Legionary: Viper of the North (25 page)

‘You are to be bound in a sack of asps and drowned in the Danubius.’

Quadratus’ jaw fell open and he uttered a bemused gasp. The punishment had fallen into folklore such was the rarity of its use, similar to stoning and being beaten to death by colleagues.

Lupicinus nodded to his two men. They both strode forward and grappled Quadratus by an arm each.

‘Get your hands off me, you whoresons!’ He roared, thrashing his elbows, the left crunching against one man’s jaw, sending him spiralling back into the wall. Then, with a sledgehammer of an uppercut, the big Gaul sent the other man flying against the iron bars. Then he turned on Lupicinus, but the comes stood poised, his sword drawn. Quadratus clasped his hand to his missing scabbard, then uttered a curse and balled his fists, stomping forward.

‘Guards!’ Lupicinus roared down the jail corridor, backing off.

At once, a party of five more of Lupicinus’ men came thundering down the corridor bearing spears. They surrounded the big Gaul and pinned him in the circle of their spearpoints.

Quadratus’ face grew a shade of plum, and he readied to lash out, despite the odds. Then a cry echoed down the corridor.

‘No, Quadratus!’ Avitus called as he ran to the scene. ‘Don’t fight them, I know you’re innocent. We can sort this out.’ The little Roman turned to Lupicinus. ‘I’ve told you, there’s no way he did this, sir. Centurion Quadratus lives, breathes and sleeps for this legion.’

‘The money was found concealed by his bunk,’ Lupicinus countered, ‘we discussed all of this last night. Although you two were in a disgraceful state – it’s little wonder you remember none of it.’

Avitus frowned and looked away from the tribunus. ‘I know the money was found by his bunk, but that doesn’t mean he put it there, surely? Let me defend him.’

Lupicinus turned to him with a sneer. ‘Defend him?’

‘At the trial?’ Avitus cocked an eyebrow.

Lupicinus barely disguised a grin. ‘There will be no trial. The execution is to take place today. Immediately.’

One of Lupicinus’ men unfurled a large hemp sack. ‘The snake keeper is here, sir,’ he purred.

‘No trial? You can’t do that. The tribunus would not allow it,’ Avitus stammered.

Lupicinus’ men barged him out of the way, three of them tethering Quadratus’ hands. ‘You forget, your precious Tribunus Gallus is not here. I am in charge and I insist that the thief dies before the sun has risen. His drowning will teach the rest of the ranks to think twice should they be tempted to line their purses.’

With a suddenly leaden heart, Quadratus glanced back at his optio and good friend. He knew it would probably be the last time he would see him. Wearing just a tunic and boots, he was marched through the fort and out onto the snow-coated plain. The stark chill searched his bare limbs as he was guided towards the banks of the Danubius. There he felt the eyes of the formed-up and scant garrison upon him; the two sagittarii, the smattering of auxiliaries, the turma of equites, the turma of foederati and the pocket of Claudia legionaries alongside Lupicinus’ century and a half of comitatenses. Did they pity him, despise him or fear him? It didn’t matter, he realised, nothing would matter in moments. He looked up at the sky, blue in between the gathering clusters of fresh snow clouds. He could hear only the rush of the waters as he searched for the words of the prayer to Mithras. Then he wondered if a prayer to the Christian God would be prudent.

Then a hiss of a snake tore him from his thoughts and, for the first time in years, he felt fear twist through his veins. The snake handler held in his arms an asp that writhed in agitation, and beside him was a timber crate, the gaps between the slats revealing several more of the creatures. His heart thudded and then, like the passing eye of a storm, the fear dissolved and he felt only sympathy for the beasts, for they were to die needlessly as well.

Then, as Lupicinus read out the charges again, he noticed something else, behind the snake handler. A black-cloaked and hooded figure stood, hands clasped. Then the hands moved to lower the hood. It was Felicia the barmaid, but her usual beauty was wrinkled in a cold, spiteful grimace. Quadratus frowned. Then he noticed something else: Avitus had joined the ranks. The little Roman winked at him, then patted the bow slung across his shoulder and nodded.

Quadratus frowned, then realised what his friend had in mind. But all around them, Lupicinus’ legionaries stood guard – too many of them. He tried to fire a frosty glare to Avitus. But before he could, a knee barged him forward, to the lip of the bank where the earth had sheared away and a six foot drop into the Danubius awaited.

He eyed the swirling torrents, shivering at the sight of the occasional chunks of ice that clashed together on the surface. With a chorus of angered spitting and clouded breath, the snakes were dumped in the sack. Then he heard footsteps march up behind him. He closed his eyes.

Then he heard the stretching of a bowstring.

Quadratus spun on the spot. ‘No, don’t do it!’ He called to Avitus.

But Avitus, standing with the bow slackening in his grip, stared back not at him but across to the north bank of the river. Lupicinus and the watching ranks did likewise, mouths agape. The snakes sprang from the sack and clamped their fangs into the snake handler’s throat and shoulders, but not one person moved to help him or even looked in his direction.

Quadratus blinked, then turned to the north bank. There, emerging from the tree line, were armoured Gothic cavalry and spearmen. First a few. Then hundreds.

Then thousands.

At their head, surrounded by sapphire-blue hawk banners, Iudex Fritigern was saddled on a black stallion and in full battle armour.

