Legionary: Viper of the North (40 page)

‘Stop him!’ Lupicinus roared again. But the wall guard were gawping in horror at the goings-on outside, and every cry Lupicinus made went unheard, or by the time the sentries reacted, the figure had fled past them.

Then Lupicinus tripped on the heels of a legionary and fell to his knees, skidding to a halt as the tail of the green cloak disappeared down the stairwell of the gate tower. He punched the battlements and roared in frustration, cursing as he wrenched himself to standing. But then a clutch of sagittarii burst from the gatetower, pushing Lupicinus back like a river as they rushed to take up their positions. After that, the green cloak was nowhere to be seen on the walls or on the streets below.

Then his anger drained when a Gothic war cry filled the plain. He turned to look out over the battlements; the horde outside had come to life. Now they flooded for the walls, streaming up the ladders bearing swords, axes and spears, screaming for blood. Out on the plain, Gallus’ cohort resembled a morsel of bread being swamped by ants, Gothic warriors tearing the square to pieces.

His skin prickled and his blood felt like ice in his veins. A violent death awaited him today, he realised, his limbs quivering. He felt his bladder expunge its contents under his armour, and hated himself for it, hearing his father’s gruff and mocking laughter. ‘I’ll show you, you old bastard,’ he cursed his father’s shade, his voice cracking in terror.

He squared his jaw and scanned the wall guard. The two centuries permanently garrisoned in the city had been detached from their parent legion, the V Macedonia, for more than seventy years, and they knew little more than day to day policing. So his own two centuries of comitatenses would have their work cut out today. To a man, they grappled their weapons with white knuckles, almost as pale as their faces, darting glances to their leader.

‘Sir?’ A nearby soldier croaked as the howling from the ladders grew closer, iron blades glinting as the Goths neared the top. ‘Shall we loose our darts?’

Lupicinus looked back. It was too late for a dart volley; the Goths would be upon the battlements in moments. He stabbed out his tongue to dampen his lips, then filled his lungs and bellowed the best words he could find. ‘Brace yourselves, men. Steady your nerves and prepare to show these barbarians the way to Valhalla!’

A perfunctory cheer was cut short as the first of the Goths reached the lip of the walls and had his skull cleaved by a legionary. Then another legionary was punched back from the walls in a shower of blood, bone and teeth, a hand-axe embedded in his face where his nose used to be. The body plummeted to land on the flagstones of the city streets below with a dull crack. With that, the tide of Goths spilled onto the battlements and their cry was deafening.

Lupicinus pulled his spatha and shield up. He poised himself just as he had been trained to all those years ago when he was a terrified recruit; scared of his colleagues but even more so of returning home to his father. A spark of anger flared in his chest at this and he fixed his eyes on the Goth nearest to him. Time seemed to slow as two of his legionaries pressed up to flank him, the trio forming a Roman island in the sea of enraged Gothic spearmen. He jabbed out at the nearest foe, nicking the man’s neck, pulling out a piece of arterial wall. The snarling Goth fell silent, eyes bulging in bewilderment as his neck pumped blood. Then he fell like a toy, limbs flailing before crunching head-first into the city streets. At this the nearby Goths hesitated momentarily and hubris coursed through Lupicinus’ veins. Perhaps he was a valiant soldier after all.

‘For your empire, men!’ He roared. Now this was honour! This was glory!

He butted another Goth from the walls and then slashed at a pair who rushed at his flank, slicing one’s ribcage wide open and lacerating the sword arm of the other. His two legionaries closed up beside him every time he struck out, but for every Goth he felled, another ten poured onto the battlements to replace them. He glanced down to the streets: the citizens and civilian militia who had been poised behind the gates, armed with hoes and clubs, now scrambled back from the splintering timbers. Some were running for the centre of the city, no doubt looking to take refuge in attics and basements.
To Hades with them
, he thought,
they are the cowards, not I!
He growled and stabbed out at a Gothic spearman, swiping the spear shaft away and driving his spatha deep into the man’s guts. Then he slowed: over the dying Goth’s shoulder he saw swathes legionaries toppling lifelessly into the city. The battlements were dripping in a crimson carpet and the count of Roman helmets still active in the fray was now fewer than one hundred, he reckoned.

‘We have the walls!’ One Gothic voice cried out.

Then the air reverberated to the wail of a Gothic war horn. Then, moments later, the battlements shuddered under his feet as a sharp crack of splintering timber rang out, followed by a Gothic roar. Lupicinus fought on numbly, seeing the wave of red-armoured bodies wash into the city through the shattered gates, topknotted blonde locks and speartips bobbing like a cornfield. Beside him, one of his legionaries slumped to his knees and then toppled into the city, an arrow having exploded through the back of his throat. Lupicinus pushed back to back with his last man, then felt the man fall away, cleaved in the shoulder. He glanced around the battlements and could see no other Roman standing. His moment of hubris was gone, and his old friend panic clawed at his heart. He could see Gallus and the surviving cluster of the XI Claudia outside the walls, fleeing, and he so much wanted to be with them.

From the heart of the city, pockets of orange flame burst into life and thick black smoke plumes coiled from the red tiled roofs and the narrow alleys. But the worst thing was the screaming; women and children had the most piercing screams, and the enraged and starving Goths cut them short like farmers at harvest.

Suddenly, Lupicinus realised that the Goths around him had stopped fighting.

‘Come on, you dogs!’ He snarled, swiping out at them, disgusted at the tremor in his own words.

