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.
Chapter 48
Constantinople baked as the sun dipped towards the west. The land walls caught the best of the late afternoon heat. The stone bulwark, running across the peninsula neck, raised a stony palm to all and sundry that approached the city along the magnificent
Via Egnatia
, the highway that snaked all the way from distant Illyricum to this, the magnificent Saturninus Gate. Lavishly corniced in gold, studded with gemstones, and watched over by gilded statues of emperors and the old gods, this portal into the city was truly ‘The Golden Gate’ as they had taken to calling it. And this was just the first of the titanic markers of empire the city presented, giving this
Nova Roma
her might and beauty.
Bishop Evagrius strolled out of the stairwell and onto the battlements, basking in the warmth as he surveyed the countryside. Trading posts and inns dotted the sides of the highway as travellers stopped to lighten their purses and slake their thirst. Further back from the road, farming settlements poked from the wheat fields, with slaves swarming through the crops, toiling to finish their quotas before the dusk arrived. All this splendour, he mused, all that lay over every horizon was in the hands of only one man, a man who no longer played the dice of politics. The
Imperator
, as he called himself, an echo from the days of the pagan weakness, when they could not rule by democracy, and eventually proved they could not rule by despotism. Added to this, Evagrius gritted his teeth, the fool chose to defy the church and lean to the Arian preachings. So sad, he shook his head, so much shared wealth could have been had if the emperor had just towed the line like some of his predecessors. Evagrius rested his hands on the battlements to gaze over a group of farmers driving their carts towards the gate below. These people could be ruled with the power of faith. Fear of God and fear of the afterlife would control them. More importantly, he grinned, faith in God’s sole representative…no, not faith, but complete obedience, would bring these sheep to their knees.
He spotted the solitary figure of the wall guard captain and wiped the grin from his face as he strolled over to him. The minions of the wretched army still clung to Jupiter, Mars and damned Mithras, but the fearful citizen inside these soldiers feared the new God as much as anyone else.
The captain shot a furtive glance at the bishop as he approached, but pulled his eyes front again quickly. Evagrius stopped behind him and sighed. The captain turned, his face creased with panic.
‘Your Eminence,’ he mumbled.
Evagrius smiled. The presence of the bishop or even more lowly members of the Holy See struck fear into most citizens.
‘Can you feel the warmth in the air?’ He asked gently. The captain looked puzzled.
‘Your Eminence, it certainly is a fine evening.’
‘Yes, the sun is warm, but it’s more than that you know,’ Evagrius mused.
The captain nodded, but a tell-tale wrinkle on his brow betrayed his continuing unease.
‘It’s the favour of God that sheds such a warm light on this city. You and your men are guardians of the city of God.’
The captain smiled. ‘And we’re honoured to be in such a position, sir…I beg your pardon, Your Eminence.’
Evagrius laughed heartily. ‘It doesn’t matter what you call me, Captain, just as long as I know you are with me, with God, when called upon. And as God’s representative here in his good city, you should feel free to talk with me.’
‘Absolutely, Your Eminence. And equally, anything we can do to be of service to you or to please God, we will be delighted to do so.’
Evagrius smiled. ‘Simply by protecting his city you and your men provide an invaluable service to God. I would appreciate it greatly if you could continue to do so.’
‘Certainly, Your Eminence. Consider it our highest priority.’
‘And if you could spread the word amongst the wall’s guard centuries, and to the docks also. I will know of your good work, captain — you must believe that.’ The captain looked worried again. ‘So I would be most pleased if you could distribute this amongst your men.’ Evagrius produced a bulging canvas purse from his robe.
‘Your Eminence?’ The captain frowned.
‘Obviously, you would do your duty in any case. But should the situation arise,’ Evagrius’ eyes narrowed as he dropped the purse into the captain’s hand — the gold coins inside clinking on impact, ‘I trust I can count on your support when called upon?’
A bead of sweat escaped the captain’s brow and he licked his lips, feeling the weight of the bribe. ‘Your Eminence, I…’ his eyes darted around the battlements.
