Legionary (21 page)

It was like an arrow to his heart. He ducked past the first of the foederati, snatched at a barstool and sprang across the bar. His downward momentum brought him square on top of the barman’s assailant and he swung the barstool straight down, crunching into the Goth’s neck. His guttural roar filled the room.

The hubris drained from Pavo and the cold hand of fear then took a grip of his heart as the Goth looked up slowly, his face contorted in rage. The foederati began to encircle him like a noose as Felicia’s father crawled round behind the bar and slipped out of the shutters. All focus was on Pavo and Pavo alone. One by one, they drew their swords, the iron screeches prompting a series of gasps from the stunned onlookers. Suddenly, a fist hammered into the face of one foederatus whose teeth sprayed across the bar.

‘Draw a sword in my drinking hole?’ Zosimus roared. Then Quadratus leapt on the back of the next-nearest foederatus. In a heartbeat, the inn erupted in a sea of fists, blood and roaring.

Pavo staggered back, mouthing silent disbelief. Then he felt a hand wrench at his tunic collar.

‘What the…’ he yelped.

‘Just returning the favour,’ Felicia yelled as she dragged him, stumbling through to the back room. Three foederati poured over the bar to pincer Pavo, crashing over each other in their haste. Felicia kicked at the oak plank underneath the pile of ale casks, sending them tumbling into disarray. The foederati disappeared from view with a chorus of roars behind the cask avalanche. Pavo winced and then glanced over to the back of the room to see Sura, fighting to get through to him. Wide eyed, his friend seemed to be mouthing the words, ‘What the…?’

Pavo offered him a shoulder-shrug and a look of incredulity before a sharp jab to the ribs brought him spinning round.

‘Want to stay and watch do you? Let’s get out of here!’ Felicia hissed.

‘What about your father?’ Pavo yelped.

‘He’s got some bloody big friends, see?’ She nodded to the window and the posse of torch wielding giants marching towards the inn, her father at their head, patting a club on his palm, his eyes sparkling with intent. ‘Now move or that lot will chop your balls off!’

Wide eyed and mute, Pavo simply followed her in a hurried crawl out of the back window. As he turned to close the shutters, a booming voice rang out from the inn. He caught just a glimpse of the eyepatch-wearing figure; Horsa.

‘Order!’ The Gothic commander roared. A brief moment of silence followed, and then all Hades broke loose once more; smashing clay, cracking timber, screams, punching, moaning.

Pavo closed the shutters gingerly, flashing a grimace to Felicia as if to say ‘Woops!’ Felicia narrowed her eyes, shook her head, issued a stinging slap across his cheek, then grabbed his hand and led him into the dark night.

The thickness of sleep dissolved, bringing the freshness of the early summer morning descending onto Pavo’s naked body. That and the crushing pain of a headache. He cranked open an eyelid to see the ruined timber ceiling of a barn, stark daylight punching down through the gaping holes and into his eyes. The only source of heat came from his side. He glanced down to behold the delicate and naked figure of Felicia, curled around him. His headache evaporated and a grin the size of the Danubius shot across his face. He mouthed a silent thank you to Venus.

A gaggle of thoughts vied for attention in Pavo’s foggy mind.
The Boar and Hollybush
, the ale, the Goths, the moment he thought he was about to be ripped limb from limb. Then the darkness of the night, running hand in hand with Felicia as she poured a torrent of abuse on him; language like he’d never heard, even from Zosimus. And then stumbling into the seclusion of the barn, where their lips met at last. Then after what seemed like an eternity of kissing, she slapped him again. Then they had undressed each other, and her warm, smooth skin glided against his as they came together in a tender and passionate embrace. He cupped her full, wide hips as she bounced, her breasts brushing against his chest as she moaned with every thrust, their lips locked together through it all, until the moment when she cried out and he buried his head in her neck.

‘Morning,’ he stroked the small of her back as she stirred, stretching her legs out and rolling her head with a contented sigh.

She shielded her eyes and afforded him a shy smile. ‘Bugger me, it’s cold!’ she chattered, blowing away the illusion of feminine grace.

Pavo grinned, reaching for the pile of clothes and brought his tunic up and over them and they lay nose to nose, feeding on each other’s warmth. But what to say to her? He remembered Optio Felix talking about her brother. Good honest chat about her family. What could possibly go wrong?

