The Broken Lance

by Jess Steven Hughes

  *

  Not more than an hour passed before Crispus returned to the barracks. Except for myself, they were empty. I sat on my bunk, sipping hot gruel from a bronze cooking bowl.

  Crispus stormed into the room. “That bastard Rix is cheating us again. This time he’s gone too far!”

  “What now?” I set the bowl on a small iron grate on the floor.

  “He’s doubled the price of his cheap wine. Worse, on his poxed whores!”

  “That son-of-a-bitch!” I said wearily, as I stood up. “He’s going to get their money anyway, why not let them get something for it?”

  I grabbed my spatha and baldric, strapping them on. “We’ve been through this before, he never learns.” I took my saddle from the high footboard and harness from a post on the wall.

  “Let’s go. I’ll settle this right now.”

  *

  The afternoon was cool but sunny as we rode the short distance to the village. The jingling of bronze pendants from the horses’ harnesses and creaking of our leather saddles echoed across the narrow placid river to the edge of the settlement. “Why did Rix raise the prices this time?” I asked.

  “That pox-brained Albinus shot off his mouth to every trader that you were paying for everything—price was no object—so Rix raised his prices.”

  Usually, Rix tried his cheating antics on paydays every three months. The next one was still another six weeks away.

  “Wait until I get my hands on that dog-faced idiot,” I said.

  “Albinus or Rix?”

  “Both!” I shouted so loud that it startled the horses. I lurched backwards in my saddle as Argento suddenly raised up on hind legs, his front hooves pawing the air. I gripped him tightly around the girth with my legs, leaned forward, said a few soothing words before he settled down. I noticed Crispus had a similar experience.

  “That’s not all,” Crispus said once the horses were calm. “Rix says he’s replaced his other women with prettier ones, and these are guaranteed to be clean and free of disease. So he has to recoup his expenses.”

  “Now they’re pretty cows instead of ugly ones,” I said in a sardonic voice.

  “Almost. He claims he’s serving better grades of wines, and that he’s added Gallic beer and Syrian whiskey to his stock.”

  “All of it watered down!”

  Crispus and I rode through the mire to Rix’s place. A light breeze wafted in from the north carrying odors of the bivouac across the river. Here and there domestic pigs burrowed snouts into the mud, rooting out tidbits of garbage.

  Outside Rix’s tavern eight or nine cavalry mounts stood tied to the hitching rail, stoically waiting for their inebriated masters to return. They swatted blowflies with their stringy tails.

  The front flaps of the noisy wine shop opened onto the street. Within the dim, lamp-lit place, troops occupied nearly all of the crude, wooden tables. Drinking and laughing, they played knucklebones, a game using four dice, or little brigands, using two dice and a pegboard. Three comely girls of Gallic or German origin served the tables, coaxing the obvious winners to buy their tables a round. They took more coins than the dice. Compared to the previous smelly and dirty females that Rix once employed, they were neat and orderly—the new expensive and guaranteed-clean types.

  Crispus and I entered the tavern and looked about. At the table nearest to the entrance sat Albinus and Kimon across from one another playing knucklebones. Next to Kimon sat Andubal, who watched the game with interest.

  “Gods! Venus again!” Albinus complained. “You bastard! You’re wiping me out, Kimon!”

  On the table three of the four scattered dice had turned up six. Albinus scooped up the dice, examining them quickly. He locked eyes with Kimon, and for a moment a fight seemed imminent. He flung the dice hard onto the table and cursed as only one rolled six, but held his tongue about cheating.

  “Shut up, dog face, and pay me,” slit-eyed Kimon demanded. “And you can quit eye-fucking them dice.”

  “That does it, I’m out.” Albinus tossed the half-Greek a small, leather pouch of coins, his curses muffled by the clinking coppers.

  At the far end of the room several troopers stood in line, including runny-nosed Obulco. Indibil and Severus also waited their turns with the daughters of joy. After drinking enough cheap wine, ten asses must have seemed a reasonable price for a wench. The usual price was three. A small dancing group of tambourine and drum players provided entertainment for the waiting customers. The women rotated from serving in the front of the shop to more profitable duties in the back. A sour old Gallic woman drooling from the mouth sat on a stool next to the access and collected the fees.

