Legionary: Viper of the North (Legionary 2)

by Doherty, Gordon

  Quadratus stumbled to his knees as soon as he was inside the fort, dropping Lupicinus to the ground. ‘Get the bloody gates closed!’ He bellowed at the pale-faced and trembling recruits, twisting to see the snarling Gothic riders just strides from the entrance.

  As the gates slammed shut and the locking bar clunked into place, Quadratus and Avitus issued a synchronised sigh of relief.

  Then, oblivious to the capsarii rushing to surround him, bearing dressings and salve, Lupicinus looked up at Quadratus. ‘You saved me?’ The comes stammered.

  Quadratus shrugged.

  Avitus stepped between the two and stooped to glare at Lupicinus. ‘And I trust he can consider himself pardoned?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lupicinus nodded, his features milky-white with terror. ‘Yes, he can.’

  Then a jagged cry rang out from outside the fort. Not the cry of a Gothic horde, but the booming voice of one man.

  ‘Sir,’ one of the recruits on the walls cried, ‘Iudex Fritigern requests parley.’

  Lupicinus’ eyes widened and his face paled, then he shrugged off the medics and held out an arm to Quadratus. ‘Get me up to the walls, soldier!’

  Avitus took the other half of the comes’ weight, and together, he and Quadratus hobbled up the steps to the battlements. There, they let Lupicinus down. The comes slapped his hands onto the battlements to balance, sending thick snow down into the ditch below.

  Then the three plus the meagre garrison of the fort fell silent as they gawped out across the plain. Fritigern’s followers were now flooding across the pontoon bridge in a seemingly endless train. All up and down the river, rafts and small boats were being launched to bring over swathes more. Crowds of Goths pressed against the far riverbank, unable to force their way onto the bridge or onto any crafts. They cast frequent nervous glances over their shoulders to the north and moaned in fear at the shadows back there – then huge groups of them began throwing themselves into the raging torrents of the river. They thrashed bravely in an attempt to swim to the southern bank, but few made it more than halfway across before perishing. Already formed up to face the fort were Gothic spearmen in their thousands and cavalry numbering several thousand again. Behind this army, the Gothic women, children and elderly clustered in their tens of thousands. They brought with them emaciated herds of mules, goats and oxen, and drew carts and pulled baggage on timber frames.

  The recruits around Lupicinus were quick to offer their insights. ‘Fritigern has pacified his men, sir. The riders who charged us have been disarmed,’ one said.

  Lupicinus seemed to draw confidence from this information and the thick walls that separated him from the Goths. He puffed out his chest and straightened his helmet. ‘Good, good. The barbarian knows what a mistake he has made.’

  ‘Sir,’ Quadratus hissed beside him. ‘We must tread carefully or there will be a massacre here today. Remember, we cast the first dart on the bridge.’

  ‘Don’t push your luck, Centurion; leave the thinking to me,’ Lupicinus peered down his nose.

  As Quadratus turned away to disguise a muted flurry of curses, Avitus noticed something in the comes’ eyes; pure terror.

  Down on the plain, Fritigern had pushed through to the fore on his stallion. Grey-flecked, fiery red locks and a beard tumbled down his shoulders from under his ornate, silver, full-face helmet.

  Lupicinus called out to him, his voice shrill and wavering. ‘Iudex Fritigern. By crossing the Danubius, you have committed an act of war against the Roman Empire. You will be shown no mercy by our legions.’

  Fritigern removed his helmet, his locks framing deep-set, tawny-gold eyes, flat cheekbones and a narrow nose. He pointed to the handful of legionary and Gothic corpses strewn on the path to the fort from the bridge. ‘That Roman and Gothic blood was spilled is regrettable, but you must believe me; I come here not as an enemy, but as an ally of Rome. We had no choice but to hasten across the bridge, for the dark riders are less than a morning’s ride behind us!’ Fritigern waved a hand back to the far riverbank.

  Lupicinus heard this and then stabbed out his tongue to dampen his lips. ‘Who?’

