Legionary: The Scourge of Thracia (Legionary 4) (38 page)

Dexion nodded uncertainly.

Gallus’ eyes grew glassy as he searched back into the past. ‘There was a senator called Nonus who lived in Italia, not far from the city of Mediolanum in the north. He was an affable old fellow who could talk and talk without drawing breath. He owned plush farmlands in the Po Valley and needed many workers to tend them.’ Gallus held out his hands, examining the chapped, rough edges of his fingers in the ghostly moonlight. ‘He might have bought slaves to till the soil and gather his harvest, but he did not. My wife and I were granted a small, single-roomed home on his estate along with other families. We rose at dawn, worked in the fields all morning, rested and drank cool water and ate bread in the shade of the olive groves during the hottest hours, then worked all afternoon too. I suffered not a lash on my back nor a cross word from old Nonus. He had a strong company of hired guards that watched his villa, but nobody supervised his farmlands. Trust was granted and rewarded. When it came to harvest time, Nonus’ fare was legendary – dates, olives, marrows, carrots, asparagus and the sweetest honey – all bounteous and delicious, for we worked those lands as if they were our own. The old senator paid us well and treated us as friends. We had the pleasure of dining with him at his home more than once: not some stuffy, pompous show of affectation, no, just a simple meal enjoyed with earnest friends.’

‘Later, when Olivia fell pregnant, she could not work. I worried that her condition might anger Nonus or stretch his patience. But instead, when I told him the news, the old man embraced me with tears in his eyes. He said he would make sure that the finest obstetrix would be there to help with the birth. His wife had been barren and died young, you see, so he had never had children. He told me on that day that he saw those who lived on his lands as the closest thing he would ever have to progenies of his own. Marcus was born the following summer, on a sweltering July afternoon. Nonus was there, his tears flowing again. Olivia hugged our baby boy and I cradled them both in my arms. In all my life, I have never known such a tranquil moment, and I longed for nothing other than those I had right there with me.’

Gallus paused as a long-forgotten pang of emotion caught him off guard then. A thickening around his throat, a stinging behind his eyes. The hooting of an owl outside the cell brought the steeliness to the fore once again.

‘It was under a waning September moon that the Speculatores approached me. They came in the guise of wanderers, you see, a pair of them ambling across our farmlands dressed as common men. They said they were stuck without a place to stay and I offered them the hay bales in the barn by our home. They asked if they could have something to drink and eat before they retired and again I obliged, bringing them stew, bread and wine. We chatted in hushed voices so as not to wake Olivia and Marcus, and for all the world I could have believed they were who they claimed to be. Until one of them asked me if I had heard of Nonus’ recent activities in the Senate House. It seemed that he had spoken out against Emperor Valentinian’s policy of making war with the Quadi. I sensed it then – their true motive. I did not know the exact nature of what they were to ask of me but I knew it would be ignoble. And it was.
Lead Senator Nonus to the cliffs by Lake Benacus,
they whispered like friends seeking to help me,
then walk away when you see our agents approaching
. Then their friendly demeanour dropped from their faces.
And if you consider defying us,
one of them said then nodded towards the open doorway into my home. There, in the blackness, I could just make out Olivia and Marcus, sleeping on the bed. Standing over them was another figure, a third man in a dark red robe, his face masked in a veil. He twirled a small dagger in his fingers so as to catch the moonlight. It hovered just inches above their sleeping forms. The message was stark and unequivocal. They left after that. I spent the rest of that night, sitting by the bed, watching Olivia and Marcus, asleep, unaware. They knew nothing of the Speculatores’ visit. I looked out through the doorway and across the estate to Nonus’ villa – well-protected by his troop of bodyguards – and wondered if the old man had any inkling of what had happened, just an arrow-shot away from his home.’

Gallus sighed, his head falling towards his chest.

