Legionary (26 page)

‘That’s it, Pavo — get the plank back down!’ Gallus cried from below. ‘They won’t scuttle us until their flagship’s free — get it down!’

‘How?’ Pavo panicked, swinging from the almost vertical plank, the murky sea rippling below him. Then he felt hands push up against his soles — Zosimus and Quadratus, bless them! The giant legionaries pushed him up and over with a grunt and finally he was tumbling head over heels onto the pirate flagship. He stumbled forward, his hands slapping him to a halt on the deck where his eyes set upon a pair of salt-encrusted hide boots. He looked up — the gnarled pirate captain glowered back at him, a loaded bow on his wrist, pointed straight into Pavo’s face.

‘I could put you out of your misery with an arrow through your eye, Roman…’

Pavo winced, weaponless and pinned under a sharpened arrowhead.

‘…but I would draw greater pleasure from watching you drown slowly with your kind.’ Pavo gasped as the pirate captain sunk a boot into his chest. ‘Over the side, boy!’ he rasped. Pavo buckled over the timber lip of the vessel, flailing to catch hold of something, anything. A rope whipped at his palm and he grasped at it, falling until his weight swung him round to jolt his shoulder as he smashed his forehead into the outside of the hull. Dangling above the waves, he looked down on the deck of the
Vesta
; his ears rang as Gallus, Zosimus, Quadratus and Felix yelled at him silently, below.

‘What?’ he roared, as they grew redder in the face. Then he saw Zosimus draw a line across his throat, mouthing the words
cut it
. ‘Cut it? Of course!’ he looked up at the length of rope — taut, it was all that held the gangplank up. He grappled for the dagger in his belt.
Wait a minute
, he reasoned, glancing at the murky wash and smashing jaws of the two vessels waiting to swallow him below, then at the desperate looks on the faces of his fellow legionaries.
Oh bugger. Should’ve learned to swim, I suppose
. Then he swiped at the rope with the dagger.

With a twang, the rope above him sprung skywards, and the gangplank plummeted onto the deck with a crack as Pavo fell like a stone toward the water. Just then, the whinnying of horses signalled a charge of Horsa’s foederati five, across the deck of the
Vesta
to leap onto the pirate flagship.

Pavo braced for the icy embrace of the waves, when his torso jolted violently in his mail vest. Croaking, he looked up to see the tree trunk fist of Zosimus holding his belt loop.

‘No ducking out of battle that way, lad,’ he grinned and then hoisted Pavo onto the deck of the
Vesta
with a grunt.

Gallus headed up the line of legionaries advancing carefully onto the deck of the pirate flagship. Horsa and his mounted men circled the pirate captain who stood alone but defiant.

‘I thought I had given you orders, Captain?’ Gallus spoke suspiciously.

‘I thought you were done for — and us with you — if we didn’t intervene, sir. Seems like young Pavo saved the day though,’ he nodded to Pavo, who shrank at the praise.

‘We’ll discuss this later, Captain,’ Gallus replied after a few moments of uncertain silence. ‘Get our men on board here and get that gangplank up!’

Just then, all four vessels — the two pirate ships, the
Vesta
and the
Aquila
shuddered as a roar of metal crunching through timber filled the air. The pirate captain dropped his head in despair. Gallus spun round to see the second pirate vessel churning through the deck of the
Vesta
.

‘In the name of Mithras,’ he cried, ‘we could have spared you, chained you and your men to the oars of our galleys,’ he spat at the pirate captain, ‘but it looks like we’ll be a little short of deck space now. You didn’t realise you were taking on the empire, did you. You didn’t reckon on the resilience of the XI Claudia? Anything you’d like to say before I send you and your men on that ship for a bath?’ He growled, jabbing a thumb over to the disintegrating deck of the
Vesta
, where the pirate warriors were now weaponless and restrained behind Roman sword point.

The pirate captain looked up, his dejection washed away by a sudden spark of realisation. Then, a terrible grin wrinkled across his face, his lips curling up to expose the sharpened yellow fangs. ‘The legion? You truly are the legion they are waiting for?’ Then he threw his head back and let out a demonic cackle.

The balance of power swung palpably as Gallus’ brow furrowed, the centurion taken aback. Gallus then whipped his spatha from his scabbard and poked the point into the pirate captain’s throat. ‘No games, you dog. Talk or I’ll drag you behind our ship alive for the sharks to tear at your flesh.’