  ‘The Huns. The dark riders of the northlands, they have conquered all who have crossed their path so far; the Alani, the Neuri, the Geloni, the Agathyrsi, the Melanchaenae . . . and they almost exterminated our cousins, the Greuthingi! Now they have descended upon my lands without warning or mercy with many more warriors than I have mustered here,’ he swept a hand across the ever-swelling sea of armoured men and riders. There were at least ten thousand Gothic warriors and what looked like more than many times that number of civilians, with more still flooding across the bridge. ‘My people have suffered terribly in these last days, their families slain, their lands raped and confiscated.’

  ‘So state your case, Goth. What are you here for?’

  Fritigern clasped a hand across his chest. ‘We come seeking shelter in Roman lands.’

  Avitus and Quadratus looked to each other.

  ‘Have we got room for, what, a hundred thousand in here?’ Quadratus snorted under his breath.

  ‘We ask for grain and land to settle. In return this mighty army you see before you will guard your borders to the last. The Hun hordes who drove us here will not be able to sweep across the river like they swept across my lands, I am sure of it. Not while all Rome and all my warriors await them. And that is the key; a true alliance between our peoples and our armies. Added to this, we will comply with your emperor’s long-standing wish for my people to convert entirely to the Arian faith. What say you, Roman?’ A chill wind whipped across the snowy plain and the question hung in the air as Fritigern clutched the Chi-Rho emblem on a chain around his neck. ‘Remember that we are in truce and think well on the consequences of your answer.’

  Avitus’ turned to Lupicinus, whose eyes darted, widening in growing panic. ‘We need to preserve the alliance, sir, at all costs. But there’s no way we can support these people – there’s no way they can support themselves – the whole province is on the brink of famine as it is. We have to send word south, to Constantinople . . . and east, to the emperor!’ He glanced to the imperial messenger by the fort stables.

  But Lupicinus was hesitant. He turned to the two. ‘This is not your decision to make, Optio, nor is it that of your centurion. No, Fritigern has come to me, and it is up to me to manage this situation.’

  Quadratus frowned. ‘Sir, we need help.’

  Lupicinus raised a hand. ‘I will not call for help!’ Lupicinus snapped, his eyes wild, his lips twisted into a snarl. ‘No, the coward who calls for help is already beaten. I am no coward! I can manage this, alone!’

  Avitus looked to Quadratus, the pair sharing a look of weary dread.

  Lupicinus shook his head. ‘Send a rider to summon the remainder of my comitatenses from the coast – two centuries of the finest soldiers.’

  ‘You talk of centuries,’ Avitus uttered. ‘Sir, we need legions to deal with this.’

  ‘Your commander has given you an order. See that it is carried out.’

  ‘You’re being a fool!’ Quadratus spat.

  ‘Watch your tongue, Centurion,’ Lupicinus barked, and two of his retinue barged forward, hands on spatha hilts.

  Avitus leapt in front of Quadratus, spreading his arms wide between the two antagonists. ‘No! We must remain calm!’

  Quadratus stepped back, simmering with rage. ‘Yes, sir,’ he grunted to Lupicinus.

  The sky greyed and the first flakes of a fresh snowfall began to spiral around Avitus and Quadratus as they flitted down the steps. Behind them, Lupicinus’ booming reply to Fritigern rang out, his tone haughty and self-reverent as he invited the iudex and his retinue to come to the fort gates.

  Avitus leaned in towards his big friend as they walked. ‘Be wary of your words around him; he acts on whims and seems driven by pride. You were moments from having icy river water in your lungs and asp-venom in your veins!’

  ‘But he’s a bloody fool,’ Quadratus mutter
ed under his breath. ‘He’s obsessed with proving he is not a coward. All we’ve worked for, all our brothers who have died over the years. That imbecile will tear it all to shreds. For what – his pride?’ He threw his arms up.

  ‘Then we need to intervene.’ Avitus replied in a hushed voice, eyes darting to make sure nobody else was within earshot.

