The Conqueror

by Bryan Litfin

  Rex leapt smoothly onto the back of his cavalry pony, gripping the saddle and swinging his leg over the animal’s back to gain the seat instead of stepping on a mounting block. One of the cavalrymen guffawed. “Fine, boy. We see you can mount a horse. Getting up is one thing. Staying up is the business of real men.”

  Reining around, Rex approached the trooper who had spoken to him. He seemed a decade older than Rex, maybe even in his early thirties. His red shield was marked with a scorpion insignia, and his helmet sported a yellow plume. Though Rex knew he was this man’s equal as a rider and fighter, he wasn’t about to reveal the full extent of his training. At the same time, to show himself weak right now would hamper his ability to integrate into the unit. These men were warriors; they respected strength above all else. Rex decided bold confidence was called for here—though not enough to blow his cover. He looked the yellow-plumed cavalryman in the eyes. “I wager I’ll put you flat on your back in the dirt before we’re done today,” he said.

  The challenge drew brusque laughter from the other soldiers, and even some taunts. The yellow-plumed rider leaned from his position in the saddle until he was almost nose to nose with Rex. “You talk big for a frontier boy! So you want to wager? Then let’s do it! What’ve you got?”

  Rex drew the gold solidus from his pouch and held it up. “I offer this coin if you knock me to the ground. It’s all I have to my name.”

  The gold glinting in the sun drew murmurs from the men. “That’s a whole lot of money there,” the trooper said, “and I’ll be happy to take it from you! You’d better tighten that chin strap, boy, because I’ll be aiming for your head.” The man glanced around at his comrades, who urged him on with cheers and acclamations. After receiving their praise, he turned his attention back to Rex. “Just for the sake of argument, what do you want from me if you should win the bet?”

  “What I seek isn’t yours to give.” Turning away from his adversary, Rex stepped his horse close to the exerciser who was in charge of field instruction. “All I want is to be enlisted as a cavalryman in the service of Emperor Maxentius.”

  The exerciser stood on the soft earth of the parade ground, resting his hands on his hips. He stared up at Rex with an appraising look. “Kid, if you can knock a trooper like Decimus out of the saddle, I don’t see why we wouldn’t sign you into the unit on the spot. We can never find enough good riders these days. But you won’t be able to do it. He’s one of the best horsemen we have. That man hasn’t felt the ground against his back since his first day in training camp.”

  “Until today,” Rex said, then prompted his mount toward the new recruits who were forming up for the competition.

  The maneuver in which the recruits were being tested today was known as the Cantabrian Circle. Used by the Spanish Celts in wars from the earliest days of the empire, the maneuver had been adopted by the Romans after they learned from hard experience how effective it could be. Now it was a standard part of a horse trooper’s training. Two sets of riders would gallop single file in a ring formation, making a pair of contiguous circles. Both circles moved in the same direction, which meant that at the place where the two circles touched, each rider would find himself constantly coming around to face an opponent head on. In war, this circular barrage was a devastating tactic, for a stationary enemy would find himself subjected to a steady stream of missiles; yet the throwers were always veering away, so return shots were difficult. On the parade ground, the Cantabrian Circle made for great show—a swirling maelstrom of soldiers and spears that left no doubts about the incredible horsemanship of the Roman cavalry. And since contact between opposing riders was always happening at the same point, it was easy for observers to focus their attention there and analyze the strengths of each trooper.

  Rex lined up with a motley group of provincials who were much like what he was claiming to be: idealistic youths with strong arms and a willingness to work hard to learn the art of war. Half of these men would make it into the army, and half of those would die before the age of forty. But the one-quarter who pursued a successful military career and were discharged with honors could look forward to all the prestige, camaraderie, adventures, health care, good pay, and comfortable retirement that came with being a Roman soldier. Certainly it was beyond anything they could have achieved in the villages of their birth. And that was exactly why they had come to Rome.

