Legionary: Viper of the North (54 page)

He grappled her arms and shook her. ‘Felicia!’ He barked.

At once, her eyes widened in shock at his tone, as if she had been snapped from a trance.

Pavo pinned her with his gaze. ‘You saw the might of the Gothic army, didn’t you? When they come to war with us,’
when Draga decides the time is right,
the doubting voice rasped in his mind, ‘then everyone,
everyone
in this camp will be at the mercy of their swords. Come the new moon,’ he swept a hand around the Roman camp, ‘every soul within these walls could be carrion.’

She nodded. ‘For some, that would be deserved.’

Pavo sighed. ‘Then let the coming battle decide who lives and who dies, please! Do this for me?’

She closed her eyes and gulped back a sob. Time seemed to stand still. Then she nodded.

Pavo felt sweet relief flood through his veins. ‘You’re doing the right thing,’ he affirmed. ‘Now, for Mithras’ sake, I’m begging you to leave here tonight, for Constantinople. All that lies south of this camp is still firm imperial territory – you will not meet trouble from any Goth.’ He pressed his purse into her hand. ‘There is enough coin here to buy you a room; go to Vibius, the landlord of the tenements near the Saturninus Gate. He is a decent man . . . well, better than most.’

She breathed deeply, composing herself, blinking as she wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘So in the end I am to leave it all behind, let the Goths take vengeance on my behalf?’ She said wryly, taking the purse. Then, at last, she nodded. ‘Aye, perhaps Father and Curtius would have wanted this.’

‘I know they would, Felicia. I didn’t know Curtius, but your father used to give me this look like a serrated blade,’ he stopped and shook his head, cocking an eyebrow. ‘You meant everything to him.’ He then grasped the tether of a medium bay stallion and led the beast from its stable. ‘Now ride; ride and don’t stop.’

She looked into his eyes. ‘Find the truth for me, Pavo, I beg of you.’

He nodded.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and he cupped his hands around her waist, and they pressed their lips together. Despite her bedraggled state, her scent was still sweet as honey to Pavo, and her tousled amber locks felt like silk, whispering on his bare arms. At last, they pulled apart. ‘Now ride,’ he insisted, helping her onto the saddle. ‘When this is all over, I’ll come for you.’

She looked back at him wistfully. He bit back the hard lump in his throat.

Then, her face broke into a partial grin that pushed through her sadness. For the first time in so long, she looked every inch like the mischievous, carefree girl he had fallen for. ‘You’d bloody better,’ she winked, gulping back a sob, ‘or there’ll be trouble.’

With that, she heeled the mount into a canter, off through the Roman camp, towards the South gate.

Pavo watched her amber locks dance in her wake, and realised her grin had been infectious.

Then, as the sound of the stallion’s hooves faded, he heard barking officers and a smashing of iron; based on he and Sura’s sighting of the Gothic camp and their readiness for battle, extra combat training and formation drills were taking place in torchlight all across the camp. The grin faded from his face.

Every soul within these walls was readying to face the Viper’s wrath.

It was the dead of night and Pavo’s mind would not rest. He shuffled from his cot to drink from his water skin, then headed for the tent flap. He stopped for a moment to glance back into the tent, casting a jealous eye over the snoring soldiers – Sura being the worst offender in Quadratus’ absence – then he slipped outside into the night. It would not be long until dawn, he realised, gazing at the waxing moon. The air was fresh and the cricket song was in full flow. He breathed deeply and slowly, in through his nostrils, holding the breath in his lungs for a count of four and then exhaling through his lips, hoping the exercise would calm the circus of angst in his mind. And it did, momentarily, until he remembered that it was Draga who had taught him the technique. He shook the thought away with a low growl.

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.