Read Online Legionary: Viper of the North by Gordon Doherty - Free Book Online

Gallus held up a hand as he realised it was just a farm boy. ‘No, it’s not them.’
     
    With a muted sigh, the two sunk down into the tall grass again and Gallus suppressed a curse. Being still like this all morning meant the bitter cold had gnawed through their woollen trousers and tunics and into their bones. He just hoped that if and when the rebel Goths showed up, they would be supple enough to ride, allowing them to carry out their plan.
     
    He examined the map again; the four red dots indicated the pattern of the rebels’ movements, and by that logic, this settlement would be their next target. Of course, he mused, there was more than one group of rebels, but all he needed was to catch one of them, to find out more about their cause. But so far it had been like chasing shadows; the rebels would raze or pillage a settlement and then vanish before the Romans or Fritigern’s men could get to the scene.
     
    ‘By the end of today, sir, we’ll have one of these whoresons, and we’ll get them talking,’ Felix said, judging his tribunus’ thoughts well.
     
    ‘I’ve got a fair idea what they will say,’ Gallus mused, his eyes narrowing on the Carpates once more.
     
    ‘You’re certain it’s Athanaric’s men, aren’t you?’ Felix asked.
     
    ‘That dog has been spoiling for a fight for years,’ Gallus replied. ‘He’s had a hand in every modicum of trouble I have experienced in my time with the Claudia. Every single one.’
     
    Felix frowned. ‘But what about the reports – that the rebels ride not in Athanaric’s colours, but under some ancient banner?’
     
    Gallus turned to him, one eyebrow cocked. ‘A distraction, Felix; sleight of hand. That’s all it is. Athanaric is at least as shrewd as he is belligerent.’
     
    ‘Aye,’ Felix shrugged, ‘this is true. It doesn’t bode well for the poor sods who have to go into those mountains when the peace talks are finally arranged.’
     
    Gallus sought his next words carefully; the peace talks with Athanaric were due to take place as soon as an ambassadorial party could be summoned and briefed. Dux Vergilius had advised Gallus that, when the time came, he and his vexillatio would be escorting the party into Athanaric’s dominion, to Dardarus, the fortified citadel in the heart of the Carpates. He thought better of discussing this now, instead reaching into his pack to pull a piece of hardtack from it.
     
    ‘Eat, it will fight the cold from your bones,’ he said, crunching into the biscuit and gesturing to his most trusted man to do likewise.
     
    ‘Agreed,’ Felix grinned wryly. Then he lifted his soured wineskin to his lips, ‘and a little of this will warm the blood too!’ With that, Felix gulped down a mouthful of soured wine and rummaged in his pack.
     
    Gallus folded the map. Then he stopped, his eyes narrowing, touching a hand to the frozen ground. He felt it again, the tremors of approaching riders. He looked up; Felix stared back, wide eyed, the wine-skin hovering at his lips.
     
    ‘Mount!’ Gallus roared.
     
    Felix threw down the wine sack, then the pair leapt onto their horses just as a pack of some hundred Gothic riders burst over the northern horizon and swept down towards the settlement.
     
    It was them: the rebels. They rode in silence at first, braided locks billowing, lying flat over their saddles. Then as they approached the settlement they sat upright, punching their spears in the air, throwing out a trilling battle cry. At this, the Gothic farmers dropped their buckets, tools and bundles and ran for the stallhouses, screaming. One elderly villager’s cry was cut short with the swing of a longsword, a crimson spray puffing up and over the rebel who had slain him. Then the rest of the riders ploughed into the slower of the fleeing villagers, hacking, slicing and stabbing.
     
    Gallus heeled his fawn stallion round to the south. He lifted his spatha, waving the iron blade towards a seemingly deserted patch of plain