  ‘Aye,’ Quadratus nodded, smoothing his moustache, ‘but how?’

  ‘We write the emperor a message, and sign it as if it came from that arsehole up there,’ Avitus nodded to the figure of Lupicinus on the battlements. Then he slipped a hand into his purse and produced the neatly broken wax seal he had lifted from the Principia floor that morning. The seal bore the imperial eagle and was ringed with the letters of Lupicinus’ name and rank. He felt a twinge of righteousness; sleight of hand and stealth were two skills from his past that he could put to good use for once.

  ‘Eh?’ Quadratus grunted, eyeing the piece, then nodding to the Principia. ‘You’ll be hard-pressed getting the scribe in there to forge a letter – he’s been kissing Lupicinus’ arse as if Gallus never existed.’

  ‘Then I’ll write it myself,’ he said.

  Quadratus frowned at him.

  Avitus shrugged. Men of the ranks could not write, and Avitus had never revealed this skill, burying it with the rest of his past. ‘There are things I learned, things I did, back in the West,’ he started, feeling the words tumble out like a confession, ‘that I left behind. Or that was the plan. Funny how the past just keeps coming back, isn’t it?’

  Quadratus’ frown remained for a moment, then a broad, stump-toothed grin broke out across his face. ‘You sly little whoreson! Let’s do it!’

  The pair ducked into the barrack block, then emerged a few moments later, Avitus bearing a rolled-up scroll of paper with the wax seal melted onto it. He stopped by a tall, dappled gelding and slapped its haunches, then called to the nervous-looking imperial messenger stood nearby, eyeing the battlements. It was Ennius, the rider who had been despatched to Gallus’ party in the forest with the order to wait on the ambassadors. ‘Oi, forget what’s happening out there, get over here.’

  ‘Sir?’ Ennius asked.

  ‘You have family in Durostorum, yes?’

  ‘I do, sir. My wife, my elderly father and two baby girls.’

  ‘And do you fear for them right now?’

  Ennius gulped and eyed the battlements again. ‘I’d do anything to protect them.’

  Avitus nodded. ‘Good lad. Now get fresh water and rations for a ride. A long ride. I want you to go east, to the port at Tomis. Get a berth on the fastest imperial vessel there that’s heading for the Persian front. If there isn’t one going there soon, then charter one.’ He held out the scroll. ‘This should see you right. When you’re landed again, ride until your arse bleeds and get word to Emperor Valens. The scroll holds all the detail, but tell him we need legions, lots of them.’

  Ennius hesitated. ‘But, sir, I overheard Comes Lupicinus; he said he wanted a rider despatched to summon his centuries from the coast?’

  Avitus gripped the rider’s shoulders. ‘To Hades with the comes – we will despatch another rider to do his bidding later, but you must ride now. Save your empire, man, and save your family!’

  The rider nodded, grasped three water skins and pulled his cloak around his shoulders, then leapt onto his gelding and heeled it into a trot for the fort gates.

  Avitus watched the gates creaking open, and wondered if it would be becoming to issue a prayer to Mithras for the rider. Would Mithras know of his sins of the past? Would he forgive him them should this Ennius reach the emperor in time. His thoughts churned.

  Then, as the gates swung fully open, Ennius broke into a gallop. But the gates did not shut behind him. Instead, the gateway was filled by a mass of foreign riders.

  Iudex Fritigern and his retinue entered the fort, their faces stony.

  Chapter 12

  It was nearing sunset when the cog rounded a bend in the river. At last, Pavo recognised the snow-cloaked hinterland on the southern banks and the faint salt tang in the air. He glanced to Sura, who wore a matching grin.

  Then, a roar from the crow’s nest confirmed it as the stone-walled town rolled into view, bathed in the fading sunlight. ‘Durostorum!’

  ‘Thank Mithras!’ Felix cried, perched halfway up the mast, punching a fist in the air. ‘The imperial banners still fly above her walls!’

