The Hidden Legion by Snorri Kristjánsson

Author:Snorri Kristjánsson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Fiction
Publisher: Rebellion Publishing Ltd
Published: 2023-06-07T00:00:00+00:00

IX

THE SOUTH AND HISPALIS

The tufts of long, dry grass whispered gently as the horses trotted through. In the distance blue-green hills turned to reddish-yellow hills, and back to blue-green. The occasional torn strand of soft cotton stretched across the sky, and Aemilius couldn’t care less.

“So tell me about Hispalis.”

Rivkah twisted in the saddle. “Shout it out, scumbags. Who had ‘before noon’?”

Behind them, Taurio cursed. “Why did you have to open your mouth, you Roman tadpole?”

“I did,” Prasta said with glee. “The Gaul trusts too easily. He said tomorrow. Abrax thought he’d break before camp last night.”

Aemilius blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“When it rains in the desert, the water disappears,” Hanno added helpfully. “The ground cannot get enough of the water. It always asks and asks and asks for more.”

Rivkah answered his glance with a smirk. “We’ve been betting on when you’d start yapping.”

The rising sun at their backs did little to help with Aemilius’s annoyance. He was about to snap back at the girl when Furibunda snorted and tossed her head gently, as if to say leave it. Without thinking, he leaned forward and patted her on the neck, receiving another soft snort for his troubles.

“Still can’t believe last night,” Rivkah said.

“You are lucky to be alive,” Abrax rumbled from the front.

“I, uh,” Aemilius stuttered. “I didn’t mean to—I, uhm, just thought—”

“I thought it was hilarious,” Taurio said. “There have been complaints!” He hooted in appreciation. “Complaints! And Prasta hasn’t even touched her flute!”

“To be fair, that was funny.” Livia swayed gently in the saddle. “And we knew what you were trying to do, and it was, well…”

“A piss-poor effort,” Rivkah finished.

“Be nice,” Livia admonished. “It wasn’t piss-poor. Just… not quite polished.”

“In the same way my horse just dropped something that wasn’t quite polished,” Prasta added.

“Fine,” Aemilius said, convincing himself that the warmth about his ears was sunburn. “So what should I have done differently, then?”

Livia smiled. “Feel free to contribute, all of you. I know you will.”

“Hey—if you’re going to teach the kid to be brazen, none of us will utter so much as a tiny, provincial peep.” Prasta somehow managed to lean back in the saddle, sitting as comfortably as an empress on a throne of cushions.

“Thank you, my dear.” Livia nodded her respects.

“Just listen up, chicken,” Taurio interjected. “In every craft there are artists, and there are masters, and there are gods—and then there is her.”

“Saw her sweet-talk a bear once,” Abrax added. “Calmed it right down. Stepped up to it and opened up its throat before she walked away. The poor thing was more than half dead before it realised.”

Aemilius swayed alongside the others, hills stretching alongside them, the valley before them. After a morning’s canter, they were going easy on the horses as the temperature rose. How much of this is true? He glanced at Livia, tried to imagine her killing a bear in cold blood, and decided he didn’t really want the answer to that question. Instead, he smiled and bowed his head once.

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