Legionary: Viper of the North by Gordon Doherty Read Free Book Online

Then, when Quadratus poked his head from his bunk and shot him a serious glare, he added, grudgingly, ‘ . . . sir.’
     
    ‘Hold on,’ Sura croaked from the bunk above Pavo. Sitting up, shivering, still clasping his blanket around him, he nudged open the shutter next to his bunk. ‘It’s not even dawn – what’s going on?’
     
    Pavo looked up to his friend, frowning, then the pair’s faces fell into a weary realisation.
     
    ‘Lupicinus!’ They groaned in harmony.
     

     

     

     
    The sky was still jet-black and the torches around the inner fortress walls guttered and crackled. Pavo felt as if he was in some lucid nightmare; frozen, belly rumbling, tired beyond belief. Still in better shape than some of the recruits , he mused dryly, hearing their teeth chatter and them stamping their boots to stay warm. Behind the legionaries, the handful of auxiliaries were lined up, and a sorry sight they were: one in three had a helmet and even less possessed a shield. To the rear, the turma of equites and less-than-impressed foederati had mustered also. Then, Lupicinus’ two centuries of comitatenses legionaries filed into place in armour that contrasted starkly with their limitanei counterparts. Pavo stifled a snort; so the disturbingly small total of the ‘reinforced’ XI Claudia – less than five hundred men – had been mustered in the dead of night by the regal arsehole that was Comes Lupicinus. Now, the blend of incredulity and rage on the faces of the front line veterans demanded an explanation.
     
    ‘By Mithras, I’ve got work to do,’ Lupicinus snorted, striding across the face of the front rank in his pristine dress-armour, his back rigid, ‘but I’ll make a legion out of you yet!’
     
    His riders, mounted only paces away, glowered down their noses at the assembled legionaries, smirks touching their lips at their leader’s wit. In their midst stood a filthy, bedraggled and panting Gothic villager. His hair was hanging loose and was matted with sweat and grime, his bare chest glistened with sweat and his lozenge-patterned trousers were torn and filthy.
     
    ‘Now, the sharper minds amongst you may have realised that dawn is not yet upon us.’ He paused, sweeping his gaze across the ranks as if to add weight to his words. ‘But I have roused you for a good reason. While you were sleeping, another incident erupted in Fritigern’s lands – in Istrita, a small village near the Carpates and the border with Athanaric’s territory.’
     
    A collective groan from the ranks was stifled by Lupicinus’ glare.
     
    ‘A fifty will be sent to the scene . . . ’
     
    ‘Permission to speak, sir!’ Quadratus barked before the comes could finish.
     
    Lupicinus glared at the centurion. ‘Oh, this better be good, Centurion.’
     
    ‘Including your two centuries, there are less than five hundred men left within these four walls. The remainder of the legion is scattered like chaff over the wrong side of the Danubius. Nobody knows what has become of those vexillationes, sir.’
     
    The skin on Pavo’s neck rippled as he heard the big centurion’s words, almost reflecting his own thoughts. Thinking like a leader – it gave him a brief glow of warmth.
     
    ‘Now,’ Quadratus continued, ‘should something happen here, should the Goths launch a full-scale attack on the bridge then the few hundred here could just about hold them off long enough to give us some thinking time. But if we continue to send out vexillationes . . . ’
     
    ‘That’s quite enough, Centurion,’ Lupicinus barked over the Gaul.
     
    ‘But, sir, before Tribunus Gallus left on his mission, he left advisory orders that the vexillationes were to be reined in, to be brought under control – even at the risk of angering Fritigern. Surely you see sense in . . . ’
     
    ‘I see sense in a centurion showing obedience to his superior!’ Lupicinus snapped, grappling his cane and raising it to strike, hovering just inches from