Legionary (20 page)

The fresh air prickled their skins. Tonight the town promised every wonderment of debauched entertainment. Ale, wine, food, music, dancing and plenty of well-wishing local ladies were all the legionaries had talked of for the last two days. The pay had been issued that morning, and despite having less than half that of the legionaries, Pavo jingled his purse in pride; an honest wage earned entirely by him. He thought of Tarquitius for a moment, then let the anger drift away;
can’t harm me now
, Pavo affirmed. And Spurius was gone too — he and Sura had been on the crest of a wave since the news. For once life was beginning to feel more than just tolerable. He shook his head — it was all temporary, for the lost Kingdom of Bosporus waited on them tomorrow, and rumours were rife that it was a treacherous land.

‘Mithras! I can taste the ale from here,’ Sura purred as a chorus of cheering spilled down the road to them from the town gates. The train of legionaries ambling up the road seemed to grow more animated and rowdy as they approached. ‘You buying one for Brutus?’

‘Eh?’ Pavo was jolted from his thoughts at the mention of the dead centurion.

‘
Optio Felix was going on about it; you buy ale, leave it on the bar and say a prayer to Mithras — you know, to wish the person well.’

A half smile touched Pavo’s lips. For all Brutus’ bluster and delight in causing physical pain for the recruits, his loss had been felt keenly throughout the ranks. ‘Aye, I think I owe him that at least.’

‘Well, it’ll be a busy one tonight; I just hope they’ve got the barrels stocked up to the ceiling!’ Sura clapped his hands together and chuckled, his eyes sparkling at the activity in the town. ‘Mind you, got to stay this side of bladdered.’

‘Aye, shipping us out at dawn seems a bit cruel.’ Pavo wondered how he would play it tonight. His mind was still plagued with memories of the skirmish, but his whole body felt taught, tired and in need of some relaxation. Maybe the presence of officers or lack of them would be the deciding factor on how much he would drink tonight. ‘Bet that was Gallus’ idea — to limit all enjoyment as far as possible. D’you reckon he will be there tonight?’

‘Gallus?’ Sura replied. ‘Doubt it. He’d rather obsess over maps and plans than crack a smile with his troops. You needn’t worry about him — d’you see big Zosimus and the like worrying about him?’

Pavo nodded. The cold wall Gallus had built between himself and the recruits made it hard to defend the man. Yet the centurion had a strong rapport with his veteran legionaries, Pavo mused, thinking of the way Gallus talked with Zosimus, Felix and the rest as if they were brothers.

‘The veterans seem to have earned some kind of trust from him, but he makes me feel like I have no chance of getting that close to him. For Mithras’ sake, I nearly died fighting by his side.’

‘Seriously, forget it for one night at least. Anyway,’ Sura continued, ‘if you’re looking for Gallus that’ll leave me with a free run at your barmaid. Felicia, wasn’t it?’

Pavo punched his friend on the arm. ‘Watch it!’

‘Look, you’re better off not embarrassing yourself over her — she’ll only be interested in the good-looking ones,’ he chirped, jabbing a thumb into his chest.

‘I don’t know why they let a gem like you leave Adrianople,’ Pavo sighed.

The thick stone walls of Durostorum towered above them as they approached the town, with guards on the watchtowers looking enviously down on the revellers pouring through the gate. Pavo sighed. ‘It’s hard to believe that I’m actually, very slightly, going to miss this place you know. That stinking hovel that they call the barracks has really grown on me.’

‘Well, you’ll soon be loving life in the lovely aroma of a legion tent. From what I’ve heard, mobilised legion life is about as grim as it gets when you’re posted to some frozen wasteland where it’s cold, wet and you’re just waiting around to be gutted by some bearded, axe-wielding maniac. It’ll be worse for you, though,’ Sura grinned mischievously, ‘now you’re in Gallus’ century, you’ll be expected to set the example; drinking each other’s piss; that kind of thing.’

Pavo cast a wry grin at his friend. ‘Actually, I hear the first century gets dancing girls and roast dormice as standard. It’s your lot who get the turd-shovelling jobs.’

Sura gasped in mock indignation, when, from out of nowhere, a pack of the mounted foederati thundered up behind them. The pair leapt clear of their path.

Sputtering dust from his lips, Pavo scrambled to his feet. ‘What the…’ he spat, and glared up the road at the plume of dust in the riders’ wake. ‘What’s their hurry?’

