Page 51 of Scorched Earth
The tone of Gibzen’s voice raised the hackles on the back of Marcus’s neck, and he turned his head to regard the man. Gibzen’s dusky skin had a sheen of sweat on it and his lips were slightly parted with anticipation, the grip on his weapon so tight his knuckles were white. “Does it matter?”
Gibzen shrugged and looked away, hearing the real question in Marcus’s words, which wasDo we have a problem?“Nope.”
The legions were full of men like Gibzen. Men who enjoyed killing the way other men enjoyed sex, strong drink, or narcotics. Men who thrived on the violence of conflict and war as it served their lusts well. It made Gibzen good at his job, but Marcus had personally set rules of conduct for him. Rules, he was beginning to suspect, that had perhaps not been adhered to in his absence. “I want everything back in order, Gibzen. I want everything to be exactly as I like it to be.”
“We’ll ensure it, sir.”
Marcus relaxed slightly. Abandoning the rest of the food in favor of soap, he set to work ridding himself of blood and filth, the only sound the tinkle of water coming from the fountains.
Except his mind more than filled the silence.
The overwhelming chaos of problems fought for supremacy in his skull, ricocheting from the casualties his legions had taken to Teriana’s presence. From Titus’s revelation that the traitor was still at large to his guilt over Lydia’s death. From the lies he’d told Teriana to the absolute certainty in his heart that he loved her above all else.
Around and around. The only thing it kept recoiling from was the deadline he now faced.Six months,Teriana’s voice echoed in his skull, only to be drowned out by Lydia screaming for her life.
Focus!he snarled at himself.Make a plan!
His mind only raced in circles. Faster and faster, and logically he knew that the only thing that would help him see straight was sleep, but the thought of sleeping with all these problems in the air was unpalatable. “I wish Agrippa were here.”
The statement came from nowhere, yet even as the words slipped from his lips, Marcus knew it was a truth that had always been, even if he’d kept it buried.
“Why?” Gibzen’s tone was clipped. “He deserted us for a Bardenese chit. I hope he’s rotting in a shallow grave somewhere.”
Because he’s the only one who could lead as well as me. Marcus kept the thought to himself, though it expanded and grew, rising on the tide of his turmoil. If Agrippa were still the Thirty-Seventh’s primus, Marcus could have passed out and slept for a week, certain in the knowledge that Agrippa would run the legion just as well as him.
Possibly better.
“Don’t you find it strange,” he said to fill the silence, “that we never heard another word about him? He was never intended for a quiet life, would have risen to the top of any situation he found himself in, but not a whisper.”
“Because he’s probably dead.” Gibzen’s tone was frigid. “That girl likely got sick of his yapping and cut his throat. What difference does it make, anyway? You’re better off without him. He was always arguing with you. Never falling to command.”
“When he argued, he was usually right,” Marcus muttered, picking up the razor. “He always got the job done.”
Gibzen snorted. “Agrippa always did his level best to make you look bad because he never got over that you came out on top, and he didn’t. I hope that prick’s dead and I hope he died hard.”
As Gibzen spoke, the coldness in his voice turned to venom. The two had never gotten along, but Marcus hadn’t realized Gibzen held a grudge that seemed to go beyond the animosity earned by Agrippa’s desertion. Which possibly explained why not a single legionnaire who had served in Agrippa’s hundred remained under Gibzen’s command, all of them either dead or under the leadership of other centurions. As he soaped his face, Marcus briefly considered pressing the primus, but what was the point of digging into the past with so many other problems facing him in the present?
Not the least of which was the traitor in their midst. Gibzen had ever been loyal, in his fashion, and his hatred for those who were not had been well proven. Plus who better to track the culprit down than his own personal bloodhound?
Lifting the razor to his cheek, Marcus debated how to approach this as he scraped the blade over his skin.
Only to hiss as his unsteady hands betrayed him.
“Let me help you with that, sir.” Gibzen circled the pool to kneel behind Marcus. “Can’t have you walking around looking like you shaved drunk.”
“It’s fine. I’ll—”
Gibzen pulled the blade from his grip. “Agrippa wasn’t loyal. Nothing matters more than loyalty.”
Marcus didn’t answer, his attention all for the blade Gibzen was expertly scraping along his skin. Swallowing carefully, he finally said, “I’ve reason to believe that someone in the Thirty-Seventh betrayed the location of your men when they were escorting Teriana back from Galinha.”
Gibzen’s hand paused. “Why do you think that?”
“Because Ashok told Teriana as much. He had Cel dragons newly minted with Cassius’s face that the traitor had given him as compensation.”
“Traitor.” There was anger in Gibzen’s voice.
“Yes. Never mind that the idiot got your men killed, his actions caused a change in strategy that nearly resulted in the Thirty-Seventh being caught between two armies. I thought it was Titus, but before he died, he denied it. Said he’d brought the gold but the only thing he’d used it for was paying one of my men to spy. He wasn’t a traitor.”
