Legionary (16 page)

‘Don’t think I can take much more of this, sir.’

‘They want to break us like a wild horse,’ Nerva agreed, his eyes narrowing. ‘They’re prodding in all the right places, for sure.’ He sighed as he watched Wulfric barge one of the centurions from his place, facing his century, to bark his own commands at the men.

‘How did the dust settle then, sir? Are we going to be left with any legionaries at all?’ Gallus asked.

‘Wulfric has taken his orders to mean that everyone else in the empire bar the emperor himself is a second-class citizen. Effectively…we cannot deny him anything he requests. The brief was to have Roman officers and Gothic ranks, but Wulfric has taken the orders and shaped them to his whim.’

‘Does the emperor know how damning this is for his borders?’ Gallus shook his head. ‘They might only be after a handful of our men, but we are already barely a token force.’

Nerva sighed. ‘I think our friend, Senator Tarquitius, has had a little too much bend of Dux Vergilius’ ear. This notion that the Goths will obediently follow a truce when our defences are threadbare is fundamentally flawed. It’s the cheap rhetoric that the politician uses to colour his arguments that’s carried this.’

‘What has a senator got to gain?’ Brutus shrugged. ‘It’ll be Wulfric, Vergilius and the emperor who get the glory of any victories in the field. It’d make me sick like a dog to see a whoreson like Wulfric leading a triumph though,’ he grumbled a little too loud.

‘I’m not sure about this,’ Gallus spoke warily, his tone hushed. Nerva and Brutus turned to him keenly. ‘Sir, I think Tarquitius is being played, just as he in his own way is playing the dux and the emperor. Where Wulfric sits in all of that, I’m not sure. But someone must be pulling all the strings in this mess.’

All three fell silent, looking over to the figure of Wulfric; now resting on the barrier, the Goth observed his guards putting the legionaries through their paces — now they were on their third round of fifty press-ups. The jagged barking of the Goths grated, but the Romans were maintaining their cool despite the blistering heat. Wulfric’s eyes were narrowed and focused. Gallus noticed the sharpness in his expression; for sure, this man was searching for the breaking point of the legion, but he was no brainless lout.

‘What will this mean for the reconquest of Bosporus if we lose number here?’ Gallus asked as he scanned the training field. Scarcely one thousand men, including the latest rabble of recruits. The remaining eight hundred or so of the three cohorts of the legion were still spread thinly along the Danubian watchtowers and fortlets and could not be summoned from those posts.

Nerva turned to look Gallus in the eye. ‘I asked the emperor the very same question. He only said that provision would be made to ensure the mission went ahead. And I think we all know where that path leads to…’ he sighed.

Gallus’ heart sank; foederati, the scourge of the army in recent times. Just as with the new comitatenses legion, the XI Claudia would be topped up with powerful warriors from the forests of Germania and mercenary Goths from the northern plains. They augmented the numbers quickly, but what you got was a throw of the dice; tales of mutiny, anarchy and ill-discipline far outweighed the few success stories.

‘On the bright side, we’ve always got Brutus’ new litter to add to our operative number,’ Nerva added.

‘Not if the two runts who are in the jail are anything to go by,’ Gallus replied. ‘If they can’t control themselves in here they won’t be much use on the battlefield. That one, by the name of Pavo, didn’t even address me by rank this morning.’

Brutus frowned but Nerva cut in before he could speak. ‘I think there might be more to that story than meets the eye. Brutus reckons the lad has potential.’

‘No offence, Brutus, but I’ll believe it when I see it,’ Gallus offered.

‘The lad has had a hard time since he got here,’ Brutus reasoned, then shrugged, ‘but I suppose that’s the point, eh?’

The back streets of Constantinople, just off the Atalos Gate, were dim at best at this hour, only a few ill-tended lanterns swung above doorways. The night chill drifted in like an icy breath and every corner and shadow swam with the unknown. A hooded figure shuffled across the pool of light in front of a sleepy brothel then slipped into the blackness of the alleyway by its side. All was silent for a moment until the clanking of armour announced the arrival of soldiers. Two urban guardsmen flanked Senator Tarquitius.

‘Wait,’ he raised his hand as he eyed the brothel. He stood stock still, shivering, his eyes darting uneasily. A piece of rubble clattered out in front of them from the blackness. Tarquitius started, while his two guards clasped the hilt of their swords. Tarquitius moved a hand over each of their scabbards.

