by Ellis Knox
Avitus snorted.
“Agreed.” Julian looked under the table. “Where are my sandals, Avi?”
“Where you left them, I should think.”
Julian ignored him. He opened his storage chest and began to rummage in it. “Still another, a cavalryman who was there, said he knew it was magic but that it was barbarian magic and he didn’t approve. Will keep his eye on them, he said. You see what I mean? Plenty of ideas, precious little sense. Damn it Avi, where are my sandals?”
Wordlessly, Avitus pointed to a corner of the tent. Julian retrieved the shoes, sat, and put them on.
“You hid them,” he sulked.
“Yes, master. I raced back to the tent ahead of you, because I have nothing better to do with my time than to hide shoes.”
Julian could not help grinning. “Would that we all had nothing better to do.”
A soldier poked his head inside the tent. “Sir, First Tribune wants to speak with you.”
“Send him in.”
Marcus Salvius entered, standing just inside. Not for the first time, Julian reflected how the man seemed to fill the doorway whenever he entered.
“Sir, I need to speak with you.”
“Go ahead, Marcus,” Julian said.
“Sir, it is a matter of some importance.”
Julian sighed audibly.
“All right, Marcus, you have my attention. What is this matter of some importance?” He did not bother trying to sound sincere.
“It concerns the barbarians, General.”
The stiff posture and formal tone were warning enough. Julian knew perfectly well the topic.
“The men are uneasy about our allies?”
Marcus met his look. “Yes,” he said.
“And?”
“There’s trouble coming, sir. With the barbarians.” He stiffened almost to attention. “The sorcerers, sir.”
“I’m hearing the same, Marcus.”
“They don’t know what to make of it, sir. Who are these people to us? Why do they travel with us?”
“Because,” Julian said with a sly smile, “their commander is in love with their barbarian princess?”
Marcus’ lips tightened. His eyes looked just past Julian’s shoulder. “Some say this. Some say she has bewitched you with a spell.”
“Vere?” Julian chuckled. “I hadn’t heard that one. She’s bewitching enough on her own, don’t you think?”
Julian was surprised to see a quick blush appear on Marcus’ dark face. It went away at once, but it was unmistakable. Julian refrained from commenting.
“Nevertheless,” he continued, “there appears to be some uncertainty about our allies, and I won’t have it. Summon the officers. It’s time to be clear about this. It’ll give the men a chance to air their concerns.”
“We don’t all have concerns, sir.”
“No, I don’t suppose so. But all can have their say. Fetch them here, and be quick. I’m hungry.”
Four tribunes, the cavalry captain and the legion’s standard bearer stood very nearly shoulder to shoulder, packed like fish in a basket. Julian had posted Avitus outside with orders to interrupt if it looked like others were listening. The fact that they had been summoned by the General was news that had probably made it around camp even before the last tribune wedged his way into the tent.
Julian himself stood at the opening to his private chamber, to maximize the space in the main tent. He noted that, without seeming to, the tribunes had sorted themselves into cohort order, two and two. “I am sorry there are no benches, but then again we are not senators.”
This caused a low chuckle, a little forced.
“Good. We are here because this is a private meeting. You will not discuss this meeting with any of the men.” He did not pause for their assent.
“The XII is in a tight spot, men. We are outnumbered by something like a thousand to one, or maybe it’s ten thousand. Poor odds, in any case.
“I know that some of you don’t much like that I’ve brought civilians along with us. I can think of some reasons why, and I can think of some counter-arguments, and I’ll listen to them, but first you will listen to me.
“Today there was an incident between a soldier in the Third Cohort and one of the auxiliaries. Rixen, is what they call themselves. You may as well get used to the word.
“This incident created ill-will between us. It was bad enough that I had to go to their leader and apologize for my soldier’s behavior.”
He paused to look at each man in turn.
“Do not make me do that again. I will listen to your misgivings and your protestations, but you will not force me to apologize for the Legion. So, I would say the floor is open, but the floor seems to be pretty full. If you have something to say, now is the time to speak up.”
Julian spread his hands, palms out, in invitation.
Silence ensued. Men glanced furtively at one another. The looks were plain, even in the back. Concerns? Whatever does the General mean? We are all happy, obedient officers!
Marcus glanced over his shoulder at the others, then started to speak.
“Not you, First. I want to hear from the others.”
Marcus settled back in his place. He looked distinctly uncomfortable.
A voice came from further back.
“What was that? Step forward so I can hear you better.”
