before speaking.
‘Prefect, my family is destroyed, my honour stolen, and I am declared traitor. This is my last chance to save myself and be of service to Rome. If I fail to convince you to let me have this chance, I will have little option except that of suicide.’
Equitius laughed softly, but without malice.
‘Hmm. Stirring words. But I’m really not the person you need to convince.’
The cohort’s First Spear was adamant in his refusal, turning to glare out of the office’s window at the rolling hills beyond the distant parade ground in the at-ease position, as if addressing a gathering of his centurions. The individual rings of his mail shone with a high polish across his broad chest, while his moustache curled in a magnificent glossy arc down his upper lip. He ran a hand across his head, reflexively seeking to smooth hair which had long since fallen out or been shaved close to his skull to leave him almost perfectly bald. A large man, but constant exertion ensured that his body was all muscle, given no chance to run to seed.
‘No, Prefect, no man in this cohort’s one-hundred-and-twenty-year history has ever attained the rank of centurion without first serving in the ranks as a soldier. Usually for at least ten years, often a good deal longer. I have no intention of changing a tradition that has served us well for that long.’
‘I …’
‘Sir, with respect, I’ve seen combat beyond the rampart. I know what it’s like when the blue-noses charge into the shield wall with their swords swinging. We never stop telling those boys about the superiority of our way of fighting, about the fact that they only need to jab the point of an infantry sword in four inches at the right point of the body to kill a man in seconds. We train them day after day to do just that, until they’ll kill and kill again on instinct alone in the horror of a battle. And it still scares the shit out them to have some hairy great bastard swinging a battleaxe and running at full speed into their line. The main thing that stops them from running when they’re blasted from head to foot with blood, when the man to each side has been either killed or is trying to hold his guts in, is me, and the other ten officers they know will fight alongside them to the death. Will stand and fight even if they do turn and run, even if only to cover their backs. They hate us and they fear us in equal portions, but mainly they respect us. Very few men of nineteen summers have that kind of leadership potential. Praetorian or not.’
He turned back to face his superior, determined to give no ground to the suggestion. Equitius stared back at him, his expression unrepentant.
‘As I was trying to say, I agree with you completely.’
‘Then why ask me even to speak to him?’
The prefect stood up, walking around the desk to join his senior centurion at the window.
‘Three reasons, Sextus. Firstly, I took that rascal Quintus Tiberius Rufius to one side once the boy had said his piece, and asked him why the Sixth’s commander was willing to risk his life for this matter.’
‘And?’
‘The young man doesn’t know it, but the legatus is his real father. Nor in my opinion must he find out, after the shocks he’s had. Apparently our colleague in arms and the senator were friends in the service, tribunes in one of the Hispania legions, and when Sollemnis got a local girl pregnant, it was Valerius Aquila and his new wife who took responsibility for the child. And, as you’ll be aware every time you look at the equipment our troops use, we owe him more than one favour.
‘Secondly, if we don’t give the man the chance to try, he’ll walk out into those hills and fall on his sword. I’ve seen enough men in that situation, and he has the same look in his eyes …’ He paused for a moment, staring into space at nothing in particular. ‘… without hope, beaten down by circumstance but still determined to stay in control of his destiny. I have some
‘Prefect, my family is destroyed, my honour stolen, and I am declared traitor. This is my last chance to save myself and be of service to Rome. If I fail to convince you to let me have this chance, I will have little option except that of suicide.’
Equitius laughed softly, but without malice.
‘Hmm. Stirring words. But I’m really not the person you need to convince.’
The cohort’s First Spear was adamant in his refusal, turning to glare out of the office’s window at the rolling hills beyond the distant parade ground in the at-ease position, as if addressing a gathering of his centurions. The individual rings of his mail shone with a high polish across his broad chest, while his moustache curled in a magnificent glossy arc down his upper lip. He ran a hand across his head, reflexively seeking to smooth hair which had long since fallen out or been shaved close to his skull to leave him almost perfectly bald. A large man, but constant exertion ensured that his body was all muscle, given no chance to run to seed.
‘No, Prefect, no man in this cohort’s one-hundred-and-twenty-year history has ever attained the rank of centurion without first serving in the ranks as a soldier. Usually for at least ten years, often a good deal longer. I have no intention of changing a tradition that has served us well for that long.’
‘I …’
‘Sir, with respect, I’ve seen combat beyond the rampart. I know what it’s like when the blue-noses charge into the shield wall with their swords swinging. We never stop telling those boys about the superiority of our way of fighting, about the fact that they only need to jab the point of an infantry sword in four inches at the right point of the body to kill a man in seconds. We train them day after day to do just that, until they’ll kill and kill again on instinct alone in the horror of a battle. And it still scares the shit out them to have some hairy great bastard swinging a battleaxe and running at full speed into their line. The main thing that stops them from running when they’re blasted from head to foot with blood, when the man to each side has been either killed or is trying to hold his guts in, is me, and the other ten officers they know will fight alongside them to the death. Will stand and fight even if they do turn and run, even if only to cover their backs. They hate us and they fear us in equal portions, but mainly they respect us. Very few men of nineteen summers have that kind of leadership potential. Praetorian or not.’
He turned back to face his superior, determined to give no ground to the suggestion. Equitius stared back at him, his expression unrepentant.
‘As I was trying to say, I agree with you completely.’
‘Then why ask me even to speak to him?’
The prefect stood up, walking around the desk to join his senior centurion at the window.
‘Three reasons, Sextus. Firstly, I took that rascal Quintus Tiberius Rufius to one side once the boy had said his piece, and asked him why the Sixth’s commander was willing to risk his life for this matter.’
‘And?’
‘The young man doesn’t know it, but the legatus is his real father. Nor in my opinion must he find out, after the shocks he’s had. Apparently our colleague in arms and the senator were friends in the service, tribunes in one of the Hispania legions, and when Sollemnis got a local girl pregnant, it was Valerius Aquila and his new wife who took responsibility for the child. And, as you’ll be aware every time you look at the equipment our troops use, we owe him more than one favour.
‘Secondly, if we don’t give the man the chance to try, he’ll walk out into those hills and fall on his sword. I’ve seen enough men in that situation, and he has the same look in his eyes …’ He paused for a moment, staring into space at nothing in particular. ‘… without hope, beaten down by circumstance but still determined to stay in control of his destiny. I have some
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