“They’re sluggish, right now. They’re not reacting as quickly as they should to the success of their javelin volley. That’s inexperience. A blooded legion would already be down the enemy’s throat. But—see? Tsiang’s already bringing the line forward. Good formations, too. The spacing’s excellent.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the figure of Clodius Afer, wailing against the wall.
“Clodius forgets. How good do you think we were in the beginning? A bunch of ignorant kids, half of us. Marched off to slaughter in the desert and then sold to aliens. I had no idea what I was doing, at first. This legion’s already doing well. Give them three more campaigns and they could have chopped us up for horse meat.”
He turned back to the screen. “Trust me, Robert. There’s never been a better Roman legion than the one down there on that field today.”
Again, he cocked his head and bellowed at Clodius Afer. “They’ve almost closed with the enemy! Oh—and look! The Tenth Cohort’s going to bear the brunt of it!”
“That bitch!” shrieked Clodius Afer, charging back to the screen. “She’s going to get ’em all killed!”
Silence, for two full minutes. Then:
Gaius laughed. Clodius Afer spit on the floor and stalked back to the wall. Spit on the wall. Ainsley wiped his face.
“I thought the Tenth Cohort was supposed to be the legion’s shield, not its sword arm,” he muttered.
Gaius’s grin was cold, cold. “Yeah, that’s the tradition. But traditions are meant to be broken, you know. And Tribune Lemont is not the phlegmatic type.”
“Is it true?” whispered Ainsley. “Did Clodius Afer really call Shirley Lemont a—”
Gaius laughed. “Oh, yes! Then, after he woke up, he insisted on a formal rematch. He didn’t quit until she threw him six times running, and told him she was going to start breaking his puny little bones.”
Ainsley stared at Clodius Afer. The former centurion was studying the stone wall with a deep interest which seemed entirely inappropriate to its bare, rough-hewn nature.
“I guess it took him by surprise, seeing women in the legion’s ranks.”
Gaius started to reply but broke off suddenly, rising halfway out of his seat. “Gods, look at them rolling up the flank! This battle’s already won, Robert.” Turning his head, he bellowed:
“Hey, Clodius Afer! You might want to see this! The enemy’s pouring off the field! The legion’s hammering ’em into mash! And—guess what?—great news! It’s our old Tenth Cohort that turned their flank! God, what a maneuver! I’m telling you, Clodius Afer—that Shirley Lemont’s the best tribune I’ve ever seen! Come here! You don’t want to miss it!”
In the next five minutes, Gaius Vibulenus went over the battle with the Fourth-of-Five, patiently answering the native warleader’s many questions. Robert Ainsley simply sat, recovering from the experience—simultaneously exhilarating and horrifying—of finally seeing the Roman war machine in action.
Clodius Afer leaned his head against the stone wall. Banged it once or twice. Wept bitter tears for the lost legacy of ancient Rome.
Ruined—ruined—by modern sissies. Girls.
XIV
As he watched the troop transport settle its enormous bulk into the valley, Ainsley found it impossible not to grin.
“Travelling in style, I see,” he chuckled.
Gaius gave him a stern look. “I beg your pardon? The Cato is an official SPQR Guild transport vessel, properly registered as such with the Federation authorities.”
Ainsley snorted. “She’s also the former Queen Elizabeth, luxury liner.”
Gaius grinned. “So? It could be worse, you know. They’re already talking about raising the Titanic and retrofitting her.”
A voice from behind them: “It’s already been decided. Damn fools are going to do it.”
The two men turned to face Tambo. The naval officer was just climbing off the stairs onto the stone ramp behind the castle’s crenellations. A few steps behind him came the Second-of-Five.
The South African and the native clan leader joined them at the battlements. Tambo scowled.
“I think it’s pure foolishness, myself. The whole point of refitting old naval vessels is to re-arm the Earth as fast as possible. Stupid. It’ll take twice as long—and twice the money—to fix up that shipwreck than it would to build a brand-new transport.”