A shout from below caught their attention, both of them turning to look down into camp, where one of Agrippa’s men, Uther, stared up at them. “Your presence is required, sir,” he shouted. “There’s been an incident at followers’ camp.”
“What sort of incident?”
Uther looked away, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably. “A brawl, sir. Between Thirty-Seventh and Twenty-Ninth. Those involved are being brought back now.”
“This day grows worse with every passing minute,” he muttered under his breath, then strode to the steps leading down to the camp, Felix on his heels.
Uther led them through the camp, though Marcus could’ve found his way to the source of the problem based on sound alone, as insults flew back and forth between the two sides. The crowd of onlookers parted for him and Felix, revealing six bloody and battered legionnaires.
One of which was Agrippa, who, for reasons unknown, wasn’t wearing any clothes.
“Sir,” he said, teeth chattering as he saluted, Quintus and Miki doing the same where they flanked him. “Sorry to drag you away from your business. Was just a friendly squabble.”
That friendly squabble had left all three of them with swelling eyes and split lips, Miki’s nose streaming blood. Obviously having fought naked, Agrippa had taken the worst of it, his sides marked with red blotches that would turn to impressive bruises and his swollen knuckles dripping blood.
Which explained the state of the other three.
Two of the Twenty-Ninth were sitting in the dirt, eyes glazed, faces swollen and bleeding. Primus Carmo was standing, but his nose was broken and he clutched what looked like a fractured wrist. If it weren’t for the fact that this was going to cause him incredible grief, Marcus would have been rather proud that his men, despite being smaller and years younger, had dominated the brawl. “Get him something to wear before he loses anything critical to frostbite.”
Though on second thought, losing that particular part might prevent a repeat incident, for Marcus could easily guess why Agrippa was naked. He had a way with girls, and if Marcus were a betting man—which he was—he’d say that the girl who’d dumped water on his feet hadn’t resisted Agrippa’s charms for very long.
Someone handed Agrippa a tunic and cloak, and he mercifully managed to get them on before Hostus appeared. The legatus took one look at the scene, then spit in the dirt in front of the injured men. “If you’re going to brawl with the stupid little shits, at least win the fight. This is an embarrassment.”
Underneath the blood and bruises, Carmo purpled with anger, and Marcus struggled not to wince. “They jumped us, sir.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus saw Quintus open his mouth, but Agrippa kicked him in the ankle. Unfortunately, Hostus saw it, too. “You saying it happened differently?”
“Couldn’t rightly say, sir,” Agrippa answered. “Took a few knocks to the head and everything is a bit foggy. Last thing I remember clearly was getting my laundry done.”
Hostus narrowed his eyes, then looked to Carmo.
The older primus made a face. “Weird little bastard was sitting naked in the laundresses’ tent.”
“They can’t wash your clothes while you’re wearing them, apparently,” Agrippa said. “Learn something new every day.”
Marcus ground his teeth even as Hostus snarled at Agrippa, “What’s wrong with you?”
“I appreciate your concern, sir. Thanks for inquiring.” Agrippa gave Hostus an earnest smile. “It was a fungus, but Racker dosed me with one of his smelly tonics, told me to be more cautious of my company, and now I’m right as rain.” He glanced at his knuckles. “Mostly.”
“Rutting idiots.” Hostus’s color was rising. “Carmo, what did he do? And if you lie to me again, I’ll have the skin stripped from your hide.”
And he meant it.
Carmo’s face drained of color. “He disrespected me, sir. Couldn’t let it stand.”
“What did he say?”
Carmo’s eyes moved over the crowd of onlookers. “He…he told the laundresses that I should pay more.”
Marcus bit down hard on the insides of his cheeks, seeing where this was going. And wanting to slap Agrippa up the side of the head for running his mouth. Again. But more than that, he wanted to scream at Hostus to just give out the punishment and be done with it, because the truth was going to make the situation a thousand times worse.
“Maybe you should pay more,” Hostus snarled. “You’re twice the size of any man in the camp. And I fail to see how that’s disrespect.”
“He…” Carmo took a step toward his legatus, but Hostus screamed, “You don’t get to whisper it in my ear, you fool! Spit it out or I’ll get my knives and carve the words out of you.”
Terror filled the primus’s eyes and he blurted out, “He told the women I don’t wipe my ass.”
Silence filled the camp for a heartbeat, then the crowd of men around them burst into laughter. Marcus lifted a hand and those of the Thirty-Seventh immediately silenced, but the damage was done. Now all he could do was try to keep Hostus from murdering Agrippa where he stood. “Respectfully, sir, you yourself have taken issue with how badly Carmo stinks, so this shaming is only to your benefit given your own fastidiousness.”
Hostus turned to stare at him, and Marcus was reminded of the dragons that the Empire used as its symbol. How the little reptiles would stare their prey down, deliberating whether they wanted to take a bite. But as much as he was a sadist, Hostus was equally a narcissist, and the flattery tempered his wrath.
“Carmo, you and your men will have three lashes each,” the older legatus said. “And you will use this moment to contemplate your personal upkeep.” Then he pointed a finger at Marcus. “Deal with your men or I will. And if it’s me, I’ll cut out that one’s tongue.”
Agrippa shifted uneasily, not even his bravado immune to Hostus’s threats, but Marcus only said, “I will deal with them accordingly, sir.” Then he motioned to the trio to follow, leading them deep into the Thirty-Seventh’s half of the camp.
“Get Servius,” he said to Felix. “And keep everyone busy. I don’t need spectators.”
Reaching the open ground in front of his own tent, he rounded on the three, who formed up in a neat line, backs straight.
“Explain yourselves.”
“With respect, sir,” Agrippa stepped forward, “Quintus and Miki didn’t cause the fight. They only came to my defense under my orders. I’m solely responsible for the brawl and punishment should fall on my shoulders.”
Only two of the three statements were the truth, but Marcus allowed the lie to slide. “No.”
Servius approached. The third most senior officer in the Thirty-Seventh, Servius hailed from the province of Atlia and also had the honor of being the biggest man in the legion. Tall and wide, his arms were the size of most men’s legs, and his chest was so broad he needed clothes and armor made specifically for him rather than the standard issue everyone else made do with. But for all his size, Servius was almost devoid of temper, nearly always to be found with a smile on his face.
But not today.
Today, he carried a bullwhip held loosely in one hand, displeasure written all over his brown-skinned face. This was one of his duties, but there wasn’t a man in the Thirty-Seventh that wasn’t aware exactly how little he enjoyed it.