Gods & Emperors (Legionary 5)

by Gordon Doherty

  ‘Mithras knows I miss him too,’ Quadratus agreed.

  ‘But at least we have his chosen man to lead us,’ Zosimus mused. ‘Dexion is a hard bastard too. Given time, he might come to be just as formidable as Gallus was.’

  ‘Quadratus fell silent, his lips twitching as if chewing on some tough morsel of meat.

  ‘Quadratus?’ Zosimus said warily, shuffling away a little in case another eruption of bubbles and a foul stench was on the way. ‘What is it?’

  Quadratus set his wine skin down at the pool side. Never a good sign. ‘I’ve held my tongue until now because I know how much trouble it might stir up.’

  ‘Eh? What’re you on about?’

  Quadratus sighed deeply. ‘Pavo is one of the few veterans left. There’s you, me, Sura and him. That’s it,’ he said, a brief look of disbelief crossing over his face. ‘All the others are gone: hundreds over the last five years, some of them men I thought could not die: Brutus, Avitus, Felix and now Gallus.’

  ‘Pavo’s a survivor,’ Zosimus agreed. ‘What of it?’

  ‘That’s why I’ve held my tongue, because I know how much it means to him, having Dexion back and leading us.’

  Zosimus’ eyes narrowed. ‘It means a lot to us all. As I said: Dexion was Gallus’ chosen man.’

  Quadratus shook his head and gave Zosimus a dark look. ‘I’m not sure he’s worthy.’

  Zosimus recoiled. ‘What? He and Gallus fought their way through Quadi-infested lands. They stood together and gave all they had to reach Gratian. Gallus gave his life. You heard what happened when the Quadi cornered him in that gully,’ he shrugged.

  Quadratus shrugged. ‘I heard a story about what happened.’

  Zosimus frowned, bemused, resting one arm on the poolside and turning to face his friend. ‘Gallus helped Dexion climb free of the gully just before the Quadi got him. It’s hardly far-fetched, is it? Where is this coming from?’

  ‘I would have bought that,’ Quadratus said, smoothing his moustache, his eyes gazing over the water’s surface as he recollected Dexion’s account of what had happened. ‘But usually I find that when someone is lying, it shows when they try to elaborate things too much – try too hard to convince you. They forget, you see – they let the web of detail trip them up.’

  Zosimus’ frown deepened. ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as when he told us he had thrown his sword down into the gully at the lead Quadi rushing for Gallus.’

  Zosimus’ bottom lip curled in thought. ‘And killed the bastard,’ he said with a satisfied grunt.

  ‘And?’ Quadratus prompted.

  ‘And… the blade shattered,’ Zosimus said, with an eyebrow arched in respect.

  Quadratus pinned him with his gaze, the inebriation shaken off now. ‘Then you tell me why our primus pilus right now carries with him the same spatha that he bore when he and Gallus left for the west.’

  Zosimus’ brow knitted in a momentary confusion. His thoughts spun. Dexion, the finely-armoured primus pilus with the white horsehair plume, the baked black leather cuirass and the well-forged blade. The blade with… ‘the green-gemmed hilt,’ he whispered.

  The sibilant words crept around the bathhouse chambers. Zosimus thought of Dexion’s garb since his return. Everything was still there. The armour, the plumed helm… and the unmistakable spatha with the hilt decoration.

  ‘He could have had a new blade fitted to the hilt?’ Zosimus muttered weakly, knowing the argument was flawed.

  ‘He could never have recovered the hilt, from back down in a gully packed with Quadi,’ Quadratus averred.

  Zosimus shook his head. ‘Why lie about that? He could have left that part out and nobody would have questioned him.’

  ‘Because he’s got something to hide,’ Quadratus said flatly.

  Zosimus’ eyes widened. ‘You don’t think he… ran and left Gallus?’

  Quadratus sighed. ‘I don’t know. But something happened on that journey he doesn’t want us to find out about.’

  Zosimus thumbed the neck of his wine skin, now utterly disinterested in the drink. ‘So what do we do? We can’t let this fester. If he’s going to lead this legion against the Goths, then I need to know he’s fit to do so – fit to take over from Gallus. We need to talk with him,’ Zosimus said, rising from the water.

  ‘No,’ Quadratus said, rising too. ‘I’ll talk to him. You should go home and spend tonight with Lupia and little Rufina. After all, it might be the last… ’ his words trailed off, the rest of the sentence implied.

