Legionary (42 page)

Pavo sensed the captain’s intentions as he brought his hand up again — another punch might be more than Felix could laugh off. ‘Sir, the samples?’ He offered to Felix. The captain’s hand froze. ‘The fur pieces below deck?’ He repeated, widening his eyes at the optio. Three furs lay down there — probably left-behind bedding from the soldiers of the I Dacia.

‘Eh?’ Felix cocked an eyebrow, glaring back over his shoulder. Then his face relaxed into a grin. ‘Ah, right. I can give you a few samples if you like, sir? Keep you warm in the colder months.’

‘Will the pockets be full?’ The captain grinned rapaciously.

Felix sighed, ‘How much for safe passage back to the docks?’

‘Fifty
sestertii
and we might not put a hole in the side of this pigsty you call a boat,’ the captain grinned.

‘Fifty? You’re robbing us blind,’ Felix grumbled.

The captain leaned forward again, towering over the optio. Pavo gritted his teeth as Felix played the cowardly trader and cringed under his shadow. In the real world, the bully of a captain would have been beaten senseless by now. The captain snapped his fingers to one of his legionaries who followed Felix below deck to collect the furs. If they had to sleep rough, they would be doing it in their tunics and shabby woollen cloaks now. A small price to pay, he mused as the legionary returned from below deck, peering over the top of the pile of furs. Felix grimaced as he dropped a purse on top of the pile.

‘Escort them into the docks,’ the grinning captain barked, before striding back onto his own boat. ‘Then we can hand these dogs over to the dock watch.’

Pavo shot Felix a glance; the optio’s eyes were burning like hot coals.

Dawn shot its orangey tendrils out over the rugged landscape of Bosporus, grasping at the penumbra enveloping the hilltop fort. Gallus rested a leg on the crenellated battlements that now bristled with iron intent. His breath clouded in the dewy morning freshness and his stomach swirled as he observed the shadowed horde in the valley below. For now they were growing, rising like a flood towards the fort, causing the earth to shake. He glanced along the wall at the thin but determined line of legionaries.

At the crack of dawn they had been woken not by the legion buccina, but by the awful moan of the horns carried by the Huns — thousands of them at once wailed out, filling the land below, to be accompanied by a guttural roaring and gnashing like that from a pack of preying wolves. The wailing had tailed off only as the terrible rumble of thousands of hooves and boots packed the air. The ground trembled, even up on the hilltop, and a thick shroud of dust rose up to encircle them.

‘So the scouts got it right,’ Avitus observed in resignation. ‘They know there is the slightest chance of a Roman relief force, so they are ending it, snuffing us out.’

Gallus nodded and sighed. The sea of Huns disappeared below the lip of the upper plateau upon which the fort was situated, and their terrible cacophony dulled too. In moments, they would reappear over the lip to fall upon the fort.

‘You reckon they actually did it though, sir…made it to Constantinople?’ Avitus’ words were laced thick with doubt.

Gallus knew the answer. Getting to the capital was the first towering hurdle of many. And they could not hope to beat time itself. He studied the look on Avitus’ face; defeat was swallowing the tinge of hope on the little legionary’s features. ‘Avitus,’ the centurion started. The men did not need to know that they had no chance of salvation.

‘Yes, sir?’ Avitus queried at his centurion’s hesitation.

‘You make sure every man knows he’s fighting for survival,’ Gallus grinned. ‘Let’s make sure Felix, Pavo and Sura’s efforts are not in vein, eh?’

‘Yes, sir!’ Avitus grinned, then turned to pass on the news.

Cries broke out all along the walls, piercing the rumble of the Hun advance. ‘For Felix and the lads!’

Then they fell silent as the plateau flooded with a dark mass. The Huns poured onto the hilltop, their cries bursting out like a wall of noise as they thundered across the short stretch between the lip and the fort wall. The infantry led the charge, swathes of them lifting hastily hewn timber ladders, lassos and all with their trademark bows. Behind them, the shimmering pack of the I Dacia filled the hilltop, buccinas keening out in a spine-chilling discord with the Hun horns.

He gripped the hilt of his sword and swept it above him. The ground seemed to be shaking so violently that his vision blurred, but he filled his lungs. This would be the last line he could deliver before the two sides clashed. His eyes widened as he saw the spit frothing from the mouths of the front line Hun spear infantry — inebriated on the promise of blood.

