Legionary: Viper of the North (Legionary 2)

by Doherty, Gordon

  He saw big Zosimus, Felix and Quadratus sitting around one campfire, the three murmuring in conversation whilst absently toasting bread in the flames. Rest had clearly evaded them too.

  ‘Can’t sleep, soldier?’ A familiar voice spoke from the shadows.

  Pavo turned to see Gallus. The tribunus was standing, looking up at the moon. His gaunt features were semi-illuminated, and one hand grappled a small, carved wooden idol of Mithras. ‘Not a wink, sir.’

  Gallus issued a dry chuckle and turned his gaze from the moon to Pavo. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever slept when danger has been this close.’

  Pavo nodded in silence, recalling the rumours from some of the legionaries. They reckoned that Gallus slept rarely – regardless of the presence of danger – plagued by nightmares that would see him waken, screaming, calling some woman’s name. He thought of his own recurring, tortured dream of his father, and the lost truth that was surely buried with Senator Tarquitius’ ashes in the ruins inside Marcianople. They each had their own troubles, he realised, but one was common to them both.

  ‘You’re still troubled by him, aren’t you? Salvian, Draga, the Viper,’ Gallus asked as if reaching the same conclusion.

  Pavo nodded. ‘Aye, troubled and ashamed. I once thought I was a sound judge of character.’

  Gallus turned to him with sadness in his eyes. ‘That creature fooled us all, Pavo. And not just the legions; it seems he has dined and dealt with the empire’s finest for years, and all of them saw only a charismatic man and a fine speaker,’ he snorted at this. ‘Traianus says some of the senators who have visited the camp in recent weeks swear blind that he was a passionate Roman.’

  ‘Then I’ll perhaps find room in my thoughts to pity them, either once this is all over, or when I’m walking in Elysium,’ Pavo muttered.

  Gallus cocked an eyebrow. ‘A year in the ranks has dried you to the core, I see.’

  ‘Aye,’ Pavo replied, thumbing his phalera medallion, thinking of the grizzled Crito, ‘another hardened veteran with a sorry tale to tell.’

  Gallus nodded to the fire, where Zosimus was now mid-flow through some tale of the time he caught his wife’s brother having a romantic evening with a goat. ‘I’ll be glad to have them in the ranks beside me, when it comes to it.’

  Pavo looked over to the veteran legionaries, grinning as the sordid detail poured forth from Zosimus’ lips. The big centurion’s eyes were bulging, his tongue poking out as he made a pelvic thrusting gesture and grappled at an imaginary goat. Quadratus roared in laughter at this while Felix winced.

  ‘They were like you and Sura when I first soldiered with them; reckless, all-too-eager, seemingly never happy unless mired in trouble.’ Gallus hesitated momentarily. ‘So I thank Mithras you pair will be on my side as well.’

  Pavo turned to him, emotion swirling in his chest. ‘And I thank him that you’ll be leading us, sir,’ he replied after a pause. Gallus cocked an eyebrow at this, but Pavo was sure that through the shadows he could make out a hint of a smile on the tribunus’ lips.

  ‘Anyway, I came here to find you.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘You may be interested to know that a refugee arrived at the camp, not long after you returned from scouting,’ Gallus continued. ‘He claims to have been released by the Goths.’ Gallus’ features hardened. ‘Senator Tarquitius has returned to us, Pavo.’

  Pavo’s stomach fell away. ‘He’s alive?’

  ‘He must have been suckling on Fortuna’s tits; it seems he can either cheat death . . . or he’s still tangled in all of this.’

  Pavo’s gaze darted across the ground before him. For all Tarquitius’ failings, the news of his survival was like a sweet cordial to Pavo. The key to the riddle of his father was not lost after all. He looked up to Gallus. ‘But he was . . . is in league with Draga and Ivo, I’m sure of it. He’s the one who delivered the forged scroll, he’s the one who let the Viper in to Marcianople.’

  Gallus nodded. ‘Of that, no doubt remains. A litany of evidence is piled up against him; remnants of the garrison of Sardica have claimed he tried to bribe them into deserting the city’s defences. And a scroll he sent to Athanaric tells of what he had planned after that. He reeks of treachery. That’s why he is in chains right now, as we speak.’

