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Authors: Anthony Riches
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man’s purse, a crime compounded by his then committing the worst possible error for a man in his line of work, namely failing to run fast enough when the fingers were pointed.’
‘So he’s not only a thief, but not even a good one? What use would we have for a dishonest incompetent?’
Drest shrugged in the face of Julius’s scorn.
‘That’s hardly for me to say, I have such a small basis for comparison. Perhaps the man himself might venture an opinion?’
He gestured to the thief, whose face was set in what Marcus assumed was professional neutrality.
‘I was caught because I broke my own rules and attempted to rob more than a single mark in the same place. The man was a merchant from the looks of him, and possessed of a purse so heavy that to have left it there unplucked seemed improper.’ He shrugged. ‘That was my mistake. He had the purse doubly secured to his belt by a hidden chain, having been robbed before. As to whether I am an effective thief, I’d say that you, First Spear, might be the best judge. I found this in your belt pouch as we were coming through the door …’
He held out his closed fist and opened the fingers to reveal Julius’s brass whistle resting on his palm. Dubnus sniggered behind his colleague, trying and failing to muffle his uncontrollable amusement behind a hand, and even Marcus was forced to smile at his brother officer’s discomfiture.
‘I’d say that’s sufficient evidence for us to accept that your man here has some ability in his chosen profession. But what good will it serve us? Our task is one of infiltration and murder, not the picking of merchants’ purses.’
Drest spoke up, stepping forward and taking the whistle from his comrade’s outstretched hand.
‘He’s a good deal more than a simple thief, Centurion. He has silent feet to complement his swift fingers, and an uncanny ability with a lock. If I were going to attempt to get into The Fang unnoticed, then he would be my first man over the wall.’
Scaurus spoke, having stood in silence while the introductions were made.
‘“If” being the operative word, as you so correctly identify. It is clear that Artorius Castus hopes that we will accept your services in this matter, and equally obvious that he reposes a good deal of trust in you, but you can be sure that I do not yet share his views as to your suitability.’ Drest stood in silence and waited for the tribune to continue, his expression untroubled, while Scaurus played a calculating look across his comrades. ‘Some proof of these abilities is called for.’
Drest shot the tribune an amused glance, clearly unabashed by the tribune’s status.
‘And you have a fairly specific idea as to how we might provide you with that proof, don’t you, Tribune?’
The Roman smiled grimly at him.
‘Indeed I do. But be very careful in considering whether or not you can accept this challenge. I’d imagine that the punishment for being caught attempting what I have in mind will involve a vigorous session on the sharp end of a scourge, rapidly followed by the enthusiastic application of a hammer and three big nails.’
2
The next morning was clear and bright, overnight mist burning off in less than an hour as the Tungrians prepared to march north. Marcus stood with his helmet under one arm and watched as the Sixth Legion’s three centuries readied themselves to escort Tribune Sorex’s gold chests back to their fortress at Yew Grove. He nodded in wry recognition as their centurions undertook the ritual final preparations, inspecting the waiting soldiers alongside scowling chosen men who had already scrutinised their troops’ readiness with sharp and unforgiving eyes. Camp Prefect Castus stood and watched beside Marcus with a look of satisfaction at the scene before him.
‘Is there any better sight in the entire world than a few centuries of battle-hardened infantry commanded by men at the peak of their powers? I’ve trodden parade grounds across the
‘So he’s not only a thief, but not even a good one? What use would we have for a dishonest incompetent?’
Drest shrugged in the face of Julius’s scorn.
‘That’s hardly for me to say, I have such a small basis for comparison. Perhaps the man himself might venture an opinion?’
He gestured to the thief, whose face was set in what Marcus assumed was professional neutrality.
‘I was caught because I broke my own rules and attempted to rob more than a single mark in the same place. The man was a merchant from the looks of him, and possessed of a purse so heavy that to have left it there unplucked seemed improper.’ He shrugged. ‘That was my mistake. He had the purse doubly secured to his belt by a hidden chain, having been robbed before. As to whether I am an effective thief, I’d say that you, First Spear, might be the best judge. I found this in your belt pouch as we were coming through the door …’
He held out his closed fist and opened the fingers to reveal Julius’s brass whistle resting on his palm. Dubnus sniggered behind his colleague, trying and failing to muffle his uncontrollable amusement behind a hand, and even Marcus was forced to smile at his brother officer’s discomfiture.
‘I’d say that’s sufficient evidence for us to accept that your man here has some ability in his chosen profession. But what good will it serve us? Our task is one of infiltration and murder, not the picking of merchants’ purses.’
Drest spoke up, stepping forward and taking the whistle from his comrade’s outstretched hand.
‘He’s a good deal more than a simple thief, Centurion. He has silent feet to complement his swift fingers, and an uncanny ability with a lock. If I were going to attempt to get into The Fang unnoticed, then he would be my first man over the wall.’
Scaurus spoke, having stood in silence while the introductions were made.
‘“If” being the operative word, as you so correctly identify. It is clear that Artorius Castus hopes that we will accept your services in this matter, and equally obvious that he reposes a good deal of trust in you, but you can be sure that I do not yet share his views as to your suitability.’ Drest stood in silence and waited for the tribune to continue, his expression untroubled, while Scaurus played a calculating look across his comrades. ‘Some proof of these abilities is called for.’
Drest shot the tribune an amused glance, clearly unabashed by the tribune’s status.
‘And you have a fairly specific idea as to how we might provide you with that proof, don’t you, Tribune?’
The Roman smiled grimly at him.
‘Indeed I do. But be very careful in considering whether or not you can accept this challenge. I’d imagine that the punishment for being caught attempting what I have in mind will involve a vigorous session on the sharp end of a scourge, rapidly followed by the enthusiastic application of a hammer and three big nails.’
2
The next morning was clear and bright, overnight mist burning off in less than an hour as the Tungrians prepared to march north. Marcus stood with his helmet under one arm and watched as the Sixth Legion’s three centuries readied themselves to escort Tribune Sorex’s gold chests back to their fortress at Yew Grove. He nodded in wry recognition as their centurions undertook the ritual final preparations, inspecting the waiting soldiers alongside scowling chosen men who had already scrutinised their troops’ readiness with sharp and unforgiving eyes. Camp Prefect Castus stood and watched beside Marcus with a look of satisfaction at the scene before him.
‘Is there any better sight in the entire world than a few centuries of battle-hardened infantry commanded by men at the peak of their powers? I’ve trodden parade grounds across the
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