Free Altar of Blood: Empire IX by Anthony Riches

century to accompany us across the Rhenus. And while you’re choosing them please keep in mind that I’m not recruiting for a weightlifting contest, and neither do I want men who despise their fellow men for not being six feet in both height and breadth. Bring me your thinkers, Centurion, men who are as quick on their feet as they’re good with an axe. If I see any of the usual sneering suspects from your front rank when we muster then I’ll make my own choice of their replacements and leave you behind along with them.’
    The big man nodded grimly.
    ‘Understood, Tribune.’
    Scaurus smiled tightly.
    ‘I hope so. It would be a shame to have to abandon my senior centurion before we’ve even marched a step.’ He smiled at the Briton’s baffled expression. ‘You heard me. Your plans to relax back into the role of big brother to my cohort’s centurionate will have to wait. Responsibility calls, Centurion.’
    ‘My ten best archers? The selection will be an easy matter, Tribune, but surely a stronger force would be advised?’
    Scaurus shook his head at the Syrian.
    ‘Ten men are all that we’ll need, thank you Centurion. But as to your selection, it’s not going to be as simple as lining them up in front of a row of targets and taking the men who can hit their mark with the greatest frequency.’
    The Hamian inclined his head in respectful question.
    ‘Rather than picking men who can hit the same spot ten times with ten arrows when the greatest pressure on them is nothing more dangerous than the approval of their peers, I need you to select those men who are your most prolific hunters.’
    Qadir nodded his head slowly.
    ‘You want me to choose those among my command with the ability to move through the forest without disturbing leaf or branch? Those with the ability to bring down a startled deer as it turns to flee, with sure aim and the nerve to use it in the moment of greatest advantage?’
    Scaurus patted him on the shoulder.
    ‘I think you discern my intentions clearly enough, Centurion.’
    ‘I need ten men.’
    ‘Ten?’
    The chosen man’s expression was a perfect match for the face Dubnus himself had pulled when Scaurus had made his requirements clear, and he found himself smiling wryly at the man despite his continued sense of disbelief.
    ‘It’s worse than that.’
    ‘Worse? How can it be worse , Centurion? The tribune plans to ride north with only a handful of archers and ten of our lads to stand between him and an entire German tribe. The only way it could be worse would be if—’
    ‘Enough, Angar.’ Like Dubnus and most of the Tenth Century’s men, his chosen man had declined the option to take a Roman name on joining the cohort. ‘It’s worse, because the Tribune’s requirements of those ten men are very specific.’
    ‘Specific, Centurion?’
    ‘Specifically these …’
    Dubnus looked across the transit barracks parade ground, taking stock of his century’s men as they exercised as was their practice each afternoon once the morning’s drill had been completed under Julius’s watchful eye. Lifting improvised weights, performing press-ups with a comrade on each man’s back, they were sweating in the sun without regard for the heat in pursuit of physical perfection.
    ‘The tribune wants men who will back down from a fight if doing so will keep the detachment undetected.’
    He waited in silence for his deputy to digest what he had said.
    ‘He wants … cowards? ’
    ‘No, Angar, he wants thinkers . He wants men who have enough brains to know when it’d be better to crouch in the cover of the forest and allow a stronger enemy to pass by, rather than sell their own lives, and those of their brothers, for a brief moment of furious bloodletting.’
    The chosen man looked at the ground, shaking his head slowly.
    ‘It goes against everything we teach these men. We select the biggest and most capable—’
    ‘Not to mention those with the hottest temper.’
    Angar shot him a hard