Centurion Elian Amadeus of the 5th Centuria surveyed the battle from where he stood beside the signifer (the standard bearer). He looked at the chaos around him, suppressing a sigh.
  If only the assault tower hadn’t hit that tree stump, they would have taken this city by now. Things were not going right today. Not right at all.
  His Centuria’s optio (second-in-command) Crispian Postumus, was running towards him, shield held up, protecting his head and back from unwanted enemy spears.
  “The catapult’s up and ready to go, Amadeus. Sir,” Crispian added, catching the sharp glance from his commander.
  Amadeus nodded.
  “And thank the Gods for that. I was beginning to have doubts about this battle. How about the battering ram?”
  “They poured hot water down over them, the crafty heathens.”
  “The catapults our only hope then?”
  “Guess so, sir.”
  “Then put it to work, optio.”
  Crispian gave a Roman salute, and then hurried back to the catapult. Amadeus glared up at the high walls of the city. These people were beginning to irritate him, he hated enemies who did not give up.
  The catapult sprang up, hurling a load of rocks at the wall. Part of the city wall crumbled, taking a few of the enemy down with it.
  Amadeus smiled tightly, perhaps things were looking brighter after all.
  Being one of the six tribuni militum (military tribunal) as well as a centurion, he was obliged to keep out of the worst of the battle, and the best place for that was just out of javelin range, so he was not likely to do much in the way of fighting.
  Which was just as well, he was getting close to the end of his twenty-five years in the army, and was looking forward to settling down. He had a wife at home, and two boys, all of whom he was missing greatly.
  A man wearing the armour of a triarius (experienced foot-soldier) came up to him. Amadeus recognised him instantly: the tesserarius (guard commander) of the 1st Centuria, Remigius Lucretius.
  “Sir, we’ve received a message from the assault tower, the broken wheel has been fixed, and they’re on their way.”
  “When they arrive send the man in charge to me, will you?”
  “Ah, that would be Fortunatus Octavian, sir. A centurion as you.”
  “I really don’t care if he’s the king of Britannia, you will send him to me.”
  “Sir,” Lucretius replied. “With all due respect, it wasn’t his fault, some of the men ”
  “Tesserarius, I’m not going to kill him, only make him promise to keep his men under stricter control.”
  Lucretius nodded, but his face showed he was not happy, or sure that Amadeus would do as he’d said.
  And truth was, neither was Amadeus. He and Fortunatus had despised each other for many years. He wondered briefly whether he should keep his sword handy, you could never tell what the man would do.
  Behind him, there was a satisfactory crash as part of the wall collapsed. They wouldn’t need the assault tower now.
  A well thrown javelin landed not ten feet away from him. Amadeus looked up at the wall; someone up there had a very good aim, if they hadn’t resisted so much, whoever it was might have been allowed to join the Roman legions. Not now. Very likely there would be a lot of bloodshed today.

  And then the battle was over.

  Amadeus sat back in the tent, watching through the open flap the man approaching him.
  “Ah, Octavian, how nice of you to join me. I take it you had a bit of trouble on the way?”
  “Yes,” Fortunatus said, “some of the men, not mine, I add, seemed to feel that a little celebration was in order. They had stolen a good few skins of wine from the fort, and had a little drinking down in the lower part of the tower. One of my men caught them at it, and they started a fight.”
  “Which led to the crash,” Amadeus finished. “An interesting story, and you, of course, had nothing to do with it?”
  “I most certainly did not!”
  “Come now, Octavian, we both know you like to have some wine before a battle, many of us do. I, however, feel that it makes a mans senses get a little..muddled during the battle, and is therefore quite dangerous.”
  “I assure you I had nothing to do with it, tribuni militum.” The title was said with a slight sneer, and Amadeus frowned.
  “Did I detect a hint of disrespect in your voice?”
  “Possibly,” Fortunatus said. “Although I’m sure you couldn’t have.”
  “Octavian, you and I have hated each other for, oh, seven years now?”
  “Eight,” Fortunatus replied. “I’ve been counting.”
  “Eight then,” Amadeus said. “Don’t you think it’s time we solved this.”
  “I do indeed.” Fortunatus’s hand strayed towards his sword hilt, but then moved away. “However, now is not the time or place.”
  Amadeus raised an eyebrow.
  “And when will be the time and place?” he asked.
  Fortunatus gave him a hard look.
  “Whenever it will be,” he said, and then spun around, stalking out of the tent.
  Elian Amadeus watched him go, lips twisting into a cynical smile. Whenever it will be? Perhaps Fortunatus should watch out then, it might be very soon.

The End