Legionary: Viper of the North (Legionary 2)

by Doherty, Gordon

  His tent and those around it were still free of activity. Lazy bastards, he thought to himself with a chuckle. Then he froze where he stood.

  A figure was crouched by his tent flap – this time in a black cloak and hood. Pavo’s breath stilled when he saw the glint of a dagger in the figure’s hand. The figure reached out to open the tent flap, the dagger held overhand.

  Pavo rushed forward, throwing himself at the figure. With a thud, the pair were interlocked, tumbling in the dewy grass. The dagger flew from the figure’s grasp and landed paces away. Pavo sensed victory as he pinned the figure down with his knees, then pulled a fist back to strike the face, semi-obscured by the hood. Then a floral, sweet scent curled up his nostrils and he heard whimpering. His fist relaxed and his face fell as he saw the milky-white skin of the figure’s face, the end of an amber lock tumbling free of the hood.

  ‘Felicia?’ He groaned, pulling the hood back. Behind it, her face was wrinkled with emotion, the kohl staining her eyes having run across her cheeks in a flurry of tears, smearing her beauty.

  ‘Will you please do away with that cloak!’ He said as he helped her to her feet.

  But she briskly shrugged him off, teeth gritted and bared, nostrils flared.

  Pavo searched her tormented expression for some clue as to what to say. He stepped forward, arms outstretched to clasp her shoulders, but she stepped back as if he was a stranger. ‘Felicia? What’s going on? Why were you going into the tent . . . with that?’ he gestured to the dagger.

  Felicia was sucking in deep breaths now, composing herself. She wiped her eyes, further smearing the kohl over her cheeks, then stood straight, fixing her hair behind her ears. ‘You wouldn’t understand, Pavo, and it’s best for you that you don’t.’

  Pavo dropped his arms to his sides with a sigh. ‘All those times when I came to visit you at the inn and you had that dark look in your eyes and you would ignore me. Each time I would leave, thinking we were through, but I’d still go back. You know why? Because sometimes, just sometimes, I’d be lucky enough to catch you when you were yourself, smiling, joking. That’s the girl that caught my eye when I first joined the legion. Yet I feel like that girl is lost somewhere . . . ’ he raised his hands and glanced all around in frustration, then back at Felicia. ‘Now this?’

  She looked down to her left with firm lips. ‘Perhaps that girl has been a guise?’

  Pavo felt her words like a blow to the guts, but he didn’t let it show. ‘No, you’re lying. Every time we’ve lain together I’ve seen true happiness in your eyes. It’s like you’ve set down a massive burden from your shoulders for those moments. Don’t you want to be that girl more often?’

  Her lips trembled and she covered her face with her hands. ‘How can I?’ She whispered, tears escaping the cracks between her fingers. ‘How can I when my brother’s killer walks free?’

  Pavo’s heart sank and he closed his eyes. Curtius – of course. His mind reeled through all those times Felicia had seemed so interested in the whereabouts of certain veterans. He’d never linked it with her dark moods, until now. Of all the soldiers he shared the tent with, only Quadratus and Avitus had served in the Claudia long enough to have been there when Curtius was in the ranks. His eyes widened.

  ‘You think it was . . . ’ he started.

  Felicia blinked the tears away and held his gaze. ‘I know it was Quadratus.’ She clenched her fists.

  Pavo shook his head, an incredulous smile growing on his face. ‘Felicia, you’re wrong. Quadratus is a gruff big whoreson, but probably one of the best-hearted men I’ve ever fought alongside. He’d be more likely to throw himself in front of a dagger that was aimed at a fellow legionary than to harm one of them.’ He gripped her wrists, holding her gaze. ‘I know this!’

  She offered him a pitying, almost apologetic look. ‘I’m sorry, Pavo, but it was Quadratus. Of that, there is no doubt.’ She rummaged in her cloak and pulled out a yellowed, frayed scroll and held it up as if to underline her argument. ‘This memo came from none other than the Speculatores.’

  ‘The emperor’s agents?’

