Legionary: Viper of the North (38 page)

‘But, sir,’ Pavo continued, ‘It was Senator Tarquitius who let the figure in . . . ’

Gallus’ brow furrowed at this, unable to hide his interest, but the clatter of iron and drumming of boots outside shook him back to the more pressing matter. ‘Walk with me,’ he nodded to the tent flap.

He pushed open the tent flap and froze. Outside stood Erwin the Goth.

The old man’s face was drawn and weary. ‘This has gone too far,’ Erwin muttered, ‘and I fear it is already too late.’

Gallus frowned, gripping the man’s shoulders. ‘For the love of the gods, speak!’

Erwin looked up, eyes weary. ‘I feared him so much I let my son’s murder go unpunished. Yet I was once loyal to him. I rode with him, you know.’

‘Him?’ Gallus’ heart thundered.

Erwin’s gaze was distant now. ‘Ivo is the one you seek. He was the Viper’s right hand man. He bears the blue snake stigma under his arm greaves. He carries on the Viper’s legacy – I am sure of it. It is he who has brought us to the brink of war!’

Gallus looked to Pavo who returned his wide eyed gaze. His eyes darted and a thousand voices babbled in his mind. Then he felt a plan forming in the chaos. He gripped Erwin by the shoulders. ‘Make your way to the north of the plain. You could save many lives today, old man!’

With that, he turned back to Pavo. ‘This could be the answer, Pavo; no more grasping at rumours and chasing shades!’

Chapter 16

The Gothic war cries were deafening as they punched their weapons into the air, demanding that Iudex Fritigern act. Those nearest the city waited with their siege ladders, eager to push them up and against the city walls. The acrid tang of doused campfires spiced the air and offered an ominous portent to what the day ahead might hold.

‘Stand firm, men!’ Gallus bawled as he marshalled the cohort into a line, hemming the rear of the Gothic swell. Gallus glanced to each side, heartened somewhat to see the redoubtable grimaces on the faces of his most trusted men; Felix, Zosimus, Quadratus, Avitus, then Pavo and Sura. If things went awry, then he would be glad to fight his last alongside them.

‘Sir, I fear we should either be within those walls or far from them,’ Felix started. ‘The grain column is nowhere to be seen, and they’re on the brink.’ He pointed to Fritigern and Ivo at the head of the Gothic mass. Ivo, resplendent in his broad scale vest and conical helm, was remonstrating with his iudex, fists clenched, urging him to act.

‘No, there is another hope,’ Gallus replied, once again scanning the Gothic swell, seeking out Erwin the Goth;
where are you, old man, come on!

He shuffled in his saddle, teeth grinding in frustration. But they had to wait, it all rested on the old man now. He remembered Salvian’s words of caution;
You need proof, Tribunus
. It warmed Gallus to know that Salvian was already headed northwards from the plain with the Roman refugees and would be safe from what was to come.
And, by Mithras, Ambassador, I’ll embrace you like a brother if the proof I present to Fritigern staves off war.

Then, like a ray of sunshine splitting dark clouds, a lone figure wandered from the rear of the swell.

‘Sir?’ Felix said as Erwin the Goth stumbled towards them.

‘All is in hand, Felix.’ Gallus replied, ushering Erwin into the Roman line. But then he frowned, noticing that the old man was trembling and his face was pale. Then his gaze caught on little spots of
something
around the neck of Erwin’s robe.
Blood?

A Gothic war horn echoed across the land and it shook Gallus from his doubts. He filled his lungs. ‘Stay your fears, men. The day can still be saved.’ He flicked a finger to the aquilifer, who raised the silver eagle standard until the ruby bull banner caught the cool breeze. ‘Form a column and advance,’ he barked, ‘and not a man is to draw his sword unless I give the word.’

Pavo squared his shoulders as they marched forward, blocking out his fears. The rear of the Gothic crowd turned to them, gaunt faces scowling in disbelief. Then a confident and predatory glare replaced that look. Just as they had done yesterday, the Goths parted like a venus flytrap sensing its prey, opening up a path to Fritigern and Ivo.

Pavo suppressed a shiver as they marched into the midst of the enemy ranks, blanking out the restless speartips and the sea of faces that eyed them hungrily.

‘We could have done with Salvian at right about this point,’ Sura spoke, his voice cracking, his eyes darting around the Gothic onlookers.

