The War at the Edge of the World by Ian Ross Read Free Book Online

the centurions had little to boast about. So what if they mocked him for his military experience? So what if they laughed at the way he kept his boots and belts oiled and shining, his tunics cleanly laundered, his metal bright? He worked hard at training his men, and he drank little, and if they hated him for that he did not care. The army was his life, his only love. He had seen his father slump into indignity and be destroyed by it, and he would do anything to avoid that.
    ‘Easy, brother,’ Valens said quietly, leaning across the table. He nodded towards the door. ‘I’ve got a couple of spare tokens for the Blue House, if you’re interested.’ Balbinus and Galleo were busy rattling dice in a cup. Castus drank down the rest of his beer and upended the cup on the table.
    ‘Leaving so soon?’ Balbinus cried, flinging the dice down. ‘And you haven’t even told us again how you beat the King of Persia at arm-wrestling!’
    ‘You worry me sometimes,’ Valens said as they walked together past the warehouses. ‘You fall into one of your silences, and I think you’re about to start breaking people’s heads open.’ The air was still, the crescent moon bright; it was as close to a pleasant summer’s evening as Castus had known in this country. ‘Mind you, I’m sure nobody’d think any the worse of you if you did…’
    ‘They’re just talking,’ Castus said, shrugging lightly. ‘Nothing better to do.’ The mood of irritation still gripped him; but there was only one person he wanted to see now, and he knew where to find her. He could still taste the beer on his tongue, and worried that his breath might smell of it – cupping his hand over his mouth, he breathed and sniffed.
    The sound of rapid hoofbeats came along the wide central street from the north-west gate. Both centurions stepped back into the shadow of the portico; a solitary horseman in a thick native cloak was riding hard along the street. He reined in before the gates of the headquarters building, shouted a reply to the sentries as he dismounted, and then ran inside.
    ‘Looks like he’s late for his supper,’ Valens said as they continued across the street and down the broad colonnaded avenue towards the river gate. Knots of men passed in the darkness, some of them saluting when they noticed the centurions’ staffs. A wagon loaded with barrels from the legion brewery groaned by, and then they were passing beneath the arches of the gatehouse and out of the fortress.
    The road ran down from the gates to the stone bridge that crossed the river. On the far side, the lights of the civilian settlement spread along the banks. The colony of Eboracum, capital city of Britannia Secunda province, was almost as old as the fortress; Castus had been surprised at its size when he had first come here, although compared to the cities of the east it wasn’t much. Tiled roofs caught the moonlight, and the smoke of a thousand hearths and kitchen fires rose towards the tattered night clouds. City and fortress depended on one another, but the soldiers of the legion did not mix much with the civilians on the other side of the river.
    Crunching over the cobbles, the two men descended towards the bridge. Just before it, they turned off to the right along another road that traced the strip of sloping ground between the ditch and wall of the fortress and the river. Along the riverbank there were low buildings: warehouses and shacks, crude taverns and brothels. Valens shoved a couple of staggering soldiers out of his path, while Castus paced along behind him, rolling his shoulders.
    The Blue House stood at the far end of the row of buildings. Narrow and two-storeyed, with a rickety balcony overhanging the street, it was painted all over with a sky-blue wash. A side gate gave access to the yard, and a miserable-looking sentry was posted there to deny entry to anyone except centurions and tribunes. The Blue House was what passed for a high-class establishment in