The Bones of the Earth (The Dark Age) (23 page)

The man standing before the chair seized Javor’s attention. He was not tall, but robust and solidly built, dressed in gold-coloured armour that reflected the light from the torches. A smooth red cape hung from his shoulders. His bare forearms were thick and muscular. His chin was square and smoothly shaven, his nose broad, his dark hair cropped very short. Javor thought he was magnificent, but Photius noted that the armour, though polished, was dented, the leather straps worn, the cape threadbare.

Meridius marched forward, his footsteps echoing, stopped directly in front of the dais with an extra stomp and saluted. “Legate Valgus, the armed travellers.” He stomped again and stepped to one side.

“
Thank you, Centurion. At ease,” ordered the man on the dais in deep, accented Greek, a voice used to being obeyed. He turned to the travellers. “I am Decius Valgus, called Adjutor, and I am Legate of this cohort. Who are you and why are you travelling heavily armed in these lands?”

Photius bowed, and Javor copied him clumsily; but Danisa stood tall and proud, regarding the Legate without expression. “I am Photius of Constantinople, son of Clementus and a citizen of Rome,” he repeated. “This is Janus, my assistant and bodyguard. And the maiden is Danisa, whom we rescued from a barbaric rite some weeks ago.”

The Legate looked at them intensely, then sat slowly on the great chair. Javor felt he was being measured. “And what are you doing beyond the Empire’s borders, especially in these wild areas overrun with barbaric hordes?”

“
We are mystics, my lord, traveling on behalf of the Empire to seek knowledge from beyond the borders,” Photius answered earnestly.

Wow—what a lie!
Javor thought.
Did he just make that up now, or has he been keeping that one in store for situations like this?

Valgus’ eyes narrowed. “What are you, missionaries? Out converting the Slavs? Or are you hoping to convince the Avars to give up raiding the Empire and turn the other cheek?”

Photius chuckled and shook his head. “No, Legate Valgus. We are seekers of a deeper, older wisdom. We have been adding to our knowledge through our travels in the wild North.”

“
The locals here say those regions have always been haunted,” the legate answered, his eyes sharp.

Photius nodded. “Yes, there are old tales in Constantinople and throughout the Empire of strange happenings in these regions. That is why we travel: to prove or disprove any of these stories.”

“
Your young bodyguard here looks like a local.”

“
He is only accoutered so. He has been with me for some time, now.” At that comment, a look that Javor had never seen before crossed Valgus’ face.

“
Then why are you so heavily armed?” Valgus demanded in a voice that made the hairs on Javor’s neck stand up.

“
As you yourself said, these are dangerous lands, and dangerous times. We are merely seeking to protect ourselves,” Photius answered politely.

“
Have you been troubled by the barbarians?”

“
From time to time, but we have managed to survive,” Photius said vaguely.

“
And the girl? What about you, young lady—why are you jeopardizing your virtue by travelling with two men?”

“
As I said, we rescued her—” Photius tried to interrupt.

“
I asked her.”

Danisa looked at Photius, then at Valgus before answering.
What is she going to say? What will the Romans do if she contradicts Photius?
Javor wondered.

“
I have little choice,” she answered in flawless Greek.
How did she learn that?
“I was tied to a cross and left in the road for wild beasts or anything worse. These men—actually, the young one—rescued me. I have been with them since. Where else can I go?”

“
And as for your virtue…” the Legate prompted.

Danisa’s eyes flashed and her lips grew even thinner. “I am a
hetman
’s daughter. I can guard my own virtue, thank you very much!”

Valgus just nodded slowly, then turned toward Photius again. “Tell me: after your travels, do you believe the land is haunted?” he asked searchingly.

Photius weighed his answer. “There is much yet to learn about these lands, which were abandoned so long ago by the Empire. There are tales that have grown in the retelling, until the demons are sufficiently fearsome to make the heroes sufficiently impressive.”

Valgus peered at them for a long time, his chin resting on a fist. Then he stood again, and Javor noticed that he seemed to have a little difficulty rising, although his face showed nothing of it.

“
Tell me, wise man, are you a healer? Have you skills in the arts of medicine?”

Photius looked concerned. “Why yes, Legate. I trained at the Collegium in Alexandria. But has this garrison no surgeons?”

“
Come with me.” Valgus stepped off the dais and strode across the hall to another staircase near the back.

Javor and Photius followed, but Meridius blocked Danisa. “You stay here. This is no matter for girls. Tullus, bring her something to drink.” One look at the legionnaires convinced Danisa not to argue.

At the top of the stairs, Valgus led Photius, Javor and Meridius to his personal quarters, a small room lit by a wide open window. Late-summer sunlight streamed in, making it much warmer than the hallway. Almost in the middle of the room stood a gleaming, polished wooden table with ornate bronze legs. It was the most beautiful thing Javor had ever seen. Behind it were another chair whose style matched the desk, and a cabinet of open shelves, filled with scrolls and other items that Javor didn’t recognize. Another door was on one wall.

Valgus sat on the chair and motioned for the visitors to stand in front of the desk. He nodded, and Meridius closed the door, leaving them alone.

“
What do you know about tales of dragons?” Valgus demanded.

Javor felt stabbed with shock. Photius’ face betrayed nothing. “Do you mean the Draco Legions? The Cohors Sarmatorum? Are you not part of that legion?”

“
Do not play games with me, old man. I’m not talking about a legion with a dragon totem. I’m talking about dragons! Huge monsters! Surely you’ve heard of them—the people in these regions talk about them all the time!”