  Despite the patch over his left eye, Rix saw us at once. He poured wine from a long-stemmed amphora behind the counter. The tall, sly, square-faced Gaul set the wine jug down and strode over to us. Barely acknowledging my presence, he greeted Crispus like a long-lost comrade. The old man embraced him, as claps of dust flew from the sleeves of his wine-stained tunic.

  “Crispus, my friend, where have you been?” he lisped with a nasal drawl. Brown, rotting teeth peeked through a drooping, red mustache streaked with gray. “We’ve missed you.”

  “It’s been no more than an hour, you thieving bastard. You robbed me and the men of every last copper.”

  Rix feigned a look of indignation, placing a hand on his chest. “My friend, you deeply wrong me. I’m only a poor businessman. After all, I have to make a living.”

  “Hades, you live like a king!” Crispus retorted. “At our expense.”

  Rix’s breath reeked of garlic. “I would have given you credit, had you asked.”

  “At twenty-five percent interest? Not this man, you old thief! And by the gods, not my men either.”

  “But I’m only getting by.” He seemed to ignore Crispus’s threatening tone.

  He turned to me. “Why, Sergeant, what a pleasant surprise. I’ve not seen you since you first arrived.”

  I studied Rix’s leather face and guessed him to be about sixty, or eighty. “The quality of both your wine and women left a lot to be desired, Rix, so I did without. But that’s not why I’m here.”

  I grabbed him by the throat and squeezed slowly.

  “I’m sure you can guess.” I glanced around.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing.

  Kimon, Albinus, and Andubal shoved away the table and stood behind Rix, keeping two of his henchmen at bay. Obulco, and other members of my squadron, moved instantly to where Crispus stood behind me, and I guessed he was keeping an eye on the rest of the crowd. Mardonius, who was at another table nearby, glared at me, not Rix.

  I kept a firm grasp on Rix’s throat. “You missed me so much that you wanted to keep all my money as a memento of the occasion, but what you really meant to do was honor my return by lowering your prices, didn’t you?”

  “But there are expenses,” he squeaked.

  “Lowering your prices beginning now, right?” I squeezed his throat tighter. “And that way I can hunt down the lying dog who said you are trying to cheat me—and kill him instead of you.”

  “But . . . but—”

  I twisted my grip. His faced turned red, and he was near unconsciousness. “Give up, Rix.”

  “Please.” His eyes pleaded.

  I eased my grip slightly.

  “You’re dead, maggot.”

  “All right, five copper asses,” he croaked.

  “Bastard! That’s robbery.”

  “Please, I can’t go any lower, I swear. Gallus expects it.” His earring tinkled.

  I opened my hand and dropped him to the floor. “All right, it’s still robbery, but it’s better than ten.”

  “As I tried to tell you,” Rix explained as if nothing had happened, “these women are of high quality. Why even one of them is the daughter of a German king, and she’s clean.”

  “HORSESHIT! All of your women are princesses, or goddesses of one sort or another. Do you think I’m a fool?” I reached out to gra
b him again, but he evaded my attempt, raising his hands before him.

  “No, I’m telling the truth, Sergeant.”

  Rix lied out of habit, even when the truth was in his best interest.

  “I swear, it’s true. Her father is Ataulf of the Chatti.” He pulled back his hands

  “Old Ataulf, the bandit king? We fought his outlaws for years. Why would he sell you any of his daughters?”

  “Pay the five coppers for her services, and she’ll tell you,” he answered with a knowing grin. “I’ll say this, she cost me many silver dinarii.”

  I looked about. “Which one is she?”

  “That one.” He pointed to a tall, statuesque girl whose auburn hair fell loosely halfway down her back. A green and red, plaid, woolen tunic covered her body well below the knees. The remaining part of her legs and feet were wrapped in wolf skins, for warmth against the cold that knifed through the drafty place. She poured cups of wine for the four cavalrymen sitting in the far corner of the room. One was the blond, scar-faced Mardonius, whose trooper I had killed in the Fustuarium. His beefy right hand reached around her as she bent her long-stemmed amphora jug, and he grabbed at her buttocks.

