Legionary (5 page)

‘Hold steady!’ Gallus roared over the rumble of hooves.

As Gallus filled his lungs at the last, his mind flitted with visions of Olivia on their wedding night; Olivia carrying their child. Then, the shadowy form of mother and child on the pyre.
I’m coming to be with you
. He leaned forward, feeling his men bracing along with him, when suddenly, like a storm dropping, the onrushing cavalry broke into two halves. They washed past the stunned legionary group, and on at the same breakneck pace to the north.

Gallus expelled the breath in his lungs, his mind reeled. ‘What the…’ he glanced at Felix. ‘They’re after the archers!’

His line slumped in utter relief. Some men belly-laughed in shock, others vomited in the mud. Felix looked down the track as the rain became sheet-like.

‘Who…what are we dealing with here, sir?’

Gallus gazed down the track with Felix in bewilderment as a crash of lightning illuminated their faces.

‘The lion’s jaws, Felix. The lion’s jaws!’

Darkness settled on Constantinople as the revelry from inside the Imperial Palace rolled out over the rooftops. Senator Tarquitius drew the crisp night air into his lungs, resting his elbows on the balcony to marvel at the burgeoning city as he sipped watered wine from a fine silver chalice.

Things were certainly looking up for him since his expulsion of that damned slave Pavo; the crone’s words haunted his nightmares still, but at least now he knew he could not harm the boy and her curse could not take effect. As for the rest of her rasping diatribe…well, that could wait.

Now, here he was in his element. All the ingredients were present; Roman aristocracy, slackened morals and high spirits. This potent recipe had provided him with the ideal political stepping-stone here in Constantine’s
Nova Roma
. Even the steeliest opponent would drop his guard after a skinful of wine and the close attention of an exotic slave girl. Eventually, promises would be made and secrets revealed to his crystal-clear mind. Political careers soared and crashed on such sensitive information. Tarquitius had taught the senate a valuable lesson with his dealings; he was a player in this age of imperial upheaval.

The blossoming of the Christian faith had gripped the minds of the people and provided another channel entirely for the brave and ambitious to seize power. To adopt the worshipping of a Judean that their ancestors had brutally murdered seemed to fit snugly with the expedient madness of the empire of recent times. Only a few generations previously, citizens had cheered as the lions ripped out the throats of Christians bound to posts in the arena. Now, Rome had pompously nominated herself at the head of the faith, and in direct contact with the Christian God. Now, a new breed of madness held sway with Emperor Valens; Arianism, the stream of Christianity the emperor favoured, had been forced upon the faithful from the plebs all the way up the ecclesiastical tree. Unhappy clergy tend to be more receptive to the ideas of a senator, he mused. Now, he smirked, the fruit was ripe for picking.

A shriek of laughter pierced the air together with a crash of breaking glass. Tarquitius’ ears twitched as he heard approaching footsteps. Gently, he slid back into the shadows and watched the doorway.

A whitecloaked and hooded figure emerged, awaiting some form of greeting.

‘Senator, are you here?’

Tarquitius smirked, and then silently slid into the pale light afforded by the torch above the doorway. The cloaked figure remained unaware of his presence until he spoke in a cool tone.

‘Tired of the orgy already?’

The cloaked figure spun round, startled.

‘Senator, you nearly scared the life from me.’

Tarquitius grinned, revelling in the chill of the engagement. This partnership was a frosty one; frosty but necessary in order to obtain the greatness he was born for.

‘Good evening, Your Eminence. I apologise for startling you, but you can never be too careful in a tender situation such as this.’

The cloaked figure lowered his hood to reveal craggy features, framed by a thick crop of snow-white hair. Tarquitius wondered at his own ingenuity in forging a partnership with this character; Bishop Evagrius, Patriarch of Constantinople, a mortal apparently in direct contact with God.

The bishop smiled. ‘Indeed, noble senator, I trust the only people who know of this meeting are standing here?’

‘Of course, Your Eminence,’ Tarquitius replied, echoing the bishop’s tone. The concealed presence of his bodyguard Fronto in the darkness by the door meant indeed that all those who knew of this encounter were indeed on this balcony.

‘Then let us discuss the progress of our common objective. What of the Bosporus reconnaissance?’

