Legionary

Chapter 78

The storm had died to a whimper, and the sun had prised apart the clouds, sending shafts of warmth down on the soaked plains. As the rainwater began to evaporate, the air filled with vapour and the scent of wet grass, and then the sound of thundering hooves pierced the air.

Balamber galloped all out, still enveloped by the nobles and his personal bodyguard. He kept his body low and eyes straight ahead — like a good Hun rider. They were clear of the battlefield now; this next valley lay untouched by the scarlet gore of the one they had left. He scanned the flat of the northern horizon; the plains of home called him. But deep in his heart failure taunted him, jeered him and cooked a bitter brew of self-hatred. Tengri the sky god would disavow him and honour would be lost, but the one voice he could hear inside was that of his father. He almost welcomed the cold fear that traced his skin as he remembered the fate of their last leader; surely his nobles would turn on him now that he had been defeated in battle. Snatching a glance to one side, he saw the noble there dutifully keeping an eye on the land up to the horizon on his side, checking for threats. His heart slowed a little at this, until he turned to his other side — catching the eyes of two nobles. Until now he had viewed them as his most loyal, or at least most awestruck and fearful, nobles. They looked away sharply, but it was too late; the seeds of doubt had entered his men’s minds, and as the history of his people had proved time and time again, treachery was sure to follow along with the spilling of his own blood.

He turned to his personal bodyguard, riding by his side, and gave the faintest nod. Then he slid one hand underneath his furs, feeling for the hilt of his scimitar. He flexed his fingers around the hilt firmly and cast one final glance around to check that nobody was watching him before he made the move to slay his once-loyal servants. Then for the second time that day, a white cloaked figure caught his eye.

Bishop Evagrius was sodden with mud up to his knees, stumbling down the hillside like a drunk, scrambling on all fours to right himself. Balamber grinned as his mind feasted on the possibilities.

‘There is the traitor!’ He cried like a snake spitting venom. His nobles snapped to attention and they slowed to behold the sight. ‘After him,’ he hissed, sliding the scimitar out with an iron rasp. The nobles set off after him at a trot and rounded on him with ease, chuckling amongst themselves as they glared down on the bishop.

Balamber ambled forward, nudging his way inside the circle of his nobles. The sight of the kneeling bishop repulsed him: eyes bulging, skin as white as his robes and the mop of hair crowning his physical meekness. Evagrius’ eyes darted round each of the mounted nobles, searching for even a hint of mercy and finally they rested on Balamber.

‘Noble Balamber?’ Evagrius asked. ‘Great King of the Huns,’ he added, shivering. ‘Today has been a dark day for both of us. But together, we can still overrun the Roman Empire, just as we planned. Your place by my side at the throne of all Rome is there for the taking!’

Balamber ignored the bishop’s words, snapping the chain and gold Chi-Rho cross he wore around his neck and weighing the trinket in his palm momentarily. Wulfric had been right; his people had been played like pawns in this plot. Dispensable grunts for a ‘greater’ cause. So much blood had been spilled, blood of his brothers, blood that had turned his most loyal men’s thoughts towards treachery. He tossed the gold cross into the bishop’s face.

‘This dog is responsible for the events of the day!’ Balamber glanced round to his men; their faces were etched with suspicion and their narrowed eyes fell on the bishop and then Balamber in turn, hands resting on sword hilts. Seize the chance, he thought, destroy all before you. ‘He led the Roman relief force against us — flagging them forward. You all saw him wave them forward from the ridge. We have paid dearly for his gold with the blood of our kin.’

Gradually, the nobles turned to Evagrius, their faces smirking, their eyes glinting with bloodlust.

‘Let us take vengeance in my honour,’ Balamber continued. ‘Bind him and put him on a horse.’ He hesitated for a moment as he saw the bishop’s jaw waver to begin protest. The silver-tongued holy man would talk himself free if given half a chance. ‘But cut out his lying tongue first,’ he motioned to his personal bodyguard by his side. Evagrius cried out, clawing at his face as two nobles hopped down and pinned him to the ground.

‘When we return to our people, we will gather and melt the finest metals to fill his poisonous throat!’ He growled. His nobles at last responded in the manner he had hoped, roaring in agreement as his personal bodyguard crouched over the screaming Evagrius with a rusted dagger clutched in his hand. The bishop’s blood sprayed across the grass and his screams died to a whimper as the bodyguard held up a bloody sliver of severed tongue.

‘Now we move back to the east. It may take a generation, maybe two, but we will return. And when we do, our army will be greater than ever before. One day Rome and all her lands will burn at our feet!’

Destroy all before you.