  ‘Then surely he will be executed?’ Pavo frowned.

  ‘I assure you, he will be. But not yet.’ Gallus looked to him, searching Pavo’s eyes, then glancing to the phalera. ‘I asked for a stay of execution; I believe you and he have unfinished business?’

  Pavo’s heart swelled. ‘We do.’

  Gallus nodded to him. ‘Then finish that business tonight. Whatever happens, happens.’

  Pavo nodded, the blood thundering in his veins. ‘Yes, sir!’

  Pavo crept through the cluster of contubernium tents, then crouched as he reached the centre of the camp. The tent up ahead, a stone’s throw from the principia, was guarded by two legionaries. Inside he would find Tarquitius. And the bastard deserves everything he gets, Pavo affirmed, teeth gritting, his fingers flexing on his spatha hilt.

  He took a deep breath, slipped the spatha under his tunic, then stood tall and approached the tent.

  ‘Ave,’ he greeted the two shadowy legionaries tentatively.

  The smaller of the two legionaries stepped forward. It was Optio Avitus – just as Gallus had arranged.

  ‘Ave, Pavo,’ Avitus replied, the light falling on his stony features.

  Pavo saw the weary sadness in the little optio’s eyes – a similar look to that Gallus wore only moments ago – and wondered if troubled thoughts were endemic within the camp. The difference was that Pavo was almost certain that he knew what Avitus’ troubles were. Felicia’s words rang in his mind. Find the truth for me, Pavo, I beg of you. But now was not the time to broach the subject.

  He nodded to Avitus. ‘Gallus said you’d be expecting me?’

  ‘Aye,’ Avitus replied, then nodded to the wide-eyed legionary who stood guard with him. ‘Noster, go to the north gate and wait by the watchtower.’

  ‘Sir?’ Noster replied, frowning.

  ‘That’s an order,’ Avitus replied evenly.

  As the young legionary trudged off, Pavo nodded to Avitus and then made to duck inside the tent. But the optio grappled his bicep, pulling him back.

  Pavo frowned, his heart racing, locked in a gaze with the optio.

  ‘You’re a good lad, Pavo,’ he said, his eyes moistening. ‘Be aware that what you do in there tonight will live with you forever.’

  Pavo’s gaze drifted away to the tent flap and then back to Avitus. He nodded slowly and in silence. With that, Avitus released his grip and followed Noster to the north gate.

  Pavo turned to the tent and entered. Inside it was warm, silent and bathed in shadows. A shape sat on a bench at the far end. In the gloom, Pavo saw a haggard, drawn, sagging caricature of the man who had once been his master.

  Tarquitius was lost in a muttering monologue, his eyes distant. ‘I’ve dined at the imperial palace. I’ve advised the emperor in matters military and civilian.’ He pinched his thumb and forefinger together. ‘I’ve had the empire’s fate in my grasp, like an insect. But still I was bested by him. The man is a demon!’

  Pavo stood before the senator, then pulled his spatha from his tunic. At this, the senator looked up as if awakening from a deep sleep.

  ‘Pavo?’ Tarquitius spoke softly. Then his gaze fell on the spatha and his eyes bulged. ‘Pavo!’ he squealed.

  Pavo clamped his palm over the senator’s mouth, then with his free hand he hefted the sword overhead. He fixed his gaze on the terrified eyes of Tarquitius, then brought the blade smashing down.

  All was silent, and then the cleaved chains slithered from the bench, and Tarquitius held up his hands, mouth agape. ‘You’ve freed me?’

  ‘Ironic, isn’t it?’ Pavo sneered. ‘But do not get any ideas – I will slice out your heart if you do not do exactly as I say. Now, walk with me!’

&nbs
p; Pavo bundled the emaciated figure from the tent. Then he drove him on with the tip of the spatha towards the north wall of the camp, picking a path of shadows amongst the tents. They came to a halt by a patch of darkened ground near the palisade. Pavo glanced around; they were out of sight of each of the nearest watchtowers. This would be perfect, he affirmed.