Straight to it, thought Tarquitius. The fragile facade of this holy man hid a steely core, and he had certainly used this to bash his way through the hierarchy of the Holy See.
Kindred spirits
, Tarquitius mused. Evagrius raised an eyebrow at the extended silence, but Tarquitius allowed another moment to pass before he replied. He, not the bishop, would dictate this conversation.

‘Our allies report that the reconnaissance force has been located and is currently being tracked. The Goths have a scattering of war bands patrolling the old frontier, but our allies are easily strong enough to protect the reconnaissance from such small numbers.’

Evagrius frowned. ‘And what of the main Gothic armies? It is imperative that the expedition does not witness their conflict with our allies. We need to present Bosporus as an open door, a harvest ripe for the reaping.’

Tarquitius clenched his teeth at the scrutiny. This was supposed to be an equal partnership. He drew a deep breath in through his nostrils, adjusting his back upright, thrusting out his rubbery chins, and then set his eyes upon the innocent gaze of the bishop.

‘Our allies have been instructed to divert the reconnaissance expedition from the path of the Gothic armies at all costs,’ he replied, angering himself with the tightness in his voice, ‘as we agreed, Your Eminence. And the Gothic armies themselves will be tackled in due course.’

‘Keep a cool head, Senator. The path to the imperial throne will be clear if we pull this off. The emperor is hungry for foreign success and will be all too keen to rush his thin forces to claim Bosporus. But the people…the people are ripe for revolution. Then the floodgates will be open…’ The bishop’s eyes sparkled rapaciously. ‘So much rests on this that perhaps we should not hang our hopes on our allies alone,’ he held out a bulging hemp purse and a scroll of parchment. ‘Take this, you will need it to smooth your next visit to the senate house.’

‘Your Eminence?’ Tarquitius asked as he took the two articles gingerly.

‘The scroll will explain all, Senator,’ he nodded, before his eyes fell cold again. ‘But keep in mind that this venture is costing the treasury of the Holy See of Constantinople vast sums. If anything goes wrong, then this reconnaissance party, our pawns, will have to be crushed like ants. And I will be forced to look for a scapegoat.’ A gentle smile bearing absolutely no warmth crept across the bishop’s face. He continued. ‘Greedy senators make the best scapegoats.’

A fury boiled inside Tarquitius’ chest, and his eyes darted to the dark shadow that moved by the doorway. He quickly raised his hand, and Fronto slid his sword back into its scabbard with a grunt.

Evagrius raised an eyebrow. ‘So you brought your thug along to protect you? This doesn’t bode well for preserving a trusting relationship, does it, Senator Tarquitius?’

Again, the tone bit sharply at Tarquitius’ pride. Right now, He could order this conniving old man’s throat to be slit from ear to ear, if he wished. However, he knew the path to greatness meant toleration of characters like this until they had served their purpose. Then, when he gave the order, it would be all the sweeter.

‘All is going to plan, Your Eminence. That is all you should be concerned with. It would be wise to remember that your goals are in my hands as much as mine are in yours.’ He glared at the bishop’s tranquil features. ‘Fronto!’ He barked. The Herculean figure emerged from the shadows again, grimacing at the bishop as Tarquitius marched along the balcony to the doorway. The bishop returned a gentle smile, before Fronto turned and followed his master.

All alone on the balcony under the night sky, Bishop Evagrius placed his hands together to pray. The trio of archers positioned on adjacent balconies read the signal and lowered their bows. Senator Tarquitius was to live on, for now…

Gallus sat cross-legged by the campfire, the next to useless parchment map of the Bosporus peninsula dangling from his fingertips as he gazed at the dancing flames. Several paths forked out through the woods before converging on the westernmost fort on the peninsula neck. He lifted a spit from the fire and tore a chunk of mutton off with his teeth. Each path was a roll of the dice, and the first roll had been crushing. Their numbers now dictated that they had to play it safe.

Only sixty-two men were left of the original detachment of one hundred and ten that had set off from the
Aquila
. They had prepared a miniature square of palisades and ditches in this clearing, and were operating a rota of double watch, as he had feared. But there was no way he would allow them to be caught like sitting targets again, Gallus swore to himself, his teeth grinding through the tough meat.

