The Emperor Series Books 1-5. Conn Iggulden

felt crushed and air seemed to whistle with each breath. He pointed at it and Renius beckoned him closer so he could take a look. He made the movement slow, so as not to alarm the horses.

      ‘Nothing permanent,’ he judged a moment later. ‘Big hands, judging by the prints.’

      Marcus could only gasp weakly. He hoped Renius couldn’t smell the sour vomit odour that seemed to surround him in a cloud, but guessed he could and chose not to mention it.

      ‘They made a mistake attacking us,’ Peppis observed, his little face serious.

      ‘Yes, they did, boy, though we were lucky as well,’ Renius replied. He looked at Marcus. ‘Don’t try to speak, just help the boy strap the equipment to your horse. Apollo will be lame for a week or two. We’ll ride in turns unless those bandits have mounts nearby.’

      Lancer whinnied and an answering snort came from further down the mountain. Renius grinned.

      ‘Luck is with us again, I see,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Did you search the body?’

      Marcus shook his head and Renius shrugged.

      ‘Not worth climbing up again. They wouldn’t have had much and a bow’s no use to a man with one arm. Let’s get going. We can get off this rock by sunset if we keep a fast pace.’

      Marcus began removing Apollo’s packs, taking the reins. Renius patted his shoulder as he turned away. The action was worth far more than words.

      After a month of long days and cold nights, it was good to see the legion camp from far away across the plain. Even at that distance, thin sounds carried. It seemed like a town on the horizon, with eight thousand men, women and children engaged in the simple day-to-day tasks necessary to keep such a large body of men in the field. Marcus tried to imagine the armouries and smithies, built and taken apart with each camp. There would be food kitchens, building supply dumps, stonemasons, carpenters, leather-workers, slaves, prostitutes and thousands of other civilians who lived and were paid to support the might of Rome in battle. Unlike the tent rows of Marius’ legion, this was a permanent camp, with a solid wall and fortifications surrounding the main grounds. In a sense, it was a town, but a town constantly prepared for war.

      Renius pulled up and Marcus drew alongside on Lancer, tugging on the reins to halt the third horse they had named Bandit after his last owner. Peppis sat awkwardly on Bandit’s riding blanket, his mouth open at the sight of the encamped legion. Renius smiled at the boy’s awe.

      ‘That’s it, Marcus. That is your new home. Do you still have the papers Marius gave you?’

      Marcus patted his chest in response, feeling the folded pack of parchment under the tunic.

      ‘Are you coming in?’ he asked. He hoped so. Renius had been a part of his life for so long that the thought of seeing the man riding away while he rode up to the gates alone was too painful to express.

      ‘I’ll see you and Peppis to the Praefectus castrorum – the quartermaster. He will tell you which century you will join. Learn the history quickly; each has its own record and pride.’

      ‘Any other advice?’

      ‘Obey every order without complaint. At the moment you fight like an individual, like one of the savage tribes. They will teach you to trust your companions and to fight as a unit, but the learning does not come easily to some.’

      He turned to Peppis. ‘Life will be hard for you. Do as you are told and when you are grown you will be allowed to join the legion. Do nothing that shames you. Do you understand?’

      Peppis nodded, his throat dry from fear of this alien life.

      ‘I will learn. So will he,’ Marcus said.

      Renius nodded and clicked his tongue at his horse to move on. ‘That you will.’

      Marcus felt an obscure satisfaction at the clean, orderly layout of streets, complete with rows of long, low buildings for the men. He and Renius had been greeted warmly at the gate as soon as he had shown his papers and proceeded on foot to the Prefect’s quarters, where he would pledge years of his life in the field service of Rome. He took confidence from Renius as the man strode confidently through the narrow roads, nodding in approval at the polished perfection of the soldiers who marched past in squads of ten. Peppis trotted behind them, carrying a heavy pack of equipment on his back.

      The papers had to be shown twice more as they approached the small, white building from which the camp Prefect ran the business of a Roman town in a foreign land. At last they were allowed entry and a slim man dressed in a white toga and sandals came into the outer rooms to meet them as they passed through the door.

      ‘Renius! I heard it was you in the camp. The men are already talking about you losing your arm. Gods, it is good to see you!’ He beamed at them, the image of Roman efficiency, suntanned and hard, with a strong grip as he greeted each of them in turn.

      Renius smiled back with genuine warmth.

      ‘Marius didn’t tell me you were here, Carac. I am glad to see you well.’

      ‘You haven’t aged, I swear it! Gods, you don’t look a day over forty. How do you do it?’

      ‘Clean living,’ Renius grunted, still uncomfortable with the change Cabera had wrought.

      The Prefect raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but let the subject drop.

      ‘And the arm?’

      ‘Training accident. The lad here, Marcus, cut me and I had it taken off.’

      The Prefect whistled and shook Marcus’ hand again.

      ‘I never thought I’d meet a man who could get to Renius. May I see the papers you brought with you?’

      Marcus felt nervous all of a sudden. He passed them over and the Prefect motioned them to long benches as he read.

      Finally, he passed them back. ‘You come very well recommended, Marcus. Who is the boy?’

      ‘He was on the merchant ship we took from the coast. He wants to be my servant and join the legion when he is older.’

      The Prefect nodded. ‘We have many such in the camp, usually the bastard children of the men and the whores. If he shapes up there may be a place, but the competition will be fierce. I am more interested in you, young man.’

      He turned to Renius. ‘Tell me about him. I will trust your judgement.’

      Renius spoke firmly, as if reporting. ‘Marcus is unusually fast, even more so when his blood is fired. As he matures, I expect him to become a name. He is impetuous and brash and likes to fight, which is partly his nature and partly his youth. He will serve the Fourth Macedonia well. I gave him his basic training, but he has gone beyond that and will go further.’

      ‘He reminds me of your son. Have you noticed the resemblance?’ the Prefect asked quietly.

      ‘It had not … occurred to me,’ Renius replied uncomfortably.

      ‘I doubt that. Still, we always have need of men of quality and this is the place for him to find maturity. I will place him with the fifth century, the Bronze Fist.’

      Renius took in a sharp breath. ‘You honour me.’

      The Prefect shook his head. ‘You saved my life once. I am sorry I could not save your son’s. This is a small part of my debt to you.’

      Once again they shook hands. Marcus looked on in some confusion.

      ‘What now for you, old friend? Will you return to Rome to spend your gold?’

      ‘I had hoped there would be a place for me here,’ Renius said quietly.

      The Prefect smiled. ‘I had begun to think you would not ask. The Fist is short of a weapons master to train them. Old Belius died of a fever six months ago and there is no one else as good. Will you take the post?’

      Renius grinned suddenly, the