Page 196 of Scorched Earth
Drusus’s pale green eyes locked on his in a silent battle of wills, broken only when Rastag tripped through the front entrance of the pavilion, his spectacles flying to land in the dirt.
“What is wrong with you?” Drusus snapped. “Never have I met a man with less control over his own feet.”
“Apologies, sir. I’ve need of a new set of spectacles—these have become quite scratched.”
Marcus rose to his feet and retrieved his engineer’s spectacles, then handed them back to him. “I’ll request a lens maker in my next report,” he said, then added, “There are more than a few men in the ranks who need new spectacles.”
Drusus’s smirk grew to reveal his many missing teeth, and Marcus’s patience for the other legatus snapped. “I can think of no other reason that the old men of the Eleventh have such poor aim. Couldn’t hit a piss pot if their lives depended on it.”
“That can be a problem,” Rastag agreed, not noticing the tension between Marcus and the older legatus. “I have a report on the dam you requested, sir. By necessity, we are redirecting some of the water where the river branches, else the reservoir will spill over.”
Marcus looked down at the pages that Rastag was smoothing on the table. “I’ll speak with you later, Drusus. You’re dismissed.”
The older man rose, posture stiff with anger as he left the tent.
Let him leave, the voice said.He needed to be put in his place.
Rastag was quiet as he set weights on the corner of the diagram, which showed the topography of the land surrounding Revat, with particular care shown to the small river that branched just south of their position. One arm flowed to the sea and the other through a fortified opening in the city walls, where it wove though Revat and emptied into the harbor.
But before the engineer could jump into an explanation of how he intended to make Marcus’s plan work, Amarin said, “Drusus is worried about his men.”
Marcus’s eyes shot to his servant, more shocked than angry, because while Amarin often commented on strategy, he never did so in the company of others. “The Eleventh are fine.”
“He obviously disagrees. And he isn’t the only legatus under your command who feels the same way.”
Thatmade Marcus angry. “At what point did all of you collectively decide that I no longer know what I’m doing?”
Rastag shifted restlessly, eyes wide behind his spectacles as he looked between Amarin and Marcus.
“No one thinks that,” Amarin replied. “The Eleventh was due to retire, but Cassius has used his powers as dictator to extend service indefinitely.”
“I’m aware.”
“The Eleventh had an easy post on Atlia. They all thought that,short of accident or illness, they’d survive service and get the chance to live lives as ordinary men. Instead, they were sent across the world to fight in a war where every last one of them is at risk of dying.”
“Your point?” Marcus asked the question knowing full well what his servant’s point was.
“Drusus is an ass, but he’s just trying to keep his men alive. You of all people should be sympathetic to that.”
“I am sympathetic, but you’re defending a man who just suggested that we blockade everyone in Revat because starving babies cry and crying babies harm soldier morale. The easiest path to victory is not always the best one.”
“Do you think that just because those babies are out of your earshot that they don’t cry?” Amarin cleared the glasses from the table. “By all accounts, there are close to a million people who live in this city, and while they may be fleeing with their lives, that is all most of them will flee with. No homes. No income. Nofood. They suffer not because they deserve it, but because men in power want more power, and while the numbers who die in the coming days, months, and years might never make it into your official casualty count, that doesn’t make them any less dead.”
“Watch yourself!” Gibzen snarled from the corner, and Marcus started, having forgotten his primus was even there. “You show respect for your betters.”
“You are not my better, you sick creature,” Amarin said softly, and Marcus tensed at the threat in his voice.
Silence him.
Marcus shook away the thought, but it was followed in rapid succession by more of the same.
He’s weak.
Talk like this sows dissention.
Put him in his place.
Rising, Marcus pointed to the front of his tent. “Get out, Amarin. And reconsider your place else you will find yourself returned to the Senate in exchange for someone who knows how to hold his tongue.”
