A few of the Claudia legionaries noticed his sour look and replied with indignant frowns. Pavo felt the first twinge of trouble.
‘Relax,’ Sura nudged him with an elbow and pinged a fingernail against the end of his cup. ‘Once they’ve had a few jugs of this stuff in them they’ll be at ease too.’
The evening wore on and Pavo reckoned it was nearing midnight. A group of local young women — dark-eyed and dusky-skinned — came in at that point. They were dressed in simple robes and seemed eager to keep themselves to themselves. They took up a bench between the Claudia men and the sentries — who supped at their drinks and chatted in muted tones. Sura was swift to approach the women. When they refused his offer to come over to the Claudia bench, he then had a jug of wine sent to their table. Soon, the women cast aside their shyness and began chatting with the Claudia legionaries. Pavo shook his head with a smile as he saw the women now bore a warm glow in their cheeks just like his comrades. But he noticed the sharp-faced sentry’s glare. He was making no attempt to conceal his disgust at the behaviour of the foreign soldiers.
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 — ’
His words were cut short by the crunch of Sura’s knuckles smashing onto bone. Baptista staggered back, cupping his hands to his bloodied nose and mouth. Two half-teeth dropped to the flagstoned floor along with a trickle of blood.
The other sentries gawped, then filled their lungs. ‘At them!’ they roared and then launched forward, leaping over the Claudia bench. In reply, Zosimus, Quadratus and Felix led a counter-charge from the Claudia.
Pavo managed to get one foot on the bench before the palms of a wild-eyed, bearded sentry butted him backwards. The pair fell, tumbling through a sea of legs. Serrated curses and pained grunts echoed all around them. The man unleashed a series of quick, hard jabs into Pavo’s ribs, and the fiery pain sobered him instantly. He thrashed with his knee, kicking the man from him, then followed up with a left hook. His knuckles cracked as they met the man’s jaw and he roared in agony, but his foe stumbled back and slumped in the shadows.
‘Pavo!’ Sura cried.
He swung to see a stool hurtling through the air towards him and ducked just under it. The stool splintered against the wall. Blinking through the swarm of flailing fists and tumbling bodies, Pavo saw Sura, pinned to the table, Baptista throttling him. He leapt up onto the bench, hopped over the form of Quadratus wrestling with one sentry, ducked under the swing of another sentry, then spun as a stray hook caught him square on the cheek. Dazed, he flailed then toppled down onto Baptista’s back. The roaring sentry leader released Sura, then spun round, trying to shake Pavo off. Dizzy and nauseous, Pavo could only cling onto the man’s shoulders. Meanwhile, Sura danced around the spinning pair, looking to jab a foot at Baptista.
‘Keep him still, Pavo. Keep him still while I boot his ba. . ’
‘Enough!’ a voice cut through the air like a jagged blade. A voice like no other.
The din of the quarrel faded as quickly as it had begun. Pavo slid from Baptista’s shoulders. All eyes looked to doorway. Four figures stood there.
Gallus glowered upon them, his top lip wrinkled in disdain. He was flanked by a short, filthy looking man on one side and a tall, haggard sort in a legionary tunic on the other. Gallus strode forward into the lamplight. Panting men wiped blood from their mouths and noses and cupped hands to their bruises as they scrutinised the newcomers.