The Arena (Prequel to Hunting The Eagles)

Part One

Outside the Roman fortress of Vetera, on the German frontier, autumn AD 12

Together with several of his comrades from the Fifth Legion, legionary Marcus Piso was rambling towards the settlement outside the massive camp in which he lived and served. It was early afternoon, and a watery sun could do little to dispel the chill in the air. Piso was drunk. Not pissed out of his head – that would come later – but in that fuzzy, pleasant state which made him feel goodwill towards all, and when the world seemed a better place. A tall man with spiky black hair, Piso had been in the army for four years – five come the following spring. Vitellius, his acerbic best friend, had been in far longer, and the rest had served for periods in between the two. Of the group, only Piso and Vitellius had been in the Eighteenth, one of the three legions wiped out by German tribesmen some years before.

It was payday for the legionaries, a happy event that occurred every four months, and a cause of much revelry and drunken behaviour. The great majority of the camp's garrison of two legions had been off duty since the morning's parade and disbursement of monies. A couple of hundred unfortunates from each legion, selected by lot, remained in the camp as sentries, orderlies and messengers, but the rest, like Piso and his comrades, had been enjoying themselves from the moment they'd exited the fort's massive gateway. Everyone's destination was the vicus, the sprawling village that lay a short distance along the road north.

Well aware of the day's importance, local shopkeepers and inn proprietors had been hard at work since dawn. Temporary stalls – forbidden under normal circumstances, but ignored three times a year – had sprung up right outside the fort's main gate, and lined the way towards the vicus. Wine of every kind was on offer, from burn-your-throat Gaulish and headache-inducing Iberian, to the finest Campanian and silk-smooth Falernian. Rosy-cheeked women were selling fried sausages and fresh bread. Bakers competed with one another over whose pastries and cakes were the best. One enterprising individual even had a roasted piglet on a platter, complete with apple in mouth. 'A copper for a thick slice,' he roared. 'And the crackling's free!'

The legionaries had been paid cohort by cohort. Being in the seventh, Piso and his comrades had emerged after more than half the legion. They had grumbled with the rest as they'd shifted from foot to foot, their gaze fixed on the paymasters' tables far in the distance. Their eagle-eyed centurion Tullus had been watching, however, so it had been under their breaths. Nothing to be done but wait, Vitellius had muttered. It was shit, Piso had replied, but at least the initial mad rush would be over once they'd had their coin.

He was right. By the time the group had walked outside, the deluge of thirsty soldiers had washed over the first stalls and moved on to the more plentiful delights of the vicus, leaving shorter queues and quicker service. Piso and the rest had parked themselves by a stall run by a wall-eyed reprobate known to one and all as Verrucosus, thanks to the large wart on one of his florid cheeks. A man wouldn't have known it from the clean tables and benches on display today, but Verrucosus ran one of the sleaziest dives in the vicus. His wine was drinkable, though, which was more than could be said for most of his competitors.

The huge demand from six cohorts had seen Verrucosus' stock almost drained – 'Head to my inn – there's plenty more where this came from!' he'd cried as Piso and his companions threw back their third and final cups of wine. Promising they would call in, the still-thirsty legionaries had instead made straight for the stall next door. Not until they'd had perhaps half a dozen more did they even consider moving on.

Progress had been slow since, thought Piso fuzzily. He had stopped to have some sausages and bread. One of their group had wandered beyond the tents to empty his bladder, and still hadn't returned. Vitellius was the latest to stray. Casting about, Piso spied him by a baker's stall. To Piso's amusement, Vitellius was buying two pastries and a slab of almond cake, which he devoured on the spot.