Arts of Dark and Light: Book 01 - A Throne of Bones (18 page)

The officers were still quietly grumbling amongst themselves when Corvus called two centurions and several legionnaries to the platform to honor them before the legion for the courage they had displayed during the battle. Marcus paid little attention, except to cheer at the appropriate moments. He wondered if Fortex would be honored for his bravery or punished for his recklessness. Probably both, if he knew his father. He wasn’t sure which his father treasured more, courage or discipline, and God knew his cousin had as much of the former as he lacked the latter.

But surely the rout of the enemy’s left wing would count in Fortex’s favor! The legion’s center hadn’t been in any danger of collapsing under the goblin pressure, but the cavalry charge against the goblin infantry’s left flank had broken it much sooner than it would have otherwise and without a doubt saved more than a few lives among the stalwart cohorts stationed in the middle.

The legion cheered for each man singled out for praise, but they were particularly pleased when Gnaeus Sextius Baiulus was presented with a vitis and raised to the rank of centurion.

Baiulus, a short, balding man who looked to be nearing his thirties, shook the vine staff warningly at his former fellows, and the platform trembled with the men’s good-natured jeering it provoked.

Marcus was disappointed to see the Baleran slingers who had driven off the archers from the Second Cavalry were not honored, but three ballistarii were presented with medals marked with the image of St. Michael, the patron saint of those who warred against magic. Marcus guessed it was their onager that had killed the goblin’s shaman or at least forced it from the battlefield.

Then the proud smile faded from Corvus’s gaunt and bearded face. He glanced at Saturnius, who nodded at the tribune laticlavius.

Crescentius turned to his right, toward something Marcus could not see from where he stood, and shouted. “Bring the prisoner forward!”

Marcus gasped as two big centurions, one of whom was Proculus, marched forward—escorting Fortex. They pulled him forward, his hands bound behind his back. Gaius Valerius didn’t look the least bit afraid. He looked outraged. For a moment, Marcus even feared that his cousin might spit in his father’s face.

The entire legion was shocked into silence. A moment later, the murmurs and whispers began. It was as if a giant swarm of bees had risen from the ground.

“Gaius Valerius Fortex, Tribune of the Legion,” Corvus declared loudly enough to be heard over the uneasy rustling of the soldiers, “I charge you with breaking ranks and with disobeying a direct order from the senior legionary officer to stand your ground.”

There was a second shocked pause, a little shorter this time, and then the chatter among the troops not only increased but took on an angry tone.

Fortex opened his mouth to interrupt, but Corvus held up a hand.

“After conferring with the legate of the legion and several of the senior decurions, I have decided that you had sufficient reason to set aside your initial orders. Events on the battlefield change rapidly, and orders that make sense before battle is joined may, at times, become less than relevant once the enemy is engaged. The Senate and People expect a tribune to exercise his own judgment in these matters on the basis of his training and experience. In this case, your judgment was correct. It was your decisive action that permitted the Second Knights to break the enemy cavalry and come to the assistance of our center. Therefore, I have determined that the charges of breaking ranks and disobedience will be withdrawn.”

Marcus breathed a sigh of relief. A few sporadic and tentative cheers rose from the assembly. He found himself standing a bit taller at the praise given to his unit, and he noticed a half-smile flash across his cousin’s face. It rapidly disappeared, as Gaius Valerius assumed the stoic, but confident attitude of one expecting to be praised, which was perhaps why he was unable to hide his reaction to Corvus’s next words.

“However, the courage and effectiveness of your action does not mitigate the fact that you disobeyed a direct and personal order given to you before the battle by the senior officer of the legion when you engaged your opposite in single combat. Nor does it alter the fact that you chose to disobey that order at a time when the legion was deep inside enemy territory, in danger, and under extraordinary martial discipline.”

The entire legion groaned with dismay, and Fortex looked as if he had been stabbed in the stomach. Marcus saw the blood rush from his cousin’s face, and he could see that Fortex knew, from the firm resolution in Corvus’s eyes, that his uncle was not inclined to turn a blind eye toward his crime or to let him off easily. Marcus held his breath, seeing how his father stared directly into his cousin’s face without blinking as he pronounced his judgment.

