Then he overheard Sura’s boasts to a full-figured brunette amongst the women.
‘Aye, so the Cretan pirates were moments from putting a hole in the side of our galley. This lot were cowering at the far side of the deck,’ he scoffed, waving a hand dismissively at the rest of the Claudia. ‘But I came up with a plan at the last moment to save us all. I scooped up the ship’s anchor, heaved it all the way up to the boat’s edge. Adrianople’s champion weightlifter, you see. Three years running,’ he jabbed a thumb to his chest. ‘Anyway, I got to the boat’s edge with this huge iron anchor, then I hurled it . . . ’ his words trailed away, his confidence faltering as he realised many of his comrades, Zosimus, Felix and Quadratus included, had quietened down to listen in.
‘Aye, carry on,’ Quadratus chirped, twisting a splinter of wood in his teeth to weed out a sinew of lamb.
Sura gulped a few times, then nodded. ‘I . . . hurled it and . . . ’
The brunette seemed altogether bemused by his tale, and somewhat attuned to Quadratus’ thinking. ‘And? Come on, don’t be so shy.’
‘I hurled it fifty feet . . . twenty feet?’ Sura dithered, testing how much liberty he could take. ‘It crashed through the pirate craft and saved us all,’ he ended hurriedly, his face glowing red.
‘Oh aye, it’s all true,’ Zosimus agreed, then his face bent into a wicked grin under his squashed nose. ‘You should see the size of his muscles. Go on,’ the centurion prompted Sura, ‘off with your tunic – show her!’
Sura shot a wide-eyed look of terror at Zosimus. But the big Thracian, Quadratus and Felix all smiled back at him.
‘Go on then,’ the brunette added, stifling a hiccup then stroking Sura’s bicep.
‘No, I . . . er . . . oh bollocks,’ he muttered. Like a man being led to dig his own grave, Sura hiked up his tunic, pulled it over his head and tossed it down. He stood in his loincloth, sulking, his torso milk-white where his tunic had been and in painful contrast to his lobster pink arms and ruddy features.
Silence filled every inch of the tavern for a heartbeat, until Zosimus threw his head back and laughed like a drain. Every Claudia legionary joined in. Even Pavo couldn’t contain himself, snorting wine through his nose as he saw his friend scowling indignantly.
Suddenly, a hurled cup bounced across the floor and the screeching of a stool culled the laughter. The sharp-faced leader of the sentries had shot to standing, his chest rising and falling. His eyes were alive with fury and he shook with rage. ‘Enough!’ he barked, striding over to slam a fist on the end of the Claudia bench. The cups leapt and wobbled, some spilling frothing ale and wine. ‘This is my city, my home.’ His tone was mean and clipped. ‘The emperor may have summoned you east to do his bidding, but do not think that makes you more worthy than us.’
Pavo frowned as the man turned his gaze on the curvy brunette by Sura’s side. ‘I will not have you fraternising with these Thracian curs.’ He grappled at the brunette’s arm. ‘Come!’
‘Take your hands off me, Baptista. I’m your sister, not your dog,’ she snapped, standing then wriggling clear of his grasp.
‘You would rather stay in the company of these . . . animals?’ Baptista said. His sister stifled a sigh, then brushed past him, beckoning her friends. As the women stormed from the inn, Baptista turned his gaze upon the Claudia men, the rest of the sentries stood behind him, glowering darkly. ‘Animals who worship Mithras . . . a bloodthirsty animal like no other.’
At this, Pavo felt the atmosphere change irretrievably. The warm camaraderie of moments ago drained like a cistern. Felix shot to his feet, Zosimus and Quadratus flanked him. Thirty more stools screeched as the Claudia stood with them. Like rats scattering from a sudden, bright light, the people dotted around the tavern bolted for the door. Pavo stood firm with his comrades, but his mind spun through a series of unsatisfactory ways to dampen the tension. In the no man’s land between the opposing groups, Sura stood, gulping as he quietly slipped his tunic back on.
Felix broke the silence, speaking in a baritone murmur through grinding teeth; ‘So the emperor summoned us east. We didn’t ask for this. So curse us if you will, but never speak ill of Mithras.’
‘We will protect our holy city from the godless as we see fit,’ Baptista rasped in reply.
‘Godless?’ Zosimus said with an incredulous grin.
At this moment, Sura decided to step back over to his own lines. Baptista shot out an arm, clasping at his shoulder. ‘I didn’t say you could move, cur! Stay where you - ’