Free Legionary: The Scourge of Thracia (Legionary 4) by Gordon Doherty Page B

said.
    ‘We can’t talk here,’ she whispered, then took him by the wrist and led him out and into the night. With a series of determined squelches, she marched him to a small tent on the southern edge of the sprawling camp. There, without ceremony, she picked up a bucket of water resting outside and hurled it over Pavo.
    It was freezing cold – more so even than the currents of the River Tonsus. He gasped in fright, then stammered in confusion. ‘What the?’
    ‘You’re filthy,’ she said calmly. ‘Now come inside and take that sodden, grubby tunic off.’
    ‘It was clean a moment ago,’ he muttered, then obediently removed his tunic and hooked it on a pole outside before following her inside dressed in just his loincloth. Inside, she struck a flint hook to an oil lamp that poured an orange bubble of light around the space and revealed two beds – one for her and one for the harridan Lucilla, presumably. She handed him a towel and as he dried himself, she poured them each a cup of fresh water and broke a small loaf of bread. They sat cross-legged on her bed, facing one another, Pavo gladly helping himself to some bread.
    ‘This place is a wolves’ den,’ she whispered, glancing at their dancing shadows on the tent canvas, as if they might be listening in.
    Pavo’s chewing slowed. A forgotten but familiar, stony feeling settled in his gut. In his time away from imperial lands, he had forgotten – or had chosen to forget – the web of intrigue that laced every corridor, the rust of corruption that weakened every city gate and the stale breath of perfidy that lingered like mist in every province.
    ‘The Speculatores are at large,’ she said, mouthing this in an almost inaudible whisper.
    Pavo’s blood chilled. The Speculatores had no place here, in the Eastern Empire. They were a grim and ancient institution of the West. Yet these shades had been ever-present yet unseen in all his time with the legions. Men who operated like wraiths in the shadows, stirring up dissent, murdering and stealing as they pursued dark agendas lost on most common men. They had ruptured Felicia’s life, recruiting her young brother and sending him into the ranks of the XI Claudia as an assassin. They had tried to poison the cohorts of the Claudia again, assigning Avitus to the ranks. Both agents were now long dead. The man they had been sent to slay was still very much alive and seemingly forgotten by these shadowy agents. But what was it about Gallus? What had gone on in his past life in the West that caused them to harry him so?
    He thought of Gallus’ few words in these last days.
    The Praesental Armies of East and West will unite in Thracia. When they do, it will be the first time they have come together in so very long. The Goths should be wary . . . as should we all.
    Was theSpeculatores’ presence a precursor of the Western Emperor Gratian and his armies coming to these lands? He thought of Gallus’ reaction to the news of Gratian’s army coming east. ‘Of course . . . ’ he muttered.
    ‘Eh?’ Felicia said.
    He shook his head. ‘Why are they here?’
    Felicia held her hands out in exasperation. ‘I know nothing other than that they are here and have been for some weeks.’
    ‘You’ve seen them?’
    ‘I could not mistake their kind, Pavo,’ she said gravely.
    ‘Aye,’ he nodded, placing a comforting hand on hers, thinking of her dead brother. ‘Where, when?’
    She leaned closer to whisper once more. ‘Near the principia.’
    Her words tickled his ear and sent a shiver racing down his back. He tried to bury the stirring this brought about in his groin and thought of the haphazard arrangement of tents at the heart of the camp. Was the detestable Tribunus Barzimeres in league with the Speculatores? Or were they here to kill him or another? Suddenly, he feared for Gallus: what if they had come, after years of silence, to finish the job?
    ‘By day they behave like every other wastrel in this camp – drinking,