Legionary: Viper of the North (37 page)

Pavo peered through the gap between the tents; the figure seemed to be making for the city gates. The wall guards above the main gate gazed to the eastern horizon in hope of sighting the grain column, and were oblivious as the figure crept up to the well-bolted, iron-studded gates.

Then the figure halted at the gates and shot a glance around, the shadow where a face should have been scouring the camp for observers.

Pavo ducked behind the tent, his heart thudding until he heard the noise of knuckles gently rapping on wood. He risked a glance up; the figure waited by the small hatch near the edge of the gate, a section about half the height of a man used to allow controlled access without opening the gates in full. Pavo frowned, then his heart froze as the hatch opened, and a hand beckoned the figure inside. As the green-cloaked figure slipped into the city, the blubbery features of Senator Tarquitius poked out of the hatch, etched with guilt and fear, snatching a glance in every direction.

‘You treacherous dog!’ Pavo hissed under his breath, ‘what ruin are you concocting now?’

The hatch swung shut and he stayed behind the tent and watched, hoping for more activity, something of substance to follow up on. He suddenly felt conspicuous as the horizon changed from purple to dark orange and a few more Romans emerged from their tents. Frustrated, he pushed away from the tent and headed for his own. He glanced round once more at the walls, sure there was something more to deduce, but all was normal, sentries gazing east in silence.

Then he saw it.

For just the briefest of moments, the dark-green hood appeared behind the battlements, just above the gates. The sentries were oblivious to the figure’s presence, the twin gate towers blocking their view. Pavo watched as the figure wrapped its fingers over the crenellations, shaded features scanning the ground outside the gate. Pavo froze as the figure’s gaze swept past him, then stopped and darted back to him. At that moment, Pavo felt as if he was in the sights of a master archer.

‘Morning, sir,’ a croaky voice spoke next to him.

Pavo started, turning to the red-eyed legionary who had shuffled from a tent nearby. It was one of the younger recruits – barely sixteen by the looks of it – from the now disbanded fifty he had led to Istrita. Pavo nodded stiffly, embarrassed and proud of the salutation at the same time. ‘Morning,’ Pavo replied. ‘Glad you’re in our ranks for what lies ahead today, soldier.’

‘Likewise, sir.’ The young lad smiled and saluted, then marched off to the latrine pits.

Pavo’s smile faded and he spun back to the battlements. The space between the gate towers was empty. He squinted, sure he had seen someone up there.
Perhaps my many nights of demi-sleep have finally caught up with me
, he realised with a wry shake of the head. He walked through the Roman tent rows and turned into the one that would lead to his. He welcomed the thought of the scathing banter that would no doubt break out between the contubernia over yet another scant breakfast. It was the way the soldiers dealt with the brutal realities of their work; when you served in the limitanei, every morning could be your last, and this morning especially so. He glanced sombrely to the treeline to the east: the tip of the sun had pierced the horizon and still no sight nor sound of the grain column. And the Goths were gathering. He frowned, clutching the phalera medallion, detecting the first needles of trepidation in his gut that usually came in the hours before conflict.

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.’