Free Legionary: Viper of the North by Gordon Doherty Page A

legionaries, but a sense of unease about this whole mission just wouldn’t allow him to comply.
     
    Once again his gaze was drawn northeast, to the looming grey wall that was the Carpates Mountains. Then he turned his gaze down to the banner and the viper emblem, then sat on a log and rubbed his temples; there had to be an answer to this riddle. Yet numerous vexillationes were out here chasing that answer, and the longer they were out here, the longer the major crossing points on the Danubius were left weakened.
     
    He picked up a twig and began tracing out the river in a patch of earth, marking the XI Claudia fort and the town of Durostorum, then the next nearest major fort some seventy miles to the west. Then he moved the twig back to Durostorum and traced a thin line across the river to represent the accursed pontoon bridge.
     
    ‘Big Quadratus would defend that bridge on his own if he had to, sir,’ Felix offered, nodding to the etching in the ground.
     
    Gallus gave his primus pilus a wry gaze. ‘Aye, he would. Precious few of his like left in the legion, Felix.’
     
    Felix sat next to him. ‘And don’t forget Avitus; he’d be fighting by Quadratus’ side till the last.’
     
    Gallus nodded. ‘But those two aside, we’re down to men with little over a year’s soldiering experience.’
     
    ‘And there are only a few of them,’ Felix said. ‘Pavo has potential. He’s a fine fighter.’
     
    ‘Fighters I’ll take, any day of the week, but its leaders we need, Felix.’
     
    Felix nodded. ‘Then Pavo will take the route every other legionary has; he’ll die a fighter or he’ll emerge as a leader.’
     
    Gallus almost grinned at this.
     
    ‘And what about Sura,’ Felix asked. ‘He’s a slippery bugger. Got an eye for a plan, that one.’
     
    Then a gruff voice butted in. It was Zosimus, licking the last of the porridge from his bowl. ‘Sura? You’ve got to be kidding. That lad’s not all there,’ he tapped a finger to his temple, ‘bloody mental, he is!’ With that, the big Thracian sucked a mouthful of soured wine from his skin and emitted a belch that scattered the birds from the nearby spruce thicket. Then, with a chuckle, he wandered off to berate his legionaries.
     
    ‘And then there’s Zosimus . . . ’ Felix sighed, grinning at Gallus. ‘Sir?’
     
    But Gallus’ attention was elsewhere; the sentries by the gateposts were calling down for the gates to be opened. He stood and walked towards the main gate. A rider entered then dismounted and stumbled through the eating legionaries. He came to Gallus, panting, then gulped a breath in and saluted.
     
    ‘Quintus Livius Ennius, of the Cursus Publicus . I bring a message for Tribunus Gallus from,’ he took in more air and held out the scroll in a trembling grasp, ‘Comes Lupicinus of the XI Claudia.’
     
    At this, the seated legionaries issued a harmonised groan.
     
    Gallus did not react, other than to raise one eyebrow. ‘By Mithras, Ennius, that is a double blow. Comes Lupicinus is bad enough, but Comes Lupicinus of the XI Claudia? ’ He took the scroll and snapped the wax seal. Unfurling it, he noticed all eyes were upon him.
     
    ‘Get this lad some porridge, then break camp and be ready to march before the sun’s fully up!’ He barked. The men of the vexillatio slunk away to begin disassembling the tents.
     
    Gallus’ eyes then darted across the scrawl on the paper.
     
    . . . the parley with Athanaric will take place imminently and takes priority over all activity in Fritigern’s lands. Proceed to Wodinscomba, then wait. An ambassadorial party and a legionary escort have been despatched to that location to meet you   there   . . .
     
    Gallus frowned; the hollow at Wodinscomba demarcated the end of Fritigern’s territory and the start of Athanaric’s, and was certainly not a place any Roman would want to linger. He looked up at Ennius, brow furrowed. ‘When was this order given?’
     
    ‘Three days ago,