‘South-east of the city?’ Zosimus’ eyes widened and his skin paled.
Pavo bit his tongue in censure, remembering that Zosimus’ wife and young daughter were still in Adrianople. ‘They were just looking for easy pillage sir. Only nine of them – little more than brigands. They were harassing a group of farming wagons but we headed them off. Adrianople itself is still untroubled – we met with a turma of equites from the V Macedonica out there, and their decurion assured me that the city is now well bolstered and garrisoned should the Goths turn on its walls.’
‘Aye, well, get your wound seen to in any case,’ Zosimus flicked a finger to the flat-roofed building in the corner of the compound, ‘Gallus has insisted that all such things are checked and cleaned up before we set sail tomorrow. I’m bunking near you and I don’t want bloody maggots crawling about when I’m trying to sleep.’ The big Thracian scratched at his jaw, then clicked his fingers as they made to turn away. ‘Oh, and get straight back out here when you’ve been seen to – Gallus wants to inspect our century this afternoon. We might only be limitanei – as the smart-arses in this city are quick enough to remind us – but he doesn’t want us stumbling out to the east like some rabble of militia.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Pavo nodded stiffly.
The pair led their mounts to the stable and tethered them there, feeding each a clump of hay by the water trough. From there, they strolled over to the valetudinarium. Inside this medical building was a single, large room with a broad bench running along one wall, strewn with pots, scalpels, forceps and bloodstained linen bandages. Five of the six beds were empty. The sixth bed in the far corner bore the sweat-streaked, hulking figure of Centurion Quadratus, dressed only in a loincloth. A woman stood over him, back turned, tending to his injured ankle. The big Gaul roared in agony as the amber-haired nurse twisted his foot round in its full range of motion.
‘Oh stifle your yelping – I thought you were supposed to be a fearless centurion?’ the woman chided him casually.
‘In the name of Mithras – give me more wine!’ Quadratus roared, grappling at the ends of his blonde moustache to distract himself from the pain. His eyes fell upon Pavo. ‘I know you said she was dangerous in bed, but this is bloody torture!’
At once, the woman stopped what she was doing, stood upright, then spun to face Pavo. Her amber locks swished round in her wake and her usually milky skin was flushed with anger. She rested her hands on her hips and at that moment her sapphire gaze seemed even more fearsome than Gallus’.
‘Felicia, I only said that when they had plied me with wine . . . ’ he started
‘And anyway,’ Sura butted in in an attempt to help, ‘it’s a compliment, sort of . . . ’
This only seemed to ignite Felicia’s fury further. Without shifting her gaze from the pair, she reached down and wrenched at Quadratus’ ankle once more, eliciting another hoarse cry from the centurion.
Pavo and Sura flinched as if feeling the pain first-hand.
Felicia then strode purposefully over to Pavo. But her anger faded when she saw the blood on his tunic. ‘What on earth have you done to yourself out there?’ She hiked the garment up to examine his ribs. ‘Scouting, you said – how many scouts end up nearly gutted on a Gothic longsword.’
Sura made eyes at Pavo then motioned to the doorway. ‘Felicia, I’m fine. I’ll leave you two to talk.’
With Sura gone and Quadratus harrumphing in the far corner, they were alone.
‘You seem tense,’ Pavo offered, slipping his hands around her waist.
She batted his advances away and insisted on prodding at his wound. ‘I spent the morning tearing an arrow head from a boy’s lung,’ she said tersely, lifting his tunic to his shoulders then soaking a pad of linen with acetum and dabbing it across the wound to clear it of blood and dirt. ‘I don’t have time to relax. Now take that filthy tunic off,’ she grumbled, helping him remove the garment so he stood in only boots and loincloth.
Pavo searched for the right words as she hurriedly wrapped a length of bandage around his lean torso. Felicia had been through so much in these last few years. She had lost everyone. Everyone except Pavo. Now he was to leave her behind.
‘If we don’t speak honestly now, Felicia, then . . . ’ his words trailed off and he changed his tack, looping his arms around her once more. When she tried to resist and brush him off again, he gripped her tightly, until he felt her heart beat against his breast. ‘Tonight is our last night together. By noon tomorrow, I will be at sea, headed east. And I will be gone for some time.’