Glancing over to the huddle of off-duty legionaries, Gallus loosened his frown as he tuned into the unmistakably gruff tones of Zosimus; the ox-like Thracian regaled the group with a tale of two Cretan women, their strange sexual habits — and his indulgence with both of them after knocking out their husbands. Bursts of throaty laughter pierced the crackle of the fire at every twist of the sordid anecdote. The giant soldier and his comrades displayed the steely ruthlessness he loved them for — the bitter experience of the day undetectable so soon after the ambush.

These men had lost friends and trusted colleagues today, and their own lives had hung in the balance, yet they were still together as a unit. Gallus sighed at the sparkle dancing in the eyes of his men; years of bloody loss could toughen even the softest of hides.

Gallus caught Felix’s eye as his optio wandered over. ‘I can’t take any more of the filth they’re coming out with. Honestly, enough to make you heave up your grub, that is.’

Gallus tried to wipe the vexation from his face, nodding towards the log on the opposite side of the fire.

‘And I reckon you could do with talking over what happened today,’ Felix ventured.

Gallus relaxed his frown and nodded. The optio was more attuned to the mood of the others in the century, and he could read Gallus like a book, despite the iron glare.
Damn him
, Gallus smiled inside. He began before the Greek sat down. ‘An in-and-out recon mission this was supposed to be. Half my men are lying back there in the woods, without a single one of those whoresons even taking a scratch.’

The optio thumped down with a sigh, his weary eyes fixing on Gallus across the fire. ‘Sir, we’ll send back a party tomorrow to bury our comrades. What happened today frustrated all of us, but not one of the men would have done anything differently. Defence was our only option, and it was down to you that so many of us survived.’

Gallus shook his head with a wry chuckle. ‘It’s just galling — I’d give my last
nummus
to hear that those horsemen had cut down every one of those whoresons further up the path.’ He straightened up, picking up the splintered, blood tinged arrow shaft from his pack, scrutinising the iron tip in the firelight. ‘We need to address the bigger issue here, Felix — just who are we dealing with? Those archers were Gothic going by the arrowheads. But those horsemen,’ he sighed. ‘Who were they? And why did they give us, a legionary column in the middle of nowhere, a body swerve? We would have been easy pickings for them.’

Felix nodded, his gaze falling into the flames. ‘I think the Gothic archers were tracking us from the moment we entered the forest, waiting until we were in the thick to shower us with their arrows. The horsemen I can’t be so sure about, stocky buggers, from the east I reckon…’ The optio’s voice trailed off.

‘Yes,’ Gallus nodded, ‘not what we signed up for.’

‘Not just that, sir. I think I’ve seen their like before, when I was posted out to the frontiers in North Armenia. That place was riddled with little market towns and trading posts, and there were all sorts of barbarians coming in from the steppe to barter hides, meat, slaves, spices and gems. Mithras knows where they picked it all up from. Probably best not to know.’

Gallus nodded, his lips curling in bemusement. ‘Just what the empire needs — another race to grind on her borders.’ He ran his hands through the retreating peak of his hair. ‘I smelt a rat as soon as Nerva delivered the brief. He was nervous — knew something was wrong. His hands were tied by Dux Vergilius and whoever else had the emperor’s ear over this one. This stuff is over our heads — and outside our remit, Felix, and I don’t think we can deal with it now. We’re going to complete this mission, and then get out of here. But first we have other business to take care of. Nerva said no detours, but…’

‘The Goths?’ Felix raised an eyebrow.

Gallus nodded. ‘Time for revenge.’

‘Oi, you couple of fairies! This is as far as I’m goin’,’ the cart driver grumbled as the rickety heap of wood and wheels slowed at the crossroads.

Pavo squinted at the dawn sunshine as he woke. His second morning of freedom. He shivered at the early chill and made it half way through a yawn before he noticed the snoring blonde-mopped young man resting on his shoulder. Shrugging him away, Pavo stood to stretch his spindly legs and ran his palms over his freshly cropped dark bristles. The bed of hay and grain sacks hadn’t been the most comfortable, but he had slept like a baby since leaving the port of Tomis — especially after the stomach churning boat journey to get there from Constantinople. He touched a hand to the black bruise on his ribs as he slid towards the cart edge; Fronto had indulged in one last session of pummelling him. But it was the last one, and that at least warmed his heart.