Photius looked thoughtful. “Every race, every nation has tales and legends of dragons,” he said. “Although very few people can claim to ever having seen a dragon. Dragons are, as far as I can tell, extremely ancient beings, bearers and representative of the most ancient and potent power in the world. There are those, particularly in the East, who hold that the dragon is the earth, itself …”

“
A dragon has been raiding the villages in these parts,” the Roman interrupted. Javor hoped, again, that his face didn’t show the shock he felt.

Photius remained cool. “A dragon? Raiding? Here?”  He sounded skeptical. “Have you seen it?”

The Roman nodded, his face grave, eyes never leaving Photius. With obvious difficulty, the Legate rose to his feet again and began to unbuckle his armour. As his fingers tugged on the straps on his left side, he winced unconsciously. “I with to show you something, Photius of Constantinople. Something beyond the skills of the Empire’s military surgeons.” The armour clattered to the ground, and Javor wondered at the carelessness with which Valgus let it fall. Under that, he wore a military red tunic. After unbuckling a belt, he pulled the tunic off, leaving only a thin, long white shirt and an undergarment wrapped around his waist and between his legs.

Is he going to get completely naked in front of us?

Valgus slowly pulled the shirt over his head, wincing and grimacing. He was left in just his loincloth and white bandages wrapped around his midsection. Red stained the left side, below his arm.

“
Help me take off these bandages,” he said, and Photius untied the flat knot at the side, then began unrolling the long strips of cloth going round and round Valgus, gradually revealing a muscular torso, tough-looking as if it were carved of wood, crossed with scars. As more of the bandage came off, Photius and Javor could see a deep, fresh red gash along the Roman's side. Blood dripped slowly, oozing into the cloth bandage; one drop fell and stained the floor. Javor noticed several such stains, faded to a rusty brown.

Photius bent down to peer closely at the cut, gently touching the pink, swollen skin near it. Valgus gritted his teeth, but did not complain or wince.

“
When did you receive this wound?” Photius asked.

“
Almost ten months ago, in the autumn.”

“
What! But legate, this wound is fresh!”

“
So it appears,” agreed Valgus. “But believe me, I received it almost a year ago.”

“
What gave you such as wound, that did not kill you, yet will not heal on its own?”

Valgus pulled his shirt and tunic back on, but left the armour on the floor. He pulled on a rope that hung from a hole in the wall beside his desk. Javor heard a bell ring. A soldier came in immediately. Without a word, he picked up the discarded bandage and the legate’s armour and left.

“
Tell me how you received this wound,” said Photius when the man had gone.

Valgus sat down, looking tired. “A year ago, my cohort was stationed in the fortress at Trajan’s Bridge over the Danuvius. Our assignment had been to patrol north of the great river, to keep it clear of barbarians and troublemakers and to protect the border. We are the outer screen of the Empire’s defences, if you will.

“
One day, a stream of refugees, mostly Goths and Slavs, appeared at the Gate, pleading for sanctuary, for protection. We thought they were running from the Avars, who were raiding and pillaging the whole region, but the refugees were all babbling like terrified infants about monsters and demons.

“
I finally got one man who seemed to have more of a stomach than the rest, and he told me a tale of whole villages wiped out by demons. He talked about scores of monsters and dragons that swept out of the sky and devoured people whole.

“
Naturally, I didn’t believe any of this superstitious babble.” He looked into Photius’ eyes, asking for understanding, and there was something else in his eyes that Javor recognized: a request for verification that he was still sane. “I am a civilized, educated man, Photius. I believe in the rational world, not in imagined spooks.”

His voice changed again, became businesslike. “But people don’t leave their homes, their farms and livelihoods for imagination. They were plainly terrified.

“
We took them in, of course, let them find places within the borders. And then my commander, the general-governor of Drobeta, Oppius Sabinus, ordered my cohort out to investigate.

“
We came north to this former fortress in the land of Dacia, where Rome had once held sway, and effected some repairs as we could. Gradually, the locals started to move in and settle the area. We have let as many live inside the fortress as we have room for, and they make for useful logistical support—grooms for the horses, provisions, that sort of thing…”

Valgus was beginning to lose the thread of his story. His voice dropped, losing its power. He was getting tired.

“
You haven’t told me how you got that wound,” Photius reminded him politely.

That seemed to focus the legate. “Of course. I ordered patrols out to scout the area. They came back with tales of devastated villages, burned farmsteads. One patrol did spot a band of Avars in a river valley east of here, but they fled at the first sight of an Imperial standard, and we haven’t seen any Avars since.

“
Then, high in the foothills of the Montes Serrorum, they came upon
something
, I know not what, that destroyed them utterly. Ten heavily-armed cataphracti! One man came limping back to tell us the news. All he could tell me was that the patrol had been wiped out by a group of something. But he couldn’t say what it was before he died in my arms.” Valgus closed his eyes and shuddered. “He was a big man, an extraordinarily strong man, Photius. A veteran soldier, tough and smart. He came back barely clinging to his horse. Both his legs had been broken and he had horrible scars on his body and strange burns on his arms. Bite marks all over his skin. He looked infected. He was the most horrifying thing my eyes have ever seen, and I have seen terrible battles. He called for me and told me his patrol had been killed.
Ripped
was the word he used. Then he begged me to kill him, to end his suffering.” The Roman commander opened his eyes again and looked deeply, pleadingly at Photius. “I hesitated. I needed to know more, and this poor man was in such agony he was asking me to end his life. And I hesitated. But the gods did not. No, they took pity on the man and I saw the light fade from his eyes.”