Gordon Doherty - The Scourge of Thracia

‘There is,’ Saturninus’ face lifted in a laconic half-smile. ‘Can I trust you, Tribunus?’

‘It depends on what you are about to tell me,’ Gallus replied flatly.

Saturninus smiled again, this time it was truly wry. He tapped the area north of the five passes. ‘I heard word, little more than rumours, that Fritigern was open to the notion of peace talks. Now many say the time for talks has passed, but few have lived on the edge of the war as I have for the last half-year. So I despatched an embassy north along the ridge path, down into the Moesian plains where the Gothic horde gathers. They were to engage in an opening dialogue with the Gothic Iudex and his council of reiks.’

‘How long ago?’ Gallus asked, immediately pitying the poor souls in that party.

‘A fortnight,’ Saturninus said, ‘and the Gothic camp is but a day and a half of marching from here along the ridge path.’ He pointed off over the north wall.

‘You have heard nothing from them?’ Gallus asked and Saturninus shook his head gravely. He frowned, a fresh night breeze searching under his armour and robes. ‘Not even a ransom. . not even a severed head tossed to the walls?’

‘Nothing.’ Saturninus shook his head again. ‘Hence, the proposed foray north of the blockade. I need to know the fate of the embassy. A reconnaissance group could cross the mountains to gather this information. As I said, the V Macedonica is populated with natives of southern Greece, well-drilled in manning this blockade but without great knowledge of these mountains and little knowledge of the Moesian plains. But your legionaries know that land well, do they not?’

Gallus nodded. ‘I agree in principle, but surely a handful of equites would be best placed to ride north in less than half the time it would take my infantry?’ He looked around and located the small lean-to stable sheltering two grazing geldings.

‘Ah,’ Saturninus smiled, ‘I did try such an approach, but the riders were pelted with Gothic arrows further up the ridge path and driven back. No, this group must travel unseen. This broken trail I spoke of is the only viable route, and that is not a path for horsemen. Not at all.’

Gallus nodded, then looked up and over to the now erected XI Claudia tent, seeing Quadratus groaning, stretching his back like an old man, heard Sura flop onto his bedding with a groan and saw Zosimus sitting cross-legged, tongue poking out, attempting to lance a blister on his ankle with the end of his spatha.

‘Very well,’ he said with a cocked eyebrow. ‘My men will be ready to move out tomorrow.’

Saturninus stood and Gallus did likewise. ‘Excellent. Now let me tell you more about this embassy.’

For some reason, Gallus’ gaze was drawn back to the Claudia tent. He noticed now the absence of Pavo. He swept his eyes across the fort and found the young optio walking from tent to tent, asking the V Macedonica legionaries something — the same question over and over, it seemed, each time getting the same negative answer. ‘Tell me, sir,’ he interrupted Saturninus, ‘is there a soldier in this fort by the name of Dexion?’

Saturninus arched one eyebrow, a spark of realisation in his eyes. ‘As I said, Tribunus, let me tell you of this embassy. . ’

The first dry day in a week saw the mist and low cloud lift from the heights of the Shipka Pass. A few miles north of the Shipka fort, the bleak ridge path and the rugged lands all around were dappled with the shadows of passing clouds, utterly deserted. Then seven legionaries scrambled up from a precipitous shale track and onto the ridge path. They scuttled, more like voles wary of predatory eagles overhead than soldiers of the empire.

Pavo’s chest was burning, but the whipping zephyrs at these lofty heights lent a second wind to his lungs. He shot looks all around, sure they had made a mistake in breaking from the lower, hidden path. But they had come across a series of toppled pine trunks down there and had little option. Gallus, Zosimus and Quadratus hurried at the head of the group, while Sura and two Macedonica legionaries — Sarrius and Bato — formed the rear. If the Goths have archers on the adjacent hills. . he thought with a creeping chill. Just then, a scent of pink heather danced on the air, redolent of Felicia’s scent, and this calmed him. It was a rare moment of peace. After trying in vain to seek out his brother in the Shipka fort, then enduring another night of tangled thoughts, broken sleep and nightmares of the slave market, he had woken at dawn dazed and aching, only to set off on yet another march.

Just then, Gallus flicked a hand and guided them down off the ridge and back onto the broken shale track below. It was a treacherous, narrow route that wound and twisted over the mountains just a bowshot east of the ridge path. It was littered with hidden crags, gullies and sheer climbs in places and summarised exactly why these highlands were impassable for any sort of army. Indeed, he and his comrades wore just tunics, trousers, boots and oiled cloaks, forgoing armour and carrying only their swords to aid a swift and silent journey.

They stopped in the early afternoon, sheltering from the wind behind a craggy granite lee to eat a light meal of salted meat and berries, slaking their thirsts at a brook that trickled nearby.

Quadratus squinted into the watery noonday sun and tilted the felt cap he wore on his blonde mane. ‘Sending us crawling over these hills like lice, it’s a waste of time. If Saturninus wants to know what happened to his embassy, I could tell him and save all this nonsense.’

‘How can you be certain they’re dead?’ Sura frowned, stuffing a handful of berries into his mouth.

Pavo looked up, midway through chewing on his tough, salted meat. He could only imagine what had happened to the embassy, and his mind flashed with buried images of Gothic sacrificial sites he had come across in the past — the staked bodies, the torn flesh, the skulls locked in a deathly grin.

‘If they were a day or two late, then I’d ask the same,’ Zosimus mused, slicing a chunk of his salted meat with a dagger and flicking it into his mouth, then shaking his head, ‘but two weeks? They’re bones by now.’

‘Until we set eyes upon the Gothic camp, we know nothing,’ Gallus cut in. His tone was more clipped than usual, and Pavo noticed how the tribunus met the eyes of every man but him. Then, when Pavo caught his eye and Gallus immediately looked away, he knew something was wrong.

As they readied to set off once more, Pavo stood and gazed to the south, back in the direction of the Shipka redoubt, buckling on his swordbelt, sweeping his cloak around his shoulders and hefting his light ration pack over one shoulder as he tried to make sense of it all. Dexion was supposed to be at the Shipka Pass. Felicia had confirmed it, yet every soldier in Saturninus’ camp had simply shrugged nervously or hurried away when he had asked.

‘Optio,’ a familiar voice spoke softly by his side.

Pavo blinked, startled, seeing that Gallus had stepped up beside him while the others finished their preparations to move out. ‘Sir,’ he replied, confused at the stark contrast in the tribunus’ tone from moments ago.

Gallus looked him in the eye. This was not the icy stare of the dauntless leader, nor the distant gaze of the troubled officer that had come back from Persia. This was that earnest, unguarded look of the man inside. Another fleeting glimpse of the real Gallus. ‘I don’t know how to tell you this, but I know all too well that I cannot keep from you that which you seek,’ he said with a tone of finality.

‘What is it, sir?’

‘When the embassy travelled north to the Gothic camp. . they travelled with a legionary escort. Your brother, Dexion, was one of them.’