a good deal of growing up since we met on the road to Yew Grove.’
Rufius inclined his head gravely.
‘Indeed you have. Do you have time for a drink and a natter?’
They repaired to the officers’ mess and drank local beer while Marcus related what had happened since their parting after the Battle of the Lost Eagle. At length Rufius sat back, nodding his head sagely.
‘You have been busy. At least all this excitement has taken everyone’s mind off looking for a young man called Marcus Valerius Aquila for a while. Let’s hope that bastard Perennis and his Asturian cronies were the only people that knew enough about you to be dangerous. You know that Annius died soon after the Battle of the Lost Eagle? Apparently he was found with an issue spear stuck right through him. Somebody strong must have taken a dislike to him… Anyway, you’re safe now.’
‘That’s to be seen. I hardly look like one of the locals, do I?’
‘True, but you’re among friends. Anyway, I must go. I’m due back on the Hill by nightfall tomorrow, and there’s still a nasty little shopkeeper that owes me three months’ rent on his premises.’
He stood to go, offering his hand to Marcus.
‘One question, Rufius.’
‘If I can answer it.’
‘You were Legatus Sollemnis’s man. Why would he leave me this?’
He tapped the sword’s hilt, raising an eyebrow in question. Rufius looked at him with calculation.
‘Lad, the legatus was a good friend of your father. Think of the risk he took to look after you the way he did. Surely that’s enough reason? Don’t go looking for what isn’t there to be found…’
From the thoughtful look in Marcus’s eye, he wasn’t sure that his bluff had succeeded.
The next day, eager to see the Hill again, the 9th took their leave of the legion and headed west along the road behind the Wall, a day’s easy march bringing them to the fort. Marcus dismissed his men to their barracks and a well-earned rest, and went in search of Frontinius. He found the prefect enjoying a moment of quiet relaxation in the cohort’s bathhouse, sitting quietly in the deserted steam room in the quiet of the evening. His wounded knee had healed well enough, although he was careful to hold it out straight in front of him, occasionally flexing the joint experimentally.
‘Well, Centurion, it’s good to see you back from the wilds! How did the Sixth fare after we parted company? Sit down for a sweat and tell me your story. Are you back with us to stay?’
‘The Ninth Century is detached from service with the Sixth Legion, Prefect, with forty-nine effectives and five men still in the Noisy Valley base hospital. Legatus Equitius wants us all back at the Valley by the end of the month, for reinforcement and in case the barbarians decide to have another try. As to our story, there’s nothing much to tell really. We marched round the mountains of the north chasing shadows and lies for a month, and hardly saw a man of fighting age.’
‘All hidden away from reprisals, no doubt. How are your men?’
‘Tired and homesick. Most of them just need a few days’ rest: twelve hours’ sleep a day and no parades…’
‘What about Morban?’
‘He’s still in pieces. His son’s death seems to have robbed him of the will to live.’
‘Hmmm. You might want to get yourself down into the vicus in that case. His son’s woman died suddenly a few days ago, and I hear her mother’s come to collect her grandchild. If Morban’s been knocked sideways by his lad’s death I’d imagine he’ll be devastated when he finds he’s about to lose his grandson as well…’
Marcus took his leave, dressed hurriedly and headed down to the south gate, stopping a retired soldier in the vicus’s street to ask for directions. At the door to the small house indicated he stopped, hearing voices from within.
‘No, Morban, the boy has to come with me. Who’s going to look after him if he stays here? You won’t be around most of the time, and what sort of example will you set to the boy. By all accounts you drink, you whore and I know for a fact that you swear all the time. He comes with me!’
‘But the lad…’
‘Will be well cared for. What’s your alternative?’
Marcus knocked respectfully at the door, standing back and taking off his helmet. It opened, an older woman, wiping at tear-filled eyes with the hem of her sleeve, standing in the opening.
‘Centurion?’
‘Ma’am. I’m Morban’s officer and I heard he might be here. Could I come in for a moment?’
She ushered him in, the four of them practically filling the room. Morban’s grandson crouched in a corner, his knees pulled up to his chest and his head buried between them. Marcus squatted down to his level, putting out a hand to touch the boy’s face, lifting it with one finger under his chin. Guessing the boy’s age to be nine or ten, he looked into his wet eyes and felt the loss and loneliness he was suffering. Memories of another little boy of the same age flooded over him, reminding him of a past happiness he hadn’t given thought to for many days. He stood up again, turning to the woman with a small bow.
‘Ma’am, so that you can understand my position regarding this unhappy situation, my parents were both killed earlier this year, as were my older sisters and younger brother. If anyone in this room has an understanding of what that boy’s going through, it would be me.’
The woman’s face softened a little with the words.
‘You both think you’ve got a claim on the boy, one through blood, the other through an ability to provide the upbringing he needs. Now, I could simply enforce the law and tell you that the cohort has first claim on the lad, simple as that. And, ma’am, there would be nothing you could do to stop me. However…’
He put a hand up to quell the rising concern he saw in her face, shaking his head at Morban as his mouth started to open.
‘However… from my unique perspective, I happen to believe that there’s only one person in this room that can make the decision as to what should be done with him. I also think you should both stop to consider the effect your argument is having on that person.’
Morban turned his head to look at the wall, a single tear running down his face. Marcus squatted down again.
‘What’s your name, young man?’
The boy lifted his tear-streaked face, his voice quavering.
‘My mother called me Corban. Dad used to call me Lupus for a nickname…’
‘Very well, little wolf, you have a choice to make. It isn’t an easy one, but nobody else can make it for you, no matter how good their intentions might be. You grandmother wants you to go home with her, and live in her village. There’ll be other boys of your age to play with, and you’ll be able to learn a trade of some kind as you get older. Your grandfather wants you to stay here on the Hill, and grow up to be a soldier like him and your father, but you can’t join until you’ve seen fourteen summers, which is still a long time away, and you can’t stay here without anyone to look after you. Before you choose, I’ll give you a third choice. I’ll take you on as my servant, which will mean that you have to keep my clothes clean and polish my boots and armour every day. I’ll have you taught to read and write and, when you’re old enough, you’ll be able to choose whether you want to become a soldier or not. Also, I’ll make sure that you go and see your grandmother twice a year. So, which do you choose?’
The boy thought for a moment.
‘I want to be a soldier like my dad.’
‘Well, you can’t, not yet. You’re too young for one thing, and I don’t think we have any armour in your size. You can either take my offer or go back to your grandmother’s village. Either way you can volunteer for service when you’re old enough.’
‘I’ll work for you.’
‘Centurion.’
‘I’ll work for you, Centurion.’
Marcus stood up, turning to face Morban and the old woman.
‘He’s made his decision. You, Morban, will be responsible for his good behaviour, and for ensuring that he isn’t corrupted by bad language and poor behaviour. You will also be responsible for making sure that he spends time with his grandmother as promised, when the cohort isn’t on campaign. And you, ma’am, should be aware that he’s now effectively on imperial service, albeit as a civilian. I guarantee that he’ll be educated by the time he’s old enough to volunteer for the military, and that he’ll have the best possible start in life we can give him. I’ve got at least one man in the century that has more learning than I do, and we’ll make sure he pays attention.’