‘Yes, sir!’ the pair replied.
‘At ease,’ the big Thracian said, picking some strand of meat from his teeth. Then he frowned, his gaze shifting to the bloodstain on Pavo’s tunic. ‘What happened out there?’
‘It’s nothing, the bleeding has stopped,’ Pavo replied. ‘A Gothic scouting party had broken through the temporary limes and they were riding south-east of Adrianople.’
‘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.’
I might never return, like Father, a voice added from the dark recesses of his mind.
At last, Felicia’s facade crumbled. ‘Don’t you know that my every thought rests on that?’ she said, her voice cracking. A sob escaped as she buried her head in Pavo’s chest. ‘I’ve heard what the Persian frontier is like. I. . ’ her voice cracked.
Pavo held a palm to her face and stroked away a tear with his thumb.
Felicia met his gaze. ‘Do you even know why you have been summoned there?’
Pavo could offer nothing. All anyone of the XI Claudia vexillatio knew was that they had to make their way east, to the city of Antioch. There, Emperor Valens would disclose to them the details of this sortie that had so far remained shrouded in mystery. ‘Felicia, I don’t know, even Gallus doesn’t know, but. . ’ he said, barely realising that he was toying with the outline of the phalera as he spoke.
‘But you have to go, regardless?’ she finished. ‘Even if there was no mission, you would have to go east, wouldn’t you?’ She traced a finger over the medallion too now.
Legio II Parthica the inscription read. Father’s legion. Since the day the old crone had pressed the piece into Pavo’s hand, it had given him strength. Strength to survive after news came to him of Father’s slaying in the sacking of the eastern city of Bezabde. Strength to carry on through the years of slavery that followed. Strength to seize his chance of freedom and serve in the legions. Then, just weeks ago, that had all changed with word brought from the Persian frontier. It seemed that some of the Parthica had survived the fall of Bezabde, being taken captive and sent to toil in the treacherous Persian salt mines.
Even without horse, coin or water, I would travel east alone to find out what happened to you. If Mithras wills it, I will find you or your bones out there, Father, the voice in his mind answered with alarming clarity. He looked down as a tear of his own splashed onto Felicia’s fingers, then nodded in silence.
They each looked up, seeing each other through their sorrowful blur, then Pavo pressed his lips to Felicia’s, tasting her salty tears. Their embrace was lasting and they clung to one another, her warmth like a salve to his tired body. It took a gruff grunt from the corner of the room to end their moment, somewhat abruptly.
‘When you two come up for air, can I get some wine over here?’ Quadratus moaned. ‘I need something to numb the bloody pain.’
At this, Felicia’s face split with a wide and toothy grin and she wiped the tears from her eyes. The sight warmed Pavo’s heart. Felicia squeezed his hand then slipped away to tend to Quadratus. Pavo gazed after her, until Gallus’ barking from the walls snapped him from his trance. He looked to the doorway and out into the training yard. The iron tribunus was now descending the stairs to berate his men further. Pavo stepped outside, readying to help Zosimus in gathering the century. He heard the lapping of waves from over the sea walls and saw the masts of the two triremes that would carry them towards the rising sun. A shiver danced across his skin and he answered the dark whispers in his mind.