‘So I brought old Nonus to Lake Benacus on the day they told me to. We sat upon the cliff tops, chatting in the fresh autumnal air, gazing out across the placid waters. We talked of Marcus, of his future on the estate, of Olivia’s hopes and mine for a second child. It was getting on in the afternoon when Nonus issued a weary sigh and beheld me with an odd look I had never seen before.
You are supposed to leave me here, are you not?
he said. I will never forget his tone – that of a disappointed Father. I tried as best I could to stammer a reply, but he was having none of it. He nodded to the cypress thickets behind us at the cliffs.
Go, leave me. The thugs waiting in there will be growing impatient.
I tried to explain, but words had never felt so insufficient.
I knew the risks involved in speaking out against the Emperor Valentinian,
Nonus said.
He has reacted as I feared he might . . . and his Speculatores are seldom defied
.
You know I do not think ill of you for doing as they asked, don’t you? I read the fear in your eyes – it has been there all day. They threatened your family, didn’t they? That’s how they operate
. The weather-beaten senator looked at me sorrowfully. ‘
I forgive you. I understand. Now do not drag this out: either cast me on the rocks yourself or go, leave me here. You must know what will happen if you do not obey them? Think of your family, Gallus.’

‘His words struck me like a wasp’s sting. I had not even held a sword in all my life and here he was, asking me to do something as simple as walk away from him and condemn him to death. It was then that I finally managed to get my words out:
I will protect them, Senator, but not at the forfeit of a good friend’s life.
A snapping of twigs startled us both then. We turned to see figures emerging from the forest path leading through the cypress trees. Seven red-robed men, faces veiled. The Speculatores had come to execute the senator. One held a tensed garrotte. Nonus stood, lips trembling, backing towards the cliff edge.
Be at ease,
I whispered in his ear, then I lifted my fingers to my mouth and whistled.’

‘The shrill signal brought a pack of Umbrian bandits I had hired hurrying from behind the rock pile nearby. They fell upon the momentarily stunned Speculatores. The Speculatores fought like wolves, slaying many of their ambushers, but the Umbrians numbered nearly forty, and soon the last of the red robes had fallen.’

‘
What have you done?
Nonus beseeched me.’

‘
Only what I had to,
was all I could say in reply.’

Dexion nodded as he listened intently, then he shuffled as Gallus fell into a lasting silence. ‘A noble choice,’ he said quietly.

Gallus looked up at him. ‘A fool’s choice! For what did it achieve?’

Dexion was taken aback, his eyes widening.

‘Nonus was right,’ Gallus hissed. ‘Weeks later, I was returning from a market trip to Mediolanum when I saw something up ahead. I slowed the cart, sure my eyes were deceiving me, even as I stared up at the broken, bloodied body of the old senator. He was fixed to the trunk of a spruce tree by the roadside by a bolt hammered through either shoulder, his stomach slit and his guts spilled down his legs. Wolves had gnawed at the entrails and at his limbs. I raced home, caring nothing for the produce and tools that fell from the cart. If they had found Nonus then surely they would have carried out their threat on my family.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Dexion said, bowing his head.

‘It did not end there. No, they let me return home to find Olivia and Marcus. No harm had come to them; they were well – merely confused by my angst and my panicked story. We fled our home, taking to the road. The Speculatores let me live the life of a brigand for weeks, sleeping and eating on the wagon, always moving, wary of every passer-by. They let the dark parasite that is fear consume me, burrow into my mind. For those weeks I did not sleep, I barely blinked, I jolted at every noise, every movement.’ Gallus stopped, his lips trembling. ‘Finally, I became exhausted from the torment and let my guard down one night. I allowed myself to drain a skin of the venom they call wine and fall asleep instead of standing watch over Olivia and Marcus as they slept by the wagon. They found me that night. They carried out their threat, slew my beloved family and knocked me unconscious. I often wonder if the Speculatores meant to leave me alive so I could see their bodies. I had been consumed by fear for weeks, only to endure an endless plague of shame afterwards.’

The confession was over. A long silence passed. Gallus felt the weight of his troubles absent for a few precious moments. But gradually, the tightness in his chest returned. It had changed nothing. He looked to Dexion; ‘Now, do you still have a question for me about my intentions?’

Dexion shook his head. But Gallus knew he was not finished. ‘But had you not stood for your beliefs, Nonus the Senator would have died and his blood would have been on your hands. Yes, your wife and boy might have gone unharmed. But would Olivia have been able to look you in the eye? Would little Marcus shy away from your touch? Would you not have known equal shame whenever you caught sight of your own reflection?’

