Legionary (24 page)

Gallus grimaced. ‘Damn the senate, Felix, damn them!’

‘
They
ordered us to set to sea yesterday?’ Felix roared.

‘All wrapped up in that deal between the dux, that fat cretin Tarquitius, the emperor and the Goths.’

Felix spluttered in incredulity. ‘What in Hades does the senate know about navigating the Pontus Euxinus. Bloody idiots!’ He raised his fists to the pitch-black sky as the next wave crashed down on them.

Gallus coughed. ‘Whatever happens, just make sure we don’t lose sight of the main body of the fleet!’

Valens waved away his candidati as they rushed to his side. They looked on anxiously as their emperor strode to the palace stables in non-ceremonial full battle gear.

‘No, wait a few moments, then follow behind me,’ he barked. He mounted his prize stallion, his functional if rather unbeautiful armour clanking as he did so. As he made to ride out of the palace grounds, he stopped in thought, before turning again to the candidati. ‘Muster a fifty and bring them to the senate building, but give me a head start.’

Spurring his horse into a trot, the candidati hastily opened the front gates of the palace to reveal the Augusteum — the ornate square punctuating the heart of the city. A continuous roar rippled overhead from the nearby Hippodrome where the spring games had begun. The crowds swarming at the square-side markets outside parted. As he cantered through them, his people either stared up at him in awe or pumped a fist in the air, crying a salute. Valens had no business with the people of Rome today. Today the senate would be the focus of his attentions. By dusk they would know that one man alone ruled the empire.

He looked up as they approached the senate basilica on the eastern side of the Augusteum; one senator was lazily sipping wine by the marbled doorway, laughing as he watched two beggars fighting over scraps of bread. When the rabble of the citizens following Valens reached him, he glanced up. His eyes grew saucer-like as they locked with those of Valens and he hurled his half-empty cup to the floor and bolted off back into the senate chambers. Two urban guards shuffled quickly to their posts by the door, their chins and chests thrust out.

Valens chuckled, slowing as he approached the doorway. ‘At ease, men,’ he spoke gently, eyeing the cracks in the marbled arch of the doorway as he dismounted. Much to be repaired, he mused. His footsteps echoed in the cool entrance hall as he walked under the languid gaze of busts of emperors past. Then he set his eyes on the chapped and scarred timber door ahead — the senate hall. Valens stopped short of pushing the door open in his stride; he could hear the echoing babble of approval and disapproval. In a moment, they would be louder than a pack of carrion birds.

He shoved both huge doors and they boomed as they crashed open into the hall. Valens marched to the centre of the senate floor.

The hall still echoed with the current speaker’s half-finished sentence. Valens scanned the rest of the room; he saw a sea of stunned faces, open mouths and bulging eyes.

The interrupted speaker felt the weight of obligation to speak first; ‘Emperor,’ he uttered. ‘What brings your honourable presence to our floor today?’

Valens gazed into the stunned audience stonily. ‘Today, my senate, I bring you an announcement which is overdue, and entirely necessary. For the good of the empire itself, I will afford no debate on the matter.’ Valens allowed the ripple of murmuring to break before continuing. ‘As of this moment, The Senate of Constantinople is suspended.’

Like a pack of vultures seeing their scraps disappear, the senators rose to their feet. The outraged roars rattled through the hall. The senator whom he had interrupted mid-speech dropped his veil of obedience and launched into a similar tirade, stepping backwards to merge himself into the advancing crowd of angry senators.

Valens stood motionless and completely alone in the centre of the floor, allowing his gaze to wander to the opening at the top of the hall where a disc of crisp blue sky peeked in. Far more emperors had been slain in hot and cold blood in the name of the senate than had died at the hands of the barbarians over the centuries. Nevertheless, Valens held his nerve until he heard the reassuring clatter of the candidati pouring into the room behind him. He breathed a disguised sigh of relief as the fifty filed in to form a circle around him. Then it all happened in a blur; one zealous senator lurched forward, unarmed, and three spears perforated his torso. Blood showered the rabble of toga-clad men and a tortured scream filled the hall. Valens closed his eyes. Why did it always come down to blood, he despaired. He waited for the chamber to fall back into silence.

