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

sir,’ Ennius panted through blue lips and a mouthful of porridge.
     
    ‘And the escort?’ Gallus frowned.
     
    Ennius shook his head. ‘A vexillatio levied from the XI Claudia, sir.’
     
    Gallus punched a fist into his palm. ‘Mithras!’ He spat. So another vexillatio had been gouged from the already husk-like legion. As a soldier, this concerned him. As a man, it felt as though his home was being looted in his absence, and it irked him to think of Lupicinus assuming command of the place so readily.
     
    Ennius looked momentarily startled.
     
    ‘At ease, rider, my ire is not directed at you,’ Gallus said. He gazed southeast to the dark forest, issuing a prayer to Mithras for the vexillatio that was to march from the safety of the empire and into this gods-forsaken land.
     

Chapter 4
     

     

     
    The marching camp was enshrouded in three layers; darkness, freezing fog and then thick forest. Sitting on a log in the centre of the small enclosure, Senator Tarquitius hogged one side of the newly kindled fire. He watched as the legionaries put the finishing touches to the camp, staking their tents to the ground and battering the palisade perimeter into place.
     
    He sighed, his belly groaning as he looked again to his prime cut of goat meat sizzling in the flames. ‘Come on, come on!’ He muttered and then looked up furtively, anxious that one of the legionaries might catch sight of his ample rations. But what if they do? They are just dice in my hands, he reminded himself with a grin. Then his eyes settled on Pavo, their so-called leader. And this one is a weighted die indeed , he mused as he eyed his ex-slave, stood alone and silent, examining the fortifications while the rest of the legionaries bantered. He pulled the meat from the flames and sunk his teeth into the tender flesh, juices rolling down his chins. Yes, this boy is becoming a valuable asset indeed; he just needs to be harnessed. His eyes fell upon the bronze phalera hanging around Pavo’s neck. The piece had been given to the boy, years ago, when Tarquitius had bought him at the slave market. A withered crone had pushed the piece into Pavo’s hand and then turned to Tarquitius to hiss a scathing diatribe in his ear. It had chilled him to his core, but in her words lay a sparkling gem, a precious nugget of information that would once again have Pavo in the palm of his hand. He grinned. Yes, perhaps it is time . . .
     
    ‘Your mind is working at all times!’ A voice chirped.
     
    Tarquitius bit his tongue, yelped and then looked up to see Salvian smiling back at him – that same open, altruistic expression and half-mouthed grin that he had tolerated for the last six months. He barely disguised a grumble of discontent as he shuffled along to allow his protégé to sit. ‘I muse while I sleep, I consider when I am awake,’ Tarquitius said, then leaned in towards his protégé, wiping the meat juices from his chin with the back of his hand, eyes wide, ‘and at all times, I am leagues ahead of my opponent.’
     
    Salvian nodded and his eyes darted as if a great truth had been revealed to him.
     
    Tarquitius barely suppressed a snort; this man had been through the academies of Constantinople and had learned from the finest thinkers, philosophers and strategists. Yes, he was clever, Tarquitius thought, but his mind was almost too sponge-like, so easily impressionable, lacking that vital spark. You simply can’t teach cunning, he smirked. Regardless, Salvian would make ideal lapdog in the political world, to go alongside a military puppet like Pavo. Again he grinned.
     
    No, the gift of cunning was only for a worthy few, he asserted. It was just such a trait that had seen Tarquitius rise through the political echelons. That rise had not been without setback and loss of face, he shuddered, remembering the dark dalliance with the Holy See that had spiralled out of control. But, as ever, he had proved indomitable until now, when he was deemed the