Free The Great Game by S. J. A. Turney Page A

toward the gathering.
    Slowly, with a sedate and impressive pace, eagle, flags and standards glinting and fluttering, the Tenth Gemina filed out of the great gate of the headquarters, along the Via Principalis and out of the fortress. The legatus and his tribunes led the column, riding immaculately-groomed horses, their cloaks flapping in the breeze, each cohort and century following on in line.
    As the legion traversed the causeway that crossed the fortress’ defensive ditches and moved into the street of the civil settlement, folk leaned out of windows and doors and cheered. Families stood beneath the wooden verandas of their buildings watching with awe and glee as the victorious Tenth passed by. Out of the corner of his eye, before they fully emerged from the defences and into the street, Rufinus caught sight of another legion marching across the open ground before the fortress, having just crossed the river. That was either the First Adiutrix or the Third Italica: the two legions encamped within the land that would soon become the province of Marcomannia, across the Danubius.
    Every part of the emperor’s glorious army was parading today.
    Past houses and tabernae, workshops and stables they marched to the cheers of the crowd, boots churning the endless slush and slurry of the streets, eyes on the sky, praying to a hundred different Gods to hold the weather off until they had returned to the cover of the barracks.
    Past the new gleaming marble temple of Roma and Victory they marched, past the temple of Epona: a Goddess worshipped almost exclusively by the indigenous folk and cavalry troopers, past the animal market, the great granaries, the infamous ‘Grape Field’ tavern than had robbed so many soldiers of their pay and their senses in varying degrees, past the side road to the main docks with itsendless stream of heavily-laden carts and wagons: past the thriving heart of civil Vindobona.
    Finally, ahead stood the high, gracefully arched exterior of the new theatre, not yet opened, though nearing completion and due to be dedicated to the glorious name of Marcus Aurelius in Aprilis. Yet another avenue of celebration for the final quashing of the tribes across the river.
    At the edge of Vindobona, the theatre stood some thirty feet high in its most complete section, covered with wooden scaffolding and hanging ropes like a shredded spider web. The wooden boards and platforms were packed with workers and civilians all trying to get a view of the great parade ground that had been designated on the wasteland opposite, the snow shovelled off early in the morning in preparation.
    Already three of the legions had arrived at the great space and were standing to attention. Crowds of civilians heaved and jostled at the periphery, occasional over-excited members leaning out toward the assembled soldiers, though none were stupid enough to actually approach the army. This may be a great parade and spectacle, but every man and woman in Vindobona knew quite well how battle-hardened and prepared for trouble the assembled forces were. With the emperor present, even the slightest move forward from the crowd could be construed as a potential threat and the Praetorians were prepared to deal with any such infraction.
    The imperial family, along with the senior commanders and a few of the more important civil officers in the city stood on a raised wooden dais at the riverward side of the ground, backed by a palisade that displayed trophies of captured Marcomannic and Quadi weapons, armour and shields, all interspersed with expensive furs.
    The personal slaves of the most important attendees stood patiently at the foot of the platform, looking for all the world like a human shield between the nobles and the massed ranks of the legions. Rufinus tried, as he moved into position, to spot a certain young lady among them, but they were too numerous and distant.
    Two groups of captive enemy noblemen stood chained, defeated and dejected, at each end