‘This measure will be in place until the empire has re-established firm control over its borders. This building is to be abandoned by sunset today. Any member of the senate who is found in political practice within the city,’ he hesitated, this was where the hard line would be drawn, ‘will be executed.’

The silence was intensified by the sea of gawping faces. With that, Valens turned on the spot and walked out as he had entered the chamber, head held high, and eyes set firmly forwards. The candidati poured out in reverse formation, the last two pulling the chamber doors shut. The members of the disbanded senate looked to one another for a voice, all the while the body on the floor cooled in its own blood. Moments passed like this before they erupted in a fit of anxious squabbling again. All except one.

Senator Tarquitius remained still amongst the mayhem, his eyes fixed on the blood-stained floor. Until now, the emperor had always had an air of malaise in his dealings with the senate. A soft touch, even. This, together with Tarquitius’ senatorial status had been a fine foothold in the power ladder. In one motion, that had been torn from him, like a sandstorm stripping an oasis. His eyes narrowed as a bitter taste swirled in his mouth. His services were now on offer to the highest bidder. Sod the emperor, to Hades with the bishop; nothing would stop him from regaining power.

A rich orange dawn yawned over the still sea. Scattered across the placid surface, a shattered hulk of timber bobbed gently, punctuating the pepper of debris all around it. The
Aquila
bore at best a half of its original mast, and the hull bore small vertical fissures that drank in the seawater greedily regardless of their size. All across the deck, bodies lay sprawled, deep in an exhausted sleep or blue in the face, chattering and vomiting. A few bedraggled legionaries wandered around the deck waking their colleagues; dawn was upon them and sleep would have to wait.

Pavo rocked, holding his knees to his chest, shivering at the unshakeable cold that still dogged him. His frozen body had stopped him from falling asleep, and his brain raced over and over the chaotic events of the night before. They had fought like lions to pull down the sails and hold the rigging in place in order to ride out the worst of the storm, but the sheer muscle of the winds had broken the back of the fleet despite their efforts. On the horizon, Pavo made out the outline of one of the other ships. How much of the fleet had survived was unclear. Of the forty triremes that had been sailing in perfect formation the previous day, only that single one had been left in sight of the flagship by the end of the storm.

Gallus emerged from below deck, hauling a sack of wheat bread loaves with the help of the beneficiarius. The centurion’s arms were scrawled with fresh cuts and encrusted in dry blood, and his eyes rimmed with the kohl of exhaustion. Then an aroma of broth drifted over the deck — broad bean and nettle he reckoned — not exactly the cuisine of emperors, but damn, Pavo thought, it did smell like it.

‘Okay ladies, we’ve pulled together some eats. Line up, get your bread from me then back of the deck for some soup. We’ve got some serious repairs to do if we don’t want to end up in the drink, so you need all the energy you can get — no excuses!’ He directed his last statement to the group of vomiting legionaries.

Despite the centurion’s tone, the soldiers merely looked around, contemplating the order, eyes shot with utter exhaustion. Pavo, all too aware of the precarious angle of the waterline on the hull, leapt up, disguising his burning joints and the nausea in his gut. He grabbed a loaf, nodding firmly to Gallus, before trotting over to the soup cauldron. The legionary ‘manning’ the soup bore an exhausted stare into the horizon and barely blinked as Pavo grabbed the ladle from him and muscled into his position. Clanging the ladle against the rim, he shot a glance around the deck.

‘Soup’s up!’ he boomed. The metallic twang lifted the heads of the weary legionaries. As they began to converge on the welcome source of warm food, Pavo nodded sternly at Gallus. The centurion, emotionless as ever, gave him shrewd eyes and a faint nod in return.

Wiping his bread on the side of his iron food bowl, Pavo savoured the hot, peppery thickness as he dropped the last morsel into his mouth. He sighed, dropping his bowl and arms to his side to rest back against the side of the ship, then closed his eyes.

‘What a lucky draw this was, eh?’ Sura, murmured beside him. ‘Torn to pieces overnight, then double stints on the oars.’