  She yelped, almost dropping the vessel. Her expression quickly changed to anger, a frown crossed her full lips. She turned and poured the receptacle’s contents on his head.

  For a few seconds the thick-limbed sergeant sat stunned. Wine ran down his hair and dripped onto his tunic.

  Crispus, the other troopers, and I howled.

  Mardonius quickly recovered, brushing back his limp hair. “You fucking slut!” he yelled. “I’ll cut your throat!” He yanked the dagger from the sheath hanging on his belt and leaped towards the girl. His friends grabbed and pulled him away just before he stabbed her.

  An alarmed Rix rushed between the crowded tables to the drenched Mardonius. He slapped the girl, knocking her to the clapboard floor. He gestured wildly to her with his fists, as if worse punishment was to follow.

  “A thousand pardons, good Sergeant,” Rix apologized. “I’ll see that the slut is severely punished.”

  “You better, or I’ll slice the bitch yet,” Mardonius threatened.

  “Rest assured I will.” He rubbed this throat and swallowed. “In the meantime, your next jug of wine is on me. I’ll take care of the damage to your uniform.”

  The young woman lay on the floor, raising up partially on the elbows, not daring to move. Rix yanked her to her feet, placed her in a hammer lock, and shoved her to the back room. The thin canvas walls did not contain Rix’s hateful yelling, in guttural German, his violent slaps, and her pitiful screams. I had seen prostitutes beaten before, but for some reason, punishing this one bothered me. There was something different about her. What it was I couldn’t say, except that I didn’t want her injured. Mardonius deserved what he got.

  Crispus and I sat at a splintery table smelling of rancid wine. A plump, but pretty, blond wench brought earthen cups and a pitcher of water to cut the wine. She poured the dark-red rotgut, showing off ample breasts. “That young one will never learn,” she whispered. “She thinks she’s a princess.”

  We nodded, enjoying the view of her firm nipples beneath the thin, woolen top.

  “What’s her name?” I asked.

  “Kyar,” she answered.

  “She has a lot of spirit,” I said.

  She narrowed her round, blue eyes. “Spirit? Such a temper could cost her life. Rix is a mean one. He beats us for everything,” she replied in broken Latin, displaying a yellowish bruise on her forearm.

  “What’s your name?” Crispus asked, leering at her breasts.

  She flashed a big smile. Her teeth were slightly crooked but still white. “Sigrid, what’s yours?”

  “Crispus, pretty lass.”

  “Will I see you later?”

  “If you make it worth my while.”

  “Pay the price, and you won’t be sorry.” Sigrid winked and went on to the next table.

  “She likes you,” I said.

  “Hades, she probably likes anybody with enough coppers.”

  I caught Albinus’s attention and motioned him to our table. “I want to thank you for backing me with Rix.”

  “Anytime, Sergeant,” he answered and stood before me with a puzzled look, arching a thin eyebrow.

  I stared into his watery eyes as if peering to the back of his skull. “As a reward for your loyalty, I’m assigning you to cleaning up the squadron stable for one week, starting tomorrow.”

  His wide face paled. “What did I do?”

  “Bragged about my wealth.” I shook my head. “You know I’ve forbidden any mention of it.”

  “But it’s not true.” Albinus swallowed loudly.

  I struck the table with the palm of my hand. Everyone stared in my direction. “Two weeks! Don’t lie to me, we’ve known each other too long.” I glared at the others and slowly they returned to their drinks and games. “You neither have the common sense of your good father,” I continued, “nor that of your older brothers.” Albinus’s family owned a small vineyard near our latifundia. We traded them beef for a good grade of Baetican wine.

  Albinus stared at Crispus but didn’t say a word, no doubt fearing a third week of duty would be added.

  “Not only will you clean each stall, without the assistance of the stable slave,” I said, “but you’ll be wearing full armor.”

