Legionary(45)

Pavo turned back to his current task. He picked up the clay bowl and swiped his thumbs through the kohl it held. He pressed his thumbs to Zosimus’ scowling features, then rubbed them along under the big Thracian’s eyes, leaving a dark smear of the substance on each cheek. Zosimus glared at Pavo as if he had just spilled his wine cup. Quadratus did not help matters by stifling fits of laughter.

‘This better not be some sort of joke,’ Zosimus growled, shooting nervous glances to those nearby. ‘I’m not some bloody catamite, you know.’

‘If it was a joke, would I be wearing it?’ Pavo added, pointing to his own cheeks. ‘Would they be wearing it?’ he nodded to Izodora and her men. It was Izodora who had advised them to use it. ‘It’ll dull the reflection of the sun – your skin will not burn and your eyes will not tire so swiftly,’ Pavo assured him. Then a legionary from Quadratus’ century strolled up to apply the dark paste to the big Gaul’s cheeks. His fits of laughter ended abruptly and this seemed to calm Zosimus. All around them, other men of the column applied kohl in a similar fashion, fastened their boots and helms into place and slid on their mail vests.

Before the sun had fully risen, the two legionary standards – brushed clean of the worst of the dust and blood – were raised and they were ready to set off. Izodora and her riders escorted them for a few miles, then pointed them in the direction of the next water source. Pavo saw Gallus approach her before she departed. The tribunus lifted the frayed, tawny gold lion purse from his belt and placed it in her palm, offering with it just a few muted words. She seemed to behold Gallus in silence for a few moments, before she and her riders turned back for the crevasse, gradually melting into the growing heat haze.

The march was brisk at first, the men eager to cover as many miles as possible before the midday heat challenged them. But the morning sun was fierce enough. The rawness of Pavo’s ankles came back swiftly, despite the cooling balms the Maratocupreni had applied to his skin that morning. Already, his tunic was soaked through with sweat, his mail stung to the touch and his helmet seemed to be cooking his brain once more. It was a small mercy that they had the camels to carry their shields and some of the ration packs. The biggest discomfort for Pavo, however, was Sura’s incessant questioning.

‘You didn’t? What do you mean you didn’t?’ Sura asked, his face overly smeared in kohl and the skin on his arms plastered in the pale jasmine paste.

‘I mean just that. Nothing happened,’ Pavo insisted again.

‘You were out there for hours with her. What did you do then?’

At this, all the legionaries nearby seemed to cock an ear to the conversation, and Centurion Zosimus looked over his shoulder with an eager eye.

‘We . . . ’ Pavo started, then sighed in resignation. ‘We talked, that’s all.’

‘Talked?’ Sura gawped in mock horror.

‘I’d give her a bloody good talking too, I can tell you,’ Zosimus chuckled, his broad shoulders jostling.

Pavo made to defend Izodora’s honour, but hesitated on seeing the mischievous grins Sura and Zosimus wore – eager for Pavo to dig a deeper hole for himself. ‘I’ll be marching at the rear,’ he grumbled, falling back.

He heard Sura’s words trailing off as he fell back. ‘Aye, I bet she’d like that too . . . ‘

He berated the lads at the back a little more harshly than they deserved, partly to quell his annoyance and partly because this would keep his mind and theirs from the heat – something Zosimus had suggested. The toll of the camel raider attack had been heavy. Discounting the injured remaining with the Maratocupreni, Zosimus’ century now numbered just thirty-one, and Quadratus’ century had been depleted to just thirty-nine. Likewise, the Flavia Firma had lost nearly half of their number – barely forty marching with Carbo and Baptista.

‘This mission was never about numbers,’ Felix said in a hushed tone.

Pavo looked to the primus pilus. His gaze was flinty.

‘If the emperor sought to seize this scroll by force, he would have scraped together and sent in many legions. So long as one of us marches on, we can still do this.’

Pavo smiled wearily. ‘Aye, one man, one scroll. The future of the empire.’

‘An easy task . . . for once,’ Felix grinned then turned to berate the legionaries further before rousing them into a chorus of song.

They carried on at a good pace until the sun reached its zenith. Now the heat was intense – like never before on this journey. Until now, Pavo had felt such ferocity only when stood near the soot-stained smithy furnaces in the fort fabricae, watching glowing new spatha blades passing from the flames to be tempered and honed. The singing had fallen away and a rhythmic gasping had replaced it, punctuated by the popping of corks from water skins and frantic guzzling of water.