The pirate captain almost foamed in fury as Zosimus and Quadratus wrenched his arms behind his back. ‘We trade in these waters,’ he snarled. ‘This is our sea. We know what goes on in the lands you have long forgotten.’

‘What did I say? No history lesson, no riddles,’ Gallus barked, jabbing the point of his sword in to draw a droplet of blood. ‘Talk!’

‘You will not live to see the autumn, Roman dog. They will be waiting for you. Your cries for mercy will go unheard!’ The pirate captain roared and took on the strength of a bull as he barged Zosimus and Quadratus from his sides. He lurched forward at Gallus, his hand whipping out a dagger concealed in his belt. As the blade jabbed out and towards the staggering centurion, Felix leapt out to hurl his spatha through the air, the blade punching into the pirate’s chest, throwing him back to the deck. With a violent spasm, he let out a rattling cry and was dead.

Gallus gasped, righting himself, straightening his helmet.

‘Good throw! I had it covered, though,’ Zosimus growled, shoving at the corpse with his boot, his skin red with humiliation.

Gallus firmed his jaw and spun to see the
Vesta
disappearing under the waves, the pirates thrashing their last or scrambling for the sides of the ramming vessel as it struggled to pull its spike free of the sinking trireme. The centurion strode to the lip of the vessel and crashed his fist on the lip of the galley.

‘Sir?’ Felix offered.

‘The old Kingdom of Bosporus must surely only be a day’s rowing away. Scuttle the
Aquila
once we’ve got her supplies on board, and put a bloody big hole in the side of that boat,’ he swept a hand derisively at the second pirate vessel, ‘then pull the fleet together as a matter of urgency. Get Nerva and the centurions together. We’ve got to get on top of this mission before it overruns us.’

Gallus turned to look out from the prow over the serene blue infinity of sky and sea. He heard the shouts and scuffles of his men crewing the quinquereme, but his eyes lingered on the northern horizon. Empty, yet riddled with mystery. The pirate captain’s words rang in his head.

Valens strolled beside the shuffling bishop, stooping to cup a flower from the honeysuckle bed, marvelling at their vivid colour and sweet scent while so much else in the palace garden struggled into bloom. The climate in Constantinople was turning very gradually away from the freshness of spring towards the all day long sweltering heat of the midsummer months. Now the sun glowed high in the sky, throwing down a pleasant heat, especially in the enclosed grounds. He stood straight again, letting the mellow trickle of the fountain and the lilting birdsong soothe his heart. The last few days had been so stressful, and he was only half way to completion of his plan.

His invite to the bishop had been open and friendly, and the Evagrius had accepted readily. They had shared a midday meal of eggs poached in red wine, boiled goat with yoghurt and then a thick apple patina with lashings of garum sauce. As usual, the palace slaves had kept their goblets topped up, but both men had been quick to refuse wine to drink — even watered down. They had talked all through the meal, but without substance or consequence; city development, ecclesiastical fund raising and the cleansing of the city docks. As they had strolled out into the sunlight to begin their tour of the gardens Valens had continued to play along, discussing the redevelopment of the area around the Hippodrome — the centrepiece of the new Rome, he had branded it. But now the preamble was over; it was time to broach the heart of the matter.

‘The empire has a crisis on her hands,’ he said calmly.

‘A crisis? Doesn’t she always?’ Evagrius chuckled. ‘Indeed the very nature of the empire seems to be a flux of crises.’

‘You know what they used to do in Rome, Bishop, when the city was in danger?’

Evagrius’ eyes narrowed, but he kept his benign veil in place.

Valens knew the bishop was well aware of the law of the dictator. How he would react to being told was the test. ‘When Hannibal had Italy in his clutches. When the Samnites threatened the old city. When Caesar himself faced down danger from within in the shape of Pompey.’ Valens halted his stroll and turned to face the bishop. ‘In those dark times, for the good of Rome itself, one man directed her fate. All others stood to one side…or were forced there…for the benefit of everyone. A dictator they called it then. Now an emperor is required in the purest sense of the word. An emperor like the great men of the past; Trajan, Aurelius, Constantine.’

Evagrius nodded.

