Legionary: Viper of the North (Legionary 2)

by Doherty, Gordon

  Pavo frowned. The marching horde was almost at the walls and the watchtower platform trembled like a leaf. He braced for what was to come.

  Then a jagged cry called out from the blackness.

  At this, the chieftain stood and waved, calling out, his tone warm. But, behind the palisade, he was waving his other hand at the Romans to stay down.

  ‘Whoresons! They’re in league with the rebel Goths and that lot out there!’ Crito spat, wriggling free of the Goth who restrained him then clutching at his sword hilt.

  ‘No!’ Pavo held up a hand, peering through the sliver of gap between the palisade stakes: the horde was spilling past the village like a river round a lonely rock. And then they continued to the southeast, towards Fritigern’s heartland. The Hun rider who had hailed the village was marshalling them in that direction and now stood, watching as the village gates were opened to allow the villagers to scuttle out and heap fresh animal carcasses onto the Hun wagons.

  ‘I might have been wrong about staying outside, but I’ll be damned if . . . ’ Crito snarled, sliding his spatha from his scabbard.

  ‘No!’ Pavo repeated. ‘These villagers are on our side and loyal to Fritigern,’ his eyes darted across the timbers by his feet as it all fell into place, ‘but the horde think this village is sided with the Gothic rebellion,’ he glanced to Sura, nodding, ‘because of that.’ He stabbed a finger up at the dark-green snake banner. ‘That’s the only reason we’re not rent with a thousand arrows right now.’

  Sura’s eyes widened. ‘But they’re headed for the river. We’ve got to get word back to Durostorum and the fort.’

  The village chieftain crouched beside them, face whiter than snow, eyes wide. ‘Roman, there is no going back to your empire now,’ he whispered, ‘the Huns will fall upon Fritigern’s men and it will be a battlefield all along the great river. To travel through that land would be to run onto myriad sword blades and spears. I must implore you to stay here, for outside, the Viper is at large!’

  Pavo frowned. ‘This Viper, he is a Hun?’

  The chieftain frowned at this. ‘No, he is Thervingi.’

  ‘Then tell me, for Mithras’ sake, where is this man?’

  The Chieftain shook his head, his face falling grave. ‘The Viper is no man; he once tried to unite all the tribes of Gutthiuda and rise against Rome, but he was slain before his ambitions were realised. Slain by Romans. Yet now, many years after his death, some say that his shade still rides on these plains, cloaked and hooded in green, seeking vengeance.’ The chieftain stabbed a finger out in the direction of the departing horde. ‘This is his doing!’

  Pavo frowned, searching for the words to reply. He looked to Sura and Crito, who wore puzzled frowns. A shiver of doubt danced across his skin. ‘His shade rides on these plains . . . ’ he began, then sighed and pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger, screwing up his eyes as his head thundered with exhaustion and a thousand thoughts. ‘We don’t have time for this. We will be moving on as soon as we’ve had a moment to take on food and water.’

  ‘But you must stay, at least for tonight. Tend to your wounded, fill your bellies and rest properly.’

  Pavo shook his head. ‘We are already behind that horde. Every heartbeat that passes will see them edge closer to the imperial borders. We leave. Tonight.’

  Then he turned to Sura and Crito. ‘Thoughts?’

  ‘If Fritigern fights,’ Sura spoke first, ‘he’ll lose, surely. His armies are numerous and well-trained, but they are unprepared for . . . that,’ he nodded in the direction of the departed horde, then shivered, pulling his cloak tighter.

  Pavo nodded solemnly. ‘So what if he chooses not to fight? He is no fool – Gallus has always said that Fritigern won’t fight unless he knows he can win,’ he looked to Sura, his expression grave. ‘What if he chooses to run?’

  Sura frowned. ‘Run, run where?’ Then his face fell.

  ‘The only place left for them to go. Across the Danubius. Into the empire.’

  The first thick flakes of snowfall danced around Pavo, Sura and Crito as they gazed southeast, eyes wide.