‘XI Claudia! You are the proud survivors of devious treachery. Our numbers may be thin, but our hearts burst with the fullness of our honour. All of you, each and every one of you, are now part of the first cohort. Fight like lions, men, let’s show them what a mistake they have made in coming at us!’

He smashed his sword hilt on his shield and roared. The legionaries lining the wall, faces wrinkled in bitter determination — some tear-streaked and snarling — all cried out in reply. Then they bristled, ready for the Hun tide.

The ladders were now being passed forward as the tide of Hun infantry closed in on the wall. Gallus felt the coldness descend on him.
That’s right
, he growled,
just a little closer
. Then the first of the Huns tumbled through the earth — a square black hole opening below him. His screams were not heard and only a jet of red told of his fate in the spike pit below. All across their front line holes crumbled below them and the charge faltered as the following ranks continued to charge full pelt. Chaos ensued across their lines as they tangled, fell and fought each other to avoid being barged into the deadly pits. The charge had slowed almost to a standstill. Gallus’ face curled into a determined grimace.

‘Ballistae — let them have it, everything we’ve got!’

The array of some twenty ballistae, waiting on tenterhooks on the walls of the fort, finally spat forth iron in a crushing hail. The bolts ripped through the densely packed Hun ranks, skewering and snapping handfuls of men with each strike. Gallus felt his spine tingle as the XI Claudia roared above the sudden lull in the Hun war cry.

‘Archers, loose!’ He bellowed next. The platform in the centre of the courtyard bristled like a porcupine as the remaining ninety Cretan archer auxiliaries presented their bows and with a whoosh, their hail scattered over the confusion outside.

‘Mithras! This feels good, sir,’ Zosimus grinned with an insane sparkle in his eyes.

‘You’re telling me,’ Gallus growled. He turned back to the carnage. The Hun infantry were being shepherded back into order by a contingent of their cavalry. And thin bands were being ushered carefully forward through the thin lanes between the pits, despite the ballistae rain.

‘Take them down!’ Gallus roared. The archers picked off a few men at a time, but their paltry number could not halt the tide. Soon the Huns were flooding past the pits and the charge was on once more. Thousands were barely twenty paces from the wall now, while those to the rear had been ordered to tip earth into the pits.

Gallus felt the joy at his booby-trap evaporate. He handled his spatha firmly and braced as he watched the Huns nearest to him race forward with their ladders. ‘Ballistae, fire off every last bolt before they reach the walls! Men, brace yourselves and stay strong — this is going to get bloody ugly!’

A fine rain whipped down on the minor wharf of Constantinople as Pavo shuffled humbly from the deck behind Felix, unloading crates under the gaze of the urban guards. He glanced up at the shiny cobbles and the algae and weed coated dock walls, all illuminated grudgingly by a single filthy lantern swinging in the spray. The place was dead; so different from the daytime when you would barely be able to move for cheeky traders and vendors. But the eastern horizon behind was now bursting into an orange splendour — they had to shake off this leech-like captain and his men before the daily chaos ensued again. The high stone wall in front of them had stairs cut into them leading up to the city, and Pavo could just make out the intercisa peaks of a pair of guard’s helmets at the top. They were obscured, but only just.

‘Get a move on,’ the captain of the urban guards growled. ‘And make sure you leave out enough furs for another piece for each of us. But I want three pieces.’

Pavo felt his heart skip a beat. They had successfully bluffed their way past the boarding and inspection, but they had clearly been brought to this dark corner of the city to be robbed of everything they had.

Pavo heaved at the next of the empty crates on the deck.

‘What in Hades do we do next?’ Sura hissed under his breath, picking up the other crate. ‘We’ve got nothing else to give them!’

‘Hold on, we can stall them,’ Pavo whispered, then turned back to Felix. ‘The small stock of sample furs we have will come out last,’ he offered. Felix turned to the urban captain and shrugged apologetically.

The captain jabbed a finger into his chest. ‘Just make sure they come out soon! We’ve got other business to attend to.’

The disguised crew shuffled uncertainly, darting glances to one another. Blank looks all round as they moved each of the empty crates with painstaking care and attention.

‘Am I going to have to slit one of your miserable throats to get you off your ship with my bounty?’ The captain hissed at Felix, hammering another finger into his chest.

