Wounds of Honour: Empire I Read Online Free PDF Page B

endured the clammy heat for another fifteen minutes, luxuriating in the pleasure of a good sweat, and the chance to get the last of the barbarian blood out of their skins. Climbing into the hot bath for a moment to remove any residue, they went through to the hot room and settled down again. Tiberius Rufius bought them a small flask of wine and a small cake apiece, ‘just to get our appetites up’, and they sat in companionable silence, watching off-duty soldiers, some lifting weights in one corner of the room, others content just to play dice and drink wine, each man loudly invoking Fortuna’s divine help before tossing the bone cubes. Almost dozing in the oppressive heat, Marcus opened an eye lazily as a magnificently muscled black-bearded man walked across the room, settling on to the bench opposite their resting place. He nudged Rufius with his elbow.
    ‘Isn’t that … ?’
    ‘Yes, our saviour from this afternoon. Dubnus, wasn’t it?’
    ‘He looks like an ugly piece of work.’
    Rufius frowned.
    ‘I suspect there’s more to the man than you’d guess from his outward appearance. You might find a chat with him educational. Perhaps he’ll join us for a cup.’
    He beckoned the other man to come across and join them. The Briton rose, padded across the floor and settled on his haunches facing the two, his thick black eyebrows raised in question above hard grey eyes. Marcus estimated his age to be about twenty-five years. The Briton nodded to Rufius, acknowledging his presence, but gave no sign of greeting to the younger man. Rufius returned the compliment, gesturing to the wine flask alongside him on the bench.
    ‘Chosen, we were wondering if you would be willing to join us in a cup of wine, as recognition of your actions of this afternoon?’
    The Briton regarded the pair with a level gaze before replying.
    ‘I will not drink with a Roman.’
    To Marcus’s surprise, Tiberius Rufius’s face muscles did not move as much as a twitch.
    ‘You disappoint me, but it is your choice. Tell me, what is it that you have against my friend’s illustrious city?’
    The Briton’s face twisted at the question.
    ‘Your question surprises me. You’ve been here a while, to judge by your appearance. Surely you can see what they’ve done to this country – taken our lands, killed our forefathers and fucked our women.’
    ‘So why do you serve in our army ?’
    The words were out of Marcus’s mouth before he could control his reaction. The Briton swivelled his head to face him.
    ‘I serve in the First Tungrian Cohort, not in your army. I defend my people from attack by the northern tribes. My people have no defence against them without the presence of the auxiliary cohorts.’
    ‘No defence? With three legions within a few days’ march?’
    The man facing him smiled without mirth.
    ‘Your legions defend Rome’s interests – your mines, your farms, everything which makes your people rich. My people have grown soft in the time since you conquered us, and become used to living on the scraps from your table. Without men like me on the Wall, the northern tribes would raid our settlements many times in each year. Your legions wouldn’t lift a sword until Roman interests were in danger. My thanks, Tiberius Rufius, but I will not drink with you today.’
    Rising smoothly from his squatting position, the Briton walked back to his former seat, settled on to the bench and closed his eyes. Tiberius Rufius watched him for a long moment, cocking an eyebrow at Marcus’s pale, angry face.
    ‘Hmmm. That is an interesting man, and I think we can now officially discount any possibility that he’s stupid. Come on, let’s drown that irritation in another cup of wine …’
    Their bath complete, the two men dressed in their clean tunics and walked back to the inn for dinner. The duck promised by Ennius was brought to their table roasted to perfection and coated with a delicious sauce, and the red wine he poured for them was of the