He’s faster with two swords than I am with one, his century are determined not to let “their young gentleman” come to any harm, and he’s got Tiberius Rufius to keep him from making an idiot of himself. He’ll be back here soon enough.’
Her eyes moist, Felicia reached out for the big soldier’s hand.
‘I know. And if anything were to have happened to him, I could cope with it. It’s just the not knowing …’
Dubnus gave her a wry smile.
‘I know. Believe me, cooped up in here, I know exactly what you mean. And now I must give you this.’
He picked up a small cloth-wrapped package and handed it to her, catching Julius’s eye and tipping his head at the door. The orderly took the hint and made his excuses while the doctor unwrapped the cloth, revealing a small knife in a soft leather sheath.
‘What …?’
‘It’s for your protection. I asked the soldier that you discharged yesterday to bring it in for me. I want you to promise that you’ll wear it until Marcus can come for you. You need to be able to protect yourself if the need arises. You know where a man is vulnerable to a small blade just as well as I do, and that one’s long enough to open a throat if need be. It will strap around your leg above the knee, and be hidden under your stola. Promise me that you’ll wear it.’
She drew the knife from its sheath, examining the razor-sharp six-inch blade with a critical eye well used to gauging the sharpness of her surgical tools.
‘Dubnus, I took an oath to protect human life, not to take it.’
The big centurion shook his head, but his reply was gentle.
‘These are difficult times, and you’re too precious to my friend for me to see you without some way of defending yourself. What if the Brigantes break into this fort?’ He took a deep breath in through his nose, then exhaled and raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘And besides, it’s not just about you any more, is it?’
The Tungrian cohorts marched two abreast down the well-beaten track that ran from the barbarian camp to the edge of the forest, and which would bring them out on to the flatter land of the Red River’s flood plain. The gently waving branches above their heads cast sun-dappled patterns across their ranks until they marched out on to the rolling plain, leaving behind the forest in which Calgus had planned to ambush and destroy the legions, before the presence of his Venicone allies had been detected by a chance encounter with one of Marcus’s soldiers. Emerging from the trees on to the plain’s gently undulating ground, the centuries drew up in parade formation and waited for the other components of Tribune Scaurus’s command to make their appearance. Marching at the head of his 9th Century, and still wrapped in the grief of Rufius’s sudden and violent death, Marcus was nevertheless aware of a collective melancholy sitting heavily on his men, a feeling he was himself quite powerless to resist. When the cohort’s column halted he stood his men at ease and strolled out in front of them, staring hollow eyed up and down the Tungrian cohort’s line and noting with a sudden pang the absence of Rufius’s 6th Century, and the stocky figure of his friend out in front of them. After a few minutes a column of legionaries began to emerge from the trees, their centurions drawing them up in front of the Tungrian line and standing them to attention until the cohort’s full strength was arrayed across the plain. First Spear Frontinius spoke without taking his eyes off the legion detachment’s flag, the representation of the leaping boar that the 20th had made its badge over a century before.
‘We are honoured. The Twentieth’s legatus has given you their First Cohort to play with. He must have a soft spot for you, Tribune.’
Scaurus nodded, watching as the cohort’s five centurions walked the lengths of their double-strength centuries, checking their men’s line and equipment with an attention to detail that would have
Her eyes moist, Felicia reached out for the big soldier’s hand.
‘I know. And if anything were to have happened to him, I could cope with it. It’s just the not knowing …’
Dubnus gave her a wry smile.
‘I know. Believe me, cooped up in here, I know exactly what you mean. And now I must give you this.’
He picked up a small cloth-wrapped package and handed it to her, catching Julius’s eye and tipping his head at the door. The orderly took the hint and made his excuses while the doctor unwrapped the cloth, revealing a small knife in a soft leather sheath.
‘What …?’
‘It’s for your protection. I asked the soldier that you discharged yesterday to bring it in for me. I want you to promise that you’ll wear it until Marcus can come for you. You need to be able to protect yourself if the need arises. You know where a man is vulnerable to a small blade just as well as I do, and that one’s long enough to open a throat if need be. It will strap around your leg above the knee, and be hidden under your stola. Promise me that you’ll wear it.’
She drew the knife from its sheath, examining the razor-sharp six-inch blade with a critical eye well used to gauging the sharpness of her surgical tools.
‘Dubnus, I took an oath to protect human life, not to take it.’
The big centurion shook his head, but his reply was gentle.
‘These are difficult times, and you’re too precious to my friend for me to see you without some way of defending yourself. What if the Brigantes break into this fort?’ He took a deep breath in through his nose, then exhaled and raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘And besides, it’s not just about you any more, is it?’
The Tungrian cohorts marched two abreast down the well-beaten track that ran from the barbarian camp to the edge of the forest, and which would bring them out on to the flatter land of the Red River’s flood plain. The gently waving branches above their heads cast sun-dappled patterns across their ranks until they marched out on to the rolling plain, leaving behind the forest in which Calgus had planned to ambush and destroy the legions, before the presence of his Venicone allies had been detected by a chance encounter with one of Marcus’s soldiers. Emerging from the trees on to the plain’s gently undulating ground, the centuries drew up in parade formation and waited for the other components of Tribune Scaurus’s command to make their appearance. Marching at the head of his 9th Century, and still wrapped in the grief of Rufius’s sudden and violent death, Marcus was nevertheless aware of a collective melancholy sitting heavily on his men, a feeling he was himself quite powerless to resist. When the cohort’s column halted he stood his men at ease and strolled out in front of them, staring hollow eyed up and down the Tungrian cohort’s line and noting with a sudden pang the absence of Rufius’s 6th Century, and the stocky figure of his friend out in front of them. After a few minutes a column of legionaries began to emerge from the trees, their centurions drawing them up in front of the Tungrian line and standing them to attention until the cohort’s full strength was arrayed across the plain. First Spear Frontinius spoke without taking his eyes off the legion detachment’s flag, the representation of the leaping boar that the 20th had made its badge over a century before.
‘We are honoured. The Twentieth’s legatus has given you their First Cohort to play with. He must have a soft spot for you, Tribune.’
Scaurus nodded, watching as the cohort’s five centurions walked the lengths of their double-strength centuries, checking their men’s line and equipment with an attention to detail that would have
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