The Legion

There was a dull rumble of timber as the oars withdrew through the slots on each side of the ship and it continued to glide round towards the jetty as the men on the tiller steered the liburnian alongside. Philipus could see the officer in the turret clearly now: tall and broad-shouldered, younger looking than he expected. He stood impassively as his trierarch bellowed the orders for the sailors to make ready their mooring ropes. As the ship edged towards the jetty, ropes snaked through the air from the men in the bows and Philipus's men caught them and heaved the vessel alongside, until the side creaked up against the bundles of woven reeds that protected the jetty's posts. Another line was tossed to the men waiting near the stern and a moment later the ship was securely moored.

The officer descended from the turret and strode across the deck as his sailors opened the side port and slid a gangway on to the jetty. A squad of marines had formed up nearby and the officer gestured towards them as he stepped across on to the jetty. Philipus strode forward to greet him, extending a hand.

'I'm the commander of the supply station, Trierarch Philipus.'

The officer took his hand in a powerful grip and nodded curtly. 'Centurion Macro, on secondment to the Alexandrian flotilla. We need to talk, in your headquarters.'

Philipus could not help raising his eyebrows in surprise and he was aware of his subordinates exchanging an uneasy look at his side.

'Talk? Has something happened?'

'My orders are to discuss the matter with you in private.' The officer nodded towards the other men on the jetty. 'Not in front of anyone else. Please lead the way.'

Philipus was taken aback by the younger officer's terse ma

Philipus turned and began to make his way along the jetty.

'Just a moment,' said Centurion Macro. He turned to the marines waiting on the deck. 'With me!'

They crossed the gangway and formed up behind the centurion, twenty armed marines, all burly men with powerful physiques. Philipus frowned. He had been expecting to exchange a few pleasantries and some news before he gave the order for his quartermaster to see to the ship's needs. Not this brusque encounter. What could the officer have to tell him that was so important that it had to be said in private? With a stab of anxiety Philipus wondered if he had been wrongly implicated in some crime or plot. He gestured to the officer to follow him and the small column made its way towards the shore. Philipus slowed his pace until he was at the side of the centurion and addressed him quietly. 'Can you tell me what this is about?'

'Yes, shortly.' The officer glanced at him and smiled slightly. 'Nothing that need worry you unduly, Trierarch. I just need to ask you some questions.'

Philipus was not reassured by the reply and kept his silence as they reached the end of the jetty and marched up to the gates of the fort. The sentries stood to as the officers and marines approached.

'I don't imagine you get many ships calling in here,' said Centurion Macro.

'Not many,' Philipus replied, hoping that the other man was revealing a more conversational aspect of his seemingly cold character. 'Occasional naval patrols, and imperial couriers. Other than that, a few ships with storm damage over the winter months, but that's about it. Epichos has become something of a backwater. I wouldn't be surprised if the governor in Alexandria didn't reduce our establishment one day.'

The centurion glanced at him. 'Fishing for information about my being here?'

Philipus looked at him and shrugged. 'Of course.'

They had entered the fort and Centurion Macro stopped and looked around. The place was quiet. Most of the men were in barracks. The night watch was finishing off their morning meal and were preparing to rest. Some of the other men were sitting on stools outside their barracks, playing at dice or talking quietly. Centurion Macro's eyes keenly took in the details.

'A nice quiet posting you have here, Philipus. Quite out of the way. Even so, I imagine you are well provisioned.'

Philipus nodded. 'We have ample grain and ship's stores. Just not much call for it these days.'

'Perfect,' Centurion Macro muttered. He turned and nodded to the optio in command of the party of marines. 'Time to proceed, Karim.'

The optio nodded and turned to his men. 'Take 'em.'

As Philipus watched, four of the marines abruptly drew their swords and moved back towards the sentries on the gate. They just had time to turn at the sound of the men approaching before they were cut down with a savage flurry of blows; they had no chance to even cry out before they were killed. Philipus stared in horror as the bodies slumped to the ground either side of the gateway. He turned, aghast, to Centurion Macro.

The man smiled at him. There was a light rasp, a blur of movement and the trierarch felt a sudden blow in his stomach, as if he had been punched, hard. There was another blow that left him gasping in agony. Philipus looked down and saw the other man's hand clenched round the handle of a knife. An inch of blade showed before it disappeared into the fold of his tunic, just below the bottom of his breastplate. A red stain spread through the cloth even as Philipus stared down at it in numbed incomprehension. The centurion twisted the blade, tearing through vital organs. Philipus gasped for breath and grasped the knife arm in both hands. 'What? What are you doing?'

The centurion withdrew his blade and Philipus felt a quick rush of blood as it poured out of the wound. He released his grip as he felt his legs buckle and he collapsed on to his knees, staring up at the centurion in mute horror. Through the gateway he could see the bodies of the sentries and, beyond, one of the marines striding into clear view in front of the fort and punching his sword up into the air three times. This must have been a prearranged signal, Philipus realised, and a moment later there was a cheer from the liburnian as men who had previously been hidden along the deck swarmed over the side on to the jetty. Philipus saw the quartermaster try to draw his sword, but he was overwhelmed with a glinting series of sword blows, as were the stu

Philipus slumped against the wall of the gatehouse and unbuckled his breastplate. He let the armour drop to one side and pressed his hands over the wound with a groan. The officer who had stabbed him stood nearby. He had sheathed his dagger and was shouting orders at his men as they rushed into the fort, cutting down any opponents they could find. Philipus looked on, in agony. His marines and sailors were being butchered in front of his eyes. Those who had been playing dice outside the barracks, and others who had emerged at the first sounds of fighting, now lay dead. Muffled cries and shouts from the barracks told of those who were being killed inside. At the end of the street a handful of men who had snatched up their swords tried to stand their ground but were no match for their skilled opponents who parried their blades aside and struck them down.

The centurion looked round the fort and nodded with satisfaction, then turned and gazed down at Philipus.

The trierarch cleared his throat. 'Who are you?'

'What does it matter?' The man shrugged. 'You will be dead soon. Think on that.'

Philipus shook his head, already he could see spidery dark shadows at the fringes of his vision. He felt giddy, and his hands were now slick with blood as he failed to stem the flow. He licked his lips. 'Who?'