Legionary(93)

‘How is he?’ Sura asked, crouching beside Pavo.

‘No better,’ Pavo replied flatly.

‘But no worse either,’ Sura added firmly, clasping a hand to Pavo’s shoulder.

Just then, a noise startled them. The scuffing of feet up above – more than one person. Each of them held their breath. Then they heard the bleating of a goat and Zubin’s comical and one-sided conversation with the animal. They exhaled in relief and broke out in a chuckle. Zubin opened a trapdoor at that point, him and the mother goat grinning down at them.

‘I have more honeyed water and a fresh batch of dates,’ he said as he descended. Then he brought out a small piece of yellow root. ‘And this,’ he offered it to Pavo. ‘It may be the only thing that will rid him of the fever. Put it in his drink and be sure he drinks plenty and often. It will cause him to sweat out all that is in him. It will cure him, or . . . ’ Zubin fell silent.

‘I understand,’ Pavo nodded, taking the root.

On the morning of the sixth day in the cellar, Pavo woke before his comrades at sunrise, feeling strong and sharp. He began slicing at the yellow root with a dagger. The juices of the root had a sharp, tangy flavour, and turned the honeyed water ever more golden. He turned to Father, bathed in sweat, just as Zubin had predicted. Yet he was no less feverish, and his skin was pale. Pavo gulped, then held the cup to Falco’s mouth, making sure not a drop was wasted. Shortly after, the rest of the XI Claudia woke, then sat on the grain sacks in a circle as they ate a full breakfast of goats’ cheese, bread and eggs, washing it down with sweet water.

‘Ah,’ Zosimus sighed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, ‘I almost feel like a legionary once again.’

Quadratus stretched his arms then cricked his neck. ‘Aye, who’d have thought that it would be a Persian who would come to our aid in the end, eh?’

Felix chuckled at this, then his face fell solemn as he looked around them all and then to Falco. Pavo knew what the little Greek was going to say. ‘We cannot stay here for much longer.’

Pavo nodded, clasping Falco’s hand a little tighter. ‘I know.’

‘A long trek awaits us if we are to escape this land,’ Felix continued, shooting furtive glances to Falco.

‘I understand, sir,’ Pavo replied.

‘By nightfall tomorrow, we need to make a move - ’

They all fell silent as they heard scuffling above, waiting to hear the bleating of the mother goat and Zubin’s sanguine chatter. They heard Zubin, but his tone was different. His words were muffled, and Pavo strained to make them out. Then another voice split the air like a blade.

‘You have seen nothing?’ the voice snapped.

‘I am alone in these hills. You are the first soul I have spoken to in weeks.’

A silence ensued. ‘It would not be wise to lie to us, farmer.’

‘Why would I lie?’

‘You have no love for your rulers – I know this.’

Zubin chuckled wryly. ‘I do not love them. But I do not hate them. I pity them and the fate that awaits them beyond this life.’

Pavo’s mind flashed with images of the aggressors drawing some blade on Zubin for this retort, but there was no sound for what felt like an eternity.

‘Come on,’ the voice snarled at last, ‘this dog is wasting our time!’ A drumming of feet sounded and then faded.

Pavo shared an anxious look with his comrades. Then the trapdoor whooshed open. Zubin’s face was wrinkled in concern. ‘It is not safe here anymore.’





Under cover of night, Pavo and Sura crept through the brush atop one hill, then peered down to the valley. A group of five Persian scout riders ate around a campfire there, and another three were posted at either end of the shallow valley. Pavo glanced back over his shoulder to the row of hills behind them, Zubin’s farmhouse perched atop the furthest.

‘There are too many of them,’ Sura said. ‘That’s the third such party we’ve sighted.’

‘Aye, they’re crawling all over these hills like ants,’ Pavo agreed. He looked past the guards and off to the west, seeing the faint outline of the river gorge in the darkness, and then the orange glow of torchlight from the city of Bishapur, looming over the river where the foothills tapered off. Felix had sent them out in the hope of reconnoitring possible routes they could take to make a break towards the Gulf coast, some thirty miles into the darkness beyond the city. The primus pilus would not be pleased with their findings.

He glanced to the east and noticed that a band of dark orange glowed behind the Zagros Mountains. He batted a hand to Sura’s shoulder. ‘Come on, it’s nearly dawn, we should get back before it gets too light.’ The pair slid back down the hillside, careful not to make too much noise, then they scuttled along the ridge of hills towards Zubin’s farmhouse. Pavo noticed something as they ran; from here he could see the flatland around the city of Bishapur, and the roads leading to the city seemed to writhe in the first shafts of dawn light. Wagons, animals and vast swathes of people, pouring towards the city gates. He frowned at this, then turned his attentions on the farmhouse, ahead. And as soon as he did, he and Sura froze. Two silhouettes walked near the farmhouse door.