Marcus looked at the map, at the careful notations he’d made, the intelligence his men had died to gather. He thought of Decimus, who’d spent three weeks in a Pictish village pretending to be a trader, sleeping in a barn and eating scraps, just to confirm the movement of warriors. He thought of young Lucian, barely twenty, who’d nearly been caught by a Votadini patrol and had to hide in a freezing stream for six hours to escape.
And he thought of his father.
Decurion Titus Corvus had served on this frontier for thirty years. He’d been a military administrator, a man who understood logistics and supply lines and the thousand small details that kept an army functioning. He’d died five years ago, worn out by decades of service, and what had he left behind? Debts. A modest pension that barely covered his funeral. And a son who’d followed him into the legions, hoping to restore some honor to the family name.
Marcus had done everything right. He’d served with distinction, earned his promotions through merit rather than connections, built the Areani into an elite unit. And still, men like Castor looked at him and saw nothing but a frontier centurion—useful, perhaps, but ultimately expendable.
“Sir,” Marcus said quietly, “I’m not asking you to panic. I’m asking you to prepare. Reinforce the garrisons. Increase patrols. Put the cavalry on alert. If I’m wrong, we’ve wasted some effort. If I’m right—”
“If you’re right, then we’ll deal with it,” Castor said. “The Wall has weathered barbarian storms before. It will weather this one.” He turned to his secretary. “Make a note that the Areani have reported increased tribal activity. Recommend that fort commanders maintain standard vigilance protocols.”
Standard vigilance protocols. Marcus felt the words like a physical blow. Months of intelligence gathering, dozens of reports, scouts risking their lives—and it all came down to a note in some administrative file.
“Sir, with respect, standard protocols won’t be enough if—”
“Centurion.” Castor’s voice was ice now. “I’ve made my decision. Unless you have concrete evidence of an imminent attack—dates, numbers, specific targets—then we proceed with normal operations. The empire doesn’t have unlimited resources to chase every rumor from beyond the Wall.”
Marcus stood very still. He could feel the tribune’s smirk, could sense the secretary’s stylus scratching across the wax tablet, reducing his warnings to