A Gothic horn moaned, and the cavalry flooded onto the pontoon bridge.

Chapter 11

The gale had eased and now the snow fell silently over the upper Danubius. Pavo waited in line as each of the weary column hopped from the northern bank, across a gangplank and onto the Roman trade cog that Gallus had abruptly commandeered from the riverside. The portly ship’s captain had suffered an apparent loss of hearing when the tribunus had first hailed him, but a few well aimed plumbatae had remedied that.

The already heavily burdened cog sunk lower in the water as each of the legionaries hopped onto the ship. Gallus stood on the deck, waving each of them aboard. ‘That’s it, lads! As soon as we’re off the banks we can eat, slake our thirst and set sail for home.’

Pavo stalked across the plank and thudded onto the deck; treading on wood felt good after nearly seven days of relentless marching through knee-deep snow with only fleeting breaks to rest. They had hunted and foraged along the way, sheltering in caves when the storm grew too fierce to continue.

He trudged past the captain, whose face grew darker the further his vessel sunk into the water. Then he sidled over to Sura, who had already pulled his hardtack and mutton ration from his pack and was chewing on it like a starved wolf.

‘Hunger is a spice for any meal, eh?’ Pavo sighed as he took off his helmet then set down his shield and pack to sit by his friend, letting the tension ease from his body. Still munching, Sura offered Pavo a piece of hardtack in lieu of a reply. He took it, snapped the piece in two and crunched into one half, then washed it down with a generous swig of soured wine. All around him, the legionaries groaned as they loosened their boots and burdens likewise.

The gangplank was withdrawn and the cog set off downriver. Pavo sighed as he took another swig of wine. The liquid was tart on his tongue and instantly warmed his blood. He watched as Gallus strode around the deck, offering words of encouragement to his men. It had been a seamless and natural transition of command; the survivors of his fifty merging with Gallus’ vexillatio. Even Crito and the rest of Lupicinus’ men behaved like model soldiers under Gallus’ gaze. The mere presence of the tribunus had driven them on, even when they were at their weakest. And, at last, Pavo was back in the ranks. It was what he had craved since Lupicinus had forced command upon him, but now that it had been taken away he felt a stinging shame on his skin. He did not resent Gallus in any way; instead, he loathed himself.

Crito ambled past, groaning, rubbing a hand across the small of his back. Pavo braced for either a sneer or some barbed comment, but instead, the veteran simply gave him a nod. Pavo wondered if he had won some modicum of respect from the grizzled veteran, or if Crito now no longer saw him as some kind of threat or affront now that he was a mere grunt again. His mood darkened.

‘You’ll get your chance again, lad,’ a familiar voice spoke beside him.

He looked up to see Salvian. The ambassador was still lithe and looked comparatively fresh for a non-military man who had just been subjected to such a march. If anything, he looked in better shape than many of the legionaries.

‘My chance? I’m not sure I want it,’ Pavo spoke in a hushed tone, expecting Salvian to chuckle at this and hoping Sura by his other side would not hear him.

But the ambassador shook his head, his sharp features sincere. ‘You were magnificent back at the pass. Your tribunus has commented on this more than once since then. It’s not a matter of whether you will be given a leader’s role, Pavo, but when. I meant what I said before, you know; your father would have been proud of you,’ Salvian continued unabated.

Pavo nodded firmly, hoping the moisture welling in his eyes at the sentiment wasn’t visible. He realised he was looking at Senator Tarquitius, stood alone at the prow of the ship. The senator still cut a haunted figure and had barely uttered a word since the skirmish at the pass.

Salvian followed his gaze and then smiled. ‘Ah, yes, the senator’s demands of you. Have you made your decision – will you humour him?’

Pavo frowned. He had barely had time to think over Tarquitius’ demands for garrison information.

Salvian sighed. ‘I’m sorry, your mind is troubled enough. Think only of where we are headed, the fort, your woman . . . ’ he finished with a half-grin. With that, Salvian strolled over to a cluster of legionaries, accepted the offer of a wineskin, then immediately had them roaring in laughter with some quip.

Pavo looked to Salvian, and then to Tarquitius again at the opposite end of the boat.
To betray my legion and learn the truth?
His mind filled with a collage of all the times he had been a whisker from death at the end of a barbarian blade. Father had fallen to such a blade. He thought over Salvian’s words in the forest just a handful of nights previous.
If you choose well, you are blessed; if you choose poorly, you will be stronger for it
.
Perhaps it is time to serve yourself?
He nodded; maybe it was time to sacrifice a sliver of honour.

He lifted his soured wineskin once more and took a generous swig. Then he strode over to Tarquitius, rested his hands on the prow and looked downriver to the same distant point the senator’s gaze was fixed on.

‘I will do as you ask. But on one condition; you must promise me that no lives will be lost from whatever . . .
initiative
you have planned.’

The senator remained silent, staring downriver. Pavo frowned. ‘Senator?’ He said, his voice low.

Then Tarquitius turned to him, face ghostly-white, eyes bulging and distant, sweat snaking across his forehead despite the cold. The Senator’s lips trembled as he spoke. ‘I have no need of the Sardica information now.’

Pavo’s blood boiled at this. ‘What?’ He hissed. ‘Is this some kind of game to you? You dangle some truth in front of me and then tear it away! You will tell me what you know of my father!’ Pavo snarled.