  Chapter 7

  Iudex Athanaric’s feasting hall echoed with jagged laughter and a wasp-like melody buzzed from a pair of pipers. The cavernous interior was bathed in a warm orange from the guttering torches and the roaring log fire in the centre while the shutters rattled from the snowstorm outside as if in protest. All around the hall, a hundred or so of the iudex’s finest warriors and an equal number of buxom and fiery Gothic women were packed around the long timber tables. They drained keg after keg of barley beer and fruit wine, growing more rosy-cheeked and boisterous with each one.

  At the top table, Gallus sat beside Salvian, Tarquitius, Felix and Paulus. Opposite sat Iudex Athanaric, Fritigern’s rival and probably the most belligerent whoreson the empire had known in years. The iudex and the two brutish warriors flanking him cast flinty glares back at the Roman party.

  Probably in his mid thirties, a similar age to Gallus, the Gothic Iudex was tall and lean, wearing a silver band to hold back his shoulder length, straight, jet-black hair. His eyes were constantly narrowed and his broad, battered nose spoke of his love of conflict.

  Between them, the table was piled with food that could have graced Emperor Valens’ table; roast teal and guillemot, herring, cheeses, curdled milk, wheat bread, pears, cherries & jugs of fruit wine; only Tarquitius had indulged though, the others merely picking at the fare.

  As the talks continued well into the night, Gallus felt weariness creep over his mind. He saw the same look in the eyes of his legionaries, especially Paulus, whose eyelids were drooping. Even the drunken Goths eventually succumbed to weariness, gradually filtering from the hall until only the eight around the top table remained. But Tarquitius was in full flow, proposing concessions on either side; preferential tax rates for Gothic traders crossing into the empire and an exchange of surplus grain and textiles. Salvian had remained silent at first, but as the talks went on he interjected more and more, deftly steering Tarquitius in his negotiations. Gallus was surprised at how well the talks were going, seemingly concluding with the notion of a yearlong pact of peace. His thoughts started to drift, his eyes dry and heavy.

  Suddenly, the chatter ceased when a choking snore from Paulus echoed over them. The optio looked up at Felix and then Gallus, his eyes red-rimmed, his face wrinkled in sleepy confusion and his dark beard tousled and unkempt. ‘Eh . . . I, oh, sorry,’ he muttered, reddening. Gallus shot him an icy stare, while despatching a prayer to Mithras that it had not been him who had nodded off.

  ‘Perhaps nature is telling us we have talked enough. Are we finished?’ Salvian asked, looking to Tarquitius and Athanaric.

  ‘Aye,’ Athanaric spoke in a gruff tone, ‘for now.’

  Tarquitius scowled at Salvian. ‘I think we are finished too. Therefore I propose that we adjourn for the night, then gather tomorrow to read over the summary of our proposed treaty.’

  All nodded. Then a violent winter gust rattled the shutters around the hall.

  ‘It promises to be the coldest winter in memory,’ Athanaric said, calmly.

  Gallus returned the Gothic Iudex’s gaze. ‘What I have seen of it already it has chilled me enough.’ Under the table, he clenched his fingers around the dark-green banner.

  Athanaric sat back in his chair, a grin splitting his face, and clasped his hands. ‘What is wrong, Tribunus? Your tone is disrespectful given the generous concessions I have made to your empire,’ his eyes narrowed, ‘especially at a time when it is so weak.’

  ‘Weak? You are so certain of that?’ Gallus replied. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Tarquitius squirm in his seat. He turned to the senator, eyes narrowing.

  But Athanaric cut in; ‘It is common knowledge that your field legions are in the east, Tribunus, and it is not hard to work out that your border legions are stretched all over Fritigern’s lands in search of these rebels.’

  ‘And what do you know of these
rebels?’ Gallus leant over the table, his jaw clenching.

  Athanaric leant forward likewise, then grinned mockingly. ‘Nothing other than the reports that have come in. I must say though, it does sound like you are having difficulty in curtailing them. Are they too fast for you?’