  “Here you go, German,” the exerciser said, handing Rex a small round shield and a quiver of three javelins. Instead of iron points, the wooden shafts were tipped with stiff leather—not enough to pierce armor or kill a man, but certainly enough to break a rib or crush a nose. “Keep that shield up,” the exerciser advised. “Decimus is out for your gold.”

  Rex gave the centurion a brash smile. “Keep a stylus handy, sir. You’ll need it to sign my enlistment contract.” The centurion only rolled his eyes at the cocky remark and moved on to the next horseman.

  The two teams were furnished with scarves of either red or blue. Rex found himself on the blue squad, joined by recruits who were mostly from the far northern provinces. The red team consisted of hopefuls from the territories along the lower Danubius. A few seasoned veterans were in the mix too, just to make things interesting.

  At the exerciser’s command, the first riders led out at a canter to get the feel of the Cantabrian Circle. Each time the opponents passed each other, they made hurling motions with their spears but didn’t actually release. As Rex entered the fray, he feigned a level of awkwardness he did not actually feel. During his three years of intense training as a speculator, Aratus had run him through exactly this drill more times than he could count. Rex had been particularly good at it. Now he felt he could do it with his eyes closed. But he didn’t want the watchers to know that.

  The exerciser ordered the competitors to move up to a gallop. The increased speed heightened the intensity of the competition, and even Rex began to feel a rush of battle excitement. As he watched the circle of the opposing team go round, he noticed Decimus enter the flow, unmistakable with his yellow plume and blood-red shield. Rex could see immediately that he was indeed a superb horseman.

  A trumpet sounded, signaling the onset of full-combat maneuvers. As the first pair of riders came around their circles and met head-on, each threw his leather-tipped javelin. One man missed completely, while the other’s spear made a loud clatter as it ricocheted off his opponent’s shield.

  Rex rounded the circle at a full gallop and fixed his eyes on Decimus coming toward him. His yellow plume streamed behind him, and his oblong shield covered more of his body than Rex’s little round one. Taut muscles, slick with sweat, stood out on the man’s upraised spear arm. Rex knew it was going to take all his skill to defend himself against such a worthy adversary.

  The impact of Decimus’s javelin on Rex’s shield sent a tremor up his left arm. A hit like that against his head surely would have unhorsed him. Just before Rex felt the tremendous blow, he sent his own spear flying, but his rival successfully deflected it. The two men swept past each other in dual arcs and began the revolution toward their next encounter.

  The second time they met, Rex decided to set up his final shot by luring his opponent into overconfidence. As every cavalryman knew, his shield wasn’t his only defense; his javelin served that purpose too. The act of throwing it required an oncoming rider to watch it closely and adjust to its trajectory, greatly affecting his own aim. Any competitor who held his spear too long was asking to get hit because his enemy could focus on his throw instead of defending against a counterattack. For this reason, the paired opponents in the Cantabrian Circle usually released their spears at exactly the same moment, the brief instant when they were close enough to score a hit yet not so close as to give the enemy an easy shot.

  But as Rex sped around for the second time, he deliberately waited until his opponent had thrown first. Rex took the impact on his shield, then hurled his own spear wide of the mark. “Too late!” Decimus cried as he galloped past. Such a
late throw was exactly what an inaccurate spearman would try to do: draw closer before releasing his weapon to achieve better aim. It felt instinctive to an untrained rider. However, it was actually a foolish, even deadly, strategy.

  On the third pass, Rex waited again to make his throw. Decimus, now aware of his opponent’s tendency to delay, also waited for a can’t-miss shot. Rex knew he would be aiming for the helmet, since cavalrymen couldn’t resist the glory that came from making a successful head strike, driving a spear through the enemy’s face and hurling him to the ground. Brazenly, Rex lowered his shield and left his head unprotected. Yet he kept his focus on Decimus’s arm.

  The two riders churned toward each other, each wheeling right as they approached the junction of their circles. A battle cry escaped Decimus’s lips, and Rex roared in return. The enemy’s arm started forward. The spear shaft moved. And with a tiny flex of his thighs, Rex turned his horse onto a slightly different trajectory—a collision course with Decimus.

