Legionary, page 7
Verax frowned. ‘Are you well, sir?’
‘You don’t have to call me sir anymore,’ Pavo said.
‘Oh, I know…’ Verax said with a sincere half nod, then stroked his trident beard, ‘…sir.’
Pavo smiled and moved on. Many of the troopers he knew, and he replied to these ones by name. A handful were new though – with the bright, unlined and innocent faces of boys. It hurt to think of how many had come into the Claudian ranks like that, and had never reached their twentieth summer.
Betto was sitting on a pile of sacks, the legion standard planted in the ground beside him and the banner floating gently in the waves of heat from the fire. As usual, he had a scroll unfurled on his lap, and was lilting his way through the verses of The Odyssey. His audience – a score of legionaries – were listening, rapt, like students.
He came to Sura. His oldest friend was sitting, slowly whetting his spatha, even though the blade was clearly sharp enough. The two had not shared as much as a word yet. They did not need to – even after so long apart. Their souls had long ago been joined in the fires of battle; it was a friendship that had transcended the need for conversation. But there was one question that needed answering.
‘Saturninus was here seven days ago… told me you were dead.’
Sura stared into the fire, the logs crackling and snapping. ‘I thought we were done for. I truly did.’ He pointed to the distant field where they had buried the Gothic raiders. ‘Those men, they are but a speck, a grain of sand, compared to what we saw up there.’
‘The Silver Stag?’ Pavo said.
‘And his horde.’
‘So the myths we heard for years were in fact the truth.’
‘Aye, he and his forces are all too real. If we had been out in the open up there, they would have had us. But we were inside the old Dacian stronghold at Argedava when we saw them coming. They entered the fort and so we had to hide – all of us – in a bloody latrine culvert. For two hours.’
‘Three,’ Pulcher corrected him, sitting nearby with a haunted look on his big oily face.
‘Well, it worked. They didn’t know we were there. They left the fort and continued south towards the riverbanks,’ Sura went on. ‘That left us behind their lines. We tracked them. We didn’t know exactly what we were going to do. What could we do against that multitude? But then we spotted this band who broke away upriver, so we followed them.’ He nodded again towards the grave field. ‘They took one of a pair of old half-waterlogged boats and crossed the river. We hung back then crossed on the other. We tracked them south for days. I could see they were headed in this general direction, but I prayed to Mithras they would not end up here.’ He dipped his head a fraction, his blonde curls only partly disguising the look of anguish on his face. ‘Pavo, in this age when we are mocked for venerating the old gods, one must wonder… had we been a moment slower…’
‘You were not. The God of the Light was with you.’
They sat together in silence, supping their wine, each glad of the other’s presence.
Pavo chewed his bottom lip for a time, not wanting to bring up his next thought. Yet he had to. ‘When we were burying the Goths. Did you see the red marking on the leader’s neck?’
‘The stigma, aye,’ Sura replied. ‘It wasn’t the mark of the Silver Stag. It was… something else.’
‘Let’s call it what it is, old friend. ‘The red serpent. The mark of the Vesi.’
Sura sighed. ‘I tried to tell myself it was not.’
‘Do you think the rest of the Silver Stag’s horde are Vesi too?’
Sura shrugged. ‘For what it’s worth, of the masses who passed us up at the ruined fort, no others we saw had such markings. Most bore the pale stag emblem of their leader.’
Pavo nodded slowly, willing it to be that the horde was not riddled with the Vesi. He gazed through the sparks rising above the fire, and off to the north. ‘Saturninus said the emperor was moving to block any major crossing, He will have reached the river frontier by now?’
‘Aye. From what I’ve heard he took with him the very finest of the Eastern Army: the cavalry schools and the palace legions.’
Pavo arched an eyebrow. The scholae palatinae riders and the elite auxilia palatina legions were usually reserved for only the trickiest of situations.
‘And…’ Sura paused for a moment, ‘two of the six Haims armies have been called up as well.’
Pavo gave Sura a look.
