Legionary(51)

‘We found them this morning when the storm died. Or rather, they found us,’ Felix shrugged. ‘They’re from the IV Scythica, just three of them – a tribunus and two legionaries. Gallus is trying to make sense of the tribunus’ ramblings.’

Pavo squinted to see Gallus and Carbo talking to some wild-eyed man in mail armour by the tent flap. The man’s thin, wispy hair was coated in sweat and sand and pointing in every direction at once. He gripped his plumed helm underarm, his knuckles white and his face etched with terror.

Felix sighed and shook his head at the sight. ‘In the meantime, they have given over their surplus rations to us – it seems there is a spring a days’ march from here and they had a few skins to spare.’

Pavo nodded, then took another gulp of water. He looked around him, frowning. ‘Last night,’ he spoke quietly, ‘I thought the sands had claimed me.’

‘And we thought we had found the last of the survivors some time ago, Pavo,’ Sura added. ‘We thought you were dead. If it wasn’t for that bastard of a vulture, we’d never have spotted you.’

Zosimus scratched his anvil jaw and defied his chapped, broken and utterly exhausted state to crack a grin. ‘Aye, so thank Mithras and that winged whoreson that you are still breathing. Else I would have had to promote the biggest smart-arse in Adrianople to optio,’ he jabbed a thumb at Sura.

The four grinned at this.

Felix offered Pavo a hand and wrenched him to his feet. ‘Come on, we need to be ready to move onwards. The water we have will not last for long.’

They staggered down the dune and over to the gathering of legionaries. As they approached, Pavo overheard the wild-eyed IV Scythica Tribunus’ words.

‘I . . . I, we,’ he scratched at his scalp and his lips flapped. ‘We decided to reconnoitre . . . ’

‘Reconnaissance? Perhaps things are done differently in these parts, Tribunus Ovidius,’ Gallus spat, ‘but I have never seen a tribunus, leader of a legion, perform such a task.’ The pair of legionaries with Ovidius shared a furtive glance at this, and the tribunus’ top lip began to tic. Gallus saw it. Pavo saw it.

‘You are in no position to question me, Tribunus Gallus,’ Ovidius blurted out. ‘The rest of my legion follow a short distance behind.’

Gallus eyed the tribunus with a glare that might even have chilled the infernal sun. ‘Then we can march south-east to meet with them. And you’re coming with us.’

‘No, you don’t understand, you can’t go that way!’ Ovidius wailed. At this, he snatched his spatha from his belt and held it out, waving it at those nearby as he backed away. ‘You can’t make me go back. They are out there, they will be the death of us – all of us!’ He turned as if to run to the north, only to be stopped by Quadratus’ ham-like fist crashing into his cheek. The big Gaul caught Ovidius as he slumped. ‘Bloody idiot,’ he grumbled.

Gallus sighed in disgust, then turned to the two legionaries who had come with Ovidius, fixing them with a winter-cold glare. ‘You will carry your tribunus until he wakes. I trust you will not follow his example?’

They both nodded hurriedly.

He clicked his fingers and turned to address the men of the XI Claudia. But he paused, seeing Pavo standing there, still alive despite the sandstorm. Pavo threw up an arm in salute. A faint narrowing of the eyes was all Gallus offered in return. That and the barest upwards flicker at the corners of his lips.

‘A spring lies to the south-east. A spring and a legion that is in dire trouble. Take on what water you can and be ready to move out before noon!’





Pavo’s breath came and went in rasps as he approached the top of the latest dune. His mind taunted him with images of the thousand more dunes that would stretch out beyond it. But hoarse cries of delight rang out from the men of the vexillatio who got there just before him. Hope surged in his heart. He renewed his efforts and hauled himself atop the sandy ridge.

The dunes were no more. A flat, sandy plain stretched out ahead. Dead in the centre, only a few hundred feet away, was an ethereal green mass. Another mirage? He rubbed his eyes and blinked. Once, twice, again. No, this was real. Date palms, long grass, thick green foliage and a shimmering, clear pool, the weakest of breezes feathering its surface. The oasis was the size of a small arena at best. Some underground spring had pierced through the desert floor to fill the pool and turn the arid dust around it into a shady, fertile haven.

The vexillatio poured forward, Pavo with them. They found strength where previously they had none. They threw down their spears then hurtled through the palms to splash into the pool. Pavo fell to his knees, panting, the coolness of the water soothing his body, sharpening his thoughts at once. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Baptista kneeling likewise, scooping water over his long, tousled locks then clasping his hands in prayer. Zosimus, Quadratus and the others of the XI Claudia, meanwhile, offered a swift salute to Mithras, before ducking under the surface, bursting free and then drinking handful after handful of the springwater. Pavo cupped and drank likewise. The first few mouthfuls were unfamiliar to his dry, cracked throat and mouth. Then he felt the coolness in his belly and at once, his eyes watered and he felt hope in his heart once more. As he drank, he cast his eye up and over the green fronds of the palms. Bunches of ripe, yellow-orange dates bulged under the leaves. Here they could fill their bellies and rest. Here, everything was possible once more.