The oars.
Damn it
, he blinked his eyes open — the beneficiarius was readying to make a call, probably for the shift changeover. It only felt like a moment since he was last blistering his hands on them below deck. ‘Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Why do we get the assignment from Hades when our friend Spurius and his monkey Festus get a plum role in the I Dacia? Comitatenses, my arse. I hear their legion is tasked with patrolling the Danubius — probably busy stopping in at every brothel and inn along the way.’ He sighed.

Sura chuckled wryly. ‘We’re jinxed, friend. And the best is yet to come!’ He swept a hand out towards the horizon.

Pavo groaned and closed his eyes, sighing. The broth had settled in his belly and he felt its warmth wrap around his body. Sleep began to curl through his mind and his head lolled to one side.

‘Form for roll call,’ the beneficiarius boomed. Pavo jolted upright, his precious instant of rest blown away and his head spinning. He stumbled to his feet with Sura and they joined the occupants of the
Aquila
shuffling to the centre of the deck. Then he noticed the dark look of Centurion Gallus up front. The crew looked far lighter than their full complement as they formed up. Even when everyone had gathered, heads still turned, expecting more, far more.

Tribunus Nerva hobbled over to stand next to Gallus. Captain Horsa flanked him on the other side, with Felix joining him. Quadratus, Zosimus, and Avitus stood on the front line. The officers had made it through okay, as had the veterans of the first century. But how many recruits had been washed away to an icy grave?

One by one, the beneficiarius read out each name on his roster, to which, the legionary in question would shout out in reply. Near the prow of the ship, a
capsarius
stood, holding bandages and salve, ready to reply for any of those too injured to form up. As the list went on, the first name went unanswered. Then another. Each one like a dagger in the guts. Too soon, Pavo lost count.

The crew of the
Vesta
had been fed almost enough to stop the men’s stomachs roaring, and were now busy erecting a temporary mast. The large timber splinters and split deck boards would at least allow the sail to catch some of the gentle breeze blowing above the languid waters. That their hull was intact was something to thank angry Poseidon for.

Centurion Renatus, chief centurion of the third cohort, smeared in sweat and grime, wiped his forehead and gasped for air as he stood up. Backbreaking work was the order until they made contact with the rest of the fleet. Grasping a length of rigging, he hoisted himself onto the rim of the ship to survey the goings-on amongst the men of the fourth century of his cohort who were crewing this vessel.

All armour and arms had been shed, bundled below deck so they could work lighter and faster, in the effort to make the ship mobile again. They were sitting targets out here anyway, he thought, and had to find the fleet at all costs. First, a fire signal, then a flag from the distant
Aquila
had set his men to work. Safety in numbers beckoned and it had buoyed his men into action.

‘Come on lads; let’s show those pussies in the first centurya bit of true Roman efficiency!’ He roared. For the first time that morning, they roared back — the wind was in their sails once more, at least figuratively. Renatus mouthed a silent prayer of thanks as he leapt down onto the deck to aid the rigging work.

In lieu of a crow’s nest, Porcus the legionary stood atop a precariously balanced tower of barrels and crates, he turned round from Renatus’ rally, straining his neck and shielding his eyes from the glaring mid-morning sunshine. Still there was nothing on the horizon apart from the fleet’s flagship — where were the other thirty-eight vessels, he wondered? Gingerly rotating on the shoddy platform, he scanned the blurred line where the shimmering sea met the brilliantly blue sky. As he turned, a piercing alien shriek sounded from what seemed like inside his head. The unimpressed, pointed features of a large gull stared at him calmly on his shoulder. Flailing his arms to shoo the creature, he felt the inevitable crumbling of his ill-advised viewing platform. The winged menace took off in flight, just as the legionary’s legs whipped forwards and upwards. Instinctively, he made to let out a yell. But he caught the shout in his throat when he glimpsed the horizon on his way down.

Scrambling to his feet amidst tired laughter from his fellow legionaries, he scrambled back on top of the tallest freestanding crate, straining his eyes to the distance once more, his nails digging into the timber. His pupils narrowed, until they focused on two distinct dark shapes on the waves.

‘Ships to starboard!’ He roared in excitement. The legionaries dropped their tools and rushed to the edge of the ship, barging through each other to get a view of the mini fleet. A chorus of cheering rose from them, and Centurion Renatus laughed.