‘Suetonius?’ he exclaimed.
The man stiffened slightly.
‘Tesserarius Prandus, to you. I am watch commander for this century. An officer.’
‘You’re signing on as one of those, aren’t you, Julius?’ Cabera said clearly.
Julius looked at Suetonius. On this day, he hadn’t the patience to mind the man’s feelings.
‘For now,’ he replied to Cabera, then turned to his old neighbour.
‘How long have you been in that rank?’
‘A few years,’ Suetonius replied, stiffening.
Julius nodded. ‘I’ll have to see if I can do better than that. Will you show me to my quarters?’
Anger at the offhand manner coloured Suetonius’ features. Without another word, he turned away from them, striding over the decks.
‘An old friend?’ Cabera muttered as they followed.
‘No, not really.’ Julius didn’t say any more and Cabera didn’t press for details. There would be time enough at sea to hear them all.
Inwardly Julius sighed. Two years of his life would be spent with these men, and it would be hard enough without having Suetonius there to remember him as a smooth-faced urchin. The unit would range right across the Mediterranean, holding Roman territories, guaranteeing safe sea trade, perhaps even taking part in land or sea battles. He shrugged at his thoughts. His experience in the city had shown that there was no point worrying about the future – it would always be a surprise. He would become older and stronger and would rise in rank. Eventually, he would be strong enough to return to Rome and look Sulla in the eye. Then they would see.
With Marcus standing at his side, there would be a reckoning, and a payment taken for Marius’ death.
Marcus waited patiently in the outer chamber of the camp Prefect’s rooms. To pass the time before he was admitted to the meeting to determine his future, he read the letter from Gaius again. It had been travelling for many months and had been carried from hand to hand by legionaries passing closer and closer to Illyria. Finally, it had been included in a bundle of orders for the Fourth Macedonia and passed on to the young officer.
Marius’ death had come as a terrible blow. Marcus had wanted to be able to show the general that his faith in him had been well founded. He had wanted to thank him as a man, but that was impossible now. Although he had never met Sulla, he wondered if the consul would be a danger for himself and Gaius – Julius now.
He smiled at the news of the marriage and winced at the brief lines about Alexandria, guessing much more than Julius had revealed. Cornelia sounded like an angel to hear Julius write of her. It was really the only piece of good news in the whole thing.
His thoughts were interrupted by the heavy door to the inner rooms opening. A legionary came out and saluted. Marcus rose and returned the gesture smartly.
‘The Prefect will see you now,’ the man said.
Marcus nodded and marched into the room, standing to attention the regulation three feet from the Prefect’s oak table, bare except for a wine jug, inkpot and some neatly arranged parchment.
Renius was there, standing in the corner with a cup of wine. Leonides too, the centurion of the Bronze Fist. Carac, the camp Prefect, rose as the young man entered and gestured to him to sit. Marcus lowered himself onto a heavy chair and sat rigidly.
‘At your ease, legionary. This is not a court martial,’ Carac muttered, his gaze wandering over the papers on his desk.
Marcus tried to relax his bearing a little.
‘Your two years is up in a week, as you are no doubt aware,’ Carac said.
‘Yes, sir,’ Marcus replied.
‘Your record has been excellent to date. Command of a contubernium, successful actions against local tribesmen. Winner of the Bronze Fist sword tourney last month. I hear the men respect you, despite your youth, and regard you as dependable in a crisis – some would say especially in a crisis. One officer’s opinion was that you do well enough from day to day, but stand out in battle or difficulty. A valuable trait in a young officer suited to active legion life. It is perhaps to your benefit that the empire is expanding. There will be active work for you anywhere should you so desire it.’
Marcus nodded cautiously and Carac motioned to Leonides.
‘Your centurion speaks well of you and the way you have curbed the thefts of that boy … Peppis. There was some talk at first of whether you could merge your individuality into a legion, but you have been honest and obviously loyal to the Fourth Macedonia. In short, lad, I would like you to sign on again, with promotion to command a Fifty. More pay and status, with time to train for sword tourneys if necessary. What do you say?’
‘May I speak freely, sir?’ Marcus asked, his heart thudding in his chest.
Carac frowned. ‘Of course,’ he replied.
‘It is a generous offer. The two years with Macedonia have been happy ones for me. I have friends here. However … Sir, I grew up on the estate of a Roman who was not my father. His son and I were like brothers and I swore I would support him, be his sword when we were men.’ He could feel Renius’ gaze on him as he continued. ‘He is with the Third Partica at present, a naval legion, with a little more than a year left to serve. When he returns to Rome, I would like to join him there, sir.’
‘Renius has explained some of the history between this … Gaius Julius and yourself. I understand loyalty of this nature very well. It is what makes us more than beasts in the field, perhaps.’ Carac smiled in a cheerful way and Marcus looked at the other two quickly, surprised not to see the censure he had feared.
Leonides spoke up, his voice calm and low. ‘Did you think we would not understand? Son, you are very young. You will serve in many legions before they parcel you off with a farm. Most important of all, though, is that you serve Rome, constantly and without complaint. We three have devoted our lives to that aim – to see her safe and strong, envied by the world.’
Marcus looked round at the three of them and caught Renius smiling as he covered his mouth with the wine cup. Together they were the personification of what he had hoped to be as a young boy, linked by beliefs and loyalty and blood into something unbreakable.
Carac reached over for a document on thick parchment.
‘Renius was convinced this would be the only way to keep you in the legion long enough to take part in the Graeca sword competition this winter. It indentures you for a year and a day.’ He passed it over and Marcus felt his throat tighten with emotion.
He had expected to have to hand back his officer’s equipment and collect his pay before beginning a lonely journey back to Italy. To have this offered to him when the future had seemed so bleak was like a gift from the gods. He wondered how much Renius had had to do with it and decided suddenly that he didn’t care. He wanted to stay on with the Macedonia and in truth had felt torn between the loyalty to his childhood friend and the satisfaction he had found with his own family, the legion.
Now he had a year longer to grow and prosper. His eyes widened slightly as he read the complex Latin of the document. Carac noticed it.
‘You see we have included the promotion. You will command a Fifty under Leonides, directly responsible to his optio, Daritus. I suggest you begin the post with an open mind. Fifty men is not eight – the problems will be new to you and the training for war involves complex skills. It will be a hard and challenging year, but I think you