Tribunus Varius and the sixty-eight surviving men of the Flavia Firma marched out ahead in a column. The five men of the XI Claudia followed, forming the sparsest of rearguards. Pavo, scalp and jaw freshly shorn, marched alongside Zosimus. Sura and Quadratus marched behind, and Gallus walked alone just ahead.
‘How far is the rendezvous, sir?’ Quadratus asked.
‘We’ll reach them by morning,’ Gallus called over his shoulder.
As the night wore on, Zosimus, Quadratus and Sura sparked some heated debate about who had cheated whom at dice the previous day.
Gallus barely broke his relentless stride as he cast an eye over his shoulder at this play-quarrel.
‘It seems they tire of peace already, sir,’ Pavo offered with a half-grin.
Gallus did not reply. Pavo frowned. The tribunus had cut a laconic figure in these last days, and seemed even more restless than usual. He strode forward to walk level, steadying his nerves. ‘Sir, we are back in the empire now,’ he nodded back over his shoulder. ‘The Persians, the Savaran — they are no threat to us here.’
At this, Gallus slowed a little, and his intense glower softened just a fraction. ‘The Savaran are the least of my concerns now.’
Pavo. ‘Sir?’
Gallus pursed his lips as if in consideration, then looked to him, the moonlight glinting in his eyes. ‘You found your father, Pavo, against all the odds. But in doing so, you lost him. Had we not set out to the east, he might have lived on.’
‘That is true. But it was worth everything,’ Pavo blurted out. The answer came straight from the heart. ‘Every step through the burning sands. Every lash of the whip in those mines. Every blade that scored my flesh. Father died saving me. He died a free man, knowing his son had walked the world to save him.’ A tear darted down his cheek before he could stop it. ‘I faced the past. The nightmares are gone.’
Gallus’ gaze grew intense. ‘You faced the past and you found your father. Carbo faced his past and found some form of atonement in saving us. And that is what spurs me on, lad. The past. That is why I know where my next destination must be.’
‘Sir?’ Pavo frowned.
Gallus beheld him earnestly for a moment. Words seemed to play on his lips.
Then a shout pierced the night air.
‘The riders!’
Gallus and Pavo looked up. A cloud of dust approached from the west, ethereal in the moonlight. This was more than just a turma of equites. Another three turmae rode with them, wearing white tunics, bearing gilded spears.
‘Candidati?’ Gallus gasped, stepping forward.
‘Aye, and equites sagitarii outriders too,’ Pavo frowned, seeing the scale-clad Roman cavalry archers riding wide of the main party to screen them from any ambush.
The candidati slowed before the returning legionaries. The riders parted to reveal Emperor Valens, saddled on a black stallion. He was dressed in white, his shoulders wrapped in a purple cloak and he wore a battle helm crested with a magnificent purple plume. His expression was grave.
‘Tribunus Gallus,’ Valens barked.
‘Emperor!’ Gallus saluted.
‘The outrider you despatched reached me some days ago. Is it true? The scroll cannot save us?’ Valens asked.
Gallus drew the scroll from his robe and handed it to Valens. ‘Regrettably so, Emperor.’
Valens’ brow knitted as he scanned the scroll, then his eyes glazed over as he reached the last lines. ‘Then the east is at the mercy of Shapur.’
‘No, Emperor. I bear no treaty to confirm this, but I suspect Shapur will not encroach upon imperial lands in the coming years,’ Gallus offered. ‘He has enough troubles in his own realm.’
Valens frowned. ‘You know this, how?’
Gallus opened his mouth to speak, then glanced to Quadratus, Zosimus and Sura behind him, then finally to Pavo. ‘It is a long story, Emperor.’
Valens’ mount shuffled in impatience and the emperor nodded, noting the condition of these men he had sent out east, months ago. ‘You will tell me about it as we ride back to Antioch and then when we set sail for Constantinople at haste.’ He clapped his hands and the candidati led forward a pack of five riderless mounts.
Pavo noticed the tension in Valens’ words.
‘There is trouble in Thracia, Emperor?’ Gallus asked.
‘Aye, Tribunus,’ he said, his gaze darkening. ‘The Gothic War rages like never before. The barbarian tribes are pouring over the River Danubius unchecked. . and the Huns come in their thousands. Our defences are creaking. Thracia and Dalmatia are on the brink. If those provinces collapse, then Constantinople itself is under threat.’
A chill danced across Pavo’s skin. He glanced to Sura, Quadratus and Zosimus — each of them with families dotted around Thracia. He thought of Felicia, alone in Constantinople. As one, they looked to their tribunus.
Gallus’ steely-blue eyes glinted in the moonlight. ‘XI Claudia, mount!’ he said, then cast a stern gaze to the moon. ‘Mithras, spirit us west at haste!’
They journeyed throughout the night without rest. Pavo rode in silence, sadness lacing his blood as he felt Father slipping away into his memories. It was near dawn when he glanced down to the leather bracelet one more time. At that moment, he realised it was tied inside out. With a dry chuckle, he looped his mount’s reins around one arm, undid and inverted the bracelet and made to tie it on again. His fingers froze though, and his mount slowed, falling behind the pack.
‘Pavo?’ Sura hissed over his shoulder, slowing too.
Pavo barely heard his friend. His heart crashed as if readying for battle as he read the faded words etched into the leather again and again. Father’s words.
Numerius Vitellius Pavo, Hostus Vitellius Dexion. Every beat of my heart is for you, my sons.