Legionary: The Scourge of Thracia (Legionary 4) by Gordon Doherty Page A

Gothic attack, but the wall holds and holds well,’ he gestured to the north-facing side of the fortlet and beyond. ‘Fritigern can count many spears amongst his horde, but he does not know how to tackle a well-built wall.’
    ‘Long may that be the case,’ Gallus replied flatly, eyeing the battlements.
    ‘A century is posted on the northern parapet at all times, a century of archers is split between the two northern corners,’ he nodded up to the nearest corner, shrouded in the fog. These sections of the walls were a few feet higher than the rest. Up there, Gallus noticed the glint of stockpiled bows, lancea and plumbatae – the arrows, javelins and lead-weighted darts would be more lethal than ever when thrown from those points in the high ground, ‘and another century of legionaries is spread over the southern, eastern and western walls,’ he pointed to each wall in turn.
    ‘You fear they might circumvent this path and come round on your rear?’ Gallus said, his brow furrowing as he thought of the steep sides of the ridge. Surely such a move was impossible – certainly for any sizeable force.
    ‘We cannot neglect the possibility, unlikely as it is,’ Saturninus replied.
    ‘But the ridge path is surely the only way through this section of the mountains?’ Gallus insisted.
    ‘I thought so too,’ Saturninus nodded wearily, ‘until my men found a broken, veiled trail. It runs along the shale and scree of the ridge-side, right past this fort and all the way to the north. It is so treacherous a route that it is unlikely the Goths will stumble upon it, but we must be prepared for anything. Above all, we must hold this ridge path. As long as we do, the Goths will never be able to bring their wagons along it and to the south. Without their wagons, they have no grain, no tools, no tents . . . no means of migrating south as a horde.’
    ‘So these walls are everything,’ Gallus nodded, appraising them once again in a different light.
    Saturninus beckoned him and the pair strolled around the principia area. ‘With just over seven operational centuries, we have been running a rota of eight hour shifts for the last two weeks. Right now a third of my men sleep, a third maintain the camp and a third stand guard on the wall. But they are weary. Worse, some are growing complacent – we have not heard nor seen Fritigern or his men in nearly a month.’
    ‘And the other four passes?’ Gallus asked.
    ‘The same,’ Saturninus replied.
    Gallus glanced to his four men erecting the tent – and the compact sea of legionary tents around them, then scoured the legionary line along the defensive northern stockade. ‘When Barzimeres despatched my four men and I to this pass, it was clearly not as any form of reinforcement. He told me of some sortie, into the north?’
    Saturninus smiled a wry smile. ‘Ah, yes; Barzimeres. Tell me, are the reports I hear true? Has my great camp become a morass of drunks?’
    Gallus sought his words carefully. ‘The blockade of the mountain passes is best served with you here and him at the camp.’
    Saturninus nodded with a slight flick of one eyebrow. ‘Some men have to be tolerated, Tribunus, and that one has many names he can call upon, and so he must be allowed the command that his father bought for him,’ Saturninus laughed bitterly. ‘But enough about Barzimeres. Should the Gods be on our side, he will remain inconsequential.’ He stopped and crouched by a patch of bare, wet earth illuminated by torchlight, took out his dagger and drew five marks in a line. ‘If any one of the five passes fall, the entire blockade is foiled. The Goths will flood in through the fallen pass, and their number is such that they will be able to fall upon the rear of the other stockades with ease.’ He traced a line from the north, through the middle pass – this one – and then split it into four lines that rounded upon the rear of the other four passes.
    Gallus crouched beside him. This man,