Legionary: The Scourge of Thracia (Legionary 4) Read Online Free PDF Page A

hesitated.
    ‘Sura?’ Pavo coaxed him.
    ‘Eh, oh, nothing.’
    Pavo saw how Sura was working hard to avoid his gaze. Then he noticed his friend glancing at the leather bracelet again. Sura knew what Pavo had found, out in the east, and had sworn to help find this half-brother. ‘You have found something? Come on, tell me.’
    Sura shook his head. ‘Well, yes, something and nothing. I tried asking around in here,’ he nodded towards one gnarled drunk and then swept his head across the others nearby. ‘Nothing. Then there was one whose eyes lit up.’
    Pavo’s breath stilled.
    ‘A veteran from the Thracian legions, discharged just a month ago – lost an arm in a clash with the Goths.’
    ‘He knows of Dexion?’ Pavo said.
    ‘Well, he looked as if the name meant something. Then he threw up all over himself and was carried out and dumped on the street side. I tried to find him but he must have staggered away.’ Sura offered an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry, Pavo. I knew it was not enough. I didn’t want to torment you with such flimsy findings.’
    Pavo took a moment to compose himself. ‘Ha, don’t be silly. The sot probably didn’t even understand the question. It was probably some mistake, maybe he thought you were offering him a drink?’ he laughed and tried to sound unflustered, but Sura saw right through it.
    ‘Look, you should go, find the others, enjoy yourself,’ Sura said earnestly nodding into the throng of bodies. ‘I’ll be over shortly.’
    As Sura turned back to the pair of ladies, Pavo edged through the crowds in search of his other comrades. He thought over his friend’s news, shrugged, took a mouthful of the wine, then nearly gagged. Neat , he cursed as the potent and tart liquid rolled across his tongue. He turned round to berate Sura, but saw that his friend was already in enough bother, with the women now mocking him and his tale. ‘Ah well, neat wine it is,’ he shrugged, taking another swig.
    The crowd before him parted to reveal Zosimus and Quadratus, senior centurions of the XI Claudia, at a nearby table. The pair were locked in an arm wrestle, growling, straining, sweating, veins bulging from foreheads like worms, nose to nose and glaring into one another’s eyes. He considered making a remark that perhaps they should just give in to their true desires and kiss passionately . . . then quickly decided against it. The pair matched each other in formidable height and build but nobody could mistake one for the other: Zosimus the Thracian was a haggard sort with a squashed nose, stubbled scalp and anvil jaw, while Quadratus the Gaul wore a flowing blonde mane of hair and matching moustache. Twelve empty ale cups sat on the table beside the pair – six each, it seemed . . . so far.
    With a thwack , Quadratus smashed his comrade’s arm to the table, and a chorus of cheering rang out from the onlookers. The big Gaul grinned and nodded as he collected in a handful of bets from the bookmaker.
    ‘Big, cheating, farting . . . bastard ,’ Zosimus grumbled, then shook the table, causing it to wobble a little. ‘Look, a dodgy leg,’ he yelled, hands outstretched and eyes wide in appeal to the crowd, ‘I was at a disadvantage!’
    ‘You’re always at a disadvantage against me,’ Quadratus mused with a glint of mischief in his eye, settling back into his seat and accepting a fresh cup of ale from a spectator, then draining it in one go.
    Pavo sat with them, then sighed and supped on his wine. Sometimes the only way to silence a chattering and troubled mind was to get roaring drunk. At least this argument seemed more plausible now that the first few swigs had warmed his blood.
    Zosimus, still seething, slumped to sit on the bench beside him. He turned to see Pavo and his expression lightened fractionally. ‘Ah, Optio , fancy an arm wres-’
    ‘No,’ Pavo replied sharply and swiftly. He had served as Centurion Zosimus’ second-in-command since the Battle at Ad Salices and had