Sura frowned. ‘Don’t know, but there’s being in a hurry and there’s being damned rude.’

Pavo helped Sura to his feet. ‘I’m not so sure Gallus is happy with that lot being welded onto the Claudia, you know.’

Sura shrugged his shoulders. ‘He might be an important bugger, Gallus, but he gets his orders from above, just like us.’

Another group of foederati trotted gently past the pair, paying due courtesy to the other users of the road this time. Pavo noted the distinctive eyepatch and blonde bunch of hair swinging behind the leader of the party, Captain Horsa, who led the pack. He had heard others talk of him — a real showman, but a man of honour too.

The gates of Durostorum lay wide open with a token auxiliary, standing atop the gatehouse, jealously eyeing the troops. As they strolled inside, Pavo marvelled at the soup of colours, the cacophony of voices and the questionable mix of odours packing the air. Ladies called to the legionaries, thrusting their cleavage out, traders waved silks and spices to their soon to be departed source of income. The town had thrived on legionary purses for years. Thousands of men with much time to spare and many folles to squander in between fending off Gothic raids had seen the lazy riverside town blossom into a bustling centre of activity in the years since the XI Claudia had been settled on its outskirts.

Ignoring the myriad of leathers, trinkets and charms thrust in front of them, they ploughed through the crowd. Pavo smiled dizzily back at the array of ladies, until a clip round the back of the head from Sura pulled him out of his trance.

‘Oi, eyes front,’ he beamed.

The Boar and Hollybush
stood before them. The streets around it were heaving with drunken revellers. Legionaries swayed on table tops in an alcoholic hubris, cackling women hanging on their shoulders. The gruff laughter of the Goths and a sprinkling of jagged Germanian punctuated the Latin and Greek rabble and all were bathed in the orange glow of lamplight pouring from the windows and doors of the inn. The sun was setting and the going away party for the legion was already well underway.

Stumbling free of a particularly desperate trader, Pavo then scythed through the thick waft of perfume, ale and roasting meat to slap a hand on Sura’s shoulder.

‘I believe it’s time to sample that ice-cold ale we talked about?’

In perfect timing, another hand came crashing down ungraciously on the shoulders of Pavo and Sura, accompanied by the reek of stale ale. They turned to see the far-beyond inebriated figure of Avitus.

‘Showed up then…nice to drink,’ he muttered whilst gazing lazily through them.

‘Ah, Avitus, I see you got here nice and early then?’ Pavo asked.

Avitus lifted his lolling head slightly, before erupting in a grumble of laughter, sharply punctuated with a hiccup.

‘That’ll be a yes,’ Sura answered on his behalf. ‘Gimme a hand, we’d better get him on his back or he’ll never be ready at dawn.’

They helped Avitus to a soft spot of unsoiled hay and let him down. His head instantly dropped and he set off on a bout of violent snoring.

‘Don’t know about you, but I fancy catching up with him,’ Pavo shouted above yet another chorus of raucous laughter. Heading inside with Sura in tow, he gasped at the sweltering heat; the cramped space inside was packed to the rafters with sweating bodies. Fighting his way to the bar, he dodged one swaying pack of legionaries after another. Then, like a ray of sunshine, Pavo saw her behind the bar;
Felicia!

He made a dive between two legionaries acting as a crutch for one another. He popped up again at a preciously empty fraction of the bar. Even better, Felicia stood directly across from him, frantically drying cups. Her cheeks glowed scarlet and sweat dripped from her brow as the demand for drinks and food continued relentlessly. But to Pavo, she looked simply radiant.

Pavo thumped his elbows onto the bar, pulling a mischievous grin.

‘What does a soldier have to do to get some service around here?’ She would melt at those words, he chuckled to himself.

‘Wait your turn!’ she barked, her face crimson and pinched in fury. Her eyes burned holes in him for an instant, and then she softened a little, annoyed with herself. ‘I’m sorry,’ she offered as Pavo looked at his boots, ‘I thought you were another one of…them,’ she nodded briskly at the thrashing swell of foederati as another pewter cup crashed onto the flagstones.

‘I’ll have a couple of ales please,’ Pavo mumbled. ‘No hurry though. And get one for yourself, you must be parched,’ he offered, pushing two folles across the bar towards her. She smiled at last and a grin curled over Pavo’s features once more. They held the look until another crash of pewter on the floor was greeted with a gruff cheer. Felicia’s face fell.