‘Our empire is vast now, and one man cannot rule its expanse. So let our brothers in the West look after their affairs — God knows they don’t have their troubles to seek. But the East,’ he placed a hand on the bishop’s shoulder, ‘she needs direction or she will suffer. Like a lily in bloom at dusk and dead by dark, I fear for her future if I do not act.’

‘You are referring to the recently defunct Senate of Constantinople, I presume?’ Evagrius mused. Valens noticed the faintest tremble on the bishop’s lips — maybe the beginnings of a sneer?

‘Partially,’ Valens corrected. ‘For the time being, the senate are obsolete. A temporary measure, but until the empire is strong again, they will remain sidelined.’

Bishop Evagrius shook his head, cutting in before Valens could continue. ‘Tread carefully, Emperor. The days of undiluted power enjoyed by men like Constantine are over. Your reputation is built upon meticulously nurtured relationships with bodies such as the senate. To alienate such entities could be a rash manoeuvre not easily righted.’

Valens kept his expression blank. The bishop could see what was coming at him and defence was his only card.

‘It is not the senate that I wish to talk with you about today, bishop. Today the Holy See itself must also be removed from the sphere of political influence.’ Valens watched as the bishop’s jaw crunched between his pursed lips.

‘I am dismayed, Emperor,’ Evagrius uttered through his teeth. ‘The church of Christ is your gift to the people of the empire. Take it away and you not only besmirch what it stands for but you pull the plug on the hard work of the last hundred years. Jupiter and the pagan deities are dying, Emperor, and it is the Arian Gospel, the word you put so much into supporting, which takes their place — your faith is winning!’ Evagrius shook his head. ‘To cripple it now could be to kill it altogether. What then? The West would sneer at us — tell us they were right all along, tell our people they are in the wrong half of the empire.’

Valens stifled a wry grin. Evagrius and his cronies had cursed the day Valens had announced Arianism over all other strands of belief, supporting the move only to stay in power. ‘Bishop, as with the senate, your power will not be removed permanently. And it is only political power you will be denied; the religion does not need this to flourish.’ Valens stood straighter as he sensed the thickening of the air between them. ‘These are the rights of an emperor. I trust I have your full support, bishop?’

Finally, Evagrius spoke. ‘Very well, Emperor. If this is your wish, then it is God’s will.’ He bowed his head momentarily. ‘The Holy See will remain in place only to serve God and spread his word to our people. Call it politics if you will, but I would urge you to consider staying receptive to the carefully reasoned view of some of our most esteemed senators and, if I may be so bold, myself, as the bishop of God’s city while you steer the empire back to greatness.’

‘Advice is welcome, bishop. Interference is not.’

‘Advice it is then,’ Evagrius nodded.

Valens watched as the bishop smiled and then shuffled to the gates and onto the carriage that awaited him. His eyes narrowed.
Another snake in the grass.

Evagrius grimaced at the beggars on the marketside gazing up at him as his carriage rumbled hastily back to his palace. ‘Have your power, then, Emperor,’ he muttered. ‘It will last only until my new allies pour through the empire to lift me onto your throne.’

The hull of the huge vessel roared through the torrents of the Danube in the darkness. Wulfric remained in his favoured position at the prow, one leg up on the rim of the ship.

‘We turn tomorrow at the delta and head back upriver,’ he spoke to the beneficiarius.

‘Perhaps we should wait here, Tribunus.’

Wulfric blinked and turned. The beneficiarius had not spoken. Instead, the slender, short, shaven headed Egyptian with the smooth dark skin by his other side had spoken out again. Menes. Wulfric turned back to the river.

‘Wait? We have been waiting for days, Menes. I trust your master actually
has
a plan?’ He asked, directing his question into the darkness of the river.

‘You do not need to know all that my master has planned. That is why he sent me, his most trusted emissary, to accompany you.’ He spoke with an African twang, eyeing the tribunus furtively through narrowed and kohl-stained eyes.

‘An emissary for the bishop eh?’ Wulfric mused. ‘Well I doubt very much that’s what you are, Menes. Just as long as you remember that I’m your master from now on. Any questionable advice you give me, any strange goings-on, even if you’re not involved directly, it will be
your
throat that is cut,’ he stated in a matter-of-fact voice. This was power, he thought.