  “Full armor! It’ll get filthy!”

  I jabbed a finger in his direction. “You will see that it doesn’t. The stalls will be cleaned every morning before roll call. At ten minutes to a stall, you’ll have more than ample time to clean them in two hours.”

  “Two hours!” he whined. “That means getting up before reveille.”

  “I’ll inspect the stalls and your appearance every morning before you report for roll call. For each day you fail inspection, another day will be added to your detail. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Sergeant.” He exhaled.

  “Very well, dismissed.”

  Albinus trudged away and left the tavern.

  “He’s going to be shoveling shit for a long time,” Crispus said.

  “How did you guess?” We both laughed.

  My mind drifted back to the young woman, Kyar. I hoped she hadn’t been too badly injured by Rix.

  Chapter 9

  Kyar slowly stepped out of the back room. Red marks puffed on the left side of her face and her eyes watered. She trudged behind the counter, picked up another long-stemmed jug, and resumed her duties at the tables.

  After she had waited on a few of the troops, Kyar turned and caught my eye. She strolled over and upon a closer look I noticed she was barely a woman, not more than fifteen. Her smooth complexion and high cheekbones were accentuated by a short, turned-up nose, forest-green eyes, and a small but pouting full mouth.

  I grinned. “Do me a favor?”

  “Why should I?” she snapped in heavy-accented Latin. “You’re no better than the rest.”

  “You don’t know me, but it doesn’t matter. Just be careful. Don’t do anything that would make Rix hurt you again.”

  “Why should you care about a slave?”

  “I don’t like to see anyone being mistreated, including slaves and animals.”

  She spat, “I’m not an animal, and I won’t be treated like one.” She splashed my cup and turned away. I shrugged, but followed her pleasing walk with my eyes. Definitely the body of a woman.

  “How long has she been here?” I asked Crispus.

  “About four months.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I made an arse of myself with her.”

  “You’re a grown lad. I figured you’d find out for yourself.”

  “Thanks, friend. Anyway, she’s the one I want. I’ll see if she has as much fire in bed.”

  “Unless she sticks a knife between your ribs first. As for me, I’ll take Sigrid. Did you see the size of her jars?” he said, cupping his hands as if holding two large melons at chest
level.

  We lined up when the women rotated and awaited our turns. I did not have to wait for long. I paid the old Gallic woman, with a decaying smile, ten asses, double the going rate for more time with Kyar.

  “Oh, you want princess,” she said in broken Latin.

  I nodded.

  One at a time she inserted my two coins to the back of her jaw, found a tooth, and bit them. She grunted and flashed a rotten grin. Perhaps I was wasting my money, but something told me I wasn’t.

  The woman stood and motioned for me to follow. She turned and hobbled through a dusty animal-skin partition.

  I stepped into a large cubicle, a room divided into sections by dirty, leather skins, little more than cribs. There was little privacy. The place reeked of stale sweat and urine, and through the thin partitions seeped the groans of amorous embrace, ruffling of blankets, and whispered conversations and giggles on both sides.

  The Gallic woman grunted something I couldn’t understand and motioned with her scaly hand. “There.”

  At the far end, a few feet beyond the other partitions, stood a much larger area, blocked off in goat skins hanging from floor to ceiling.

  “Princess room,” the woman rasped. “Make much money for Rix.” She gave me a snaggle-toothed smile, brushed past me, and hobbled back to the front of the tavern.

  As I entered Kyar’s room, cockroaches raced up one of the bed-pallet’s sides. I felt like complaining to Rix about his palatial pest house, then shrugged. He’d only claim the bugs were princesses or goddesses, too.

  Despite the vermin, her attempt to keep the room clean was obvious. The compact dirt floor had been swept free of excess dust, and an empty chamber pot sat at the base of the pallet. A fresh bunch of yellow and white early spring flowers rested in a little terra-cotta vase on the squat table by the stained wall. Despite Rix’s beating, Kyar had freshly scrubbed her face and neatly combed her hair into shiny locks, draping over her shoulders. About her was the perfumed scent of chamomile.