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

clattering. Embarrassment creased through him. A stupid mistake, that was all.
    Another voice now, from out in the yard. Hurried words. Castus turned as the eunuch appeared through the doorway, stooping a bow.
    ‘Would the dominus be Centurion Aurelius Castus?’ he asked.
    Castus glared at him, and the eunuch swallowed thickly.
    ‘There is messenger for you, dominus. From the prefect. He claims it’s an urgent matter.’
    He stepped away from the curtain. Dionysia was still peering at him through the swinging beads, her earrings chiming.
    Now what? ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’m coming.’
    The praetorium was in darkness, only a few lamps burning in the upper rooms and the sentries at the door almost asleep against their spears. Two months had passed since Castus had last entered here, for his strange interview with Arpagius and the notary Nigrinus. This time things were different – the messenger had told him nothing, but had led him through the streets of the fortress at a rapid pace.
    Up the stairs, he followed the corridor along to the same room he had entered before. The doors opened to orange lamplight and a huddle of figures around the central table. Castus took three strides across the floor, stamped to a halt and saluted.
    ‘Dominus!’
    ‘Yes, yes, quietly, please, centurion. Stand at ease.’
    Arpagius had a creased look, as if he had been woken recently. A quick glance took in the other men in the room: two tribunes, Rufinius and Callistus; a long-haired man in a native cloak whom Castus recognised as the rider he had seen outside earlier; and a bearded balding man with a round face and startled eyes.
    ‘What’s the current duty strength of your century?’ the prefect asked.
    ‘Dominus! Four men still absent on supply escort duty, three men in the hospital, two men on leave, one detached to the river patrol, one absent without leave. Fifty-eight men present for duty, dominus.’
    Arpagius raised an eyebrow. ‘Impressively detailed,’ he said. Castus suppressed a smile, and gave silent thanks to his standard-bearer.
    ‘I want you to prepare those men you have available for immediate departure,’ the prefect went on. Castus said nothing.
    ‘You may want to sit down, centurion,’ one of the tribunes said, pointing to a stool. Castus winged his shoulders, then he sat down stiffly on the stool with his back straight.
    ‘One of our frontier scouts,’ Arpagius said, gesturing to the man in the native cloak, ‘has just brought some potentially troubling information from north of the border. It appears that Vepogenus, who you may know is High Chieftain of the Pictish confederation, has died. Apparently a case of accidental food poisoning – he was feasting on mushrooms – but there are necessarily doubts about what’s happened.’
    Castus nodded, staying silent. He had never heard of Vepogenus, or the Pictish confederation. The Picts were a savage people who lived far north of the frontier, past the wall of Hadrian and the settled lands beyond, but he knew no more about them than that.
    ‘Since the death is in dispute,’ Arpagius went on, ‘Vepogenus’s military commander has declared himself regent until the tribal leaders can be gathered to select a new high chieftain.’
    ‘The Picts have a multitude of leaders,’ said the second tribune, Callistus, a solid military-looking man with hard eyes. ‘But they’ve taken to… electing a chieftain to stand above the others. It’s a new thing – easier for us when they just fought among themselves!’
    ‘Vepogenus fought against us in the past,’ Arpagius said, ‘but he agreed to a treaty several years ago. He swore to keep the peace and not to attack the settled tribes to the south who are clients of Rome, and he’s stuck to it. With him gone, there’s potential for troublemakers to step in – the Picts are a very backward people, and believe treaties are made between individuals, not states. Therefore we must send an envoy, with a