Legionary: A warrior's journey begins in Ancient Rome (Quintus Roman Thrillers Book 1) by Neil Denby

Author:Neil Denby [Denby, Neil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sapere Books
Published: 2023-03-17T04:00:00+00:00

XX: CASTRA

Half the men in this scrubby place that had once been a battlefield knew that today they would be breaking camp. Orders had been given and their tents were already being dismantled. Their pots, quern stones and rations were being loaded onto mules and carts, pegs pulled and stowed, guy ropes coiled, and fires quenched.

The morning held the promise of a fine day, and though there had been swirling skeins of mist on the ground earlier, it was vanishing with the dawn as the cornicen stepped forward and blew the general assembly. It was to be the same as previous mornings in this camp, in that two crosses stood, waiting for a victim each. However, some of the soldiers would not be going back to fires and tents but would instead be marching on in search of rebels.

There was no sign of the prefect, the men were relieved to see, for that meant no speech — of encouragement or otherwise. Marcus appeared from the officer’s quarters, and Quintus saw no evidence of shame on his face. The Third — Galba’s men, who were remaining — were armed and armoured, but carried no packs and no equipment, and their slaves and animals were all busy in and around their tents. Furius Lentulus stood at the head of a much reduced Sixth, with many of his century on guard at both the entrances and inside the mine, some at this end of the forest road. By contrast, Marcus’ men were fully laden. Their mules and slaves were packed and ready to go, standing patiently to one side.

Still, they all had to stand to attention as the standards were brought out, knowing they had to wait for the executions.

Antoninus was the last to emerge, limping from his calf wound, which was still bound. He stood where the prefect would have stood and took it upon himself to provide the men with his thoughts. They were short.

‘The enemies of Rome!’ he shouted.

The naked bodies of the last of the prisoners were dragged across by their bound hands to their place of execution. They were sorry-looking individuals, half-dead already, all angled limbs and ribs, skin stretched tight across them, like the pattern left by receding waves on wet sand.

Quintus caught Sextus’ eye as the men — stripped, humiliated, broken, vulnerable, and certainly no threat — were heaved up onto the cross, where they would spend their final hours in agony. He saw the slight shake of Sextus’ head and agreed. He, too, would have broken their legs to shorten their journey to whatever otherworld they believed in.

‘Death to the enemies of Rome!’ shouted Antoninus, as the prisoners were hauled up and tied to the timber. ‘Death to the enemies of Rome!’ he repeated, demanding the response that he had not initially received.

The men understood. ‘Death to the enemies of Rome!’ they called back with the required enthusiasm, though most had grown weary of this daily spectacle.

Antoninus kept the men drawn up in their centuries until it was fully light, waiting — at least the men assumed he was waiting — for the prefect.

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