‘Your brother…he used to fight in the Claudia, I hear?’ He started, then choked on what to follow those words with as Felicia’s eyes narrowed.

‘He did,’ she shrugged, pulling back from him just a little, her eyes wandering to the far corner of the barn. ‘Got himself killed though.’ Now she turned away from his gaze.

Pavo wished he could swallow the words. ‘I’m sorry; I just thought you might want to talk about him…’

‘Well I don’t,’ she bit back sharply, sitting up to pull her hair back into a tail, her hands working her locks vigorously. ‘Who told you about him?’

Pavo could feel the frostiness in her voice. No wonder Felix had warned him off the subject. ‘Just some of the lads. Well, the veterans really, the ones that have been there a few years, they must have served with him.’

‘It’s not
him
,’ Felicia sighed, ‘he’s got a name. Curtius.’

‘Was he much older than you?’

‘Two years. That’s all. Only served for six months or so before he died.’

‘You must miss him terribly?’

She turned back to him, her eyes were red-rimmed and her face sad. ‘Look, now’s not the best time.’

‘I’m sorry. I won’t mention him again…’

‘No!’ She barked. ‘I mean, not just now, but maybe later. I would be interested in hearing any of the old stories the legionaries have of him, really I would.’ Her eyes were keen, hungry, all of a sudden. ‘Anything you hear, you pass it on to me. Just between you and me though?’

‘Sure?’ Pavo replied, recoiling ever so slightly at her manic expression. He searched for another topic. ‘I hope your father’s okay,’ he offered, ‘and the inn. That’s got to be some mess this morning.’

‘Hmm?’ she groaned, lying back and stretching. The tension seemed to have drained from her again. ‘Probably is. That’s what happens when a brawl breaks out. You really should just have left it with the Goths, you know. They always behave like that and my father can handle himself. Serves them pints of his piss after a few hours of drinking and they don’t even notice.’ She sat up, her nipples pointed in the cool air. ‘Anyway, I think he’ll be more worried about where his daughter is. Would you like to come and meet him over breakfast?’

‘Er…’ Pavo stammered, sitting up, ‘Yes. I should take you home.’

She burst into a throaty howl of laughter, shoving him by the shoulder. ‘You’re such an easy target, Pavo. You want to get a thicker skin!’ She pulled the tunic to cover her shoulders. ‘Anyway, you won’t get a chance to meet him, you’re shipping out today, are you not?’ she said, and then hatched a devious smile. ‘You men are all the same, you get what you want and then you sail halfway around the world!’

Pavo’s heart hammered. Dread poured across his skin.

‘What’s wrong?’ Felicia’s face wrinkled.

‘Daylight,’ he croaked, eyes bulging at the blue sky.

‘Very perceptive,’ she stretched, lying back.

‘The legion!’ He cried. ‘We were supposed to be shipping out at dawn this morning.’

It was well past dawn, but by how long? They both scrambled out of the hay, pulling on clothes. Pavo darted from the barn. From what he could see, he was in the middle of one of the farming estates outside of Durostorum — a tell-tale trail of broken corn snaked through the field from their flight last night. Nearby, a group of horses grazed and the sun was still only new in the sky. As he hopped and tumbled time and again, trying to squeeze on his boots, the words of Gallus barked in his head.
Should there be a next time I will have no say in it, you will be executed
.

He hobbled to the nearest horse, a sturdy looking fawn creature. It eyed him with an equine distaste, then turned back to munch on the hay. His only previous and brief riding experience was as Tarquitius’ stablehand at the city games, and all he could recall about that was the terror that sparked through his mind when the racehorse had set off at a gentle canter. He swallowed his fear, hoisted himself onto the mount’s back, and squeezed his heels into her flanks. At last she jolted into life with a whinny.

‘Felicia,’ he yelled, trotting around to her.

She ran from the barn, tugging on her robe.

‘Inciting a riot, now horse theft!’ She spluttered.

Pavo shrugged, reached down and grasped Felicia’s forearm, then in one deft flick, hoisted her into the saddle behind him. She squealed in surprise like a little girl and then coughed to disguise it.

‘Watch it!’ She growled, jabbing him in the ribs.