“Gaius Valerius Fortex, you are charged with disobeying a direct and standing order from your commanding general during battle. After conferring with the legate and the primus pilus of Legio XVII, as well as the senior decurions, I have determined that you are guilty of the charge. As this offense occurred when the legion was engaged in battle and under
Modus Austeris
, I hereby sentence you to death by beheading.”

What? No! Marcus instinctively started forward and opened his mouth to protest, but Volusenus grabbed his arm and dug his fingers painfully into the unarmored inside of Marcus’s elbow.

“Control yourself, Valerius!” he hissed into Marcus’s ear. “You are an officer of the legion, damn you. Now bloody well act like one!”

Fortex was blinking rapidly, and he was visibly grinding his teeth as he fought to control himself.

Marcus, horrified, desperately wanted to plead with his father for Gaius’s life, but he didn’t dare so much as take a single step in his direction, not in front of the five thousand men of the legion. You can’t do this, Father, he silently screamed. You simply cannot do this! Flog him, break him if you must, even ban him from the legion, but do not kill your own brother’s son!

Corvus rose from his chair and leaned down to whisper in Fortex’s ear. Marcus was just close enough to hear what his father said over the angry murmuring of the troops below. “They say you are brave, Nephew. I pray you will die as courageously as you fought today. And may the Immaculate be your advocate before the Throne of the Almighty.”

Fortex was staring at Corvus as if in shock, as if he simply could not believe what he had heard. But the fear quickly vanished from his face, replaced by a fey and fierce pride.

Protest, Marcus thought desperately. Beg him for mercy!

Instead, his cousin merely stared into Corvus’s eyes with a fearless arrogance that was almost contemptuous. “Our House is Amorr,” he replied icily. “Tell my father I died as befits an officer of the legion.”

Corvus, unmoved, neither blinked nor looked away. “Do so, and I shall.” He backed away, placed his hands behind his waist, and nodded to the primus pilus.

The big centurion, Honoratus, stepped out from behind Corvus’s chair and approached Gaius, revealing an oversized woodcutter’s axe in his left hand. To Marcus’s and everyone else’s surprise, the first thing he did was thump his chest with his free right hand in a last salute to the condemned. The crash of two or three thousand legionnairies following his example echoed throughout the otherwise silent forum.

Marcus glanced at his father and saw a brief spasm of irritation cross his face, but Corvus made no move to intervene or remonstrate with the men. Honoratus asked for the
venia carnifex
, the executioner’s absolution.

“I absolve you,” Fortex replied, his voice calmer than calm. To Marcus’s disbelief, he was smiling. “Now, do me a favor, Gnaeus Junius, and tell me that monster is cursed sharp.”

“You’ll feel less than that goblin you killed today felt your blade,” Honoratus promised. “Heaven or Hell, save us a seat, Fortex.”

Honoratus glanced at his two fellow centurions, and they gently turned Fortex sideways, then held his arms so that he did not lose his balance as he kneeled before the primus pilus. Fortex held his head out parallel to the ground and stretched out his neck, presenting the centurion with a clean, pale expanse of skin at which to aim. His eyes were closed and his lips were moving silently. Was it a futile plea for mercy that would not be granted? Was he steeling himself for the inevitable? Or was he, as Marcus hoped, commending his soul to the Immaculate?

When his lips stopped moving, Honoratus looked over at Corvus, who nodded.

Marcus forced himself to watch. The centurion raised the axe high over his head, the muscles in his corded arms bulging with the effort. Then, with deceptive speed, the thick wooden shaft described a blurred downward arc that ended in a loud thunk and a spray of crimson as the well-honed axehead buried itself deep into the wood of the platform.

A loud, collective groan erupted from the legion. Marcus bit his lip to stop the instinctive cry of horror inspired by the sight of his cousin’s head rolling off the platform, leaving a gory trail of bloody slime behind it as if it was some sort of obscene giant snail. His cousin’s headless corpse vomited forth blood like a giant armored leech with food poisoning just a few paces in front of him. Only the fact that his senses had been gradually inured to such horrors over the course of the campaign permitted him to maintain his composure.