  The legionaries leapt to their feet, pushing to the edge of the vessel to stand alongside Pavo. There they erupted in a cheer at the sight of the market town that was home to many of them. Then they cheered again, even louder, when they saw one of the few men left in the wall guard waving at them from the snow-coated battlements.

  But Pavo’s grin faded as they approached, for the sentry was not waving in greeting; his arms were moving frantically, pointing downriver.

  ‘Silence!’ Gallus barked.

  Then, over the roar of the rapids, they heard the man’s pleas.

  ‘Get to the fort!’

  All on the cog fell silent as it rounded another bend and the plain east of the town spread out before them.

  The XI Claudia fortress was like a lonely rock in an unsettled sea of foreign peoples, tents and campfires.

  Goths were everywhere, like a crop field, from the fort and all the way across the plain to the gates of Durostorum. Women, children and elderly swarmed between the tents, campfires and malnourished herds of goats and oxen. Pockets of warriors patrolled the camp, wearing conical helmets and red leather vests, bearing spears and round wooden shields. Others stood watch around the edge of the camp and some tended to their fine mounts, penned in to rudimentary stable areas. In the centre of the camp, the sapphire hawk banner of Fritigern rippled in the breeze.

  Then Pavo heard a muttering by his side.

  ‘By Mithras, it has happened. What have I done?’

  Pavo frowned, turning to see Tarquitius, flexing his fingers on the rim of the vessel; the senator’s face was a deathly white as if he had witnessed an army of shades.

  ‘Fear not,’ Salvian said before Pavo could question his old tormentor. The ambassador pointed to the cluster of legionaries who appeared to be helping a family of Goths in setting up their tent. ‘It seems that the Goths are here in peace, and that Fritigern upholds the truce.’

  ‘And we can only be thankful it was not the dark riders we found,’ Pavo spoke sternly, following Tarquitius’ furtive glances over to the shadowy northern banks of the river; then he noticed the pontoon bridge had been destroyed and prayed that meant the march of the Huns had been curtailed.

  Then a pair of Goths in the watchtower of the castrum – all that was left of the bridge – cried out then raised their bows and loosed a pair of fire arrows. The flaming missiles streaked into the twilight sky, illuminating a basic timber jetty as they fell silently into the waters.

  Gallus glared at the Gothic spearmen who filed to the jetty, beckoning the Romans to the riverbank. ‘It appears they are welcoming us home.’

  Inside the principia, the air crackled with tension. Gallus and Lupicinus sat opposite one another across the large, scarred oak table, the candlelight casting both of their faces in demonic shadow.

  Pavo darted a glance to those around the table: Sura, Zosimus, Felix, Quadratus and Avitus stood with Pavo in an arc behind Gallus, while a group of six grimacing, scale-vested comitatenses stood behind Lupicinus. Ambassador Salvian stood in the middle, a look of bemusement on his sharp features. Tarquitius was seated beside him, his face still milky pale and his eyes bloodshot and weary – seemingly still haunted by his trip to Dardarus.

  ‘I defer to your authority, sir,’ Gallus spoke calmly, ‘but I must insist on a full debriefing on why I returned from my mission to be escorted into my own fort . . . ’ the tribunus paused as his veneer of calm dissolved, his top lip trembling, his teeth grinding, ‘ . . . by Goths?’

  ‘You are correct, Tribunus,’ Lupicinus spat back, ‘you w
ill defer to my authority.’

  Gallus sighed, giving a reluctant nod. ‘Without question. But, in the best interests of the legion and the borders we are sworn to protect, sir, tell me why Fritigern’s armies and people swamp the land from here to Durostorum?’

  ‘Iudex Fritigern and I have come to an understanding, Tribunus,’ Lupicinus began, his tone sharp, ‘and the crux of it is that our borders are now secure. The foederati are commonplace in the legions these days, and I have simply taken that to the next level.’ The comes’ words were firm, but his eyes barely masked panic.