  Gallus felt the ire boil into his chest. He stood, snatching up the banner, undeterred as the guards flanking Athanaric leapt up and levelled their spears. ‘Look me in the eye, you dog, and tell me you know nothing of this!’ He pulled at one edge of the banner. It unravelled across the spoils of the feast; all eyes around the table fell upon the dark-green, blood-spattered piece, and the snake emblem coiled upon it.

  Athanaric gazed at the sight for a moment. ‘Well, well. You seek the Viper?’ With that, he cast his head back and let out a roar of laughter that filled the feasting hall.

  Gallus squared his shoulders.

  ‘Relax, Tribunus,’ Athanaric motioned for him to sit, shoulders still juddering with the last of his laughter.

  Gallus noticed Salvian frowning, urging him to sit also. ‘The Viper?’ Gallus held out his arms as he sat. ‘If you truly seek peace, then you will tell me what you know, Iudex.’

  ‘I know only the tales that were told around the fires when I was a boy,’ he said. ‘They called him the ferocious iudex who was to unite the fractured tribes of Gutthiuda. The one who would forge a nation. The one who would slay Goth and Roman readily to achieve his goal; to march upon the empire.’

  Gallus’ jaw stiffened at this, but Salvian placed a calming hand on his forearm.

  Athanaric did not notice this, his gaze growing distant as he spoke, the firelight dancing in his eyes. ‘They would say that if we did not behave, then the Viper would come for us in the night, hooded and cloaked in dark green, his face hidden in shadow,’ Athanaric paused, raising his eyebrows, ‘then rip out our throats. And, by Wodin, did that threat work. I remember lying awake and silent every night, afraid to breathe, seeing him in every shadow, hearing him in every cracking twig, every gust of wind.’

  A piece of kindling snapped in the fire, and all apart from Athanaric jolted.

  The iudex’s face melted into a dark smile, his gaze rising from the fire to settle on Gallus. ‘Fear of the Viper’s unseen presence had us beaten from the beginning. There is much to be admired in such a creature, do you not think?’ The iudex left the question hanging in the air, then his face fell solemn and he continued; ‘But you can rest assured that he is no longer a threat, Tribunus. The Viper died many years ago. To seek him is to seek a shade; a lost ideal as ethereal as the morning mists that dapple my plains and mountains.’

  Gallus nodded to the hide banner, cocking one eyebrow. ‘But this is the Viper’s symbol, is it not?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Then why do these rebels carry it today, Athanaric? Men do not fight for a shade!’

  ‘What men will do surprises me every day, Tribunus,’ Athanaric leaned back, steepling his fingers under his chin. ‘You asked what I knew of this marking. I have told you all I know, yet your eyes still narrow with mistrust?’ He glared at Gallus.

  Gallus glared back.

  Salvian interjected. ‘Perhaps this discussion is for another time? It has been a long evening, after all.’

  ‘It has indeed,’ Athanaric agreed, a cool grin splitting his features. ‘Turn your mind from doubt, Tribunus; have I spoke of anything other than peace tonight?’

  A tense silence ensued, then Gallus sighed, his head thumping and his eyes stinging with tiredness. ‘Aye, perhaps I spoke in haste.’

  All around the table stood, and with curt nods of the head, the two parties separated, Athanaric and his guards striding to the back door of the feasting hall and the five of the Roman party heading for the front door.

  Gallus led Salvian, Tarquitius, Felix and Paulus out into the dead of night and the roaring blizzard, each pulling their cloaks tight as the bitter cold swept over them. They trudged through the snowdrifts lying in the deserted streets of the citadel to reach the stallhouse. Once inside, they shook themselves down of the snow.

  Gallus looked to Salvian and Tarquitius. ‘You had him in the palm of your hand. I can only apologise for my outburst at the end.’

  ‘No need, Tribunus,’ Tarquitius snapped back, ‘I expect little in the way of sophistication from a soldier.’

  Gallus firmed his jaw and nodded, burying the reply he wanted to give. He saw Salvian deftly cocking one eyebrow to him, as if thinking the same thing.

