Vulcan's Fury: The Dark Lands (18 page)

“You’re right about that,” Septimus said with a sly grin. “I should know. I’ve been there.”

Marcus rolled his eyes, returning his gaze to the fort’s construction. The men had made great progress in the six days since they had arrived. The engineers had set the fort back from the sandy beach, clearing the palm trees and other foliage to use as construction material. Following the proscribed design, the fort was in the shape of a rectangle running parallel to the beach directly opposite the bridge, and now boasted a fifteen foot wall made of palm tree trunks, each one sharpened to a point at the top, with a gate at the center of all four sides, providing plenty of room not just for the three reorganized cohorts here, but an entire full-strength legion. At the center was the Principia, or headquarters, which also formed the junction between the two main streets, the Via Principalis and Via Praetoria, which ran the entire length and width of the camp to the four gates, dividing the camp into four quadrants. Barracks, training areas, and the other buildings necessary to support a legion would be built, but the main priority after construction of the defensive wall had been split between providing basic living quarters for the men and constructing special defensive works around the landing point of the underwater bridge.

“That’s some right difficult work,” Septimus observed quietly as his eyes followed Marcus’s gaze to where the men of one of the cohorts were moving rough cut stones into place, each one carried in a stretcher, of sorts, by eight men, to build a wall in an arc with the landing point at its focus. It was only knee high now, resting upon foundation stones that had been set upon rock that lay deep beneath the sand, but he had ordered the engineers to plan it with a final height of no less than thirty feet, and just as thick, with heavy weapons like onagers and scorpions at close intervals along the top. The beach in front of the wall and the sea bottom as far as physically possible would also be festooned with barriers and traps, but that would come later.
 

“It would be a lot easier, or at least go faster, if we had more men and oxen,” Marcus noted with frustration.

They turned to find Pelonius coming up the trail behind them. This had become an oft visited spot over the last several days, used both by the engineers and the command staff to plan and observe the ongoing work. And, Marcus had noted with wry amusement, it also made a great vantage point for watching sunrises and sunsets, events that Valeria and her accompanying two young men and bored hexatiger had yet to miss. He had to admit to himself, though, that the princess had done a great deal to buoy the men’s spirits, as much or more than she had done with her bloody work beside Pelonius in tending to their wounds. Discovering that the coconuts were a source of water and nourishment, the credit for which she had given entirely to Karan, had been a gift from the gods that she and Paulus had multiplied by making sure every man had a plentiful share. That, perhaps more than anything else, had allowed the men to get so much done so quickly, for dehydration and hunger were no longer a threat. Water would eventually be diverted from a nearby stream, but that now could wait until more men could be brought to bear on that and the many other tasks that yet awaited them in building the castrum. He smiled. Any man of
Invictus
who didn’t love her before certainly loved her now.

Turning his thoughts back to the concern voiced by Pelonius, Marcus said, referring to the cohorts of
Invictus
that should be coming from their home garrison, “They should be here any time now.”

Pelonius frowned. “They should have been here yesterday, at the latest. They may not have known exactly where to find us, but I gave them enough information in the orders I sent that they should not have had to blunder about.”

“From your lips to Mars’s ears.” Septimus pointed. “Look there.”

Just emerging from a hillock that intruded from the surrounding rocky slopes onto the pristine white of the beach to the west were Roman officers on horseback, followed by signifers, cornicens, and other special ranks, then row upon row of legionaries. The red banners atop the staffs held by the signifers were those of
Invictus
. The rest of the legion had finally arrived.

Marcus narrowed his eyes. “Is that who I think it is at the head of the column?”

“Bugger all,” Septimus said through gritted teeth, “it is!”

Pelonius said nothing, but his mouth compressed into a tight, angry line as he stared at the man who rode at the center of the legion’s officers. General Sergius. “Well,” he finally managed, “at least now we know what happened to him.”

“After he ran like a terrified weasel, you mean,” Septimus growled.