Both men knew what this meant: a test of fire for the peace deal – the first time the settled Goths of the Haims have ever been mustered in anger. And it was no regular mustering: they had been summoned in order to stand against and repel fellow Goths. Their tribal kin.
‘Which two Haims?’ asked Pavo, his eyes narrowing.
‘The men of Kabyle, under Reiks Faustius…’ said Sura.
Pavo relaxed a little. Of all the settled Gothic leaders, Faustius was the most ardent supporter of the peace deal. Indeed it was he who had been Saturninus’ counterpart at the peace talks, representing the six tribes.
‘…and the warriors of Oescus, under Reiks Garamond.’
Pavo went tight lipped for a moment.
‘Aye, that’s what I thought too,’ Sura said. ‘The last time you and I were at Oescus with the legion… the things we witnessed.’
Pavo remembered it all too well: the strange goings-on there that had led to Reiks Garamond’s rise to command of that Haim, and the one word he had heard hissed during the chaotic change of power:
Vesi!
The Vesi were like a whisper, moving amongst this horde of the Silver Stag, and within the settled Haims alike, it seemed. Pavo met his friend’s eye. ‘Watch yourself up there, when you return. All it takes is one spark of sedition amongst the Haims, and this crisis could become a catastrophe.’
They gazed into the flames for a time, and Pavo’s thoughts drifted to something that Frugilo had mentioned on that day of his first visit. ‘Out in the Western Empire. They say Magnus Maximus is building his armies. Why?’
Sura stared to the hazy western horizons. ‘The Dark Eagle?’
‘Aye, the name seems to have stuck.’
Sura shrugged. ‘He is a riddle. I don’t like what I’m hearing, but I suspect… well, hope, that he’s just getting his cock out and waving it around to demonstrate how powerful he is. A show and no more. I was there that day, when he travelled to Constantinople to meet Emperor Theodosius following Gratian’s downfall. It was made abundantly clear that Maximus was to govern the Upper West and no more. The Lower West was to remain in the hands of young Valentinian.’
‘It must,’ Pavo agreed instantly. ‘And Valentinian must inherit the Western throne entire when Maximus eventually passes. Valentinian is the West’s best hope for the future. Maximus is the West’s best hope right now. They must work together.’
Sura nodded to that. ‘May Mithras see that they do.’
They clacked cups together and drank in silence.
He eyed his friend sideways, realising something wasn’t quite right: Sura had been sitting here for a good hour, and not one word of nonsense had escaped his lips – no tales about the time he had wrestled a bear, climbed an impossible mountain to steal an eagle’s egg made of pure gold, or had fended off the amorous advances of a consul’s wife.
‘They tell me you go by the moniker “The Wolf of the North” these days?’
Sura blinked, as if the words had taken him by surprise. He set down his wine cup and took out a dagger, then began tracing the sharp edge with a fingertip. ‘There is only so long that a man can walk in the wild, surrounded by danger,’ he said in a gravelly drawl with a smouldering and far-off look in his eyes, ‘before wildness and danger become him.’
Libo approached, handing them a plate of cooked sausages. ‘He chose the name himself.’
‘Thought so,’ Pavo said, taking a sausage and biting into it, the meat succulent and rich with spiced oils.
Sura sighed, tucking his dagger away. ‘I’m not suited to this,’ he muttered, smoothing the folds of his red cloak. ‘You, you were like walking steel when you wore this thing. I never realised how much you changed, you know. When we both joined the Claudia, you were a goat like me. But you toughened. You became so much like… like Gallus.’
Pavo felt a pulse of sadness in his heart. ‘It was a shell, Sura. Just as it was for Gallus. An iron shell to hide the pain within. Like the “soldier’s skin”, only harder, thicker.’
Sura smiled unconvincingly with one edge of his mouth. ‘Hmm. Humour was my shield when I was a ranker and even as an officer under you. Remember the night we painted an enormous cock and balls on Zosimus’ tent? Now, I can’t act out in the same way. Any respect the troops have for me would vanish. So I’ve tried to be stern and serious – that’s where the Wolf of the North came from. But it all feels like… like holding in an enormous fart. I crave the days where I felt free.’
