great warrior, how do you come to be missing an eye?’
The Briton turned to stare back at him, and Marcus stepped between them.
‘He lost the eye storming his tribal capital, after he was betrayed by an ally who sought to take his kingdom. By the time we were in control of the fortress he’d killed a score of the enemy tribesmen, most of them by the simple but direct method of cutting off their genitals. Think on that before you provoke him again, because this is the last time I’ll stand between you.’
They found the barrack much as expected, but the floor was dry, and Lugos made swift work of the detritus that littered the room once Martos had taken a lamp from his pack and lit it, bringing a glow of warmth to the room.
‘Have sleep in worse.’
Martos nodded at the giant’s observation.
‘Not in these beds you haven’t. I doubt they’ll hold your weight.’
Lugos shrugged.
‘I sleep floor. Is dry.’
Marcus untied the ribbon around his chest that denoted his rank and took off the heavy front and back plates, stretching luxuriously before rolling himself into his blanket in one of the four bunks that filled the room.
‘We’ll get rid of two of these beds tomorrow, but all I want now is to enjoy the feeling of not carrying all that bronze around on my back.’
Martos, having shrugged out of his chain mail, chose another bed and emulated the tribune’s example.
‘You’re lucky. You might think that a man of my age would be used to the weight, but it only gets worse as the years go by.’
A note of curiosity crept into the Roman’s sleepy voice.
‘So why didn’t you return to your own people when the cohorts marched for Rome last year? You could have chosen to live quietly, filling your days with hunting, instead of accompanying us to this distant part of the world to fight for an emperor you can only despise?
The Briton was silent for a moment.
‘I could never have returned to the Dinpaladyr for any longer than a few days. Even during my brief return I was aware of the tensions building around me. I gave the throne up, Marcus, and named my nephew as my successor. My presence anywhere in his kingdom would have been a provocation, one way or another. The young king’s advisers would have seen me as a threat, and those who were unhappy with their rule would have sought to make me their champion. No good could have come of it. And …’
He fell quiet, wrestling with memories of his time as king. Lugos’s voice growled a single word from where he lay on the floor.
‘Family.’
Martos was silent for a moment.
‘Yes. My family.’
His voice had sunk to a whisper.
‘My wife and children died as the result of my stupidity in believing Calgus when he told me that we would share power, once you Romans had been driven off our land. My home holds memories that I do not wish to recall. My life as a king is finished, and now I am simply a man. Wherever you go, my friends, I will go too.’
He laughed softly in the near darkness.
‘And after all, without your companionship how else would I have travelled so far, and in such luxury?’
‘Legionary Sanga! Get your lazy arse out here now and bring your mate Saratos with you!’
Having only just laid down on his bed after a fruitless hunt for either alcohol or female company, the veteran soldier groaned, rolled to his feet and stepped out of the barrack into the cool night air wearing nothing but a fixed grin, followed a moment later by his friend who had yet to strip off his tunic.
‘Evening, Centurion.’
Quintus shook his head with an expression of disgust.
‘Put something on, you ape!’
Rolling his eyes at the change in his orders, the veteran stepped back into the stone room, pulled a sock from his boot and rolled it over his genitals before stepping out into the chill again, snapping to attention in front of the two centurions who stood waiting for him. Quintus thrust his vine stick up under Sanga’s scrotum, forcing the
The Briton turned to stare back at him, and Marcus stepped between them.
‘He lost the eye storming his tribal capital, after he was betrayed by an ally who sought to take his kingdom. By the time we were in control of the fortress he’d killed a score of the enemy tribesmen, most of them by the simple but direct method of cutting off their genitals. Think on that before you provoke him again, because this is the last time I’ll stand between you.’
They found the barrack much as expected, but the floor was dry, and Lugos made swift work of the detritus that littered the room once Martos had taken a lamp from his pack and lit it, bringing a glow of warmth to the room.
‘Have sleep in worse.’
Martos nodded at the giant’s observation.
‘Not in these beds you haven’t. I doubt they’ll hold your weight.’
Lugos shrugged.
‘I sleep floor. Is dry.’
Marcus untied the ribbon around his chest that denoted his rank and took off the heavy front and back plates, stretching luxuriously before rolling himself into his blanket in one of the four bunks that filled the room.
‘We’ll get rid of two of these beds tomorrow, but all I want now is to enjoy the feeling of not carrying all that bronze around on my back.’
Martos, having shrugged out of his chain mail, chose another bed and emulated the tribune’s example.
‘You’re lucky. You might think that a man of my age would be used to the weight, but it only gets worse as the years go by.’
A note of curiosity crept into the Roman’s sleepy voice.
‘So why didn’t you return to your own people when the cohorts marched for Rome last year? You could have chosen to live quietly, filling your days with hunting, instead of accompanying us to this distant part of the world to fight for an emperor you can only despise?
The Briton was silent for a moment.
‘I could never have returned to the Dinpaladyr for any longer than a few days. Even during my brief return I was aware of the tensions building around me. I gave the throne up, Marcus, and named my nephew as my successor. My presence anywhere in his kingdom would have been a provocation, one way or another. The young king’s advisers would have seen me as a threat, and those who were unhappy with their rule would have sought to make me their champion. No good could have come of it. And …’
He fell quiet, wrestling with memories of his time as king. Lugos’s voice growled a single word from where he lay on the floor.
‘Family.’
Martos was silent for a moment.
‘Yes. My family.’
His voice had sunk to a whisper.
‘My wife and children died as the result of my stupidity in believing Calgus when he told me that we would share power, once you Romans had been driven off our land. My home holds memories that I do not wish to recall. My life as a king is finished, and now I am simply a man. Wherever you go, my friends, I will go too.’
He laughed softly in the near darkness.
‘And after all, without your companionship how else would I have travelled so far, and in such luxury?’
‘Legionary Sanga! Get your lazy arse out here now and bring your mate Saratos with you!’
Having only just laid down on his bed after a fruitless hunt for either alcohol or female company, the veteran soldier groaned, rolled to his feet and stepped out of the barrack into the cool night air wearing nothing but a fixed grin, followed a moment later by his friend who had yet to strip off his tunic.
‘Evening, Centurion.’
Quintus shook his head with an expression of disgust.
‘Put something on, you ape!’
Rolling his eyes at the change in his orders, the veteran stepped back into the stone room, pulled a sock from his boot and rolled it over his genitals before stepping out into the chill again, snapping to attention in front of the two centurions who stood waiting for him. Quintus thrust his vine stick up under Sanga’s scrotum, forcing the
Similar Books