“Mind your tongue,” Marcus warned him, and Septimus clamped his mouth shut. To Pelonius, Marcus said, “This is going to be a bit sticky, sir.” While Marcus had felt he had every right to put Pelonius in charge of the survivors after the battle with the Dark Wolves, Pelonius would have no choice but to surrender command to Sergius. Until Sergius was confronted and punished for his disgrace, something that could only be done in Rome by the hand of the Emperor or decree of the Senate, he remained the legion’s rightful commander. The only alternative was a bloody confrontation that would serve no good to anyone.

After a deep sigh, Pelonius said, “Have the cornicens sound assembly.”

“At once, sir.” Marcus repeated the order to one of a pair of runners who accompanied him everywhere, and the man took off down the trail at a sprint. A few moments later, the cornicens were blowing their horns and the men dropped what they were doing and gathered for formation.

Pelonius turned to follow the runner, but at a much more dignified pace. “Let us go greet the general, shall we?”

***

Valeria seethed as Sergius, head held high, led the other cohorts of
Invictus
through the west gate, the Porta Praetoria, like a conquering hero. The black feathers of the crest of his helmet fluttered in the sea breeze, and she imagined herself shoving them down his throat to choke him. The men with him wore uniforms that were pristine, the gleaming metal and leather of their armor and weapons in stark contrast to the tattered and bloodstained rags of the cohorts that had faced the Dark Wolves. Aside from making what repairs to individual equipment were necessary to fight, Pelonius had put off any effort to polish the men’s appearance, instead focusing their efforts on the all important construction work.

Coming to a halt at a proper interval from where Pelonius and the other men of the skeleton command staff stood at attention, Sergius regarded them in silence for a long moment. “Pelonius the scribe,” he said at last, turning a haughty gaze upon the older man. “You hold no rank in the Army and have no right to wear that uniform, let alone pretend at the command of these good men. Take it off immediately or I shall have it forcibly stripped from your body and then have you scourged.”

“General Sergius, sir,” Marcus began, “I—”

“I don’t believe I gave you permission to speak, centurion,” Sergius sneered. “Hold your tongue or I’ll cut it out myself.”

Marcus snapped his mouth shut.

Without uttering a word, Pelonius reached up to remove his helmet.
 

“
Hold
.”

The eyes of every man in earshot, which was to say most of the legion, turned to regard Valeria, who stepped forward. She still wore the tunic and pants of a soldier, although they had been skillfully tailored by one of the legionaries to fit her properly. Another soldier, well versed in mending armor, had created a set that fit her feminine form remarkably well. He had wanted to scrub and clean it until it was shining, but she had forced him to leave it as it had been, stained with the blood of the soldier who had died wearing it, to honor the man’s death. At her hip hung the same sword she had used in the battle, and the helmet of an officer, resized to fit properly, with a red horse hair crest running front to back, rested on her head.

Sergius’s eyebrows shot up. He had obviously not recognized her. “Princess Valeria?”
 

Removing her helmet, revealing hair that was pulled back over her scalp and held in a tight bun that kept it out of the way beneath the helmet, she nodded slowly.
 

It was then that Sergius caught sight of the Hercules standard, being held ramrod straight by one of the senior signifers who stood beside and just slightly behind the aquilifer who held the legion’s golden eagle. “What is that abomination?” he hissed, pointing at the gold image of Hercules.

“That is my personal standard,” Valeria explained in a level voice, “crafted in gold and blood by the men who stand before you, and you will accord it all the respect it is due.”

A muted collective snicker ran through the ranks of the men accompanying Sergius. While the veterans of the battle with the Dark Wolves who stood behind and to either side of Valeria and Pelonius’s command staff said nothing, Valeria saw from the corner of her eye a subtle shift in their postures, their hands drifting ever so slightly closer to their weapons. The tension that bloomed between the opposing groups was every bit as real as the heat of the sun beating down upon them.

The general’s nostrils flared. He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it and held his tongue.
 

