Gordon Doherty: Viper of the North

‘Really? Another vexillatio?’ Sura moaned.

Pavo mouthed the same question. This was the sixth detachment that had been sent out in the last two days.

‘Aye. Something’s very wrong over there,’ Avitus frowned, looking north. ‘It’s all very well keeping the peace with Fritigern, but we must be down to what, a few hundred men?’

The decurion at the head of the vexillatio issued a brisk salute to which Quadratus responded. Then, with a thunder of boots and hooves on timber, the party moved onto the bridge and on into Gutthiuda.

Quadratus sighed and shrugged almost apologetically. ‘The order for that lot to be despatched came direct from Dux Vergilius, tucked up in the safety of a villa, miles to the south. What can we do when we are at the whims of a fool like him?’

Pavo frowned. He had never met in person the Magister Militum Per Illyricum , the man nominally in charge of the armies of all Moesia and the river fleet. However, he had witnessed the man’s last visit to the fort: a grossly overweight, red-faced and constantly trembling individual, at ease only after he had emptied several goblets of wine.

‘Hello?’ Avitus chirped, shielding his eyes from the sun to look back to the fort. ‘Seems we have reinforcements?’

Pavo and the rest of the group turned to look. There, approaching the fort gates from the southern highway, a column approached. A cluster of some fifteen finely armoured riders headed a column of two centuries of legionaries who filed up behind them, carrying freshly painted blue shields. The lead rider, distinguished by an old-style and somewhat exaggerated horsehair plume on his helmet, was calling up to the gatehouse. The sentry atop the walls was pointing north, right at the giant ballista. The leader nodded then barked to his infantry and all but ten of them split off to file inside the fort. Then, the remaining ten legionaries and the riders moved towards the ballista.

‘Comitatenses?’ Pavo reasoned, noticing the fine scale vests the foot soldiers wore. ‘I thought they had all gone east?’

‘Not all of them,’ Quadratus said with a sigh.

‘Sir?’ Pavo quizzed.

‘Going by the ridiculous plume, I’d say that was Comes Lupicinus. He was in charge of the Thracian field armies. I’d heard rumours that he had been left behind with a few centuries of men while his legions were summoned east. And let’s just say that Emperor Valens left him back here for a reason,’ the big Gaulish centurion rolled his eyes.

‘Aye,’ Avitus added, ‘I’ve heard of him; an arsehole who wouldn’t know the right end of a spatha until you shoved it in his gut.’

Just then, a young legionary stumbled from the training field and into the path of the plumed rider’s horse. Then the rider thrashed at the young man with a cane and a sharp crack of wood on skin split the air followed by a roar of pain.

‘Just stay quiet, I’ll deal with him,’ Quadratus insisted.

Pavo watched as the mounted party drew closer and slowed to a trot, the following ten legionaries catching up. The leader wore an antiquated bronze muscled cuirass and a fine, silk-lined crimson cloak. He glared down his nose, his lips pinched and his piercing grey eyes full of scrutiny. A cold bastard. Pavo hoped for a fleeting moment that this was another in the mould of Gallus.

Then Lupicinus lifted a hand in silence and his men stopped behind him. He trotted forward, peacock-like, eyeing the group around the ballista, nose wrinkling as if he had stumbled into an open latrine. He bristled and flexed his shoulders. ‘Would Centurion Quadratus make himself known!’ The man’s tone was sharp and biting.

‘Sir!’ Quadratus replied, standing to attention.

Lupicinus cocked an eyebrow at the big Gaul. ‘You are relieved of your command, Centurion. As Comes of the Field Armies of Thracia, I will be overseeing the limitanei of this region as a whole, and I’ll be acting tribunus for the XI Claudia. My two centuries will bolster the numbers of the XI Claudia and will lead your rogues and farmers by example.’

‘Yes, sir!’ Quadratus barked back, masking any sign of humiliation well — quite a feat for the temperamental Gaul.

‘And I’ll have my work cut out, it seems; already I have heard word of a missing wage purse, stolen from within the fort?’ He eyed each of them like culprits.

‘And I’ll expect a full briefing on this activity,’ Lupicinus continued, flicking his head to the giant ballista, ‘for an officer should not be distracted by fanciful engineering. He should be with his men at all times. Inspiring them, encouraging them,’ he leaned forward from the saddle and clenched a fist, ‘ leading them.’

‘Never a truer word has been spoken, sir,’ Quadratus replied. ‘Indeed, I’ve just spent all morning on the training field with. . ’

‘You’ll speak when I say you can speak, Centurion!’ Lupicinus barked. ‘And you’ll sort out your armour before you next stand in front of me,’ the comes flicked a finger at Quadratus’ rusting, torn mail vest, bringing a chorus of derisive laughter from Lupicinus’ riders and infantry. ‘You’re a disgrace to your legion, and to your empire!’

Pavo’s chest stung with ire as he saw Quadratus shuffle on the spot, face burning in humiliation and fury. The big Gaul had forgone the last of the fresh sets of armour to allow those travelling north with Tribunus Gallus to have it. And he was being mocked for the gesture. Pavo stared at the comes; this man was no Gallus.

Then, like an asp, Lupicinus’ eyes snapped round to fix on Pavo. ‘You have something to say, soldier? Name and rank?’ He demanded.

Pavo’s stomach fell away and his skin prickled with an icy dread. ‘Legionary Numerius Vitellius Pavo of the XI Claudia, third cohort, first century, sir!’

Lupicinus heeled his mount over to Pavo and looked him up and down, then recoiled with a gasp. ‘You reek of ale, soldier. Drunk on duty? Worse than sleeping on watch! You know the punishment for that, don’t you?’

‘Flogging at best, sir, or death,’ Pavo replied flatly as the rest of the XI Claudia legionaries looked on.

‘Aye,’ Lupicinus hissed, ‘and if I learn that you’re the wage thief. . you know what they used to do to legionaries devoid of honour, do you? They would force them, screaming, into a hemp sack filled with poisonous asps.’ The comes was almost purring. ‘Then hurl the sack into the depths of a river.’

‘Permission to speak, sir!’ Quadratus stepped forward again.

Lupicinus spun to him and flared his nostrils, eyes wide in indignation. ‘Speak.’

‘Pavo was just a moment ago involved in settling a dispute in the town. Drunken locals causing bother. I can vouch for his sobriety.’

‘Oh, can you?’ Lupicinus straightened up in his saddle again and turned to Pavo.

‘And he is a commendable soldier, sir,’ Quadratus continued. ‘Played more than his part in the Bosporus mission. A campaign bloodier than most I can remember. Helped keep this empire in one piece, sir.’

Lupicinus snorted at this. ‘The mission to old Bosporus was a debacle; little more than a cull of half of the border legions.’ He jabbed a finger at each of them. ‘It’s down to you that we’re so stretched now!’ His face split with a malicious grin as his riders and the ten legionaries behind them erupted in belly laughter. Pavo noticed that one towering legionary in particular seemed to be relishing the humiliation. The man had sunken eyes and pitted skin. Pavo glared back at him, feeling his blood boil. Then he froze, feeling a cold blade slip under his chin.

‘What’s this?’ Lupicinus cooed, having hooked his spatha blade through the leather strap around Pavo’s neck to lift the phalera clear of his mail vest. ‘Legio II Parthica?’