Carefully Fergus took the letter and nodded. “Yes Sir,” he said stiffly.

  Furius rose from his seat, placed his hands on his hips and gave Fergus a strange look.

  “This is important Fergus,” Furius said quietly.

  “Yes,” Fergus replied. Then quickly he turned and walked out of the barracks room and as he strode away in the direction of the camp granaries he had the uncomfortable feeling that Furius was watching him.

  Most of the off duty soldiers were inside their barracks rooms and, as Fergus turned a corner and made his way across the frozen mud between the barracks blocks, he looked down at the wooden letter in his hand. What was the decanus doing writing letters to the quartermaster’s office? Unable to resist any longer he came to a halt and held the letter up into the fading day light. Whatever else he was, Furius knew how to write Fergus thought, for he had no difficulty in reading the neat, elegant sentences.

  Furius, decanus, 2nd company, 2nd Cohort to Janus, quartermaster general’s office.

  My brother, Lucanius has written to me saying he has in excess of 100 high quality hides in his store houses which he is willing to sell to the quartermaster of the 20th Legion at the previously agreed price.

  The hides are at Isca but he is willing to transport them immediately upon confirmation of the order and pay for their transport. My brother writes that he will contribute a donation to the society of the rightful veterans of the Twentieth Legion should the contract be agreed. Please advise me of your reply at the soonest possible occasion and please greet your sister Julia from me.

  Your faithful friend and business partner

  Fergus frowned and lowered the letter as he trudged on towards the camp granaries and the quartermaster’s offices. What was this? The letter had surprised him. What was Furius doing, arranging army supply contracts for his brother? He’d had no idea that such things were possible. As he approached the large warehouses containing the legion’s supply of grain, Fergus came to a halt as he suddenly had an uneasy thought. Quickly he raised the letter to the light and read it once again and as he did a little colour shot into his cheeks.

  My brother writes that he will contribute a donation to the society of the rightful veterans of the Twentieth Legion should the contract be agreed.

  “The Society of Rightful Veterans of the Twentieth Legion,” Fergus muttered to himself. He’d never heard of such a society nor had he heard any of his fellow soldiers talk about it. Was this a way of bribing the quartermaster’s office into agreeing the supply contract? He lowered the letter and raised his hand and gently stroked his chin. But if it was a bribe why had Furius sent him to deliver the letter? Why was the decanus deliberately showing him his business dealings? It didn’t make sense. If the senior officers found out about this; if they suspected corruption in the quartermaster’s office; it would surely mean punishment for all those involved. Why had Furius chosen him to deliver the letter? He could have done that himself. The flush on Fergus’s cheeks deepened. Was he being set up? But that didn’t make sense for Furius had clearly marked the letter as coming from himself. Bewildered Fergus gently shook his head. What was going on?

  There were no guards outside the building containing the quartermaster’s staff and as Fergus entered, he was met by the welcoming warmth of a roaring and well fed fire. A couple of clerks were gathered around the hearth. They gave Fergus a brief, disinterested glance and quickly turned back to their conversation.

  Fergus paused by the door and glanced around the office. Against the far wall stood a wooden table upon which lay stack upon stack of neatly organised, wooden letters similar to the one he was clutching in his hand.

  “I am looking for Janus,” Fergus said turning to the clerks.

  The men’s conversation ceased and one of the clerks looked up and, as he caught sight of the letter in Fergus’s hand, a glint of interest appeared in his eyes. For a moment the office remained silent.

  “He’s in the back room,” the clerk replied, staring at Fergus.

  Fergus said nothing as he quickly strode across the office and through the doorway into the back room. Inside an older man of around thirty, with black hair was sitting at a table reading a parchment scroll. Startled he looked up as Fergus saluted.

  “Are you Janus?” Fergus said.

  “I am, and who are you?” Janus growled, clearly displeased at the intrusion.

  In reply Fergus proffered the letter. “I was told to give this to you.”

  With a grunt Janus took the letter and read it and as he did so he grunted again.

