Thunder of the Gods by Anthony Riches Page A

soldier up onto his toes.
    ‘Think you’re funny, do you Sanga?’
    Knowing that any answer he could make would only worsen his officer’s already volatile temper, the soldier stared at the wall of the barrack opposite until the furious centurion pulled the stick away and paced around him.
    ‘Are you sure this is the soldier you want, Qadir? Surely there are men with more discipline and better attitudes that you could use instead?’
    The Hamian centurion facing the two men shook his head with a slight smile.
    ‘Much as I hate to disappoint you, I am obliged to disagree. My need is for a man with exactly the blend of guile, sly wits and, when the need arises, ruthlessness that this man possesses in such abundance. Not to mention the equally important abilities with which Saratos compensates for his shortcomings.’
    Outlining what it was that was required of the two men, he handed Sanga a sack, ignoring the veteran’s wounded expression.
    ‘Tunics. One for each of you. You’ll need them tomorrow if you’re going to blend in.’
    Knowing better than to ask the question as to exactly what it was that would be expected of them in front of their own centurion, Sanga went straight for the practicalities.
    ‘This is a street job, right Centurion?’
    Qadir nodded.
    ‘In that case sir, we’ll need—’
    ‘The money is in the bag. A leather purse.’
    The veteran’s smile broadened.
    ‘Thank you Centurion. We won’t let you down.’
    Quintus shook his head wearily.
    ‘Only I could get promoted to Centurion to a century that was home to both you
and
Morban. It’s either him fleecing my soldiers by getting them to gamble on which horse has the bigger dick, or you vanishing off for days at a time to drink and whore at the legatus’s expense. If I didn’t know better I’d ask what the—’
    ‘But you do know better, colleague.’
    Qadir leaned close to Quintus.
    ‘That’s the reason why the first spear selected you to replace Tribune Corvus upon his promotion. He knows that you can be counted on not to ask that question, or to speculate as to the answer when, really and truly, you know you’re much better knowing as little as possible.’
    Quintus nodded glumly, then turned his ire on the waiting soldiers.
    ‘Get out of my sight Sanga, you revolting animal. And don’t come back pissed up or I’ll take the greatest of pleasure in beasting you round this camp until your legs are so short that you’ll need a sock over your prick to stop it rubbing on the fucking ground! Dismissed!’

3
     
    Scaurus looked over the parade ground with an appraising stare as the Third Gallic marched out into the wide open space, his eyes roaming over the marching ranks from the vantage point of his horse. With the benefit of a night in which to prepare for the parade, their equipment was every bit as well presented as he had expected, their armour and helmets gleaming in the winter sunlight. The legion’s centurions would have had a busy night of it.
    ‘Tidy drill, First Spear.’
    The senior centurion nodded his head respectfully at the compliment.
    ‘We drill the men every day, Legatus. They practise battlefield manoeuvres for the first hour, just to get them warmed up, then we put them through all the usual practice: sword work, spear throwing, working on both distance and accuracy, defensive and offensive shield fighting, wrestling—’
    ‘Wrestling?’
    The first spear nodded.
    ‘Wrestling, Legatus. For one thing, there’s a strong tradition of the sport in these parts, as you can imagine, and for another, I won’t have a man reduced to impotence when his shield’s been wrecked and his sword blade breaks.’
    He shrugged at Julius’s raised eyebrow.
    ‘Yes, I know, if one hundred unarmed men face an enemy with a sword then perhaps only one of those one hundred has any hope of winning, and then only if he has divine providence on his side, but while they fight on they’re not running and making men who are still