veteran who’d chanced upon him – so said a centurion friend of Tullus, who knew the soldier concerned. In the years since, Tubero had risen to the rank of legate. It was Tullus’ ill fortune that he had been appointed to the Fifth Legion.
Even if Tullus could get past Tubero, above him, like Jupiter on his throne raised over the other gods, was Caecina. Success seemed so improbable that Tullus wanted to groan out loud. Conscious of Piso and Vitellius’ eyes on him, he made no outward show of emotion. ‘You did well to bring this news to me. Keep your ears to the ground. Report anything else you hear to me, double quick.’ He jerked his head, dismissing them.
Rising, Vitellius saluted and made to leave, but Piso lingered. ‘What are you going to do, sir?’
Tullus’ instinct was to bite his head off, but Piso deserved better than that. ‘I need evidence,’ he said. ‘
I
believe you, but your word isn’t enough to persuade someone like Legate Tubero that the sewer is about to burst. I’m going to do a little eavesdropping between now and the morning. Thanks to you, I know the right place to start.’
Piso looked as unhappy as Tullus felt about this far-from-certain tactic, but he was powerless to protest. ‘Very good, sir. With your permission.’ He strode off towards his tent.
Tullus went to find Fenestela. He needed someone to confide in. He also needed more wine.
A lot of it.
Some time before the sun had risen the following morning, Tullus was stealing down the narrow ‘corridor’ that ran between the back of his men’s tents and those of another century. Experience had taught him that this was one of the best places to listen in on soldiers’ conversations. This was not something he’d had to do much, but it was useful upon occasion, and necessary in this uncertain time. The trumpets to wake the camp had not yet been blown, but he and Fenestela had already roused the soldiers, so there was chatter to overhear. They were going on a twenty-mile march, Tullus had bawled, so they had to be up, breakfasted and ready to leave within the hour.
As he’d expected, most of the talk was complaining about the impending march. Tullus listened, smiling, to the bitching about him and Fenestela. Such talk was normal, and of no concern. What he didn’t like were the comments by men who grumbled that the other centuries in the cohort weren’t marching, so why should they? The sentiment wasn’t serious enough to warrant intervening, though, so he kept picking his way over the tent ropes, hoping that nothing would come of his spying. Each step that took him nearer to the tent which held the three soldiers seen by Piso felt more and more ominous, however.
‘Where d’you hear that?’ demanded a voice in the fifth tent – the one he’d been aiming for.
The tone brought Tullus to a dead halt.
‘At the meeting,’ replied a second voice, one Tullus recognised as a conscript of five years’ standing.
‘It’s a dangerous thing, gathering without permission,’ said the first voice.
‘Mebbe it is, but we didn’t get caught. What’s important is the way that legionary was talking. Most of the men in the four legions are going to take part, I’m telling you. We should too. As he said, any officers who try to stop us can have a good beating – or worse.’
‘Not Tullus, surely?’ protested the first voice. ‘He’s tough, but he is a good centurion.’
‘If the man’s got any sense, he will keep his head down,’ replied the conscript. ‘No harm will come to him then.’
‘Tullus keep his head down? Ha!’ The first soldier made an unhappy noise. ‘I won’t raise my hand to him. No way.’
‘Nor will I,’ chimed a third man, and a fourth, making Tullus’ heart lift.
‘You’re fools,’ swore the conscript. ‘Forget about Tullus. Think about the miserable amount you’re paid, and the way you’re worked like slaves.’
‘I’m with you,’ said a fifth voice. There was silence from
Even if Tullus could get past Tubero, above him, like Jupiter on his throne raised over the other gods, was Caecina. Success seemed so improbable that Tullus wanted to groan out loud. Conscious of Piso and Vitellius’ eyes on him, he made no outward show of emotion. ‘You did well to bring this news to me. Keep your ears to the ground. Report anything else you hear to me, double quick.’ He jerked his head, dismissing them.
Rising, Vitellius saluted and made to leave, but Piso lingered. ‘What are you going to do, sir?’
Tullus’ instinct was to bite his head off, but Piso deserved better than that. ‘I need evidence,’ he said. ‘
I
believe you, but your word isn’t enough to persuade someone like Legate Tubero that the sewer is about to burst. I’m going to do a little eavesdropping between now and the morning. Thanks to you, I know the right place to start.’
Piso looked as unhappy as Tullus felt about this far-from-certain tactic, but he was powerless to protest. ‘Very good, sir. With your permission.’ He strode off towards his tent.
Tullus went to find Fenestela. He needed someone to confide in. He also needed more wine.
A lot of it.
Some time before the sun had risen the following morning, Tullus was stealing down the narrow ‘corridor’ that ran between the back of his men’s tents and those of another century. Experience had taught him that this was one of the best places to listen in on soldiers’ conversations. This was not something he’d had to do much, but it was useful upon occasion, and necessary in this uncertain time. The trumpets to wake the camp had not yet been blown, but he and Fenestela had already roused the soldiers, so there was chatter to overhear. They were going on a twenty-mile march, Tullus had bawled, so they had to be up, breakfasted and ready to leave within the hour.
As he’d expected, most of the talk was complaining about the impending march. Tullus listened, smiling, to the bitching about him and Fenestela. Such talk was normal, and of no concern. What he didn’t like were the comments by men who grumbled that the other centuries in the cohort weren’t marching, so why should they? The sentiment wasn’t serious enough to warrant intervening, though, so he kept picking his way over the tent ropes, hoping that nothing would come of his spying. Each step that took him nearer to the tent which held the three soldiers seen by Piso felt more and more ominous, however.
‘Where d’you hear that?’ demanded a voice in the fifth tent – the one he’d been aiming for.
The tone brought Tullus to a dead halt.
‘At the meeting,’ replied a second voice, one Tullus recognised as a conscript of five years’ standing.
‘It’s a dangerous thing, gathering without permission,’ said the first voice.
‘Mebbe it is, but we didn’t get caught. What’s important is the way that legionary was talking. Most of the men in the four legions are going to take part, I’m telling you. We should too. As he said, any officers who try to stop us can have a good beating – or worse.’
‘Not Tullus, surely?’ protested the first voice. ‘He’s tough, but he is a good centurion.’
‘If the man’s got any sense, he will keep his head down,’ replied the conscript. ‘No harm will come to him then.’
‘Tullus keep his head down? Ha!’ The first soldier made an unhappy noise. ‘I won’t raise my hand to him. No way.’
‘Nor will I,’ chimed a third man, and a fourth, making Tullus’ heart lift.
‘You’re fools,’ swore the conscript. ‘Forget about Tullus. Think about the miserable amount you’re paid, and the way you’re worked like slaves.’
‘I’m with you,’ said a fifth voice. There was silence from
Similar Books