‘At ease,’ he whispered to Fronto, eyeing the shadows by the alley.

Bishop Evagrius was enveloped in the darkness, dreamlike and ethereal. Tarquitius moved towards him, his heart pounding.

‘This surely isn’t a safe haunt for members of the Roman Senate?’ Evagrius spoke gently. ‘I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you.’

Tarquitius frowned until a grey light shaped the bishop’s features. ‘Let’s make this quick. Where are the funds?’

Evagrius smiled, and only when Tarquitius frowned, he replied. ‘A church vessel laden with gold has been despatched. It will arrive on time, and it will serve its purpose.’

Tarquitius gritted his teeth.

‘And I should interrogate you on your progress?’ Evagrius suggested. ‘Oh, sorry, I forgot. You have no further part to play.’

Tarquitius’ eyes bulged and he seethed at the bishop’s coolness.

‘I’ve played my part, I’ve risked my name.’ He took a step forward. ‘Let us not forget; I could end this whole affair whenever I so desire.’ He paused as the bishop flicked his eyes up sharply and nodded. Confused, Tarquitius twisted to glance over his shoulder, but he saw only his two guards alone and alert, as expected. He turned back to the bishop. ‘All it would take would be a nasty mugging on the back streets of the emperor’s great city, for a church leader to be found dead tomorrow morning.’

He watched the bishop’s eyes with glee, anticipating the fear and the inevitable climb-down. Instead, his blood ran to ice; from behind him came a gurgling and then a crumpling thud, shortly followed by another. Turning slowly, his eyes fell to the two figures on the ground, one lay with an arrow piercing his chest, and another with two in his throat. Both were stone cold dead. Tarquitius felt his head spin as he turned back to face the patriarch of Christianity.

Bishop Evagrius wore a dreadfully inappropriate smile.

‘Let us not forget the power of the Church, dear senator,’ he whispered gently, before slipping backwards into the shadows. ‘And understand that a gentle political death can be far less painful than the real thing. Your services are no longer needed, Senator. Step back.’

Tarquitius’ eyes widened. Acutely aware of his surroundings, a shiver of terror raced over his skin as he imagined what he couldn’t see in the darkness. Time stood still, and his heart thundered. The bishop had vanished as quickly as he had appeared. The senator’s primal fears hit boiling point and his legs convulsed into a stagger that broke into a run.

‘Pull yourself together, runt!’ One of the legionaries grunted.

Pavo felt his legs buckle again, but forced himself straight as the two soldiers dragged him ruthlessly across the training court. He shook his head clear, blinking at the starkness of the afternoon light after hours in the dimness of the jail. The shouting and general bustle of training swirled in the air to his left, and mocking cheers hurled Pavo’s way from the recruits were cut short by a roar from Brutus.

Pavo felt his skin burn in shame, and then he saw their destination — the officers’ quarters. The doorframe tore a gash in his left shoulder as he was bundled into the room without ceremony. Before him, around a large rounded oak table, stood Centurion Gallus along with an even more ornately decorated officer who was shaven headed and jowl faced, but the wild glint in his eyes was what marked him out — as if he wanted to lurch across the table and grasp Pavo by the throat. Tribunus Nerva, he feared, a firebrand who would issue the lash himself, going by the stories he had heard. Their faces were fixed and stony. His knees smashed against the flagstones of the floor as the guards dropped him suddenly to salute the officers.

‘On your feet!’ Gallus roared. ‘You’re marked out as a troublemaker, a bad apple, soldier.’

Pavo felt his tongue loosen — desperate to spill the whole sorry saga, when the door clicked behind him and Brutus walked in to join the panel of officers scrutinizing his sorry stance. The first utterings of a reply tumbled from his mouth only to be sharply repressed by a heavy elbow in his back.

‘Shut your mouth, the primus pilus is speaking!’ The giant soldier behind him growled. Pavo caught Brutus’ glare; stern-faced, his eyes widened just enough to underline the warning.