‘Fear not, captain, you are doing the right thing.’ Evagrius rested a hand on the captain’s shoulder. ‘How can it be wrong to serve God?’
‘Consider it done, Your Eminence,’ he gulped, tucking the purse into his belt.
Evagrius smiled and turned away towards the stairwell. The time would come, and soon, where the city would be at his mercy. An army of God was forming beyond the empire’s borders, and he alone controlled them.
Chapter 49
Every season seemed to have touched the valleys of Bosporus at once. A summer heat swirled in the air over the spring green grass carpeting the valley floor that the legion marched upon; lush pine forest coated the horizon inland to the right of the column, punctuated by towering grey mountains, capped in pure white and a tang of pine danced on the gentle breeze.
Pavo eyed the peaks and then looked to his left to see the shimmering waters of the Pontus Euxinus, slipping gradually between the green slopes as the legion moved inland. He tapped his fingers onto the disc of the phalera briefly, wondering if he would see the waters again.
‘Pavo,’ Zosimus grunted. ‘I hear you know your onions about these Huns? Felix says you’ve been brown-nosing Nerva about it.’
‘Eh?’ Pavo shook his head, glowering ahead at the optio. ‘Just stuff I’ve read.’
Zosimus looked entirely unimpressed. ‘Well, let’s hear it then?’
Avitus and Quadratus marched a fraction closer to get within earshot.
Pavo sighed, remembering the recruits swapping horror stories about the Huns on the deck of the
Aquila. Keep it down-to-earth
, he thought. ‘Well, there is a section in the library in Constantinople that’s stuffed full of scrolls from old writers. There’s a bundle from a geographer, an Egyptian called Ptolamaeus, who knew a lot about the people outside of the empire. And just by chance, he’d been in contact with them — the Huns. He wrote about how they lived; always on horseback, sleeping on their horses even! They don’t settle either; he wrote about them being far to the north and east of here, but he reckoned that because of some power struggle way to the east, it was only a matter of time before the Huns came west and arrived at the empire. Anyway, that’s really all I know.’
‘I think it’s a safe bet that that is a latrine-load more than we know put together and doubled, Pavo,’ Avitus mused less than subtly.
‘Aye, but what about their armies — do they have legions, what do they do with prisoners, all that stuff?’ Zosimus quizzed.
Pavo’s mind flashed with the memory of one scroll. Etched on it was a scene of a battlefield; the Huns had fought, won, and left behind a curious and massive dark heap in the centre of the plain, circled by carrion birds. He looked straight ahead. ‘They don’t take prisoners.’ The three listening in fell back in an uncomfortable silence.
Finally, Zosimus shot back. ‘Well, they’ll be tasting iron soon enough.’
Quadratus and Avitus replied with a throaty chuckle.
Just then a murmur of excitement rippled through the column. The foederati scout up ahead waved frantically.
‘Theodosia, dead ahead!’ Gallus boomed over his shoulder, raising a hand. ‘Full halt!’
Pavo craned his neck to examine the plain below; a squat stone wall ringed a collection of thatched and tiled roofs — once a Roman town, now Gothic. But something wasn’t right — the place was still, lifeless. The buzz of excitement had died as the rest of the column saw the tell-tale signs; the walkway on the wall was deserted, no smoke rose from the chimneys and no flag or banner flapped on the pole in what looked like the town centre. Amalric had talked of his people having been exterminated — but this looked as if they had simply vanished. Something was terribly wrong. Then he spotted the dark circle of vultures spinning in the grey sky above.
Gallus turned to the column and eyed the front line of the first century. ‘Pavo, Avitus, Zosimus, Quadratus. You’re going ahead to scout for any danger — stealth is the key here. I don’t want the legion stumbling into a trap, so keep your heads down and let’s see what the story is in there. Avitus, you have the lead.’
‘Sir!’ Avitus barked stepping forward. ‘Right, ladies, drop your packs and spears — swords and shields only for this. Move!’
The three leapt forward at the diminutive Avitus’ incongruous roar.