in minutes, smiths at their endless repair, cooks readying a meai even as the camp filled out its familiar rectanguTar shape around them. Food was on Padrec's mind as he clumped down the line of tents at sunset. The mess situa- tion had gone from bad to intolerable. They were the hardest worked and the worst fed. Not a question of shortage; the foot ate well all the time. After continual complaints, Ambrosius called this accounting. Briccu, the tribune's tent guard, recognized Padrec and saluted re- spectfully. He was a Christian and often heard Mass with the Prydn.

"They're here and waiting. Father?"

"Yes?"

Briccu was a mountain man like Padrec himself. He spoke the archaic Brigante dialect Padrec had known from birth. "It is that I would be asking confession of you, Father."

"And where have you found the time or opportunity to sin. busy as we are?"

"Och, it's not that much. But I am new-betrothed. . . ."

"Bless you, I have a young wife myself."

"Well, then." Briccu shuffled a little in embarrass- ment. "You'll know what I mean. When we passed the old army brothel . . . well, wasn't I drunk at the time, and lonely."

Padrec smiled. "Drink's been known to do that. A man can lose his way."

"Can he not?"

Padrec couldn't resist the chuckle. "Jesu, those worn- out old-well, Briccu, I'll be hearing confessions tonight.

We should speak of taste as well as transgression. Rest you gentle until then." He patted the man's shoulder and passed into the tent.

The tribune was seated on a plain stool next to a camp table on which had been set a jug of wine and a covered plate. Ambrosius lived as plaimy as any of his men in the field. Harness discarded on a rack, he received his officers in a plain Dobunni tunic and trousers of red and green checks. Gallius was still in gear; since the vic- tory at Wye, he'd exchanged the potbellied breastplate the other officers joked about for a good coat of scale armor scavenged from a dead Coritani chief It made less com-

248 Parks Godwin

ment on his paunch. He pretended to sniff the air in distaste when Padrec entered.

"Whew! Don't the Faerie ever wash?"

"We're always last at the water ration and other things.

Sir."

"The tribune said you asked 1 be here. Well. what is it? I have other duties."

"Centurion Urbi," Ambrosius began. "Father Patricius has lodged a formal complaint about alae rations. A num- ber of them, to be precise."

"He went over my head?" Gallius rounded belliger- ently on Padrec. "You sidled up to the tribune and whined- you little coward, you won't even use your sword in battle."

"1 may not."

"How convenient. So that if a man, a real man, has a grievance with you, don't you have the whole Church to hide behind."

"Enough," Ambrosius broke in. "I want to get to the bottom of this and clean it out. Now. Gallius, my records show that dried pork, mutton, and lentils were purchased in ample quantities for your maniple. For thirty-two contubemia of eight men each. More than enough to allow for spoilage, waste, error, and the predictable thievery of cooks. There should be more food than men to eat it."

Ambrosius unrolled a papyrus and waved it under Gallius'

florid nose. "Thirty-two. Where are they?"

Gallius looked convincingly bewildered, offering the small roll tucked under his own arm. "I signed for only twenty-four. Tribune. The quartermaster has my receipts."

"So he does. A shortage in rations for sixty-four men."

"Well, I'm a merchant myself. I've never seen supply records tally since i took service with the Sixth."

"Your own men don't go without," Padrec shot at him. "Or yourself, one notes.'

Gallius backhanded the smaller man across the face before Ambrosius could intercede. "You wish to note that, Father Patricius?"

"Stop!" Ambrosius caught Gallius as he moved to strike again, spinning him around. "I could charge you with that, Gallius Urbi. For the moment, I will only re- mind you not to mistake a moment's valor for a sense of honor, you ..." The tribune's voice was frigid with con- 249.

tempt, his restraining hand an iron clamp. Gallius sub- sided, quite satisfied in any case.

"He knows what 1 think of him."

"And I of you," said Padrec. "Let me tell you, store- keeper, it takes a full man to be a priest."

"Square off, both of you!"

Force of habit snapped both subordinates to atten- tion. Ambrosius turned away from them to take the edge of anger from his thoughts. "Acting Centurion Patricius is stating a fact, Gallius. I've eaten with your men and ob- served the Faerie at their meals." His hand, resting against the base of his spine, closed in resolution. "Guard!"

Briccu ducked his head inside the tent flap. "Sir?"

"Take Centurion Patricius and a detail of five men to the quartermaster. They will draw extra rations, which will be charged to Gallius Urbi's supply manifests. Go get your rations. Patricius. And heed Gallius in this, at least.

use your sword hereafter. Since your men will follow none but you, it'll muck me up properly if you're dead, won't it? Dismissed."

When they were alone, Ambrosius waved Gallius to a stool by the camp table and poured two wooden cups of wine. Gallius was disappointed that the trib entertained his officers with the same ration swill the men drank. He noticed, as Ambrosius sat down, that the vital young frame seemed to slump a moment, sloughing its youth like a wet cloak falling from the shoulders. Then Ambrosius recov- ered himself, shook off the weariness, and drank.

"Thanks, Tribune. Thank you. Things get lean in the field."

"Indeed."

"A touch of home. It helps."

"I hope you have an appetite," Ambrosius invited cordially. "I want you to take supper here."

Gallius brightened. "Of course, sir. Better than at home, actually. I find I've a taste for soldiering."

Don't you just. Ambrosius knew Gallius' domestic cir- cumstances. This would be a holiday for such a man, and he was a fair soldier, valiant enough in the balance. He'd gone over the wails at Wye with no hanging back. Sur- prised at his own valor, Gallius was now a little pompous, even dropping incense to Mars on one of the portable

250 altars. Yes, he'd crow at the priest's timidity, his own lack of it being such a relief. One good scare, that'^ u'hat you need.

"Centurion, Patricius is a rather naive man, hardly bred to war, and leading a mob of enthused children who happen to be the only archers we could raise. I have no special regard for them, but they're better than the Venicones would've been. More wine? It's good for the appetite."

"Thank you, I will."

Ambrosius refilled the cups, spilling a littie. Gallius observed that the young man's hand shook slightly.

"Forgive me, I'm that tired. It would be sheer joy to have nothing else but war to contend with."