  ‘Now,’ Pavo said, steadying himself, squaring his shoulders, ‘tell me of my father.’

  Tarquitius’ eyes widened, and he shook his head regretfully, the slack skin of his jowls wobbling. ‘I will die if I do.’

  Pavo brought the spatha to rest against the senator’s neck, ready to swipe. ‘You will certainly die if you do not – by my blade here and now or by execution for your treachery in a matter of days.’

  ‘Then I am to die . . . ’ he muttered, his gaze growing distant again.

  ‘No, there is another option.’ Pavo clapped his hands three times. From the darkness, Sura appeared, stony-faced. He led a chestnut gelding by its tether over to the pair, then disappeared again, leaving the beast. As the senator’s brow wrinkled in confusion, Pavo continued. ‘The guards have been told to expect that a lone rider will be leaving the camp tonight,’ he held out the reins to Tarquitius. ‘Tell me and you live.’

  Tarquitius’ face creased in panic. ‘But Salvian . . . Draga swore that if I told you, he would kill me. He sees everything, hears everything . . . ’ The senator shot glances in every direction, eyes bulging.

  Pavo’s breaths came short and shallow at this, the words twisting like a dagger in his heart. ‘The Viper played you, just like he played me . . . just like he led the whole empire and all of the Gothic tribes into this, like gladiators being led to a death bout.’ He grappled the spatha with both hands and fixed the senator with a dark glare. ‘Now, do you want to die?’

  Tarquitius looked all around him, then to the ground. His shoulders slumped. ‘I have torn off more meat than I can chew in these last months.’ Then he looked up to Pavo. ‘Does it interest you to know that I despise myself, boy? Does it?’ His voice was cracking.

  In that instant, Pavo felt a twinge of pity for this man, then steeled himself. ‘Through all those years I spent in your slave cellar, I saw a man soured with political ambition, devoid of charity or empathy. A man who revelled in the torment of his slaves. Do not talk to me of remorse, Senator. Tell me of my father!’

  Tarquitius’ gaze grew distant, and he nodded.

  Pavo’s heart pounded.

  ‘That day, at the slave market, when I bought you. You remember the crone who accosted me?’

  Pavo nodded, eyes narrowed. He had never forgotten the white-haired old lady, wraith-like in appearance, who had given him the phalera. He clasped one hand to the piece.

  ‘She foretold that if I harmed you in any way, terrible things would happen to me,’ he shook his head, trembling. ‘But I did not harm you,’ he asserted, his jaw jutting out in defiance. ‘Yes, you lived a hard life, but never once did I raise my hand to you.’

  ‘No, you left that to your bull of a slavemaster,’ Pavo spat, jabbing the spatha point into Tarquitius’ neck. ‘Now, what of my father?’

  Tarquitius glanced to the phalera. ‘The answer is in your hands, Pavo.’ He glanced to the eastern horizon. ‘She said that the razing of Bezabde was not a mindless slaughter. Yes, the walls were toppled and blood was spilled until the streets were stained red. But she said that in the sands of the east . . . ’ the senator’s words trailed off, a frown forming on his brow as he peered past Pavo’s shoulder, over the northern palisade. Then his jaw dropped.

  ‘Senator?’ Pavo frowned.

  A hissing cut through the night air, followed by a sickening thud. At once, Pavo’s face was showered with hot blood. He staggered back, blinking, as Tarquitius’ eyes bulged, an arrow jutting from his mouth, the shaft still quivering. For a heartbeat, Tarquitius gazed at Pavo in terror. Then the senator’s eyes rolled in his head and he slumped to the ground, limbs twitching.

  ‘No!’ Pavo gasped, dropping his sword, slumping to his knees, rolling the senator onto his back. But the life was gone from him.

  Pavo leapt to standing and swept his gaze along the northern palisade. All seemed empty.

  But then, in the darkness, the shadows rippled. Pavo saw a figure, crouching like a bird of prey on the edge of the palisade. Then the figure dropped from its perch.

  Pavo rushed to the wall and leapt up. Outside, the figure had leapt onto the saddle of a Gothic mount, bow in hand. Pavo glared at the dark green cloak and hood and the shadows where the face should have been. His whole body shook as a sliver of moonlight revealed Draga’s chilling half-smile, before the Viper turned to gallop back into the night.