‘He’s played his part, and I fear that this time, talking will be inadequate,’ Pavo shook his head, saddened and heartened at once. He prayed Salvian and the Roman refugees were already well on their way to safety across the Beli Lom. Then he glanced up to the city walls, seeing that Tarquitius had joined Lupicinus and the governor; the senator had made a last minute bid to join the evacuation, slipping from the gate hatch, only to stumble back in terror at the sight of the Gothic horde marching on the walls. Again, a bittersweet jumble of emotions flitted across his heart; if the Goths were to fall upon this city, then the Senator would have carried out his last traitorous act. But the truth of his father would die with the fat swine.

Then a dry realisation settled his worries as they marched deep into the Gothic swell;
if the Goths fall upon the city, then I will be in Elysium by evening.

The column slowed to a halt before Ivo and Fritigern. The rabble of the Goths died to a silence, leaving only the whistle of the gentle wind.

All eyes fell on Gallus.

‘Iudex Fritigern, I ask you and your armies to stand down,’ Gallus spoke in a flat tone.

Fritigern glared at him, eyes burning like hot coals, a look of utter disbelief etched on his features.

Ivo roared in laughter by his side. ‘Their words insult us, Iudex! The Romans have mocked us for the last time.’

‘I addressed Iudex Fritigern of the Thervingi, noble ally of Rome,’ Gallus shot a glare to the big warrior, then turned back to Fritigern.

The iudex’s expression was one of weary resignation. ‘You give me no choice, Roman. I have given you chance after chance to prove that the empire was good to her word, that you would treat us as allies and feed and shelter us. I offered you my armies in return; my men could have bolstered the imperial borders, fought and bled for the empire.’ His eyes were red-rimmed now. ‘Instead, I must turn my swords on your city walls.’

With that, Fritigern raised his hand.

Gallus braced and the legionary column instinctively bunched up with a rustle of iron as mail vests ground together and hands clasped to spatha hilts.

As Fritigern’s lips parted to bark the order, Gallus slid from his mount, hands in the air by way of supplication. ‘Iudex Fritigern, think this over just one last time, I beg of you.’

Gallus studied Fritigern’s face, praying to Mithras that the wrinkle in his brow meant there was a chance he could be persuaded. Fritigern’s eyes were glassy now, and the situation was like a spinning folles; the fate of the empire hanging on which side the coin would fall.

‘He wants another chance?’ Ivo mocked. ‘More time for our people to die, for our armies to weaken,’ he leant forward on his saddle, his good eye bulging as he pointed a finger at Gallus, ‘for Roman legions to gather and attack us?’

At this, Gallus snarled; ‘We have trodden lightly in your presence for too long, Ivo, out of respect for the iudex. Now, you leave me no choice.’

Ivo’s eyes narrowed.

‘Ivo is not who you think he is, Iudex,’ he continued.

Fritigern frowned. ‘Ivo? He has been by my side for over twenty years, Tribunus, armed and ready to protect me with his life. Please, do not insult me with some weak diversion.’

‘Then do not take my word for it, Iudex. Hear it from one of your own!’ Gallus spoke firmly, then turned, waving Erwin the Goth towards him. The old man ambled forward, dark lines now staining the skin under his eyes.

Gallus clasped a hand to Erwin’s shoulder, then frowned as he noticed a trickle of blood snaking from the old man’s lips. Erwin opened his mouth, and blood poured from the stump that remained of his freshly severed tongue.

Gallus recoiled and a gasp of disgust rang out. The old man slumped to his knees with an animal moan, sobbing.

‘What is this, Tribunus?’ Fritigern scowled, his nose wrinkling.

Gallus realised at that moment that subtlety was useless. ‘It is simple, Iudex,’ he stabbed a finger at Ivo as his next words formed in his throat. ‘Ask your most trusted man to remove the greaves from his arms.’

Fritigern frowned, shooting a glance to Ivo, then back to Gallus. ‘Have you lost your mind?’

Gallus stood firm. ‘It is a simple request, Iudex. One that could save thousands upon thousands of Gothic lives.’

Ivo began to roar in laughter at this.

But Fritigern held up a hand. ‘Ivo. Humour the tribunus.’

The laughter died, and Ivo’s face fell. ‘Iudex?’ He spluttered.

‘The tribunus is right; it is a simple request. You have nothing to hide – show him!’

Ivo bristled at this, his shoulders squaring. Then, with a low growl, he reached to untie the laces of his greaves and all surrounding them looked on.

Gallus’ eyes were fixed on Ivo as he loosened the knots. Behind the leather would lie the answer, the irrefutable proof in the form of a blue-ink snake stigma.

That Ivo is loyal to the Viper’s cause!