“May I suggest, general,” Valeria said, putting her helmet back on, “that we retire to the praetorium where we might bring you up to date on developments after you…retired from the battle.” To Pelonius and the others of the command staff, she said, “With me. Centurion Tullius, order the men to stand fast.” Then she spun on her heel and strode off toward the large tent that was serving as a temporary praetorium, the living quarters for the legion’s commander, with Septimus, Paulus, and Karan forming a protective formation behind her.

Unable to do anything more than exchange helpless glances, neither man entirely able to believe what was happening, Pelonius and Marcus did as she ordered.
 

“Pelonius!”

The scribe-turned-temporary legatus stopped to watch as Sergius dismounted, stepping down on the back of one of his soldiers who had dropped to all fours beside the general’s horse to act as a footstool. “Don’t begin to think that I’m through with you,” Sergius told him.

Saying not a word, Pelonius turned to follow the princess and the others, leaving the two halves of the legion facing off like bitter enemies before a major battle.

Sergius stalked into the praetorium, the pair of expressionless soldiers standing guard holding the tent flaps open for him, careful to avoid his eyes. His senior officers hastened in behind him.

“Would you care for some wine, general?” Valeria had seated herself in a roughly made chair positioned like a throne in the center of the room, facing him. Hercules lay on the floor beside her like an orange and black striped Sphinx, his great eyes fixed on Sergius. A soldier stepped forward with a cup.

Slapping the cup from the man’s hands, spattering his own men with the wine, Sergius snapped, “Do not play games with me, princess. The only reason I agreed to play this charade was to prevent further embarrassment to the men of my legion.” He laughed. “I have a difficult time imagining the hubris of a woman — a woman of a patrician family, no less! — playing at being a soldier! Emperor’s daughter or no, your behavior is unseemly. Ludicrous. You’re a disgrace to your father and his family’s name.”

Beside Valeria, Septimus lost his composure. His hand gripped the handle of his sword. “Why, you—”

Paulus had also moved his hand to his sword. Karan stood still as a statue, but she knew that he could have his sword at the general’s throat in the blink of an eye. Hercules lay still, but in that moment of clarity she saw his claws extend from their sheaths.

“Stop!” Reaching out her hand, Valeria took Septimus by his sword hand before his weapon could clear the scabbard. With a firm grip, holding his gaze with her eyes, she guided his hand, sheathing the steel. “Enough blood has been spilled to bring us this far. I would have no more.” Turning back to Sergius, she favored him with a glare. “You speak of embarrassment, general. I’m sure you explained to these good men,” she nodded at the officers accompanying him, who now looked acutely uncomfortable, “why you returned, alone, I assume, to the garrison, having abandoned in the face of the enemy not only the men under your command, but the legion’s eagle, as well?”

“I am their commander. I need explain nothing.”

“You need not explain it to them, perhaps. And you need not explain it to me, although I was there and saw with my own eyes what happened.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “But you
will
explain it to both Caesar and the Senate once I return to Rome bearing word of your cowardice upon the field of battle. You and I both know how that will turn out.” If Sergius was fortunate, he would be allowed to take his own life. But the punishment for such an action by an officer was typically crucifixion. And a general who had abandoned the legion’s standard had in spirit abandoned Rome itself, a misdeed that could not go unpunished.
 

While the color of Sergius’s skin was dark, he visibly paled. His mouth worked for a moment, but no words came out. He knew, just as she did, that crucifixion was by far the most likely outcome of such an inquest, and no alliances he had within the Senate could save him once his cowardice was revealed.

Valeria sat back and regarded him with a contemplative gaze. “There is, perhaps, another way to resolve this…unfortunate situation to the benefit of all.”

Sergius’s throat finally found its voice. “And what might that be?”
 

“I assume you read the dispatch Pelonius sent that ordered the remainder of the legion to march here, and why?”

“Of course.”

“Then you know that the Empire itself may be in great peril, and this very spot may well have just become the most important location other than Rome itself. It must be fortified and defended without delay.”

Folding his arms across his armored chest, Sergius said, “Assuming all that is true, and I’m not saying I believe that it is, what of it?”