Quadratus’ face.
In his peripheral vision, Pavo saw Quadratus’ lips trembling, not in fear, but in barely checked rage. This could get ugly , he feared.
But, mercifully, Lupicinus lowered his cane and reset his features to his usual haughty look, peering at Quadratus down his nose. ‘Perhaps this kind of cowardly outlook is only to be expected from you . . . limitanei! ’ He spat the last word like a bad grape.
‘So perhaps I should excuse Centurion Quadratus from this vexillatio?’ Lupicinus mused, then a smug grin spread over his features. ‘Maybe a pseudo command is in order. Yes, I seem to remember one of the more junior infantrymen who considered himself a hero.’
Pavo’s weary mind suddenly focused and his guts turned over as he saw Lupicinus’ gaze sweep along the front rank. Sure enough, it came to rest on him.
‘Legionary Pavo,’ he said gleefully. ‘You will lead the fifty.’ The comes flicked his finger to the four nearest contubernia of comitatenses and another two from the native Claudia recruits. ‘I’ll leave it to you to choose your second-in-command. I want you formed up with full marching equipment and rations for two weeks by the time the sun touches the horizon.’ With that, Lupicinus turned to the rest of the legion and barked orders to begin double sentry duty.
Pavo’s blood felt like icewater in his veins. He looked to the pink tinge on the horizon, then he turned to the forty eight formed up before him. The recruits looked petrified and the veterans of Lupicinus’ centuries scowled at him in distaste. The breath seemed shallow in his lungs and his tongue bloated like bread. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, glancing to the comes. Lupicinus smirked at his hesitation. Pavo closed his eyes and thought of Gallus; what would the iron tribunus say to rally his men on a frozen morning, when a treacherous march into foreign lands waited on them?
‘Come on, come on! Do I have to get someone to hold your hand again?’ Lupicinus abruptly interrupted his train of thought.
Rattled, Pavo turned to the men and bawled, his voice shaking. ‘What are you staring at? You heard the comes: get kitted up and get back here. We move out before first light!’ His words died in the air and his heart sank as he saw the recruits’ faces whiten even more in fear and the scowling veterans’ eyes narrow further in distaste.
‘Bloody boy telling men what to do,’ one of the veterans muttered to the legionary next to him. It was Crito, the towering, sunken-eyed legionary from Lupicinus’ comitatenses who had looked on gleefully when Pavo had been ridiculed at the bridge the previous day. Crito sneered at Pavo, the pockmarks on his cheeks emphasised in the torchlight, before he turned and quick marched for the sleeping quarters.
Pavo was left standing alone, and he felt colder than ever. Then he realised he needed to choose his second-in-command and looked up, seeking out Sura. His friend was already walking over to join him.
‘I’ll be watching your back as usual then?’ Sura offered.
‘Aye, and I’ll be glad of it.’ Pavo forced a grin, despite the fear swirling in his gut.
As Sura followed the fifty into the barrack blocks, Pavo turned to Lupicinus and his riders. ‘What’s my briefing, sir?’ He addressed the comes, casting a soldier-like stare over Lupicinus’ shoulder and towards the horizon.
‘The briefing comes in two parts,’ Lupicinus replied, nodding to the filthy Goth straggler. ‘The first part is as you might expect. Istrita, this man’s village, is in the midst of some kind of standoff between the rebel Goths and those loyal to Fritigern. He says much blood has been spilled already, and there is much more to come.’ Lupicinus slapped a hand on his shoulder, a condescending smile on his face. ‘Then again, I know you’ll get by; after all, you’re one of the heroes of the Bosporus