  Cries of alarm broke out as the sentries noticed the fleeing rider.

  A swarm of thoughts buzzed through Pavo’s mind, growing louder until he thought his skull would burst. Then one thought barged to the fore.

  Kill him!

  Pavo’s blood boiled as he leapt onto the gelding and yelled. ‘Ya!’

  The sentries on the gate relented at last and opened the gates when Pavo revealed that a senator had been slain and that the killer was outside the walls. Optio Avitus’ face had greyed as he heard Pavo announce this. But Pavo had no time for explanations. He had galloped from the fort and out into the gloom of the night, lowered in his saddle, teeth gritted. He had followed the Viper for miles as the green-cloak fled over the rise, across the wide plain, past the willows and to the first of the foothills.

  He reached the foot of the nearest hill before he realised he was wearing only a tunic and carried no weapons. Then I’ll tear out his throat with my hands, he swore, seeing the cloak disappear over the peak of the hill. He heeled his gelding, praying it could keep the pace.

  He crested the hill and then stopped. The foothills ahead were bare and devoid of movement, Draga nowhere to be seen. He slid from the saddle and slumped to his knees, thumping a fist into the earth, biting back the urge to weep as the phalera dangled from his neck like a lead weight.

  ‘You should know by now that I will always be one step ahead of you, Roman,’ a voice spoke. ‘I lurk in every shadow; I hear your every thought.’

  Pavo’s blood froze as he looked up. Draga had emerged from the darkness into the moonlight.

  Rage washed through his veins and he launched himself forward with a roar. But, with a series of thuds, the ground before him was peppered with arrows and he froze. From the darkness, a band of chosen archers emerged, their next arrows nocked to their bows, trained this time on his chest. Ivo stood with them, the moonlight glinting in the milky matter of his ruined eye.

  Draga cocked his head to one side, his expression sincere. ‘You appear to be upset by Tarquitius’ slaying? The senator had to die. It was just a matter of when.’

  ‘He was about to tell me everything!’ Pavo seethed, then his face fell as he saw Draga’s self-congratulatory grin. ‘You knew, didn’t you? You knew he would be executed if he came back to the Roman camp. You knew I would try to save him. You wanted him to die when the truth was on his lips!’

  Draga nodded. ‘You’re a sharp thinker, but you had to be taught a lesson. Just as your empire slew my father, I will slay every Roman in my path. And, just as you took your woman from my camp, I took the truth from your grasp. Learn your lesson well, legionary.’

  With that, Draga’s eyes sparkled and he lifted a hand, one finger extended. ‘Now, it is time to seize my destiny.’ With that, he dropped the finger.

  At this, the twenty archers reloaded their bows with pitch-soaked arrows, and one appeared carrying a torch, igniting the missiles. They aimed skywards and loosed, and Pavo watched the missiles streak up across the navy sky. The earth under his feet rumbled, and dancing firelight lit up the nearest hillsides to the north.

  Pavo knew what was coming over those hills; the Gothic horde was on the march and they would reach the Roman camp at dawn. Despite this, he buried his fear. He spoke steadily, fixing his gaze on Dr
aga. ‘In these past weeks I have wondered; is your heart entirely black? You taught me many things; good-hearted advice that served me well. But the biggest lesson is one I fear you have not learned yourself.’ Pavo stabbed a finger to the ground. ‘Many of your people will die tomorrow so you can have your revenge,’ Pavo spoke steadily, ‘yet you can’t see that their blood will be on your hands, can you?’

  The hills flickered to life as the first waves of the Gothic army crested them; a wall of torchlight and glinting helms, speartips, arrowtips and armour. Then the hills either side were awash with cavalry. Far more numerous than the Roman force. Draga’s face curled into a cool grin as the archers nocked their next arrows and took aim at Pavo. ‘The blood-letting was begun by your empire long, long ago, legionary. Ever since they slew my father and sunk a blade into my shoulder. Now, your kind will reap what they sowed that day, and the Viper’s destiny will be realised. The tribes are united. The conquest of the empire is about to begin!’