Legionary

Chapter 47

The outline of the now deconstructed beach camp was still etched on the sand and shingle, but now the XI Claudia were formed up on the plain across the grassy ridge. The afternoon sky was azure streaked with grey, a mild breeze flitted across the tall grass and further inland and the forests hugged jagged peaks still snow-capped from the winter.

The five divisions of the foederati had thundered off into the distance shortly after roll call, diverging along the five suggested routes of passage supplied to Tribunus Nerva by Amalric — valleys, plains and hill-tracks. Having deconstructed the camp, the three cohorts of the legion, the auxiliaries and the train of pack mules waited, ready to move off as soon as the foederati divisions returned and the best route was decided. Meanwhile, the eighth century of the third cohort had been detached and waited by the shore, ready to shadow the movements of the hastily patched-up fleet.

Front and centre, Pavo was standing with the veterans of his contubernium. He watched the cloud of dust from Sura’s departing foederati division gradually settle.

‘Your friend — good rider is he?’ Zosimus nudged him.

‘So he says…’

‘Aye,’ Zosimus chuckled, ‘…but he’s full of horse shit, eh?’

Pavo grinned. But inside he prayed to Mithras that Sura hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew.

‘No way that I’d ride with them,’ the big veteran scowled, tearing a piece of dry meat to chew, ‘I don’t trust those buggers as far as I could throw a plumbata.’

Pavo looked up to him. He thought of the brawl at The Boar. The Goths were mixed bag allright. If only they were all as personable, as warm as Horsa. ‘They’ve got a good man for a leader.’

‘Aye, good lad, that one,’ Avitus butted in. ‘Still a Goth, though.’

‘I don’t envy him; imagine having to control that lot — two thousand of them. Even the ones under him, the officers,’ Quadratus chuckled. ‘I thought Zosimus was a thug, but they’re something else.’

‘A thug? Watch it or I’ll rip your moustache off!’ Zosimus grunted, shuffling nervously.

‘They’ve been gone for a long time, eh?’ Pavo noted before Quadratus could deliver an equally witty riposte.

‘Aye, what’s bloody keeping them?’ Avitus moaned.

‘Hold on,’ Zosimus batted an arm across them, nodding to the front of the legion. Gallus stood with Amalric while Nerva strode across the front ranks. ‘Here comes the speech!’

‘Beautiful isn’t it?’ The tribunus boomed, sweeping his hand back over the land. A coordinated ripple of armour filled the air as the men straightened to attention. Nerva grinned and nodded.

‘That’s more like it!’ He continued. ‘Straighten up, and look to the horizon. They might call us limitanei, men, but we are at the furthest frontier any Roman troop has seen for hundreds of years. The comitatenses can patrol their zones safely within the empire’s borders, but today it is we — each and every single one of us — who are lions!’

Zosimus cocked an eyebrow and nodded. Pavo couldn’t hold back a smile as the soldiers rumbled in agreement. Nerva had never come across as the most tactful of speakers, he thought, but the man was working the crowd here, for sure.

‘Your commanding officers will have told you about the threat we face. These Huns are strong horsemen. You saw them when we landed. They are skilful fighters, yes.’ He nodded, sweeping his eyes across the front line. ‘And they are exactly what we specialise in. Like the Gauls, like the Carthaginians, like the Goths…’ His voice trailed off as he set his eyes on Amalric.

Avitus groaned. Zosimus sighed. Pavo cringed — thank the gods the foederati were off on reconnaissance.

‘…and the Goths will join us on our glorious march…’ Nerva’s eyes darted around; all but the front ranks seemed to have missed the slip. ‘So let’s stride forward like the lions we are! Let’s take the fight to these Huns and make sure they don’t die before they know of Rome!’ With this, Nerva brought his sword up above his head and belted out a thundering cry. The air exploded as the legionaries brought the hilts of their swords crashing down on their shields and roared in joyous appreciation. Pavo breathed a sigh of relief for his tribunus.

Timed to perfection, a foederati division appeared on the horizon, and with no signal of danger. In just a few moments the mood of the legion had been catapulted into optimism and hope, the grey smears of cloud had cleared and the sun’s warmth bathed them.

Pavo scoured the approaching division until he recognised the dark-red leather armour and eyepatch of Horsa, then he quickly checked for Sura. Sure enough, the chubby, red-cheeked face showed up, clearly exhilarated at his sortie, and true to form, he was racing neck and neck with his commanding officer.

‘Clear!’ Horsa barked to the waiting legion as his horse drew up near Nerva, Gallus and Amalric. On the horizon, the four other scouting parties appeared and, one by one, they drew up to announce the safety of the routes they had inspected.

Nerva rolled up his map and turned again to face the legion. ‘XI Claudia, move out!’ He roared, motioning in the direction Horsa’s unit had come from. The chief centurions of each century barked in echo to their men. The silver eagle carrying the fluttering ruby-red bull standard of the XI Claudia rose from the front line of the first century and another roar met its ascension.

Pavo took a deep breath, and marched.