  The javelin flew past Rex’s head with the hissing sound of a snake. Ignoring it, he barreled directly at his enemy. Wide-eyed, the red-and-yellow rider tried to turn aside from the deadly impact, but Rex urged his horse to keep galloping toward his opponent’s mount. Both men were screaming now, venting their battle lust even though they were only on a parade ground. Rex knew the time for a throw had passed. Decimus held his oblong shield high, covering his entire body. The defensive posture would prevent the javelin from getting through.

  At the moment before impact, Rex squeezed his thighs and turned his mount aside. Only an equestrian with complete control of his steed would have tried it, for it required a level of mastery that few riders could achieve. The cavalry pony that Flavia’s uncle had given him was a good one, battle tested and responsive, and Rex felt confident in the saddle. The two horses brushed past each other, screeching their protest at the near collision. In the instant that Decimus was alongside him, Rex leaned out and smashed his opponent with his shield.

  The blow wouldn’t have knocked a man down in foot combat, but with the force of a galloping horse behind it, the shove was plenty hard enough to destabilize Decimus. Unprepared for the sudden shock, he lurched backward in the saddle, flailing his arms, then tumbled over the rump of his horse. Rex glimpsed him hit the ground as he flew past in the Cantabrian Circle.

  The final time that Rex rounded the arc, he left the swirl of riders and reined up in front of his opponent’s body. Decimus’s helmet had come off, and the grimace on his face left no doubt about the pain he was in. He writhed on the ground, not mortally wounded, though perhaps seriously injured, and certainly stunned. Yet Rex felt no pity for his defeated foe. This was what he had asked for—and the man had been trying to do the exact same thing to him.

  Rex raised his javelin above his head. “Feel the ground at your back once again, Decimus.” He hurled the spear into the earth near his opponent’s head. With its shaft still quivering, he turned his horse and rode in a direct line toward the supervisor of the parade ground. The centurion eyed Rex as he approached.

  “Impressive work, German.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Rex replied with a grin.

  “I’ve got forty riders still out there on the field. What do you want?”

  “I think you know what I’m here for.”

  The exerciser nodded thoughtfully, then turned to the junior aide at his side. “Go get me a stylus and tablet,” he said. “The Emperor’s Personal Cavalry has its newest recruit.”

  The Roman Forum was the original town square of the capital city. Although Flavia had always enjoyed the vibrancy of the place, she now viewed it with significant trepidation. Of course, everything looked the same as it did two weeks earlier when she was thrown into the fearsome Carcer, dragged into the Senate House for a fake trial, and slapped by a cruel soldier at the foot of Titus’s arch. Back then, she had been the privileged daughter of one of Rome’s ancient families, a member of the more honorable class.

  But who am I now?

  In everyone’s eyes, she was just a nondescript scullery maid with a plain tunic, shoulder-length hair, and no makeup to grace her cheeks. Though Flavia tried not to let the social demotion bother her, she couldn’t help but feel its sting. She had lost her sense of belonging. Rome’s central plaza had morphed from a friendly place where she was once welcome to an alien and hostile land. Though no one in the crowds recognized her as an aristocrat—or even paid her much notice at all—Flavia sensed the very stones of the Forum were now arrayed against her. Perhaps she would never again feel at home here.

  “Flavia!” Chloe called. “Wait for me!”

  Flavia paused next to a street vendor’s stand to let her new friend catch up. Chloe was several months pregnant, and though she had a stout frame and her stomach hadn’t noticeably expanded, she certainly looked more buxom as she bounced along the Forum’s cracked travertine paving. Several times Flavia had noticed the girl wincing and rubbing her lower back as she carried out her kitchen duties. It’s hard enough to do the daily work of a slave. How much harder must it be with a baby in your belly?

  “Raisin cakes for the pretty ladies?” the street vendor asked. “Buy two and I’ll throw in a third for free.”

