Rather than reply he withdrew a pipe from his coat, considered its damp bowl, and tucked it back into the pocket. A messenger rode up with a dispatch, pulling his attention away from me. At length, as we rode about a mile south, the icy rain slackened and ceased. We came up to one of the Iberian infantry divisions, which had boxed in the two battered legions against the river.
At the general’s arrival a cheer rose. Captain Tira marched up with a squadron of Amazons. Dirty, bloodied, exhausted, they danced forward to the pound of drums and the singing of their sisters. Luce her very own self presented a Roman eagle to the general. Her pride blazed. She had a bloodied nose, a cut on her left shoulder, and mud smeared in her short cropped hair as if she had wrestled an enemy onto the ground. I could scarcely recognize the girl who had befriended me with a cheerful grin at Aunty’s boardinghouse. Then she saw me, and she laughed to see me and Rory still alive, but she did not break ranks to come to us. She had chosen her path. It no longer marched alongside ours.
The general made his way through the troops, greeting men, giving a private word to the worst-wounded. I trailed behind him, trying to wipe flakes of dried blood and the cling of weariness from my eyes. Because I was not paying attention, I scarcely noticed when Camjiata rode out onto the vacant ground between the two armies.
The two legions had anchored their defense on an old fortified estate very like that of Red Mount. This compound backed up against the Sicauna River. The walls and buildings had taken damage from artillery fire, but the legionnaires were tough, experienced men who had set up an effective perimeter. The general rode right into range and then closer yet. I was so astounded by his audacity that I followed, together with a pair of aides in braided uniforms and tricorn hats.
The general surveyed the night-shadowed Romans and a lit lamp. “Brothers! I salute you! You have fought nobly this day for the honor of the empire that gave birth to you. That empire gave birth to me as well, for my mother was born into the Aemilius clan. By the courage and valor with which you have fought I am brought to wonder what incompetent commanders have led you to this pass. For it is certain that now, shed of them, you find yourselves driven into a corner not of your making. Have your consuls done well by you? Were you not abandoned by the best of your legates, Amadou Barry? Let me tell you what you do not know. The emperor envied and feared Amadou Barry, so he rid himself of the man. He will deny it! But you will never find Amadou Barry’s body.”
Camjiata was no djeli, but he was doing a cursed beguiling job weaving a story that tugged at hearts and loins and drew the world in fresh colors for men worn out by battle.
“How do you know what happened to Amadou Barry?” I demanded in a low voice.
“I have never managed to insinuate a spy into a mage House, but getting informers into the household of Lord Marius was not difficult. Every word I spoke is true. The emperor sent Amadou Barry to Adurnam because he feared the young legate’s popularity in Rome.”
Noble Ba’al! That put a different smell on the rose!
The legate whose wine I had poured walked boldly out to confront the general. I pulled just enough shadow around me that he couldn’t be bothered to notice me any more than the general’s aides. “What do you want, General Keita? Our surrender? The Invictus do not surrender. Nor do our Ironclad brothers. Our honor forbids it.”
Every word Camjiata spoke was pitched to carry as far as possible. “Of course I don’t want your surrender. Your soldier’s honor shines as brightly as ever. Yet Rome’s honor has been tarnished in recent generations. You know it.”
Soldiers murmured. They did know it.
“Selfish patricians long ago repudiated the ideals of the old republic. In recent years they have likewise turned hostile backs to the new river of change that beckons. I will restore Rome to the glory and influence that she deserves.”
“You’re an Iberian. Rome has always been your enemy.”
“It is true that on my father’s side I am of Iberian princely descent and also the son of the sons of the emperors of old Mali. But through my mother’s blood I have a claim to Rome. Why should old enemies not become today’s allies? What can Romans and Iberians not do, if they work together under strong leadership? Will you join me? The old emperor is weak. But I am not.”
The legate considered the general’s offer and, naturally, grasped for the promise of glory.
He raised an arm in salute. “Camjiata!”
Behind echoed first a ragged cheer, rising with each successive wave until its tide swept the legions. “For Rome!”
The general accepted their approbation with an unsmiling seriousness appropriate for the auspicious occasion.
“Bastard,” I muttered appreciatively. “Is this what you hoped for all along? To raise the Roman legions to fight for you as consuls used to do in the days of the old empire?”
“Rome has always been mine,” he said. “That is my destiny. You will not be the one to take it from me, Cat.”
“As long as Rome doesn’t bother me, I won’t bother Rome,” I retorted, and he smiled.
I waited as he conferred with the legions’ officers.
Then we rode the two miles or so back to Lutetia. Soldiers lit our way with lanterns as we drew up before a huge barricade that closed the Liyonum Gate into the city. Lanterns and torches blazed. Thousands of people stood on the walls and roofs, for it seemed half the citizenry of Lutetia had come to face the victor.
A young woman stood on a table, flanked by a blacksmith in guild robes and a djeli with blond hair swept up in lime-whitened spikes and gold earrings gleaming in the flame of the candle lantern he held. Half hidden among the crowd waited Brennan and Kehinde. Weaponry scavenged from the field was being hauled into the city.
Camjiata rode forward. His carelessly bold manner gave him a commanding presence. I alone followed. Bee marked me with a dark look that scolded me. Then, having dispensed with me, she pulled the shawl on her shoulder up over her hair and opened her arms in a matronly manner that mimicked the festival tableau called “Dame Fortuna Welcomes the Victors.”
“The good citizens of Lutetia have given me leave to speak on their behalf, out of respect for the Lady of the River whose voice runs all through the city.” Her voice had such resonance that, although she did not seem to be shouting, the sound carried deep into the evening. “We offer our thanks here today to you, General Camjiata. You have fought your battle outside our walls. In your wisdom you leave us to fight our battles inside them. This barricade we built from the furniture and pavilions of the prince’s palace, which we have torn down as the first act of raising an assembly to rule in the place of a prince. We will follow the example of our brothers and sisters in the city of Expedition on the island of Kiskeya across the Atlantic Ocean and devise a means to rule ourselves. Your offering at the altar of our radical enterprise we accept gratefully.”
“What offering is that?” he said, with a smile whose contours I could not interpret. Was he angry? Amused? Making ready to launch an attack into the city with his victory-soaked troops?
“You have generously shared your legal code as a model for the one that will be written here! Copies have been printed across Europa and now circulate on the streets of Lutetia.”
“I am aware of the strenuous efforts of printers. May I not stand on the steps of the prince’s palace and declaim the code? I did so twenty-two years ago on those very steps, only to have the law driven out by the hounds of greed who are ever whipped forward by princes and mages.”
Bee smiled bounteously. “The people of Lutetia are grateful for your efforts. We think you have done enough.”