  Zosimus considered protesting, then realised his big friend was right. The pair stepped from the pool, picked up their towels and dried themselves. ‘Talk to him. Find out what happened. But please, don’t lose your temper,’ he said, thinking of Quadratus’ legendary fits of rage in times past.

  ‘I’ll sort this out. Now go home,’ Quadratus grinned wryly, slipping on his tunic and boots, lifting Rufina’s wooden pony toy in one hand then clasping his colossal forearm to Zosimus’ equally trunk-like wrist. ‘Kiss Lupia for me,’ he added, then tossed up and caught the toy pony, ‘and tell Rufina this little fellow is being treated like an emperor’s stallion.’

  ‘Tomorrow, Brother.’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  The pair shared a lasting grin then parted.

  Pavo and Sura sat by the hearth of a small ground-floor home in the insulae of Adrianople’s western wards. The room was smoke-blackened and the furnishings were basic: just a table in one corner next to the door with some clothes piled on top of it, along with the two chairs they sat on by the fire, and a hay-bed on the opposite wall upon which an old man, Sura’s grandfather, slept. Pavo took a pull of his wine skin – now well-watered – and shook his head.

  ‘All that time I was prattling on about my father, about Dexion…’ he said. ‘You should have told me what it was like here.’

  Sura looked up, his eyes bloodshot from the wine, and held his hands out, ‘I told you plenty about my exploits here.’

  ‘I mean real stuff,’ Pavo smiled.

  Sura sucked on his wine skin then wagged a finger. ‘Look, Romulus – prick that he is – only mentioned the more exaggerated stuff. Most of my stories are true. Straight as Apollo’s arrow.’ He winked and cut a flattened palm through the air as if to illustrate.

  Pavo arched one eyebrow. ‘Well one thing’s certainly true: Romulus is a prick.’

  Sura snorted and grinned. ‘A massive, hairy prick with a ribbon on.’ He sighed and leaned back on his chair. ‘I envy you, you know. You have a brother worthy of the description. Dexion’s a good man. If anyone was to lead the Claudia after Gallus – Mithras watch over him in the afterlife – it had to be him.’

  Pavo gazed into the low flames of the fire, thumbing at the mouth of the wine skin. ‘Quadratus isn’t sure about him. The big man didn’t say as much but I can tell when he’s not right.’

  Sura waved a dismissive hand. ‘Quadratus’ll come round: he once refused to speak to me for a week after I accidentally dropped his cup into the latrine pit. On the eighth day, we got hideously drunk and it was forgotten. At least, I hope it was… I did notice an odd smell from my cup after that,’ he said with a frown. ‘Ach, give me an angry Quadratus over a preening Romulus any day. Family, eh?’

  ‘Remember you have this one,’ Pavo eyed the old man in the bed. He had barely stirred since they had come here, waking only enough to moan a little. Sura had rushed to his side to wipe his brow with a dampened rag.

  Sura nodded, looking at the old fellow fondly. ‘He’s a good man. Was a good man. Brought Romulus and me up after my parents were killed.’ He tapped a finger to his temple and wore a sad smile. ‘But his mind has left him.’

  As if woken by the talk, the old man’s head jerked up, eyes wide and bright. ‘Eh?’ he croaked. ‘What’s that?’ Then he noticed Sura and smiled warmly. ‘Sura, you’re back!’ the old man said, sitting up with some difficulty. ‘And not a scar on you,’ he added looking Sura over. ‘A hero,’ he proffered
with a glint in his eye – almost a perfect inversion of Romulus’ bullying words.

  Pavo wondered if Sura had exaggerated the old fellow’s troubles, until the man looked at him. ‘Romulus, you’re looking well too. If a bit… different,’ he said, cocking his head to one side. Gradually, a fog seemed to descend over his eyes and he looked this way and that. ‘Tell me, when does my son get home with your mother? I have some wondrous news to tell them.’

  Pavo saw Sura’s shoulders slump. ‘They… they will be home soon. Perhaps you should sleep and I will wake you when they arrive?’ he suggested.