  “Sir,” Fergus said as he watched Janus read, “What is the Society of Rightful Veterans of the Twentieth Legion? I have never heard of that before.”

  Abruptly Janus lowered the letter and turned to stare at Fergus with an incredulous look.

  “What are you, stupid?” Janus hissed. “Get the fuck out of my office.”

  ***

  The others had not yet returned from the hospital as Fergus strode back into his quarters. Furius was reclining on the only chair with his feet up on the small table. He gave Fergus a careful searching look.

  “Did you deliver the letter to Janus?” he growled.

  Fergus nodded and moved over to his bunk and awkwardly began re-arranging his thick woollen blanket.

  “Good,” Furius replied, “Here, this is for you,” he said as he chucked a small leather bag at Fergus, who caught it with one hand. “Buy the boys a drink tonight in the tavern or spend it on that woman of yours. The barmaid at the Lucky. Everyone knows how much you like her.”

  Fergus stared at the small bag of coins in his hand. What was this? Why was Furius being nice to him? Why was he rewarding him for a simple errand?

  “That’s kind of you, but she is not my woman,” Fergus muttered as he slipped the money pouch into a pocket. “I don’t even think she likes me.”

  “Whatever,” Furius said, waving his hand dismissively in the air, “But you should listen to the advice from a man who knows a bit more about women than you do. Women like a man with money, a man who can buy them pretty things.” Furius shrugged. “Army pay is good but you can always do with some extra cash on the side, right?”

  Suddenly Furius was staring at Fergus with a calculating look.

  “There is more where that money came from,” he said silkily, “I know how it works. So are you in Fergus? This is your opportunity. Can I count on you?”

  Fergus turned away so that Furius could not see his face. So that was what the business with the letter to Janus was all about. Furius was trying to get him involved in his business, his money making schemes on the side.

  Without saying a word Fergus strode out of the barracks block. It was nearly dark and up on the stone ramparts of the fortress the sentries were shouting to each other as the guard was being changed. Burning beacons lined the walls at intervals and the smell of charcoal was in the air. Without a purpose Fergus started out towards the centre of the camp where the senior legionary officers were quartered and as he did so he touched his bruised eye. So that was why Furius was being nice to him. The decanus was trying to get him involved in his money-making schemes and if he agreed he would forever be in the man’s pocket. Angrily his hand clenched into a fist. Furius was trying to bribe him. Furius could fuck off. He should really report this whole affair to Titus, the company centurion. Surely the army did not tolerate its soldiers running private businesses, bribing the quartermasters for supply contracts?

  Fergus came to a halt as if he had just run into a brick wall. But what if Titus too was involved? What if the senior officers were doing the same? In the gloom no one noticed the sudden blush that spread across his cheeks. Slowly Fergus turned round and stared in the direction from which he’d just come. He had a choice to make. A big choice. Was this how the army worked? He was not high born, he had no powerful and influential friends and for a man like that, if he wanted to rise up the army hierarchy, then the only way, surely, was to play this game. If he wanted to gain promotion and become someone, then he would have to do this, but on the other hand he would be indebted to Furius for the rest of his career and being indebted to that arsehole was something he really, really didn’t want.

  Irritated he kicked at a clump of frozen mud and sent it flying against a barracks wall. No, he thought furiously, he needed to remain calm and think this through carefully. He needed to be smart. Wearily he closed his eyes and ran his fingers across his face. What would Corbulo, his grandfather, have done in this situation? Slowly Fergus opened his eyes as a smile appeared on his lips. Corbulo would have told Furius to fuck off and eat his own shit. As he thought about his grandfather’s reaction his smile grew. According to Quintus, Corbulo had always said exactly what he was thinking and because of that he had never risen very high in the ranks. Fergus sighed and started out again towards the Principia at the centre of the camp. He had to decide.

