I moved Apollo so that I could speak into my master’s ear, but found I was frantic, almost shouting. “Dominus! There is no one down there named Caesar!”
“Hold you tongue, Alexander, and close your eyes, if you cannot see this for what it is.” He was sitting tall and rigid, his arms locked across his muscled chest piece, his helmet obscuring most of his face.
“I am looking, dominus. But I cannot see the enemy.”
“Understand, Alexander. This is what latrunculi looks like when it is played off the board.”
“General Crassus,” Melyaket said. “Please have your commanders look at this.”
“He should not be here,” Cassius said. Ignoring the general’s orders to give Melyaket free rein, he pointed and two mounted legionaries interposed themselves between the Parthian and the general.
“Where did you get that?” Crassus asked. Dominus inspected the broken shaft and bloody, three-pronged point, then passed it to his legates. While we talked, Crassus wiped his hand on Eurysaces ebony neck.
“I pulled it from one of your legionaries,” Melyaket said. “Compare it to your own arrows. Your shafts are thinner, the heads lighter, less sharp.”
“True,” said Ignatius, his disdain evident, “but your archers will never get close enough for them to do any good. These are too heavy to have any range.” His other legates agreed.
“They are not my archers, but you are wrong, gentlemen. Parthian bows are better than yours. I will demonstrate,” he said, patting a wide leather case slung by his side, “at your convenience.”
“Later, Melyaket,” Crassus said. “We are engaged now.”
Even Petronius had an edge to his voice. “Do you see what has happened here, son?”
“Yes, commander. And I see what is happening here now.”
“I can stand no more of this,” Cassius said. “Alexander, if you do not remove this enemy from my sight, he can stay and join this one here.” The quaestor pointed down the hill.
I expected thunder and lightning from my lord, for Crassus hated to be contradicted in public, but the general merely said, “Perhaps you’d better do as Longinus says, Alexander. It’s not a good time for Melyaket to be here.”
As we coaxed our horses away from the officers, Apollonius was being dragged up the hill to be presented to Crassus. A woman, his wife most likely, stumbled after him, wailing. Whatever courage or arrogance that had once filled that rough hewn face had leaked away, leaving wide-eyed panic and terror that confounded his muscles and chalked his once-ruddy cheeks. Soon, his head would be on a pole planted above his burning city’s gates, but worse would come before the end. The woman, if she lived, would be sold with what was left of her people-2,500 men, women and children to be sent back along the lines, their old life gone, their new one hardly deserving of the name. If I stayed long enough in this place, I would be able to watch the reenactment of my beginning as a slave pass before my eyes, including all the appropriate props and participants: innocents, victims, chains, carts and cages. And Zenodotium was one town, one small engagement.
Orodes would learn what he wanted to know, and his fear would grow. Crassus had allowed his men a display of ruthlessness, a tactic this Parthian king would find quite reasonable.
Melyaket and I urged our horses down the hillside to the pleading song of Apollonius’ widow-to-be and made our way past the growing tower of dead legionaries. Just as we were about to pass the bridge that led to the city, we saw Betto and Malchus carrying out one of our own.
“We volunteered,” Betto said to my questioning look. Their rank absolved them from this bitter duty.
“Hold a moment,” I said. “I know this man.” The corpse, his vine stick still neatly tucked inside his belt, was that of the embittered Lucius Vinicius who had chided me on the ramparts when I had met Ludovicus. “This man was primus pilus for Legion V. I heard he volunteered for this assignment.”
“More fool he,” Betto said as they lowered the corpse to the ground.
“Give it a rest,” said Malchus.
“He felt he’d been passed over and wanted any job that might lead to promotion. Poor man.”
“That’s a bad death, that is,” said Malchus. “A death without honor.” There were four broken shafts protruding from Vinicius’ stomach and chest.
“Look behind you,” said Betto. “If I were him, if I were any of these boys, while their executioners were pulling back their bowstrings, I’d be praying for vengeance, and right now they’re getting their wish ten times over.”
“Did you hear,” Malchus said, “there’s talk of acclaiming the general imperator.
“I still don’t believe it,” Betto said. “This wasn’t even a battle.”
“Who knows,” Malchus said. “Maybe some of the legates passed the word down the line to have the men talk it up, you know, to boost the general’s confidence.”
“Dominus needs no confidence boosting,” I said.
“Alexander,” Malchus said, “it has been a while since he’s been in the field.”
How embarrassing, to be offered this grand accolade for a ‘victory’ as paltry and as vicious as this. “I sincerely hope he rejects it.”
He didn’t.
Betto said, “We saw your friends while we were inside.”
“You don’t need to tell me. Herclides and Palaemon.”
“They’re a disgrace,” said Betto. “I won’t say what we saw them doing; it’s an embarrassment to the uniform.”
“We should have dealt with them when we had the chance,” said Malchus. “The least they deserve is exile.”
“Or an unfortunate accident,” said Betto.
“Couldn’t you stop them?” I asked.
Malchus looked shame-faced. “They weren’t the only ones,” he said quietly.
“At least we’re not tent-mates,” Betto said, “Now, could we get a move on, please? A little respect for the departed?”
He reached down and made ready to lift the dead centurion up under his arms. “By the way, who’s the native? I like his baggy trousers.”
I introduced Melyaket to my companions and moved on quickly before Betto said something everyone would regret. We rode north along the river until the sounds of anguish and vengeance were only a memory, but one that wouldn’t let me be for weeks. We let the horses graze and sat near the bank by bulrushes taller than a man. “You cannot stay,” I said, tossing a stone into waters of molten silver. “After today, no one could guarantee your safety, not even Crassus.”
“It may be so.”
“You shall miss our talks. You could have learned much.”
Melyaket laughed. “I regret I did not have the opportunity to meet your wife.”
“I never told you…ah yes, I forgot, you’re a spy.”
“Men speak of her hair with reverence.”
“She will be pleased to hear that all her years of training have earned her such high regard.
Melyaket shrugged. “It’s true-good healers are rare, but a color such as that red in this part of the world, what can one say, it borders on the miraculous.”
I was about to say that I had never disclosed that Livia was a healer, but caught myself in time. We shared some water and bread; I apologized for the horrors we had witnessed.
“You’ve lived too long among these Romans,” Melyaket said. “You’re not one of them. They won’t let you be one of them. As I told you at the races, you should feel angry, not responsible.”
I stared at this young, handsome warrior with the soft, smiling eyes. “I withdraw the advice I gave you then. You’re quite old enough. No more aging for you.”