  ‘Until tomorrow,’ Tarquitius added briskly, then the senator and the ambassador headed for the timber staircase leading up to their rooms.

  ‘Sir?’ Felix asked. ‘You’re not satisfied with Athanaric’s response, are you?’

  ‘Are you?’ Gallus replied.

  ‘Not one bit,’ Felix said, flatly.

  Paulus frowned along with them as they looked through the door, slightly ajar, back across the centre of the citadel to the feasting hall.

  You chase a shade, Tribunus.

  ‘We won’t catch any shades tonight,’ Gallus sighed after a moment of consideration, then beckoned to the staircase. ‘Come on, let’s sleep and hope the rest brings us some inspiration.’

  Tarquitius stood in his room, by the door, pulling his cloak tighter. His eyes were drawn to his bed once more. Rest and warmth would have to wait though, he asserted, and once again he stealthily edged his door open and turned one ear to the corridor. There was now a chorus of snoring from one of the other rooms in the stallhouse attic; a grin split his face.

  He stalked carefully over the timbers, putting his weight only on the joins. The snoring was coming from behind the closed door of Optio Paulus, he realised. Then he stalked on further, past Salvian’s shut door, then that of Felix. Then he froze; Gallus’ door was ajar. He peered around the doorframe, his breath stilled. Then he issued a muted sigh of relief upon seeing the tribunus muttering distantly in some nightmarish torment, his face bathed in sweat.

  Your nightmares are about to become real, Tribunus, he mused.

  Reassured that he went unseen, Senator Tarquitius crept down the stairs and opened the main door and walked out into the night. He muted a gasp as the biting wind of the blizzard shocked his skin. The snow was knee-deep as he plodded through the street then across the open centre of the citadel towards the feasting hall. He pulled the neck of his cloak up and over his head, both to protect his face from the cold and as a guise. A few houses still bore the orange glow of torchlight in their windows, and he looked around furtively, anxious to avoid prying eyes.

  Be at ease, he chided himself, only the sharpest of minds are aware of what is to happen tonight. The men of the legions had treated him with barely disguised contempt since the rendezvous, but now he wielded the power; it was time to cash in his knowledge of the strengths and weaknesses of the border legions. The sham of a peace parley earlier had served its purpose. Now, a private audience with Athanaric awaited him.

  He reached the feasting hall and edged its door open, slipping inside. Merciful warmth enveloped him as he let his cloak slip to his shoulders. The hall was in darkness apart from an orange pool of light at the far end, bathing the top table.

  He made to step towards it when, suddenly, from the shadows, two flashes of silver stopped him in his tracks. He felt the cold iron of a pair of speartips jabbing at his chins. White-hot terror raced through his veins as his eyes adjusted to the gloom and he saw the two brutish Goths who held the weapons, their faces twisted in anticipation.

  ‘I . . . I’m here to speak with Iudex Athanaric,’ he stammered.

  The pair looked at one another, then one sneered, his grip on his spear tightening.

  ‘Ah, Senator Tarquitius!’ A voice boomed. It was Iudex Athanaric, who had moved into the pool of torchlight by the top table.

  Tarquitius’ skin crawled as his name echoed throughout the hall, sure the whole citadel would hear.

  But Athanaric continued, striding down the hall. ‘There was
a point tonight when I thought you had forgotten the true purpose of your visit here, Senator – I thought that sham of a parley would never end! Come, sit with me, let us discuss more pressing matters. Guards, leave us.’

  Tarquitius scowled as the two guards lowered their spears and left to stand outside the hall, then he walked with Athanaric to the table.

  ‘You have had some six months to progress our plans, Senator,’ Athanaric spoke stonily, his jovial facade dissolving. ‘Tell me what you know, and make it concise.’

  Tarquitius recoiled at this. The barbarian spoke to him as if he was a dog. ‘You stand to gain vast spoils from my knowledge, Iudex. Value my company as you would value those spoils.’