‘Is that supposed to offer me comfort, Primus Pilus?’ Gallus asked, squinting at Dexion.

Dexion shook his head. ‘Not at all, sir. It is just that . . . sometimes the only thing that can truly destroy a man is himself. Blackness in the mind can suffocate the spirit and ruin a man more than any blade. Sometimes it needs another to show him the folly of letting the blackness win. I just want you to know that I see nothing but nobility in the choice you made.’

Gallus felt his flinty demeanour fall away at these words. ‘And you are the first to have heard of it. I always thought that if I was ever to share this tale, then it would have been with your brother. I see a lot of my younger self in him, and I think he more than any other understands me. But . . . ’ he sighed, glancing around the cell, thinking of all that separated him from Pavo and the rest of the XI Claudia: thick stone walls, hundreds of miles and imminent execution, ‘ . . . it seems that it is not to be.’

Silence reigned once more. What more could a man do in his final moments than contemplate his past.
Yet I was supposed to face it,
he thought bitterly. The Speculatores would never be brought to justice. Olivia and Marcus would go unavenged.

He picked up a handful of grit from the floor, crumbling it between his fingers. Something hit him then: a smell, an earthy scent that seemed to have tumbled from his memories of the crop fields in the Po Valley. He held his fingers up, seeing that it was not grit but wheat kernels with flakes of chaff falling away. Old fare, he realised, so dry it was surely harvested years ago. A flash of realisation shot through him. He stood, his mind at once alert, his eyes combing the darkness. Then he sunk to all-fours, moving around the floor, running his fingers across the cold stone.

‘Sir?’ Dexion said from the blackness.

‘Move!’ Gallus hissed, shooing Dexion from where he sat.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘I knew it!’ Gallus growled, finding more wheat then standing, moving around the walls and running his fingers along the mortar. ‘This room was once used to store grain.’

He sensed Dexion’s confusion. ‘Grain must be kept dry. The only way to do that is . . . ’

‘Ventilation,’ Dexion whispered urgently, realising at last. He squatted by Gallus, touching at the section of wall – a square, rough and pitted unlike the smooth blocks of stone around it.

‘It’s been filled with rubble and mortar, but it’s loose enough to come away,’ he said, grunting as he tugged at a piece in the corner to pull away a tiny fragment of the mortar.

‘But we have no tools, nothing to dig with?’ Dexion sighed. ‘And these fort walls must be several feet thick.’

Gallus cast him as hard a glare as he could manage – hoping it would cut through the blackness. ‘Then we use our hands!’

On and on they went. The roar of the Danubius outside did well to disguise the scraping and the tumble of small boulders of rubble from the vent. As pieces of sharp-edged debris came free, they used this to dig and scrape. On and on they went until Gallus fell back from the vent, panting, his tunic slick with sweat and layered with clumps of dust. An hour had passed, he was sure, and still they had tunnelled only a half-foot into the vent. Worse, his fear that it might narrow towards the outside seemed to be materialising – if the wall was as thick as they thought then the outer opening of the vent would have narrowed to be too small for them to slide through. He moved back to the vent as Dexion fell away in exhaustion this time. Taking up a piece of slate, Gallus hacked and chipped at the loose mortar. The slate snapped and so he took up the two shards, scraping, gouging, his lean frame working like a machine. Soon the slate was gone, ground to pieces, and still he pulled and gouged at the mortar with his bare fingers, heedless of the nails ripped clear of their beds or the blood running down his forearms. By his side, Dexion worked doggedly too.

‘We can do this!’ Gallus snarled. ‘There may be a foot to go but we can do this!’

‘But, sir,’ Dexion said, stepping back from the vent.

Gallus glanced round to see his primus pilus gazing up at the barred opening near the chamber ceiling. The silvery-black of the foggy night had lifted. Now, nascent daylight hovered out there, spilling into the cell and bathing it in a charnel grey. Over the rush of the river, they heard jagged laughter and babbling outside and up above.