  She nodded. ‘Curtius was working for them too – that’s why I know the seal is from them.’ Her face fell stony. ‘Pavo, Curtius was killed by another agent – in the XI Claudia fort.’

  ‘You think Quadratus is a speculatore?’ Pavo pulled back a little. ‘He’s a fine soldier, a lion on the battlefield, but he’s about as stealthy and subtle as an onager being pulled down stairs.’

  Felicia did not flinch. ‘Then why did I find this scroll concealed in the mortar by his bunk?’

  Pavo’s face fell. He raked over his thoughts. Surely Quadratus was no imposter? He had shed blood with the big Gaul on the battlefield and the giant had saved him on more than one occasion. She was mistaken, surely. Then his thoughts spun to a stop on one unremarkable day in the fort. Pavo had walked in to find Quadratus and his good friend Avitus playing dice on the floor. The rest of the contubernium were stood around them, coins clutched in their hands, placing bets. When he had asked Zosimus what was going on, the big Thracian had replied: Avitus wants the top bunk, Quadratus told him where to go, I suggested a wager and so here we are!

  ‘That was Avitus’ bunk,’ he muttered absently and his heart sank. The little bald Roman was one of the trusted few, the core men of the legion that Gallus had built around him. He had got to know Avitus well in this last year, but only well enough to know that there was some dark core that pulled and twisted at his moods, especially when they drank together.

  ‘Pavo?’ Felicia frowned, grappling at his tunic. ‘Say it again.’

  Pavo’s face fell. ‘They swapped bunks about six months ago, not long after the mission to the Kingdom of Bosporus.’

  She clasped a hand over her mouth. ‘Then I would have . . . ’

  Pavo wrapped an arm around her, pulling her head into his chest. ‘You have done nothing, Felicia. Be thankful for that.’

  She pushed back. ‘But now I know who must pay for Curtius’ death.’

  Pavo reached out to her, but she stepped away, looking for her dagger. ‘Felicia, please, don’t do anything, at least not now. Please, let us talk over this more when,’ he stopped as an amber light washed across them, the sun was now half-risen. ‘Just promise me one thing,’ he pleaded, ‘that you will do nothing until we have talked over this later?’

  She neither nodded nor shook her head. Instead her eyes grew distant as if in thought.

  Then, the still and quiet of dawn was torn asunder by the wail of the Gothic horns.

  Pavo’s skin crawled at the clatter of iron weapons and armour being donned. He looked all around the camp to see that the Goths were mustering. His thoughts spun; the green-cloaked figure on the battlements, Felicia, the missing grain column. Then he grappled her firmly by the shoulders. ‘Get to your horse and ride, Felicia, ride as fast as you can and don’t look back. Get to Adrianople, get to your father and stay there.’

  He held her cold glare firmly.

  ‘All Hades is coming to this plain!’

  Hearing the war horns, Gallus hurried to buckle his swordbelt, then slipped on his plumed intercisa helmet. The grain column was nowhere to be seen and this day would see much blood.

  He hesitated before leaving his tent, lifted the idol of Mithras from his purse and kissed it. ‘Let today bring me one step closer to you, Olivia,’ he whispered.

  Then he spun as someone pushed into his tent. Pavo. The young legionary’s face was wrinkled in consternation.

  ‘Sir, this may be nothing, but . . . ’

  ‘Speak!’ Gallus barked.

  ‘I saw something, a figure, stealing into the city. Only moments ago.’

  Gallus cocked an eyebrow. ‘What of it? The gates are well guarded. Only trusted men would be allowed in and out.’

  ‘But this figure was dressed in a hooded, green cloak, sir,’ Pavo replied, his face grave.

  Gallus hesitated for a moment. The green cloak and the myth of the Viper had
haunted his dreams for weeks now. But half-sightings and rumour were but a distraction on a morning such as this. ‘Ah,’ he feigned disinterest and waved a hand dismissively, ‘I have scrutinised every man, woman and child in green in these last weeks. Don’t let it distract you.’