‘Sir, I…’ Felix stuttered, rolling his eyes over their surroundings. ‘…I…oh sod this!’ He barked, bringing the hilt of his sword up from under his cloak in a clean swipe, straight into the captain’s gut. The urban troopers leapt back in alarm as their leader spluttered a mouthful of bile onto the cobbles. Before he could regain his senses, Felix spun round to his men.

‘Take ‘em out! They haven’t drawn a sword in anger in their lives,’ he hissed, wary of the presence of the guards above them. ‘Didn’t mind bullying a handful of manky traders did you? Well you picked the wrong ones!’

The legionaries dropped their cloaks to reveal their sword belts and clamped onto the urban troops like wolves, dropping them swiftly with a series of headbutts, sword flats across the neck and solid punches. Pavo smashed his elbow up and into the chin of his opponent, who collapsed like a bag of wet sand. As he turned, there was only XI Claudia and I Dacia left standing. But someone was missing. Felix.

‘Argh! Bloody…’ The optio lay on the ground, clutching at his grotesquely dangling shin. The lower half of his leg was bent like a twig, with a shard of pure white bone pushing at the skin behind the wound. ‘The bugger got me,’ he cast an accusing finger at the prone guard captain.

‘What do we do now?’ Sura gasped. The I Dacia contingent looked to Spurius, while Sura and Pavo looked to Felix. A murmur grew into a rabble.

‘Shut it, you idiots! Keep it down or we’re dead meat,’ Felix snarled through his pain. ‘Here’s what’s going to happen; Pavo, you’re in charge!’

‘Him?’ one of the I Dacia legionaries beside Spurius spat. Spurius shot him a cold glare.

‘You’ll address him as sir from now on or you’ll be flogged, you fat turd!’ Felix growled. The legionary dropped his gaze to his boots.

‘What about me?’ Sura moaned.

‘You’re bloody mental, son. Pavo is slightly less likely to get us all killed than you are,’ Felix hissed.

‘Sir?’ Pavo felt his mouth shrivel like parchment as all eyes fell on him.

‘Just listen! I’m knackered, so you’ll have to take the men through the city, and keep your heads down. Get to the emperor, Pavo, I don’t care how you do it. But deal with that swine first!’

Pavo followed the optio’s gaze to the crouching, gagging figure of the urban captain, and then glanced up at the guards high above at the top of the steps. They had not heard anything from the scuffle. He took a deep breath, glanced around the group gathered around him — catching the eye of each one, just as Gallus would do. Then he tipped the end of his sword down to tilt up the captain’s head. He stared into the panic-filled pupils of the man, before ramming his foot square into his face, sending him crumpling backwards into deep unconsciousness. ‘Right, he’s out of the picture for some time!’ He whispered. ‘But we can’t have them wake up and raise the alarm.’

‘What do we do with them then, sir? Are we going to kill them?’ One of the legionaries asked Pavo in a hushed tone.

Pavo looked to Felix. Felix nodded to the ship.

Pavo turned back to the legionary. ‘As much as I’d love to, no. I think we should send them for a little voyage. A ten should go back out to sea with Officer Felix, splint his leg and keep this lot bound and gagged — and sail as far away from imperial shipping lanes as possible.’

Nobody stepped forward. Pavo looked to Spurius, whom the I Dacia legionaries gathered around. Spurius nodded nudged ten forward. ‘Move it, we’ve got business to attend to here,’ he hissed.

Pavo gave a firm appreciative nod in return, and then addressed the ten. ‘Good. Now take her out and just circle for a few days. Keep them below deck and stay out as long as you can. Remember, a missing watch won’t go unnoticed for long, so expect patrols.’ He watched them shuffle around Felix, each waiting on the next to lift the optio. ‘Move it, you sods!’ He barked.

‘You tell ‘em Pavo,’ Felix cackled, and then stifled a howl as the ten hoisted him unceremoniously from the cobbles.

Then a gruff voice uttered from behind him; ‘Pavo, you know I’m going my own way from here?’

Pavo turned to Spurius. His granite features remained in the usual grimace, but his fingers rattled on the top of his sword hilt. ‘Think that’s the least we owe you. Let’s divide the men down the middle, eh? Ten for you, ten for me — how’s about that?’

‘Steady on,’ Sura whispered at his shoulder.