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

learned some harsh lessons in that time – most on the battlefield, some in the tavern. He automatically rubbed at the shoulder that Zosimus had nearly ripped out of its socket last spring in a previous bout of arm-wrestling.
    Zosimus’ scowl returned and he tore a piece of bread from a basket of fresh loaves on the table and chewed on it as though it was a shard of pewter. ‘Fine. Where’s the tribunus?’
    Pavo shook his head. ‘He’ll not be joining us.’
    ‘Aye, well . . . nothing new there, eh?’
    Pavo swirled his wine and gazed into the surface. Gallus, leader of the XI Claudia, was unlike any other soldier he had ever known. Tall, lean and utterly merciless. The sharp, gaunt look of a wolf and the roar of a bear. Pure ice, inside and out, he had once thought in his early days with the legion. But it hadn’t taken Pavo long to realise that there was a gravely wounded man inside that steely carapace. A man not unlike himself. Yet something had changed in Gallus after their escape from Persia. The iron tribunus had been freed of his Persian chains, but remained shackled by some new, fiercer inner turmoil, it seemed. He had been irritable and distracted, always muttering, always gazing into the distance. Always west, Pavo mused.
    Before Pavo left to come to the tavern, Gallus had been sitting, silent and alone atop the compound wall, his eyes fixed on the western skyline, lost in thought. They had shared no words – just a single glance had served as a conversation. As he had stepped out of the barrack block, Gallus had stopped him with a shout, throwing a purse of coins down to him. ‘Come back in one piece,’ he said gazing beyond Pavo’s shoulder with that faraway look. ‘Remember: tomorrow afternoon, we are to be briefed by the magister militum.’
    Pavo realised he had absently lifted the purse from his belt whilst tangled in these thoughts, and noticed Zosimus’ eyes gleaming at the sight.
    ‘Quadratus, look at this,’ he bellowed, clutching Pavo’s wrist – drinks are on Pavo!’
    A roar of drunken approval rang out from all nearby as Quadratus snatched the purse from Pavo’s hand and headed to the serving area.
    Feeling his sobriety slipping away, Pavo tried to order his thoughts. ‘I think we need to keep an eye on him, sir.’
    Zosimus frowned. ‘On Quadratus? Has he started farting already?’
    ‘Does he ever stop?’ Pavo chuckled and drank some more. ‘No, I mean the tribunus. He’s not himself.’
    Zosimus sighed. ‘Aye, in all the time I’ve known him, he’s been a hard bastard. Hard, but true. His focus has always been on his legion – seeing his men right. It was his way of dealing with things, I reckon – things that happened in his past. But since we left Persia, his mind has been elsewhere. He still does his bit, I mean – has us in good order and doesn’t take any nonsense. He gave Sura a severe bollocking yesterday for leaving the latrines in a disgraceful state. And I mean severe ,’ he whistled at the memory. ‘But it feels like . . . like . . . ’
    ‘Like part of him is missing?’ Pavo suggested, then thought of that wistful westwards gaze again. ‘Or elsewhere?’
    Zosimus took a swig of ale and nodded, wagging a finger at Pavo in agreement then wiping the ale froth from his lips with the back of his hand. ‘Maybe he’s got too much time to think about things. These last few weeks since Persia have been strange for all of us,’ he gestured around the tavern, then to his absent swordbelt. ‘When we meet with Magister Militum Traianus and find out where in Thracia we’re to be posted to next, we can get on with it, get back to normal. Active duty keeps the mind clear, I usually find.’
    Sura slumped down next to them, casting one last forlorn look at the departing women and gingerly touching an angry red hand-mark on his cheek, before latching onto the conversation. ‘What’s that? Have you heard where Traianus is posting us to?’
    ‘Not yet,’