A rhythmic chanting and thumping of fists started up from the row of foederati craned over the bar. They rapaciously eyed the ale barrels and leered at Felicia. ‘More Ale!’ They roared.

She cast a nervous glance at them as she thumped two cups of ale in front of Pavo. As he pulled the cups closer, he realised that as soon as he turned away, she would be gone again. And this was it, his last night.

‘You didn’t get one for yourself,’ he offered. She moved away, distracted. ‘When d’you get to finish?’ He asked, leaning over the bar, nervous tension rippling round his body.

‘My father owns this place,’ she replied over her shoulder, ‘so I’m in for a long shift tonight — and every other night!’

‘I think you’re beautiful,’ he blurted, at once frozen to the spot with embarrassment.

She spun round with a wicked grin on her face. ‘Yes, I am, eh?’ Then she leaned a little closer, looking up at him so her sparkling blue eyes danced across his face, circling his rounded eyes and beaky nose. ‘And you, you remind me of…a little bird…’

Pavo reddened as she turned back to the barrels again — was she toying with him? His emotions hopping in confusion, he tried again. ‘My name is Pavo. I’m part of the first century of the Claudia!’ He shouted as she moved away.

She laughed out loud, ‘I’m
sure
you are.’ Then, she turned and stepped back to him, leaned over the bar and placed a hand on Pavo’s arm. ‘I think you’re nice, a little bit different from the other soldiers who come in here. So don’t go making me change my mind by saying things like that.’ She winked at him and withdrew back over to the rabble of foederati.

Confused and elated at once, Pavo took up the two cups of cool ale and backed out of the crowded bar, spilling drops down backs and over heads, as he snaked through the terrain of writhing drunken bodies. He spotted Sura.

Standing near the door, his friend was poised, peacock-like and deep in conversation with a young blonde lady who shrieked at his every word. Pavo weaved up to the pair, lifting one of the cups behind the woman. At the sight of the cold ale, Sura’s eyes lit up, he made his apologies and stepped forward to take it from Pavo. Turning back, he found an empty space where his ladyfriend had stood.

‘What the…’ he uttered. Then her shrieking laughter almost burst their eardrums as the bulk of Zosimus carried her, slung over his shoulder, out of the pub. ‘Oh for…’ he growled under his breath.

‘Take it easy,’ Pavo chuckled, ‘there are no shortage of well-wishers to try your luck on.’

Sura hid his crimson features behind his ale cup, supping greedily. ‘Don’t know what you’re laughing about, I don’t see
you
getting anywhere?’ He mumbled.

‘Well, I tried being loud and brash, but she said she didn’t want me to be like that…I think.’

‘Well, there’s always the next time…’ Sura started and then trailed off, his eyes darting through the door back down to the distant hulk of the legionary fort. ‘…well, maybe not.’

‘Aye, who knows when we’ll be back here.’

Sura took a gulp of ale, and nodded. ‘Or
if
.’

Pavo cocked an eyebrow, looked back to the bar and then his ale.
Shipping out at dawn
, the words made him hesitate. Then he glanced over at Felicia and took another generous swig of ale.

The lamplight outside
The Boar
glowed blurry and warm for Pavo, and the summer night had grown even warmer as each cup of ale went down. Resting against the wall where Avitus now lay slumped in thorough unconsciousness, he chuckled as he watched Sura, sitting with his arms around two girls, in what was probably a subconsciously protective manoeuvre after losing out to Zosimus earlier in the evening. He emptied his cup; his confidence bolstered, he eyed the door of the inn. It was now or never.

Laughter and singing washed around him as he pushed into the oven-like interior. But it seemed less intimidating for some reason, perhaps because his head seemed to swim with the ale. He scanned the room for Felicia, eager to lock eyes with her again, when like a clap of thunder, a table was flipped over onto the floor by the bar. A clay plate shattered, cups were spilled, and ale foamed across the grime underfoot. The rabble instantly died and all eyes turned to the foederati.

The tallest of them was seething. He let rip with a jagged verbal tirade at the short, lean barman, who was desperately trying to pacify the ox of a man, pleading with his hands. The giant Goth snarled, springing across the bar, his elbow smashing into the barman’s face, the pair crashing into the casks behind him. Felicia rushed over to the injured barman, yelling. Her father, Pavo realised. Then the Goth rolled over on top of the man and started slamming fists into him over and over. Felicia leapt back with a scream.