soldiers came to attention in front of the questor’s table, before Gallo held out a small wax tablet to expedition the commander. “If the questor would be good enough to provide the watchword…?”
To the centurion’s surprise, Varro did not accept the tablet. “Where is the officer of the watch?” he asked.
Gallo looked pained. “I, er, I do not know, questor.”
“Give Tribune Venerius my compliments,” said Marcus Martius beside Varro. “Ask him toreport here to the questor.” The eyes of the expedition’s military commander narrowed a little. “At once!”
“At once, tribune,” Gallo repeated. He spun around. Thrusting the wax tablet into Rufus’ hands with a scowl, he hurried from the tent.
A few minutes later, the waiting occupants of the pretorium heard a raised voice outside before Gaius Venerius, the junior tribune, entered in a rush. He was wearing a casual tunic, and his face was red with rage. Centurion Gallo came close behind.
“This oaf Gallo laid hands on me!” Venerius raged. “I want him charged! I want him punished!” He turned to the centurion. “Buffoon!” he spat.
Gallo did not as much as blink. “Centurion Gallo reporting with the officer of the watch, questor, as ordered,” he formally announced.
“I am not the officer of the watch!” Venerius snarled. “Dimwit!”
“Oh, yes you are,” said Varro, in a low, controlled voice.
“What?” Venerius’ head snapped around.
“As a tribune of the thin stripe, Venerius, you will fulfil the duties of officer of the watch on this expedition, as you would in any legion or legion detachment.”
“No, no, no.” Venerius looked down at Varro and folded his arms. “As a thin-stripe tribune I am only required to serve for three months during my six-month posting, and I will have you know that I have done my three months. I am excused duties.”
“I will have no sightseers on this expedition, Venerius,” said Varro, making an effort to keep his anger from rising.
“As a thin-stripe tribune,” said Marcus Martius, rising up from his stool and coming threateningly around the table, “you will obey the orders of your superior, or you will face a court martial. Here, in this camp.”
Venerius paled. His arms unfolded and dropped to his sides, as if suddenly devoid of their strength. “You, you are joking?” he stammered.
“Am I?” The imposing Martius stood glaring at him. “The court martial of Gaius LICINIUS Venerius for insubordination would be well received back at Rome, would it not, thin-striper? I think not. Now, listen carefully. In a moment, you will run back to your tent, put on your armor, and arm yourself. You will then run back here and report for duty, after which you will pass the watchword to the sentries and report back to the questor when the distribution of the watchword has been acknowledged by all sentry posts.” His face was now just inches from that of the young man. “Do you understand, tribune of the thin stripe?”
Venerius’ mouth opened, but no sound came out.
“Might I also suggest, questor,” Martius went on, straightening and turning to Varro, “that the thin stripe tribune be assigned to the advance guard from tomorrow, to mark out the new camp each day. Centurion Gallo has far more important duties to attend to than camp marking.”
“Very well,” Varro agreed, trying not to smile. “So be it.”
“Might I also take the liberty of suggesting the watchword for the next twenty-four hours, questor?” Martius continued, turning back to Venerius.
“I am always open to suggestions, tribune,” Varro replied.
“Perhaps it might be ‘Obedience,’” Martius said, raising his eyebrows at Venerius. “Or perhaps ‘Humility.’ No, no, I think, ‘Respect.’ What think you, questor?”
“‘Respect’ it shall be,” said Varro. He held out his hand to Rufus. “The tessera?”
The soldier handed the wax tablet to the questor. Varro’s skinny, bushy-headed servant
To the centurion’s surprise, Varro did not accept the tablet. “Where is the officer of the watch?” he asked.
Gallo looked pained. “I, er, I do not know, questor.”
“Give Tribune Venerius my compliments,” said Marcus Martius beside Varro. “Ask him toreport here to the questor.” The eyes of the expedition’s military commander narrowed a little. “At once!”
“At once, tribune,” Gallo repeated. He spun around. Thrusting the wax tablet into Rufus’ hands with a scowl, he hurried from the tent.
A few minutes later, the waiting occupants of the pretorium heard a raised voice outside before Gaius Venerius, the junior tribune, entered in a rush. He was wearing a casual tunic, and his face was red with rage. Centurion Gallo came close behind.
“This oaf Gallo laid hands on me!” Venerius raged. “I want him charged! I want him punished!” He turned to the centurion. “Buffoon!” he spat.
Gallo did not as much as blink. “Centurion Gallo reporting with the officer of the watch, questor, as ordered,” he formally announced.
“I am not the officer of the watch!” Venerius snarled. “Dimwit!”
“Oh, yes you are,” said Varro, in a low, controlled voice.
“What?” Venerius’ head snapped around.
“As a tribune of the thin stripe, Venerius, you will fulfil the duties of officer of the watch on this expedition, as you would in any legion or legion detachment.”
“No, no, no.” Venerius looked down at Varro and folded his arms. “As a thin-stripe tribune I am only required to serve for three months during my six-month posting, and I will have you know that I have done my three months. I am excused duties.”
“I will have no sightseers on this expedition, Venerius,” said Varro, making an effort to keep his anger from rising.
“As a thin-stripe tribune,” said Marcus Martius, rising up from his stool and coming threateningly around the table, “you will obey the orders of your superior, or you will face a court martial. Here, in this camp.”
Venerius paled. His arms unfolded and dropped to his sides, as if suddenly devoid of their strength. “You, you are joking?” he stammered.
“Am I?” The imposing Martius stood glaring at him. “The court martial of Gaius LICINIUS Venerius for insubordination would be well received back at Rome, would it not, thin-striper? I think not. Now, listen carefully. In a moment, you will run back to your tent, put on your armor, and arm yourself. You will then run back here and report for duty, after which you will pass the watchword to the sentries and report back to the questor when the distribution of the watchword has been acknowledged by all sentry posts.” His face was now just inches from that of the young man. “Do you understand, tribune of the thin stripe?”
Venerius’ mouth opened, but no sound came out.
“Might I also suggest, questor,” Martius went on, straightening and turning to Varro, “that the thin stripe tribune be assigned to the advance guard from tomorrow, to mark out the new camp each day. Centurion Gallo has far more important duties to attend to than camp marking.”
“Very well,” Varro agreed, trying not to smile. “So be it.”
“Might I also take the liberty of suggesting the watchword for the next twenty-four hours, questor?” Martius continued, turning back to Venerius.
“I am always open to suggestions, tribune,” Varro replied.
“Perhaps it might be ‘Obedience,’” Martius said, raising his eyebrows at Venerius. “Or perhaps ‘Humility.’ No, no, I think, ‘Respect.’ What think you, questor?”
“‘Respect’ it shall be,” said Varro. He held out his hand to Rufus. “The tessera?”
The soldier handed the wax tablet to the questor. Varro’s skinny, bushy-headed servant
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