Pavo picked up a twig and began to draw in the dirt before them. ‘It’s all in your mind. Developing a shell doesn’t mean you have to lose yourself in the process. There are many ways to lead. As for respect, let me tell you about the day I left the barracks for the last time. Libo spoke to me just before I stepped from the gates. He told me it was the worst day he had ever known…’
Sura frowned, perplexed.
‘… and the best,’ Pavo planted a hand on his friend’s shoulder, ‘because he had just heard that you were to be my successor. Everything feels right again, he said. I would walk through fire for that man.’
Sura’s face changed, then he turned away and stealthily rubbed at the corners of his eyes. ‘Bastard smoke,’ he muttered.
With divine timing, Betto – who had now moved on to the musings of Marcus Aurelius – extolled to his audience. ‘Waste no more time arguing about what a good man is. Be one.’
Pavo nudged Sura with an elbow and handed him the twig.
Sura glanced down to see what Pavo had drawn: a preposterously inflamed penis, just waiting for the finishing touch. Sura’s defences melted. He took the twig from Pavo and added a pair of ridiculously small testicles, complete with three curly hairs on each, then stabbed the twig into the ground like a triumphant general in the moment of victory.
With that he stood, clasping his hands behind his back and puffing out his chest before striding around the fire. ‘Fill your bellies, lads. Get another cup of wine in you, but best we get our heads down soon. We’ve got a long march – at full step – ahead of us tomorrow and for the next few days if we’re to return to the river and join the emperor there.’
‘Sir,’ they rumbled in unison.
‘Oh, and any soldier who ever utters “The Wolf of the North” again gets ten days straight latrine duty.’ He cast a playful smile across his charges. ‘It was a shit nickname.’
The cockerel crowed, saluting the dawn. Instead of the usual gentle pastoral sounds of calm, a very different chorus broke out around the farm: of groans, burping, farting and scratching as nearly three hundred men rose, stretched and packed away their tents, while making and eating a swift and light breakfast of millet porridge washed down with fresh milk.
Up on the hill stood Sura, draped in mail and his red cloak, holding his helm underarm. Pavo wandered up there to meet him, stiffer and sorer than usual thanks to his frantic dash during yesterday’s attack.
‘I envy you, Brother,’ said Sura. ‘I envy that you have found this.’
‘You will find it too – the right place, the right person.’
Sura smiled. ‘I might have the second part. Julia’s her name. She lives on the third hill in Constantinople. I noticed her watching our drills every day. One afternoon I spotted her drinking wine near the market in the Forum of the Bull, and offered to buy her another.’ His smile broadened and he nodded away to himself. ‘That’s a few months now we’ve been meeting. It’s like nothing I’ve experienced before. If we sort out this mess with the Goths, I think… I think I might ask for her hand.’
Pavo felt a gladness rising within. ‘About time, old friend,’ he laughed. ‘About time.’
‘I see what you’ve built here and it makes me realise what life could be. Sometimes I long for you to be back with us in the legion, but one look around here and I know that nothing could ever tear you away from it all. Nor should it.’
The smile faded from Pavo’s face. ‘When Saturninus was here, it wasn’t merely for a visit.’
‘Oh?’ Sura said, voice laden with suspicion.
‘He asked me – on the emperor’s behalf – to come to the conflict at the river.’
‘Asked? And you told him to travel a long distance and make frantic love to himself, I trust?’
‘I did. So did Izodora.’
‘Good. You more than anyone else know that the things seen and done in war take their toll. I miss you terribly, old friend, but I don’t ever want to see you near battle again.’
Pavo’s left eye flickered a little, and his hand trembled. He could only nod in reply.
‘Promise me, aye?’
Pavo avoided Sura’s searching stare for a few moments, and then the sounds of shushing iron rose as the legionaries donned their armour and took up their packs, coming together in their marching blocks. The sight was a sore one for Pavo – eliciting countless memories of his old life.
‘So this is it?’ he said.
‘Until the Fates bring the Claudia past here again.’