But they backed away, grins splitting their faces. He looked up to see that he was in the sights of chosen archers on top of the gate towers. They winked behind their bows, arrows nocked and trained on his throat. His bowels turned over and his legs took to trembling violently. Why were they hesitating?

Then one spoke in Greek, hissing like a snake as he removed his conical iron helm. ‘We have him – Iudex Fritigern’s would-be assassin!’

Lupicinus’ eyes widened and his mouth fell open. ‘No!’

The Goth who had spoken nodded his head. ‘Yes. We saw you. Mighty Ivo saw you!’

The others around him nodded and echoed in agreement.

‘No, it was not me. It was an intruder, a treacherous intruder.’ Lupicinus spun on the spot, searching for respite in the sea of malevolent, grinning faces.

‘Ivo and Iudex Fritigern will hear your plea,’ the Goth purred, then clicked his fingers. ‘Seize him!’

Lupicinus swiped his sword at them, but a jarring blow to his back sent him sprawling and his spatha and helmet clattered down into the city.

Defenceless, Lupicinus scrambled back from the Goths on his heels and palms of his hands. But then he was grappled by his shoulders and hoisted up, then another pair of hands clutched at his ankles and within moments, he was being carried down the stairwell like some prize boar. His lips flapped uselessly, his voice gone. His mind conjured up a flurry of horrific possibilities that lay in store for him as he was carried out of the tower and onto the bloodstained streets.

‘Ah, the assassin?’ A voice cooed.

Upside down, Lupicinus saw the one-eyed, smirking Ivo, mounted and leading a wing of Gothic cavalry into the Roman city.

Then, Ivo’s face fell baleful and he lifted his sword and bellowed to the Gothic swarm around him. ‘Here he is! Here is the man who thought he could strike down mighty Fritigern!’

The people slowed, turning to Lupicinus, their faces bent with rage.

‘Gut him!’ One voice screamed.

‘Tear out his heart!’ Another cried.

Lupicinus’ heart shrank. ‘No! It was the one in the green cloak! It was the Vi-’

But his words were cut short as Ivo trotted over and clamped a hand across his mouth. His eyes bulged as Ivo then drew a dagger.

The giant fixed his good eye on Lupicinus’ terrified stare. Then he used the blade to prise the comes’ teeth apart and then to hack into his thrashing tongue, his arm jerking as he sawed at the flesh. A serrated, burning agony coursed through Lupicinus’ mouth as blood spurted from his lips. His cries for help came out as a gurgling, tortured, animal moan.

Ivo pulled the severed chunk of tongue free and held it aloft. ‘Now take him to the centre of this fine Roman city. The forum would be a fitting place for his life to end.’

Lupicinus thrashed in vain as he was swept forward on the tide of hands until everything slowed as they entered the forum. He was let down and only four warriors remained clutching his limbs. All around him, the Gothic warriors and people pushed to get closer, but spearmen held them at bay, forming a circle around him. Directly before him stood Iudex Fritigern. Something had changed about the Gothic Iudex’s face; it was his eyes, they were deadly cold where once he had seen some warmth.

‘You think yourself a god, Comes Lupicinus?’ Fritigern spoke softly.

Lupicinus trembled, unable to reply due to his mutilated tongue, his face soaked in his own blood.

‘You tried to break my people on the plains by the river, treating us like animals. You tried to slay me yesterday and again today. You have either the heart of a lion, or the mind of a babe. You have set in motion a revolt against the empire, a revolt that will tear apart her armies, raze her cities, lay waste to her lands.’ Fritigern spoke through gritted teeth, holding a clenched and shaking fist inches from Lupicinus’ face. Behind him, Ivo stood, grinning like a shark at the Iudex’s words. ‘Now it is time to show you the power of my armies. My cavalry, archers and spearmen will be the death of your legions, Comes, starting with you.’

Lupicinus gawped as Fritigern stepped back with a nod. He croaked in terror as ropes were tied around his ankles and wrists. Then he glanced around him to see four muscular stallions facing away from him, their topknotted riders sneering back over their shoulders. Then, the men holding his limbs dropped him and walked away. He fell to the ground, the ropes lying loose on the flagstones.

Then, Fritigern flicked a finger towards Lupicinus. ‘Destroy him!’

With the cracking of whips, the four stallions were heeled into a trot, and Lupicinus was wrenched from the ground and spread-eagled, his torso bucking and thrashing.

‘Ya!’ The riders called out as the horses strained, their hooves slipping on the flagstones.

Lupicinus’ body stopped thrashing as it was pulled taut. Then, with a rhythmic popping, each of his limbs jolted from their sockets. Next, his muscles and sinew shredded and then disintegrated. He stared at the smoke-stained sky in search of escape from the horrific, white-hot agony that coursed through him. He heard a guttural moaning and realised it was his own. Then, he saw his father’s sneering face.
You can’t call for help now, can you? You coward!

He blinked the image from his eyes. The blackness was creeping over him, as if he was being dragged backwards into a dark tunnel. In the remaining circle of light before him, all he could see was Ivo in the watching Gothic crowd.

But there was something else.

A few ranks behind Ivo stood the dark-green hooded figure from the battlements, face in shadows. There and not there at once. Then the figure lowered the hood for a heartbeat, revelling in Lupicinus’ suffering.

Lupicinus’ maelstrom of agony dulled for that instant as he realised he was staring at the face of the Viper. Confusion laced his final thoughts.

Then, with a wet clunk, Lupicinus’ spine disarticulated and his body tore apart at the waist. Guts and organs poured from both halves of his body and at last the blackness took him.