  Flavia nodded to the man. “Sounds like an excellent deal.” The vendor wrapped the treats in a cloth and tied up the bundle, then handed it to Flavia in exchange for two bronze pennies. She thanked him and turned to her friend.

  “Look! I got us a little something,” she said as Chloe approached.

  “Ooh, lovely! Let’s find a good place to sit and enjoy it.”

  The two girls meandered through the Forum under a bright, sunny sky. Yesterday’s rain had passed, leaving Rome with a newly washed feel. After passing the Temple of the Divine Julius—the very spot where Julius Caesar’s body had been cremated after his assassination—they exited the Forum onto Sacred Street. Flavia briefly recalled passing this way as she was dragged in chains to the beasts, but that memory was scary, and she dismissed it from her mind.

  “I’m not sure I can go much farther without a break,” Chloe said at last. “Can we rest in the shade of the basilica and eat the cakes?”

  “Of course. Whatever you need.”

  The friends climbed a set of stairs and ducked into the massive New Basilica, begun by Emperor Maxentius a few years earlier and now in its final stages of construction. The place was reported to be the largest covered hall in the whole empire. Its lofty roof encompassed a vast space that remained cool and shady at all times. The floor was made of the most beautiful marble, and the ceilings above the vaulted aisles were adorned with dimple-like coffers inlaid with gold. But most impressive of all was the semicircular apse at the far end of the hall. Here a giant statue had been placed: a mighty man seated on a throne, holding a spear in his hand. Yet one thing remained to complete the statue—its giant marble head was still being carved. Although Maxentius believed his own likeness was going to be erected there, Flavia offered a silent prayer that the Christian emperor Constantine might come to power instead. If God willed it, perhaps Constantine’s face would soon loom over the grand basilica.

  Wooden benches lined several of the walls. Flavia found an empty one in a private nook. She opened her bundle and gave one of the cakes to Chloe, who brushed a strand of her reddish-blonde hair from her sweaty forehead and accepted it gratefully.

  “Who’s the third for?” Chloe asked as she took a big bite.

  “I thought I’d take it to Zoticus.”

  “You sure are nice to that little brat. Even though he despises you.”

  “I don’t think he actually despises me. He just . . . he has some problems.”

  Chloe wiped a sticky crumb from her lip. “What kind of problems?”

  Flavia considered her answer. In her role as an undercover spy in the imperial palace, she had been told to trust no one and give out as little information as possible. Though being a Christian wasn’t illegal in Rome, it was unpopular. Flavia’s
current mission required fitting in, not alienating people. For this reason, she had been planning to keep her faith to herself in the weeks ahead. Yet somehow it didn’t seem right to hide the Savior from someone as obviously needy as Chloe. Maybe there would come a time to point her to Christ—but not now.

  “We have different views of religion,” Flavia said, smoothing the hem of her tunic. “Zoticus reveres Aesculapius. I prefer . . . another.”

  “Which one?”

  I knew she was going to ask me that.

  “The Highest God. The one who reigns over everything.”

  “You mean the sun god? Sol?”

  “Some people would make that connection,” Flavia replied evasively. “The sun is the highest light in the sky, so I suppose it could stand for the Highest God.” She looked down at the raisin cake in her hand. “Do you want this one too? I’m not really that hungry.”

  “Yes!” Chloe exclaimed, reaching out for the treat.

  The distraction was successful, and the conversation turned to other matters. Eventually the two girls sensed it was time to get back to the palace on the Palatine Hill. A lavish feast was planned for tonight, and all the kitchen maids had work to do. The boys at Gelotiana House had been talking about the banquet for weeks. It was going to be a grand affair.

  After a long afternoon of cleaning dishes, scrubbing floors, running errands, and polishing silver, the banquet hall was deemed ready to receive its guests. The great feast was being held in the Domitianic wing of the palace. Unlike the private residence, this wing served as the public area of the imperial complex. It consisted of three main parts: an enormous throne room for formal receptions; a lovely courtyard that centered on a pool with a magnificent octagonal fountain; and the Jupiter Dining Room, where the feasting would take place.