Saturnius strode forward again to address the men, heedless of the blood splashed all about the platform.

“Fortex was a brave man. He was a bold warrior. I admired his courage.”

Only a few of the soldiers, some of whom were audibly being sick, murmured in agreement. The execution of a young and heroic officer whose actions had secured their victory today was not going over well with the legion, that much was certain. Marcus didn’t blame them. He was feeling more than a little mutinous himself.

“But we are not warriors!” Saturnius shouted without warning. “A warrior is fierce—yes, he is. A warrior is brave. But a ‘warrior’ fights alone. And he dies alone. We are not warriors! We are
soldiers
, men of the legion. We are
disciplined
. We stand together, and we die together. We follow the
orders
given by our
officers!
And that is why one Amorran soldier is worth a dozen brave ‘warriors.’ That is why one Amorran legion,
this
Amorran legion, defeated ten times its numbers today!”

There were a few scattered cheers, mostly from the centurions. The angry mood, if not quite gone, was moderately dissipated.

Saturnius demanded more. “Tell me, men of the legion, are you warriors, or are you soldiers?”

“Soldiers!” more than half of the legion roared back.

“I asked you a question, men of the legion: Are you warriors, or are you soldiers?”

“Soldiers!” This time, the entire legion answered him.

Marcus could see Saturnius had them back under his control now. He paced across the platform, and barely anyone, Marcus realized, was still much cognizant of the dead body that lay in front of the legate.

“The third time answers all, men of the legion. Are you warriors, or are you soldiers?”

“
Soldiers!
” The legion thundered. The impromptu chant broke out again. “
Saturnius, Imperator, Saturnius Imperator!
”

The legate raised his hand, and the chanting quickly subsided. “Enough of that. Well, men of the legion, since you have decided you are soldiers, after all, I hereby order you to disperse. Go now. Return to the camp. Eat. Drink. Boast of your brave deeds and the goblins you slew today. But I will remind you of this: When you drink with your brothers, do not forget the shades of your brothers-in-arms who died today.”

The legionnaries saluted and began to make their way toward the camp and their evening meals.

Marcus watched Saturnius turn to his father. Saturnius asked Corvus something, but his father shook his head and waved the legate off. Marcus wondered if he should go to Corvus too, but something inside him rebelled at the notion. Corvus might be his father, but he was also the Stragister Militum, and the legion’s youngest tribune suddenly realized he wanted nothing whatsoever to do with his senior officer at the moment.

Lucius Volusenus clapped Marcus on the back. “We’d better get something to eat before the fights begin. And I don’t know about you, but I could use a flagon of wine. I don’t suppose we get double rations too, do we?”

Marcus did his best to smile at the other officer. He appreciated how the tribune was trying to distract him. He cleared his throat. “I’d be glad to share one with you, Volusenus.”

But as he stepped down from the platform and followed the other tribune toward the camp gates and the Via Praetoria, he couldn’t help looking back at his father.

Corvus was seated on his wooden chair, staring impassively off into a distant horizon in the direction of the setting sun. Two soldiers knelt in front of him, removing the bloodstained armor from his nephew’s body.

Marcus turned away, shaken to the depths of his soul. He had looked up to his cousin for as long as he could remember. He hadn’t been as close to Fortex as he was to Sextus, who was of an age with him. But he had grown up with Fortex and had always envied his confidence and easy smile.

How was it possible that such a fiery spirit could be gone from the world? How was it possible that it could be snuffed out in mere seconds? He could feel the tears begin to fill his eyes. How could his Father have done such a terrible thing? To order the death of ten thousand goblins was one thing, but the execution of his own nephew? It was unthinkable. And then Marcus thought of his uncle, of Magnus, and a chill of pure fear ran down his spine.

Our House is Amorr, Father, yes. But what will happen to Amorr if your iron honor has broken House Valerius in two?