  ‘But, sir,’ Pavo continued, ‘It was Senator Tarquitius who let the figure in . . . ’

  Gallus’ brow furrowed at this, unable to hide his interest, but the clatter of iron and drumming of boots outside shook him back to the more pressing matter. ‘Walk with me,’ he nodded to the tent flap.

  He pushed open the tent flap and froze. Outside stood Erwin the Goth.

  The old man’s face was drawn and weary. ‘This has gone too far,’ Erwin muttered, ‘and I fear it is already too late.’

  Gallus frowned, gripping the man’s shoulders. ‘For the love of the gods, speak!’

  Erwin looked up, eyes weary. ‘I feared him so much I let my son’s murder go unpunished. Yet I was once loyal to him. I rode with him, you know.’

  ‘Him?’ Gallus’ heart thundered.

  Erwin’s gaze was distant now. ‘Ivo is the one you seek. He was the Viper’s right hand man. He bears the blue snake stigma under his arm greaves. He carries on the Viper’s legacy – I am sure of it. It is he who has brought us to the brink of war!’

  Gallus looked to Pavo who returned his wide eyed gaze. His eyes darted and a thousand voices babbled in his mind. Then he felt a plan forming in the chaos. He gripped Erwin by the shoulders. ‘Make your way to the north of the plain. You could save many lives today, old man!’

  With that, he turned back to Pavo. ‘This could be the answer, Pavo; no more grasping at rumours and chasing shades!’

  Chapter 16

  The Gothic war cries were deafening as they punched their weapons into the air, demanding that Iudex Fritigern act. Those nearest the city waited with their siege ladders, eager to push them up and against the city walls. The acrid tang of doused campfires spiced the air and offered an ominous portent to what the day ahead might hold.

  ‘Stand firm, men!’ Gallus bawled as he marshalled the cohort into a line, hemming the rear of the Gothic swell. Gallus glanced to each side, heartened somewhat to see the redoubtable grimaces on the faces of his most trusted men; Felix, Zosimus, Quadratus, Avitus, then Pavo and Sura. If things went awry, then he would be glad to fight his last alongside them.

  ‘Sir, I fear we should either be within those walls or far from them,’ Felix started. ‘The grain column is nowhere to be seen, and they’re on the brink.’ He pointed to Fritigern and Ivo at the head of the Gothic mass. Ivo, resplendent in his broad scale vest and conical helm, was remonstrating with his iudex, fists clenched, urging him to act.

  ‘No, there is another hope,’ Gallus replied, once again scanning the Gothic swell, seeking out Erwin the Goth; where are you, old man, come on!

  He shuffled in his saddle, teeth grinding in frustration. But they had to wait, it all rested on the old man now. He remembered Salvian’s words of caution; You need proof, Tribunus. It warmed Gallus to know that Salvian was already headed northwards from the plain with the Roman refugees and would be safe from what was to come. And, by Mithras, Ambassador, I’ll embrace you like a brother if the proof I present to Fritigern staves off war.

  Then, like a ray of sunshine splitting dark clouds, a lone figure wandered from the rear of the swell.

  ‘Sir?’ Felix said as Erwin the Goth stumbled towards them.

  ‘All is in hand, Felix.’ Gallus replied, ushering Erwin into the Roman line. But then he frowned, noticing that the old man was trembling and his face was pale. Then his gaze caught on little spots of something around the neck of Erwin’s robe. Blood?

  A Gothic war horn echoed across the land and it shook Gallus from his doubts. He filled his lungs. ‘Stay your fears, men. The day can still be saved.’ He flicked a finger to the aquilifer, who raised the silver eagle standard until the ruby bull banner caught the cool breeze. ‘Form a column and advance,’ he barked, ‘and not a man is to draw his sword unless I give the word.’

  Pavo squared his shoulders as they marched forward, blocking out his fears. The rear of the Gothic crowd turned to them, gaunt faces scowling in disbelief. Then a confident and predatory glare replaced that look. Just as they had done yesterday, the Goths parted like a venus flytrap sensing its prey, opening up a path to Fritigern and Ivo.

  Pavo suppressed a shiver as they marched into the midst of the enemy ranks, blanking out the restless speartips and the sea of faces that eyed them hungrily.