  But the old man didn’t seem to hear. Instead, he drew his arms in as if suddenly cold. He began quivering and glancing at the blankets gathered around his waist. ‘The rats!’ he cried, kicking out with his legs. ‘They’re biting me. Get them out, get them out!’ he howled in distress, brushing at the invisible rodents. Without hesitation, Sura stood up, stepped past Pavo to face the bed and helped brush the imaginary creatures away until his grandfather’s cries stopped. The old man sighed and clasped Sura’s shoulder. ‘Thank you, boy. You remind me of my grandson, Sura, you know. He’s a hero in the legions.’

  Sura clasped his hand over his grandfather’s and nodded, then laid the old man down, tucking his blankets back in to keep him warm and kissing his head. In moments, the old fellow was asleep again.

  ‘Romulus doesn’t like to waste coins on looking after him,’ Sura said, his voice thick with emotion, back still turned to Pavo. ‘That’s why I send my legionary purse home every year: keeps up the rent on this place and pays for a carer in the long stretches that I’m away.’ He sat back down, skilfully swiping a teardrop from his eye.

  ‘He has you,’ Pavo said gently, holding up his wine skin, ‘and you have him… and your comrades. Always.’

  ‘To the Claudia,’ Sura said quietly, lifting his wineskin.

  ‘To the Claudia,’ Pavo repeated in little more than a whisper, bumping his skin against Sura’s then both men taking a long pull on the wine.

  ‘Apologies, sir,’ Quadratus said, stepping into the darkened tent. Dexion sat cross-legged by an oil lamp, bare-footed, dressed in a light tunic and cleaning his sword with a rag and a little olive oil.

  That bloody sword, Quadratus thought.

  ‘Centurion?’ Dexion said, looking up with a friendly smile. ‘The camp is under curfew, is it not?’ he said, looking beyond the tent flap to the pitch black night outside.

  Quadratus nodded. ‘It’s silent out there. Every man is getting a full night’s sleep before tomorrow. I wouldn’t have disturbed you but I felt that there was something I had to clear up, before the army marches out at dawn.’

  ‘Oh?’ Dexion said, gesturing for Quadratus to sit on a small wooden stool, then reaching over to the low table to pour a cup of watered wine for each of them.

  Quadratus declined the offer of a drink with a wave of his hand. ‘I’ll be quick.’

  Dexion laid his sword down and leaned forward, ears keen.

  Quadratus suddenly felt foolish for his suspicions now he was face to face with Pavo’s brother. Pavo was as good-hearted and true as any man he had served with, and this one was of the same blood. He considered for a moment apologising, saying there had been some mistake then leaving, but a murky image of Gallus in the shadow of his memories kept him resolute. He turned the small wooden pony toy over in his hands, trying to think of the right words.

  ‘When you were on the western road, with Tribunus Gallus,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ Dexion nodded.

  Quadratus noticed how he clasped his hands as he said this. ‘When Gallus fell… ’

  Dexion’s eyes narrowed just a fraction.

  ‘I… we who served with him for a long time feel somewhat cheated that he did not fall while alongside us in the ranks. That we did not get to stand around his pyre. It is like grieving for a loved one yet,’ he shook his head and held his hands out to either side, ‘yet not really believing they are dead.’ He realised his own profound words perfectly explained the way he had been feeling since the news of Gallus’ death. The realisation instantly soothed him. He set the wooden pony down on the table and took the watered wine after all, sipping it then sighing.

  ‘I understand,’ Dexion said. ‘In my time with the I Italica, I considered the men I led as friends. Some of them like cousins. A select few like brothers.’

  Quadratus had never spoken to Dexion like this since the man had been seconded into the Claudia, and it was the first time he had felt a true affinity.

  ‘When the Italica ranks were crippled at Ad Salices, I grieved for those who had fallen in the fray. But afterwards, when the remainder of them were whisked away all over Thracia in emergency vexillationes to garrison towns and cities, it was an odd thing. I was left as an officer without a legion. The men who had been transferred from my control were gone, as good as dead to me. It was an odd, hollow grief I experienced then.’

  ‘Aye, that’s exactly how it feels. Not being there with Gallus at the end, it makes me feel like something isn’t right, like there must be some sort of mistake.’ He inadvertently flicked a finger towards the gem-hilted blade as he said this.

  Dexion folded his arms now.

  Quadratus sighed. There was no going back, he had said too much already. ‘Sir, when you told us how he died, you said you did all you could.’

  ‘I did,’ Dexion sighed.