He knew exactly who had spoken, but he wasn’t going to let the men hide behind the shoulders. There was some shuffling and squeezing, then Gaius Crispus stepped out. He was a small, compact man with Egyptian eyes. Tribune of the Third Cohort. He faced Julian with all the confidence of the justified.
“Ventus, he was minding his own business, sir. Beg pardon, but you’ve heard all this once, when I reported it.”
“I heard it when the whole thing blew up and I sent for you, yes. But I want everyone to hear the same version. So, proceed.”
Crispus nodded, but his head did not come back quite to eye level again. He spoke downward, at Julian’s feet.
“So these barbarians …”
“Rixen.”
“Yes, sir, rixen. They wander all over the place, and some of them wander right into the column, into the middle of the Third. Ventus, he was minding his own business when this happens, and he tells them to get off. Likely, they didn’t understand a proper language, so there was some pushing and some words said on both sides, but pretty soon they start to move off again.
“That’s when it happened. One of them makes a sign with his hands—I can’t do it proper sir—and then he points right at Ventus. Now, maybe that’s the evil eye and maybe that’s something else, but one thing it ain’t is friendly. So, Ventus, who had already been shoved once or twice, and who was close, goes after the fellow. That’s how the fight started and it seemed fair to me. When the … rixen? … said I should discipline my own soldier, well I got more than a little angry myself. Where do they get off telling me how to run my outfit, that’s what I thought and that’s what I said. I refused, as you know. And you backed me up, sir.”
Only with that last sentence did Crispus fully raise his head again. Julian nodded in acknowledgment.
“I did, Third. But I still had to go apologize to Inglena on your behalf. You will ensure that neither Ventus nor anyone else under your command puts me in that position again. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, tell me, Gaius Crispus, what is your own objection to these people? Is it because they are not soldiers?”
“It’s not just that they’re civilians, General. They’re sorcerers, and that’s against the law. It’s a capital crime.”
He folded his arms across his chest.
Julian took his time in answering.
“That is our law, true enough,” he said finally. “Were we in Rome, you could send for a questor and have them all arrested.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Crispus said. His head went up, a little defiant.
“Of course you didn’t,
” Julian said. “We aren’t within the limes, are we? Being outside the limits of the Empire means we are outside Roman law, doesn’t it?”
“That’s not the point,” Crispus said angrily. Then, remembering his place, added, “General, sir.”
“No? What is the point, then, Third?”
Crispus unfolded his arms. “I mean, it’s just wrong, is all. Against morals. We have them with us, it’s like we approve, but we ought not approve, because it’s wrong, isn’t it?”
“Wrong?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So, we should send them away?
Crispus nodded enthusiastically. “Yes sir. At once.”
“Did you see Captain Ennius when he was injured?”
The Tribune blinked.
“No, sir. I had other duties.”
“You saw other injured men, though, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“They were healed by these sorcerers, too. Would you have them die, for the sake of your moral code?”
Crispus frowned and his lips tightened. Julian held his eyes until the man looked down.
“No, sir. I don’t wish death for any of my comrades.”
“It’s still wrong, though, isn’t it.”
Crispus nodded.
“I don’t disagree, Tribune. But this isn’t the place to sort it out, and we aren’t the people to do the sorting. I ask … no, I require only this: tolerate them for now. Help me get my Legion to safety. After that, if you wish, we can study the law codes together.”
Aulus Libo Tanax moved to speak. His head nearly scraped the tent ceiling. He folded his arms, unfolded them, and finally took refuge in standing at attention.
“Speak, Second, but for the love of Mars don’t stand so straight. You look like a talking tree.”
A couple of the men could not suppress laughter. Tanax tried to scowl at them while showing respect to his commanding officer at the same time.
“Y’see, suh, it’s like this.”
“Good. I was afraid it was like something else. Damn it, Tanax, just say what you have to say.”
“The rixen keep showin’ up, suh.”
“Yes they do, Second. The more the better.”
Tanax shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again.
“Well, suh, they ain’t exactly auxilia,” he said, using the formal term for non-Roman units attached to a Legion. “They’s civilians.” He made a sour face.
“You saw how they fight.”
“I saw sumpin’ but I’m damned if I know what it was.”
“Whatever it was, did it kill the cobbel cobbel?” He deliberately used the soldiers’ term.
“Aye, that,” Tanax said, grinning like a wolf.
“Thus as before: the more the better.”
Tanax shook his head slowly. “Ain’t all of ‘em can do that.”
“Vere, Second. Ain’t all of ‘em can. You make a valid point.”
Tanax nodded, smiling.
“Now tell me, in your cohort, was anyone wounded?”