Pavo kicked the beast into a gallop, leaning forward in the saddle to focus on the sun-silhouetted outline of Durostorum. They burst clear of the cornfield and onto a rubble strewn dirt path leading to the town. The air grew as cold as iron as they sped faster and faster and the pit of his stomach shrivelled; one false move and they would both be dashed on the path. But Felicia gripped his waist, she trusted him. Then the town walls rolled into view.

‘Pavo? What in Hades are you doing, the fort is that way?’ She screamed above the rushing air, flapping a finger over to the distant glimmer of stonework on the plain.

‘Just hold on,’ he roared. They pelted on before slowing as the gates of Durostorum loomed above them. Pavo took a deep breath; hopefully, this might redeem his less than graceful naked scramble only moments ago. ‘I wouldn’t be the man you hoped I was if I left you stranded in the countryside, would I?’ He purred, holding a calm expression while his mind screamed
run for the fort, run!

‘Very romantic,’ she chided, ‘but do one other thing for me, eh? Get your arse into the fort.’

Pavo nodded vigorously, his face dropping into panic.

‘And come and see me…if you don’t get executed.’ With that, she set off at a run for
The Boar
.

The horse decided to add a little more drama to the occasion by rearing up on its hind legs. He turned to the fort and kicked the mount into a furious gallop.

The sun crept over the countryside, breathing the full light of morning over the hills and fields. Dawn was long gone. Pavo neared the fort, barely hearing the buccina blare such was the ferocity of the wind whipping at his ears. It meant the worst possible scenario for him. The legion would be forming up for the march. Forming up with one ominous space in the first century.

Just then, the main gates rolled into view, and began to swing open. ‘Whoa!’ he cried, reining in the horse.
I’m not running, stinking of ale, headfirst into Nerva and Gallus at the front of the legion
, he panicked. He pulled the horse right, towards the side gate. He slowed and slid from its back as it reached a canter, stumbling away from it and skidding onto his knees. Then he threw himself shoulder-first at the side gate. His shoulder smashed against its thick timbers and with a yelp, he slid to the ground as the gate remained stubbornly fixed.

‘Bugger, bugger, bugger,’ he panted. The shadow of execution cast itself across his mind again. No more Felicia, no more legion. Hades, even the turd-shovelling seemed like paradise now.

A clunking noise came from the side gate, freezing Pavo’s breath in his lungs. His blood iced as the gate slowly creaked open. The unforgiving glare of Zosimus poked from the gap. He looked Pavo up and down, with a sneer of disgust and amusement.

‘You’re bloody lucky we were held up,’ he mused, picking breakfast from his teeth. ‘You’d better be getting your shit together, son,’ he suggested.

Gallus stood with Nerva in the murky dawn light, surveying the arsenal of armoured infantry formed up in front of him. Eighteen hundred limitanei legionaries — the three full cohorts of the legion — standing in polished order in white, purple-trimmed tunics and mail shirts. The tips of their intercisa helmets and spears fanned along the muster yard like the teeth of a predator, and the wall of ruby and gold oval shields, freshly painted for the mission, coated their front like the scales of a dragon. It had been years since the legion had been mobilised as one unit, and to see them together stirred pride in the heart. Together with five hundred auxiliary troops — wearing little or no armour and bearing irregular weapons such as axes, long swords and composite bows, two hundred Cretan archers and the near two thousand foederati cavalry led by Horsa, the Bosporus invasion force stood at a number of nearly four and a half thousand fighting men. A healthy number for what was supposedly an impoverished border legion. Under the surface though, the tell-tale signs of imperfection and inexperience seeped through, especially from the recruit-heavy first and second cohorts; oversized armour on the slender frames of the raw whelps, most of whom had no battle experience. Added to that, the third cohort had been filled out with vexillationes from neighbouring legions to bring her up to her full complement, and Gallus feared for how cohesive these cobbled ranks might be.

‘Feels good, eh?’ Nerva spoke. ‘We’re entering the field, like a proper army.’

Gallus knew what the tribunus wanted to hear, so he buried his doubts. ‘It’s been a long time, sir. It feels like we have been peeking over the fort walls for a lifetime.’

‘The cohorts are strong, just look at them. And the emperor has delivered with those archers, Gallus; those boys could hit a vole in the arse at a quarter of a mile.’