  ‘Said you tossed your blade down into the gully, into the chest of a Quadi where it shattered.’ Quadratus pointed at the sword again. ‘Only, it seems to be in pretty good shape to me.’

  Dexion stared at Quadratus. An excruciating silence ensued. The air around Quadratus felt alive and crackling, like those moments before the thunderstorm in the night raid by the River Hebrus.

  Finally, Dexion’s head fell to his chest. He nodded weakly. ‘My veil has fallen.’

  Quadratus frowned, all his senses honed. ‘Tell me what really happened,’ he said flatly.

  Dexion looked up, a sad and distant expression on his face. ‘Gallus helped me climb from the gully – let me clamber up over his shoulders. Then the Quadi fell upon him.’ He paused as if not wanting to go on. ‘I stood and watched, dumbstruck, frozen, as they cut him down. When he fell, I ran. I ran like a frightened deer through woods and bogs. I only stopped when exhaustion bettered me. I thought I might sleep for a week, yet I did not get one moment of slumber. All I could think about was my inaction at the top of the gully. There were rocks all around me that I might have hove down at the onrushing Quadi, but I did nothing. My sword remained in its scabbard when I could have thrown it as I claimed I had. I might have gained Gallus a heartbeat in order to scramble out of the gully too.’ He held up his hands than slapped them, palms-down onto his crossed knees. ‘So there you have it, Centurion. I failed to act when there was a sliver of hope to save Gallus.’ He shook his head bitterly. ‘Who am I trying to deceive – there was no hope of saving him. But it would have been right to try. Instead, I froze.’

  Quadratus rubbed at his temples, the weight of his dark thoughts for the last day or so lifting. ‘I’ve been there, sir. We’ve all been there,’ he said, recalling times in his early years in the ranks when battle had been raging all around him, whetted steel whizzing past him, yet his legs were rooted in the soil, his mind detached, lost in terror. It happened less and less as he gained experience, but there were still those dire moments when fear surged to the fore.

  ‘I spoke with Gallus on the western road,’ Dexion continued. ‘I spoke with him a lot. I know how much you men meant to him and I did not want to sully his memory with my tale of weakness and fear. So I told you things as I wanted them to have happened.’

  Quadratus swirled his watered wine. ‘Courage comes in many forms, sir. It takes a brave man to admit he feels fear.’

  Dexion lifted his gem-hilted blade and turned it over in the lamplight, inspecting it for cleanliness. ‘Go back to your tent, Centurion. Sleep and sleep well. You and the
ranks can be certain of one thing: tomorrow, this blade will shatter, or I will fall with it in my hand. For Gallus.’

  ‘For Gallus,’ Quadratus said then stood and saluted. ‘Until tomorrow, sir.’

  He slipped from the tent and walked through the mild night, past the neat rows of XI Claudia tents. The concerto of snoring almost shook the ground under him. And they moan about my farting? he mused. He reached his tent at the head of the Third Cohort area and made to enter. Something then made him think of Zosimus, in the city with his wife and girl. He was both insanely jealous and deeply happy for his big friend. Suddenly, he realised he was missing something.

  ‘The pony!’ he hissed, patting his purse and holding out his empty hands. ‘Ach!’ he moaned, striding back towards Dexion’s tent. As he approached, he tried to think of some quip that would ease this second interruption to the primus pilus’ attempts to retire for the night. Put your cock away before it turns grey! he considered then dismissed the line. But when he looked ahead, he noticed a shadowy figure entering Dexion’s tent. ‘I’ll have to join the queue. Poor bastard’ll never get any sleep at this rate,’ Quadratus chuckled to himself.

  As he approached the tent and lifted the tent flap, he heard a muffled conversation already going on in there. Dexion stopped mid-sentence. He and the young, freckle-faced explorator with the silver tooth turned to gawp at Quadratus at the tent flap. Quadratus held up a hand in apology. ‘Excuse the interruption, sir, I forgot this,’ he said, reaching over to pick up the wooden pony from the low table. Zosimus’ daughter entrusted it to me, you see,’ he smiled at both of them. ‘Woe betide any man who makes that little girl angry.’

  The pair smiled tightly and he turned to leave. But something halted him in his tracks. Had his eyes been playing tricks on him? Was his mind overly weary after the long day of drinking and eating? He swung back round and gazed at the young explorator’s hand. In it was clasped a red foxskin cap.