  ‘We could have done with Salvian at right about this point,’ Sura spoke, his voice cracking, his eyes darting around the Gothic onlookers.

  ‘He’s played his part, and I fear that this time, talking will be inadequate,’ Pavo shook his head, saddened and heartened at once. He prayed Salvian and the Roman refugees were already well on their way to safety across the Beli Lom. Then he glanced up to the city walls, seeing that Tarquitius had joined Lupicinus and the governor; the senator had made a last minute bid to join the evacuation, slipping from the gate hatch, only to stumble back in terror at the sight of the Gothic horde marching on the walls. Again, a bittersweet jumble of emotions flitted across his heart; if the Goths were to fall upon this city, then the Senator would have carried out his last traitorous act. But the truth of his father would die with the fat swine.

  Then a dry realisation settled his worries as they marched deep into the Gothic swell; if the Goths fall upon the city, then I will be in Elysium by evening.

  The column slowed to a halt before Ivo and Fritigern. The rabble of the Goths died to a silence, leaving only the whistle of the gentle wind.

  All eyes fell on Gallus.

  ‘Iudex Fritigern, I ask you and your armies to stand down,’ Gallus spoke in a flat tone.

  Fritigern glared at him, eyes burning like hot coals, a look of utter disbelief etched on his features.

  Ivo roared in laughter by his side. ‘Their words insult us, Iudex! The Romans have mocked us for the last time.’

  ‘I addressed Iudex Fritigern of the Thervingi, noble ally of Rome,’ Gallus shot a glare to the big warrior, then turned back to Fritigern.

  The iudex’s expression was one of weary resignation. ‘You give me no choice, Roman. I have given you chance after chance to prove that the empire was good to her word, that you would treat us as allies and feed and shelter us. I offered you my armies in return; my men could have bolstered the imperial borders, fought and bled for the empire.’ His eyes were red-rimmed now. ‘Instead, I must turn my swords on your city walls.’

  With that, Fritigern raised his hand.

  Gallus braced and the legionary column instinctively bunched up with a rustle of iron as mail vests ground together and hands clasped to spatha hilts.

  As Fritigern’s lips parted to bark the order, Gallus slid from his mount, hands in the air by way of supplication. ‘Iudex Fritigern, think this over just one last time, I beg of you.’

  Gallus studied Fritigern’s face, praying to Mithras that the wrinkle in his brow meant there was a chance he could be persuaded. Fritigern’s eyes were glassy now, and the situation was like a spinning folles; the fate of the empire hanging on which side the coin would fall.

  ‘He wants another chance?’ Ivo mocked. ‘More time for our people to die, for our armies to weaken,’ he leant forward on his saddle, his good eye bulging as he pointed a finger at Gallus, ‘for Roman legions to gather and attack us?’

  At this, Gallus snarled; ‘We have trodden lightly in your presence for too long, Ivo, out of respect for the iudex. Now, you leave me no choice.’

  Ivo’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Ivo is not who you think he is, Iudex,’ he continued.

  Fritigern frowned. ‘Ivo? He has been by my side for over twenty years, Tribunus, armed and ready to protect me with his life. Please, do not insult me with some weak diversion.’

  ‘Then do not take my word for it, Iudex. Hear it from one of your
own!’ Gallus spoke firmly, then turned, waving Erwin the Goth towards him. The old man ambled forward, dark lines now staining the skin under his eyes.

  Gallus clasped a hand to Erwin’s shoulder, then frowned as he noticed a trickle of blood snaking from the old man’s lips. Erwin opened his mouth, and blood poured from the stump that remained of his freshly severed tongue.

  Gallus recoiled and a gasp of disgust rang out. The old man slumped to his knees with an animal moan, sobbing.

  ‘What is this, Tribunus?’ Fritigern scowled, his nose wrinkling.

  Gallus realised at that moment that subtlety was useless. ‘It is simple, Iudex,’ he stabbed a finger at Ivo as his next words formed in his throat. ‘Ask your most trusted man to remove the greaves from his arms.’