  As he neared the central square where the senior officers and their families had their quarters, he came to an abrupt halt. In the fading and dying light a small procession of white-robed priests was coming towards him and, in between them, strode the Legion’s Aquilifer, proudly holding up the Eagle standard of the Twentieth Legion. Fergus’s eyes widened in awe and he hastily took a step backwards as he stared at the golden, sacred eagle as it swept past, and as he did so, Fergus swore that the Eagle’s eyes twinkled and looked at him. A legion’s Eagle was a God, Quintus had explained to him, on the many evenings he’d spent talking to the old veteran, when he was still a boy growing up on the island of Vectis. And if the Eagle looks at you it is a sign, the old man had muttered, a sign that the gods have taken an interest in you.

  Hastily Fergus started off in the opposite direction and as he did so he sensed a new resolve. He would accept Furius’ offer, whether he liked it or not, he would have to play the political game. He would make friends with the people who would decide on his promotion prospects. He would do this even if he hated it. Once long ago, Quintus had told him something about Corbulo. He had said that Corbulo had regretted not making anything of himself and that he had spent his whole retirement trying to put things right. And in the end he had sacrificed his life to protect his children. He had pursued his ambition to the end. Yes, Fergus nodded as his resolve grew, he would do this because at the end of the day his grandfather would want him to make something of himself. Corbulo would be the first to applaud him. Corbulo would understand and, if his granddad approved, then he would be able to handle anything.

  Chapter Twelve – The Barmaid of the Lucky

  The Lucky Legionary tavern was packed with off-duty Legionaries. The soldiers sat drinking wine, beer and mead from long wooden benches beside tables and the noise and mood was loud and boisterous. Against the far wall a cracking and roaring fire was blasting heat into the large room. It was being attended to by a slave who was feeding logs into the greedy flames. Fergus and his mess mates sat together at the end of one of the tables, squeezed in between other groups. The men were clasping their cups to their chests and talking in animated, slightly tipsy voices. Fergus however was silent, and as he listened to his comrades, his attention started to slip and he turned cautiously to look in the direction of the long rectangular bar, with its large circular holes cut into the wood, to allow for easier and quicker access to the drink stored beneath it. Galena and her father, the tavern owner, were busy serving the thirsty men and, as he stared at Galena, a flush appeared on Fergus’s cheeks. The tavern owner’s daughter was sixteen, with long blond hair which she’d tied back in a ponytail and she was wearing a leather apron over her chest and to Fergus she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He had noticed her the moment he had first come to the Lucky tavern in the civilian settlement that had grown up around the legionary fortress. But after all these weeks, he’d still not had the courage to get up and talk to her. As he stared at her, she suddenly looked up and with uncanny instinct she seemed to pick him out from the crowd and for a brief moment their eyes made contact. Hastily Fergus turned away, his eyes widening and the flush on his cheeks deepened.

  A hand slapped into Fergus’s back nearly forcing him to spill his wine.

  “I think Fergus has spotted something he likes,” Aledus cried out as a smirk appeared on his lips. “Heh lads, how about we all chip in, so that our young friend here can lose his virginity tonight with the barmaid.”

  Aledus’ cry was met with a chorus of encouraging cheers from the others and even Furius looked bemused.

  “Shut up!” Fergus snapped as he shrugged himself free from Aledus’s arm. “She is no common tavern whore.”

  “Ooh I think he really likes her,” Aledus replied as the grin on his face grew. “Well if you like her so much, why don’t you go over there and talk to her?”

  “Just shut up will you,” Fergus replied moodily as he raised his cup to his lips.

  “I think he’s afraid of her father,” Catinius said, giving Fergus a wink, “He looks like the kind of man who doesn’t take kindly to Romans poking around his daughter. They say that he fought against Rome during the Brigantian rebellion. Look at the bastard, he’s built like a tree trunk.”

  “Yes and now he runs a tavern serving the deserving men of the Twentieth,” Furius interrupted, “So who won that fight? Not the fucking Brigantes, eh.”

  No one replied and idly Fergus turned to glance again in the direction of the bar. Galena’s father, the tavern owner, was indeed a huge, towering hulk of a man who looked like he knew how to handle himself in a fight, although his grey beard and large belly betrayed his age. The man’s forehead glistened with sweat as he went about handing out cups of wine and taking coin in return. He looked around forty.

