Read Online Legionary: Land of the Sacred Fire by Gordon Doherty - Free Book Online

as if they were my homes. Here in Antioch I commissioned the fine, open space of the new forum, dedicated to my departed brother,’ he pointed to the circular clearing across the river, part-hidden in the sprawl of domes and marble structures. There, a column stretched into the night sky, with a gilded statue of Valentinian perched on its tip, in muscled armour, one hand on his heart and the other holding a spatha skywards.
    Gallus stared at the sight of the dead Western Emperor. His top lip twitched. Hatred built in his veins. He thought of Olivia, of Marcus. It had been under that cur’s reign that . . .
    ‘I spent vast sums from the imperial treasury on revitalising the Great Church of Constantine,’ Valens continued, stirring him from his dark thoughts, nodding to the largest of domes to the south-east, ‘because the people implored me that I must. And there are the baths, the arena, the gardens . . . ’ he stopped, his head dropping a little. ‘But this will be forgotten. The dark tide of war will be my legacy. Yes, I have waged wars, and bloody ones too.’ He shook his head as if stirring from some troubled memory. ‘But now the tide of war has turned against the empire, Gallus, and ferociously so.’
    ‘Thracia can be saved, Emperor,’ Gallus interjected. The words came from his heart.
    ‘From where do you draw such hope?’ Valens asked, looking over his shoulder from the window, one eyebrow arched.
    These words seemed to search inside Gallus’ armour. At once, he touched a hand to his purse, feeling for the idol in there. ‘Mithras stands with the legions back in Thracia.’
    ‘Then let us pray he betters Wodin and the Gothic hordes,’ Valens said with a mirthless snort. ‘But the fate of Thracia must wait. For a more ferocious and wily enemy now prowls at our door. The eastern frontier is on the brink, Tribunus.’ He swung round from the window, his eyes shaded under a deep frown. ‘Persia’s gaze is upon us.’
    This was it, the moment Gallus had been waiting for. The brief that had brought him and his men east. ‘Emperor?’
    ‘Shapur has taken control of Armenia. Ten thousand Persian riders now patrol those lands and puppet the fickle princes who once swore loyalty to Rome.’
    ‘And you suspect the king of kings now readies to invade the empire?’ Gallus’ eyes narrowed as he said this, his gaze flicking to the campaign map.
    ‘Nobody knows what is brewing in Shapur’s mind. But I have heard rumour and counter-rumour that he is coming under ever-increasing pressure to make a decisive move,’ Valens’ expression darkened. ‘There are many within Persian lands who resent the House of Sassan. They see no reason why their ancient houses should not rule Persia in Shapur’s stead. They will demand that Shapur moves upon our empire or they will have his head and seize his throne. The taking of Armenia serves as a dark portent. Roman Syria is in absolutely no state to deal with an incursion of any kind.’ He strode over to the campaign table, resting an oil lamp near the centre of the map. Beckoning Gallus over and gesturing to the stools beside the table, he sat and tapped the spot on the map north-west of Constantinople, where the new temporary limes had been set up in Thracia. ‘Had it not been for the Gothic migrations across the Danubius, I would not have had to divert many of my eastern legions to those lands.’ He then swept his finger across the map, almost tracing the route of the XI Claudia’s voyage, bringing it to a rest in the area just east of Antioch. Here, more than forty soldier-pieces were spread out in a line running north to south. ‘The number of pieces here is misleading. Many of these legions are little more than vexillationes, some numbering only a few hundred like your own. Barely twenty five thousand men, stretching from northern Syria, all the way down to Egypt. And nearly half of them are mere limitanei . . . ’ he looked up, fixing Gallus with his gaze.