Pavo extended a hand. Sura looked at it as if it was one of Libo’s old socks, then shook his head, laughing, and clasped Pavo in a comrade’s embrace. Pavo hugged him back tightly, laughing too, his eyes wet with tears.
Four days passed. Four more days of that tranquil farm life. Pavo and Izodora brought Marcus into their bed and the trio slept as one, doting on one another, slumbering late in the mornings. On the fifth day, however, Pavo rose early – before the cockerel had even crowed. He slipped out of bed, padding across the cold stone floor and throwing on his tunic.
Barefoot, he paced outside, across the indigo light of pre-dawn, his breath puffing a little in the cool air… one matter buzzing through his head like a trapped fly. He walked for some time, and soon heard the sound of wheels crunching. A wagon appeared through the pearlescent shimmer of the rising dawn, winding its way along the track that diverged from the Via Militaris. The wagon halted. The door peeled open, and Saturninus stepped out, an apprehensive look on his face. ‘I came as soon as I received your message,’ the statesman said.
Pavo stared around the land, sighing as he realised the weight of what he was about to say. ‘I will serve him,’ he said flatly.
Saturninus looked shocked, then relieved. ‘What changed?’
‘The single swipe of a Gothic sword: one that nearly robbed me of everything.’
Saturninus turned pale. ‘What… what happened?’
Pavo took a long time before he answered. When he did, the words fell from him like stones. He told Saturninus everything: about the Gothic raiding party, about the Claudians, all of it.
‘Had Sura and my old comrades even stumbled or rested for but a moment, the Gothic sword would have swung down for my wife and lad. Yet my comrades did not rest, did not tarry. They stopped at nothing. So if I can do anything – even the smallest thing – to steer the Gothic crisis at the river away from disaster, then I must.’
‘Pavo, you have no idea how important this could be for-’
‘There are conditions,’ Pavo cut in. ‘Firstly: My wife and boy need protection while I am gone. They cannot stay behind on this farm – not after what happened here. Nor would I dream of taking them with me to the centre of a conflict.’
‘Then have them come to Constantinople,’ Saturninus replied instantly. ‘Izodora once resided on my estate on the third hill – she and Marcus can do so again. There is even an unoccupied villa in the gardens. They will be safe there, under the protection of my bodyguards and the many protective rings of the capital.’
Pavo chewed on this for a moment, then nodded. ‘Secondly: once peace and stability have been restored, then I will be free to leave the emperor’s service, yes?’
Saturninus’ worry notch darkened. ‘I… I think that can be arranged.’
‘Thirdly: I cannot fight. I am broken. When the Goths came, I could not even run to my loved ones to shield them with my body. The emperor must know my limitations.’
Saturninus eyed the thick welt of scar tissue peeking from the shoulder of Pavo’s tunic. ‘The emperor wants you for your mind, not for your muscle,’ he said. ‘Then again… going by reports coming from the river, the situation there is fractious. There have been quarrels and even skirmishes between the legions and our Gothic Haims allies. It would be best if you could at least defend yourself.’
Pavo sighed in dismay. ‘I am scrawny where once I was strong, my belly is flaccid and my lungs weak.’
Saturninus looked him up and down once more, stroking his narrow chin in thought. ‘I have an idea,’ he said, and called inside the wagon.
Out stepped Frugilo, thumbs hooked into his belt, his corpse-like face beaming with that vinegar smile. ‘Yes?’
‘Stay here. Work with Pavo over the next moon. Then accompany him north to the emperor’s side.’
‘Well, well… someone’s changed his mind,’ Frugilo chuckled, then reached out and patted Pavo’s stomach. ‘This’ll be a challenge. When was the last time you bore the weight of armour?’
‘Him?’ Pavo said, speaking past Frugilo’s shoulder, addressing Saturninus. ‘You’re dumping him on me?’
Saturninus was already stepping back into the wagon. As the driver brought the vehicle round and pulled away, Saturninus leaned from the window and called back. ‘Just be sure to eat some porridge in the mornings before he wolfs the lot.’
