Legionary

Chapter 19

The docks of Durostorum swelled with bodies as the impressive I Dacia fleet dropped anchor. Having sailed up the western coast of the Pontus Euxinus, they had drifted inland via the Danubius delta that morning. The market traders flocked from their usual spots deeper in the city at the promise of heavy legionary purses.

A hot and very bothered Centurion Brutus barged his way through the mob towards the magnificent flagship’s berth — the crew swarming like ants to dock the vessel. The heckling of market traders rattled in his eardrums as he navigated the throng in the claustrophobia of the intense midday heat.

At last, he burst into precious space and a cool breeze bathed his glistening skin. Brutus marvelled at the trireme; freshly hewn and treated timber; fresh linen sails emblazoned with an emerald boar; gleaming ballistae perched on the decks like coiled snakes and a small wooden archer platform hung about one-third way up the main mast. Most striking was the prow, with a massive, sharpened-iron ramming prong, sparkling in the sunlight. Brutus had only heard of this new mobile army of comitatenses via Nerva’s memorandum that had arrived just this morning from Constantinople. He hadn’t thought too much about it, but this fleet looked very capable — someone had poured plenty of gold into the initiative. Surely not the emperor though, he reckoned. Valens had only weeks ago denied the XI Claudia a troop transfer request for fifty experienced fighters to replenish their scant number.

Suddenly, the flagship’s gangplank smashed onto the dock. The bustle died, all heads turning to the noise. Brutus craned his neck to see what was happening; six towering legionaries filed from the vessel and barged back the majority of the crowd before fanning out at the lip of the dock. They wore beards and stigmas — not of Roman stock for sure, but not an uncommon thing in the army these days, he mused. The soldiers looked around expectantly.

‘Oh bugger, this is my cue!’ He hissed under his breath. He spun round, feverishly trying to locate the dock watchtower. Screening the sun from his eyes, he finally found it, and at once started gesticulating to the two buccina-wielding troopers, who were obviously more interested in the events on the dockside.

‘Pay attention you lazy…’ Brutus growled. He glanced around him, spotted a beaten staff resting against the side of a market stall and hefted it like a javelin.

‘Imperial business — sorry,’ he muttered at the gawping stallholder. He loosed the staff through the air and watched it sail up and straight into the chest of one of the dozing watchmen. With a high-pitched yelp, the watchman and his partner were at once alert and scouring the crowd with venomous eyes, until they found the boiling glare of Brutus. Their faces turned pale and they fumbled their instruments to their mouths.

The buccinas blared as a group of three figures emerged from the deck of the ship. Two more tree-like legionaries flanked the equally imposing officer in the centre. Tribunus Wulfric, Brutus guessed. The stocky tribunus cut a distinguished figure in his hybrid Roman-Gothic armour. The fiery red beard and inky eyes gave him the look of a hungry predator. Not one to relish meeting on the battlefield, Brutus surmised.

‘Officer coming through,’ he grunted, bursting past the last line of onlookers. The party descended halfway down the gangplank as the centurion, red faced and breathless, arrived to greet them.

‘Ave! Acting Chief Centurion Brutus of the XI Claudia legion at your service. In the absence of Tribunus Nerva, I’m responsible for greeting and welcoming you to the City of Durostorum.’

Wulfric smiled. ‘Ave,’ he replied with an unmistakably Gothic twang. ‘Tribunus Wulfric. Here to skim the cream of the XI Claudia!’ At this, Wulfric’s men burst into raucous laughter. Wulfric grinned, making no effort to quieten them.

Brutus, stunned at the lack of protocol, maintained his stony expression. ‘So I understand, sir. If you’d allow me to escort you to the legion fort, we can introduce you to the other senior officers and then discuss the recruitment.’

‘My men and I will come to the fort later today. First we have some unwinding to do,’ he replied, nodding uphill towards The Boar and Hollybush, conspicuous by the cheering of early punters inside. This time both the men and the onlooking crowd erupted in laughter.

Brutus prayed for the ground to open up beneath him; his first taste of command at this level and this Wulfric was treating him like a fool. Inside he boiled with rage, but he held it back just long enough to get one more sentence out; ‘As you wish, sir. In that case, I’ll invite the senior officers of the legion to join you.’

The grin faded from the Goth’s face, and he nodded. ‘Very well.’