‘We need only obedient legionaries in the Claudia, who will serve her and her officers without question. While in the fort you are under orders to follow protocol.’ Gallus sighed and shook his head. ‘And being caught beating another recruit to a pulp outside of the fort after the curfew…’

Pavo looked Gallus in the eye and shame burned on his skin. This was not the path his father would have wanted him to take. He could only hope Brutus might have passed a sympathetic word on his behalf.

‘…and to be caught out by the primus pilus,’ Gallus shook his head, ‘demonstrates not only unruly behaviour, but sheer
stupidity!
’

Pavo’s mouth dried like parchment. Lashes would be a relief in comparison with this humiliation. Months of red raw flesh on his back could only hurt him physically. It would be just another layer on top of the network of scars on his torso from his time under Tarquitius’ roof.

‘The typical punishment for this misdemeanour is not pretty. One hundred lashes,’ Gallus paused, ‘and the first three will lick the flesh from your back.’

Pavo gulped. So it was to be.

Gallus glared at him. ‘But that fate has conspired to save you is a blessing you should not forget. Centurion Brutus assures me that you have previously shown yourself to be more than the sorry runt that these events might suggest. Together with that, our legion is being stripped of key men by our Gothic friends out there,’ Gallus paused, clenching his fists with a glance to Nerva, ‘just while reports are coming in of rogue Gothic warbands crossing the river all over the province — Thervingi who are not happy with their leader’s truce with Rome, apparently. And it’s not just Fritigern’s lot; Athanaric’s men are only too happy to join in, it seems.’

Pavo shuffled from foot to foot in discomfort as the officers shared dark looks, their frustration palpable.

‘We’re on full alert for Gothic raids and need every man fit for duty. Back to the barracks, soldier.’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, s…’ Pavo began.

‘But don’t think you’re in the clear,’ Gallus cut in, ‘You’re on the precipice. Should there be a next time, I will have no say in it,’ the centurion leaned forward, eyes searing, ‘the lash won’t even come into it. You
will
be executed.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Pavo shivered.

Sura surveyed the dice on the mess table, grinned like a shark and then raised his eyes to Pavo.

‘As much as I hate doing this to you, that’ll be another ten follis.’

Pavo stared straight-faced at his friend, biting back his stinging pride as he pushed his last coins over. He softened as he again set eyes upon the swollen, discoloured lumps still peppering his friends’ features. He had only been released from the hospital that morning — so maybe a little tolerance of his usual boasting was in order, Pavo mused.

‘King of Adrianople — master of dice,’ Sura enthused, wide-eyed as he swept an arm across the table to collect his winnings. The watching recruits released an exaggerated gasp. ‘Though a tougher opponent would be a nice challenge.’ At this, the onlookers burst into a rabble of laughter.

‘All right, one of you bright sparks try to beat him!’ Pavo swept his empty cup from the table, shooting to his feet. ‘He’s cheating like a beggar, there’s no way anyone can win at dice consistently.’ He scanned the recruits’ faces, searching for support — but turned away in disgust at their inane grins.

‘Well sod the lot of you then,’ he snapped, stomping over to the empty mess table.

‘Wait, Pavo,’ Sura called, following him. ‘I was saving this for later, but I’ve got some good news for you,’ he beamed, tucking his purse into his belt.

Pavo cocked an eyebrow, waiting on some witty put-down ‘Oh?’

‘So cynical, you want to let your guard down a little,’ he replied, swiping a half-finished platter of bread, goat’s cheese and olives from the opposite table before sitting down. ‘One of the lads was telling me. They were taking an order from Centurion Gallus, and they overheard a discussion between him and Brutus while he was waiting. Your name cropped up.’

Pavo’s stomach churned. ‘Not sure I like the sound of that? Gallus looks at me like a piece of dirt — I can’t seem to do anything right around him.’

Sura laughed. ‘Don’t worry. Apparently Brutus was praising you to Gallus, says you’re better than the average grunt.’

Pavo hung on to every word. ‘And a troublemaker, apparently. Thank Mithras I’ve made a good impression on Brutus, at least. What else?’

‘That’s all, but come on; better than a kick in the stones, eh? Anyway, I’m sure you were just an afterthought at the end of a long list of
my
points of greatness.’

Pavo looked up. ‘Think that’ll have any bearing on how Spurius sees us?’

Sura remained expressionless.

‘No, I thought not. Something isn’t right, still. It’s like sometimes, just for half a moment, he actually has a conscience.’