Anthony Riches

“An unhappy marriage is neither your business nor your concern.”

“Be true to your words”

“The Hamians!'The centurion‟s voice was little better than a squeak. Julius snorted his disdain.'What about the Hamians? Useless bow-waving women. All they‟re good for is hunting game. There‟s a war on, in case you hadn‟t noticed. We need infantrymen, big lads withspears and shields to strengthen our line. Archers are no bloody use in an infantry cohort.'He raised his meaty fist. 'No, mate, you‟re going to get what‟s coming your way.'The other man gabbled desperately, staring helplessly at the poised fist.'There‟s two centuries of them, two centuries. Take them and the Tungrians and that‟s two hundred and fifty men.'Marcus spoke, having stood quietly in the background so far.'So we could make a century of the best of them, dump the rest on the Second Cohort when we catch up with them and take back the century he sold them in return.'Julius turned his head to look at the younger man, keeping the transit officer clamped inplace with seemingly effortless strength.'Are you mad? There won‟t be a decent man among them. They‟ll be arse-poking,make-up-wearing faggots, the lot of them. All those easterners are, it‟s in the blood. They‟ll mince round the camp holding hands and tossing each other off in the bathhouse.”

“Soldiers of the Ninth Century, I am your new centurion, Marcus Tribulus Corvus. From this moment I formally assume command of this century, and become responsible for every aspect of your well-being, discipline, training and readiness for war.’He paused, looking to Dubnus, who drew a large breath and spat a stream of his native language at the troops.‘One fucking smile, cough or fart from any one of you cock jockeys, and I’ll put my pole so far up that man’s shithole that it won’t even scrape onthe floor. This is your new centurion and you will treat him with the appropriate degree of respect if you don’t want to lead short and very fucking interesting lives.’He turned to Marcus and nodded, indicating that the Roman should continue.‘I can see from the state of your uniforms that you’ve been neglected, a state of affairs that I intend to address very shortly. I have yet to see your readiness for battle, but I can assure you that you will be combat ready in the shortest possible time. I do not intend to command a century that I would imagine is regarded as the laughing stock of its unit for any longer than I have to.' Dubnus cast a pitying sneer over the faces in front of him before speaking again, watching their faces lengthen with the understanding of his methods, passed by whispered word of mouth from his previous century.‘You’re not soldiers, you’re a fucking waste of rations, a disgrace to the Tungrians! You look like shit, you smell like shit and you’re probably about as hard as shit! That will change! I will kick your lazy fucking arses up and down every hill in the country if I have to, but you will be real soldiers. I will make you ready to kill and die for the honour of this century, with spear or sword or your fucking teeth and nails if need be!’Marcus cast a questioning look at him, half guessing that the chosen man was deviating from his script, but chose not to challenge his subordinate.‘You’ll have better food, uniforms and equipment, and soon. Your retraining starts tomorrow morning, so prepare yourselves! Life in this century changes now!’Dubnus smiled broadly, showing his teeth with pleasure.‘Your hairy white arses are mine from this second. Get ready to grab your ankles.”