hair, and snarled at his executioner.
‘Get it done!’
The decurion looked down at him with a gentle smile.
‘Now there’s a man with a pair of balls I can respect. You’re not going to shit yourself any time soon, are you? I can’t kill this man; he deserves a better exit than a quick hack in a muddy field. No, let’s go back to the other one.’
His original victim, still lying in the field’s cold mud, gave out a shrill squeal of horror.
‘No! No, not me! I’ll tell you anything you want to know!
Anything!
’
The redhead spat his anger into the soil.
‘Shut your mouth! There’re good men will die if you betray them, and we’re dead whatever happens, here or in some—’
Silus whirled around, hacking off his head in one swift movement before turning back to the weeping bandit with a tight smile.
‘No one likes to be interrupted when they’re speaking. You were saying . . .?’
When the legion column arrived on the scene, Tribune Belletor found Marcus and a handful of soldiers stacking the dead bandits by the roadside, the badly wounded Tungrian having been wrapped in his cloak and laid in the rearmost cart for transport back to the city.
‘What’s happened here, Centurion. Some sort of battle?’
Marcus briefed him on the short action, watching as the tribune looked about him at the carnage wrought upon the bandits with an expression of mixed horror and distaste. The senior officer’s glance chanced upon the three headless victims of Silus’s interrogation, and his face creased into an unhappy frown.
‘Those men appear to have been beheaded?’
Marcus nodded, his face impassive.
‘Field interrogation, Tribune. The remainder of the squadron is running the rest of the band to ground based on the information gained.’
‘That’s
not
acceptable, Centurion.’ He shook his head angrily, and Marcus waited for him to continue, wondering if the legion officer was a more humane man than his reputation indicated. ‘Look at their arms!’ Marcus realised that Belletor had spotted the slave brands on the dead men’s arms. ‘No, each of these men is someone’s property. My father farms a large estate in Italy, so I know the value of good slaves.’
‘Good slaves, Tribune?’
Belletor, missing the acerbic note in the young centurion’s voice, smiled tightly at him.
‘Fit men, good for decades of hard work if managed the right way. It’s not the army’s job to bring judgement on these animals; that’s a job for their masters. A good overseer will make such a man pay for his crimes in manifold ways, and deliver his value to the farm. That’s got to be better than just hacking off his head and leaving him to rot in the mud, eh?’
Marcus nodded quickly, recognising an argument he could not hope to win.
‘Indeed, Tribune. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get these carts on the road to Tungrorum.’
Belletor’s response was suddenly hard-edged, brooking no argument.
‘No need, Centurion. First Minervia will escort this cargo back to the city’s grain store. And you can get that soldier out of the rearmost cart. I’ll not have the emperor’s grain spoiled by a dying man’s blood.’
Marcus spun back, fighting to keep a hold of his temper at the harsh words.
‘Tribune, I’ve taken a sample from each cart. My family used to deal in grain, which led me to examine the contents of the bags. I found that the grain is already useless, spoiled by mould. Also, I believe that my man may live long enough to reach our doctor if I keep him on his back, and the only way to do that is to—’
Belletor shook his head.
‘Unacceptable, Centurion. Your man will have to take his chances on horseback. I
will
have this grain away to the store before any other brigands decide to have their way with it.’
He turned away to his own men, bellowing orders for the march to their centurions. Marcus clenched his fist and tensed himself to put a hand on Belletor’s shoulder, but found himself
‘Get it done!’
The decurion looked down at him with a gentle smile.
‘Now there’s a man with a pair of balls I can respect. You’re not going to shit yourself any time soon, are you? I can’t kill this man; he deserves a better exit than a quick hack in a muddy field. No, let’s go back to the other one.’
His original victim, still lying in the field’s cold mud, gave out a shrill squeal of horror.
‘No! No, not me! I’ll tell you anything you want to know!
Anything!
’
The redhead spat his anger into the soil.
‘Shut your mouth! There’re good men will die if you betray them, and we’re dead whatever happens, here or in some—’
Silus whirled around, hacking off his head in one swift movement before turning back to the weeping bandit with a tight smile.
‘No one likes to be interrupted when they’re speaking. You were saying . . .?’
When the legion column arrived on the scene, Tribune Belletor found Marcus and a handful of soldiers stacking the dead bandits by the roadside, the badly wounded Tungrian having been wrapped in his cloak and laid in the rearmost cart for transport back to the city.
‘What’s happened here, Centurion. Some sort of battle?’
Marcus briefed him on the short action, watching as the tribune looked about him at the carnage wrought upon the bandits with an expression of mixed horror and distaste. The senior officer’s glance chanced upon the three headless victims of Silus’s interrogation, and his face creased into an unhappy frown.
‘Those men appear to have been beheaded?’
Marcus nodded, his face impassive.
‘Field interrogation, Tribune. The remainder of the squadron is running the rest of the band to ground based on the information gained.’
‘That’s
not
acceptable, Centurion.’ He shook his head angrily, and Marcus waited for him to continue, wondering if the legion officer was a more humane man than his reputation indicated. ‘Look at their arms!’ Marcus realised that Belletor had spotted the slave brands on the dead men’s arms. ‘No, each of these men is someone’s property. My father farms a large estate in Italy, so I know the value of good slaves.’
‘Good slaves, Tribune?’
Belletor, missing the acerbic note in the young centurion’s voice, smiled tightly at him.
‘Fit men, good for decades of hard work if managed the right way. It’s not the army’s job to bring judgement on these animals; that’s a job for their masters. A good overseer will make such a man pay for his crimes in manifold ways, and deliver his value to the farm. That’s got to be better than just hacking off his head and leaving him to rot in the mud, eh?’
Marcus nodded quickly, recognising an argument he could not hope to win.
‘Indeed, Tribune. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get these carts on the road to Tungrorum.’
Belletor’s response was suddenly hard-edged, brooking no argument.
‘No need, Centurion. First Minervia will escort this cargo back to the city’s grain store. And you can get that soldier out of the rearmost cart. I’ll not have the emperor’s grain spoiled by a dying man’s blood.’
Marcus spun back, fighting to keep a hold of his temper at the harsh words.
‘Tribune, I’ve taken a sample from each cart. My family used to deal in grain, which led me to examine the contents of the bags. I found that the grain is already useless, spoiled by mould. Also, I believe that my man may live long enough to reach our doctor if I keep him on his back, and the only way to do that is to—’
Belletor shook his head.
‘Unacceptable, Centurion. Your man will have to take his chances on horseback. I
will
have this grain away to the store before any other brigands decide to have their way with it.’
He turned away to his own men, bellowing orders for the march to their centurions. Marcus clenched his fist and tensed himself to put a hand on Belletor’s shoulder, but found himself
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