  “Fergus, wasn’t your father involved in putting down that rebellion?” Vittius said, carefully wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

  Fergus glanced at Vittius and wearily shook his head. He did not know or remember his father, Marcus, at all. The man had left with his Batavian cohort for the Dacian frontier when he’d still been too young to remember. He could not even picture what his father looked like and his mother, Kyna, had never really wanted to talk about him.

  “He was with the 2nd Batavian cohort in the fort up at Luguvalium,” Fergus muttered, “They say he saved his entire unit from annihilation and that he fought well during the uprising, but that he disobeyed orders and got disgraced and demoted. That’s all I know about him. I haven’t seen him in thirteen years and I don’t expect he will return from Dacia.”

  The others were silent for a moment, as they pondered what had been said. Then slowly the conversation turned to other matters and, as it did Fergus stiffly rose from his seat and stumbled towards the door. Outside it was dark and quiet and a multitude of stars twinkled in the night sky. Fergus shivered as the coldness hit him and he hastily turned into the dark alley that ran alongside the tavern. In the darkness he fumbled with his tunic and sighed as he sent a satisfying stream of steaming piss arching into the snow. As he emerged from the alley however and turned towards the tavern door, he came to an abrupt halt. A young woman was waiting for him just outside the tavern. In the flickering torchlight he saw that it was Galena. She was staring at him.

  “I am no whore,” Galena said in good Latin, “If you want me to be your woman, it has to be only me and it has to be for eternity. So if you can’t make that promise then I suggest you start staring at some other woman’s tits.”

  And without another word she abruptly turned around and marched back into the tavern leaving Fergus staring in stunned silence at the door as it slammed shut in his face.

  ***

  As he re-entered the tavern Fergus saw that Galena was back behind the bar serving customers. She was talking to her father as she handed out cups of wine but the noise inside the room made it impossible to hear what she was saying. Was she telling her father about him? Wearily Fergus shook his head. He was such a coward when it came to women. With a sigh he turned back to his comrades and, as he did he immediately noticed that something was wrong. His mess mates had fallen silent and were staring tensely at a group of legionaries, sitting at the next table. Aledus seemed to be having an argument with one of the men.

  “What’s going on?” Fergus muttered nudging Vittius as he squeezed into his place on the bench.

  “They’re from the 6th Cohort,” Vittius replied in a tense voice,” One of those arseholes just insulted Aledus, called him a cocksucker. Aledus is not about to let it go.”

  “Oh shit,” Fergus grunted as he turned to stare at the men seated at the next table. They seemed to be a large group of around twenty. The bad blood between the 2nd Cohort and the 6th was well-known for the 6th prided itself as being one of the finest cohorts in the Legion and its legionaries had a habit of looking down on the 2nd, who were by tradition made up of the newest and youngest recruits.

  “And what are you going to do about it, little man?” the soldier with whom Aledus was arguing suddenly sneered. “You and your friends want to take this outside?”

  Aledus’s face darkened as he rose to his feet and aggressively thrust his head forwards and as he did so, half a dozen men on the opposing table rose to their feet, their faces hard and cold. The soldiers from the 6th all looked like seasoned veterans, men in their prime.

  “Aledus, sit down, for fuck’s sake,” Furius hissed, trying to tug Aledus back down into his seat, but Aledus would not budge. He was staring furiously at the man who had insulted him and there was a murderous glint in his eyes.

  “Say what you just said again,” Aledus said slowly raising his finger and pointing at the man, “and I will slit your throat.”

  On the opposite table one of the soldiers from the 6th suddenly slammed the sharp point of a Pugio, knife, into the wooden table.

  “Oi, show some respect,” Fergus suddenly shouted as he rose to his feet and stared at the large group of men from the 6th Cohort, his face suddenly flush with emotion, and, as he did, the whole tavern fell silent and all eyes turned in his direction.

 

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