“Nah suh, not a one. Two is hurt bad in the Fourth, though. I seen ‘em go down. Nasty wounds, suh.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Julian said, knowing quite well which cohorts had taken casualties. He stood quietly for a moment, hand to chin as if deep in thought.
“And can they fight?”
“Aw no, suh. They’s can scarce stand to piss. Suh.”
“Shall we leave them behind?”
The Second’s mouth dropped open. Julian let him grope for words, then saw understanding arrive. The mouth closed.
“I take your meaning suh. No suh, I ain’t leavin’ none of ours behind, not for them monsters. But them others, they ain’t ours, don’t you see. They’s theirs.”
“They are auxilia, Second, and part of the Legion. As such, they are under my authority.” He paused a beat. “Same as you.”
Tanax became perceptibly smaller.
“Aye, suh,” was all he said.
“Right,” Julian said, addressing the audience, “I’ve listened to your concerns, now you will listen to me. These people are called rixen. They are our allies and you will treat them as such. Another incident like today and I’ll bring formal charges. … If we ever get out of here.”
His eyes swept the room.
“And if we do get out of here, it’s going to have to be with their help. So don’t tell me about Roman law. We don’t even know what these rixen do. Maybe their gods operate through them. Maybe it’s trickery. Or something we don’t even have a name for. Before you start calling it sorcery, be sure you can afford your lawyer. Because I’ll be defending them.”
He gestured widely.
“Open your eyes, men. Show these people courtesy; after all, they helped us two days ago. They are our allies and we need every one of them. Dismissed.”
Julian watched his officers depart, walking parade stiff. He hoped they had been persuaded, but he doubted it.
“They don’t like it,” Avitus observed.
“No they don’t. But they obey, and that will have to do for now.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Encounter on the Siret
The Legion emerged from the hills later that day. Julian rode Bandylegs alongside Ennius. The captain was at last strong enough to ride in command. He was obviously in pain, but bore it well.
They rode in silence, which contented Julian. The sky was at last clear, and the chill of the morning had given way to the first real warmth of the year. Beneath Bandylegs’ hooves, the grass was new and brilliant green under the yellow sun. The chestnut and sycamore branches were still bare and dark, with tightly folded buds.
High against the blue sky, a hawk rode the air currents, looking for any mice that might dare to dart among the crocuses. The steady rattle of a woodpecker echoed against the hillside, cutting through the easy rumble of the Legion.
The events of that morning were reassuring as well as troubling. The blind prejudice of his officers bothered him, but he had exerted his command and they had obeyed. Maybe he had even persuaded some. Even one would be a victory. In any case, he felt he had done a “general-y” thing.
Recalling the word made him smile.
“There’s the river, General.”
He rounded a tumble of boulders and there it was, the River Siret with its white waters, about two miles ahead. Inglena’s scouts had brought the Legion out of the hills in only two days.
He surveyed the terrain, savoring the moment. A full legion was at his back. He was in command. It felt good, knowing these things. Was this the army life his father had loved?
Then his skeptical instincts intruded. His legion was only a border guard, ill-equipped. Before him lay a tiny village and a river about to spill over its banks. Behind him, somewhere, uncounted monsters overran the land. He could hope for better.
“What’s he pointing at?” Ennius said.
Julian broke off his reverie. A Therving scout was gesturing upriver.
“I can’t tell,” Julian said, “but let’s assume the worst.”
The shoulder of a hill blocked their view, so both men urged their horses forward to join the scout. He gestured again and babbled in his native tongue. A distant blob of black shapes stood out against the pale landscape.
“Cobbel,” he said. “Cobbel, cobbel.”
“Ghobellensi,” Julian said, then adjusted. “Goblins.”
“Cac,” Ennius said.
“How far do you make it?”
“Ten miles,” Ennius said after a moment.
“How many?”
“Two thousand, at most. Hard to tell.”
“If it’s at most, it’s too many,” Julian said. “Get Marcus Salvius up here, and the rixen princess.”
Ennius wheeled Hush and charged away, calling out orders as he went. Julian calmed Bandylegs and considered. A force a tenth this size had cut up the First Wing. How much damage would two thousand do? The other had been a surprise attack, he remi
nded himself, in the fog and against horse. This time would be different.
His heart wavered as he realized he had no idea how to conduct a set battle. He was going to have to ask for help without looking helpless. One thing he knew, at least: he would hold the cavalry in reserve. The horses spooked too easily.
Inglena and Ennius came hurrying. Inglena spoke directly to her scout in a quick exchange. Marcus Salvius arrived a couple minutes later, on foot as ever, with his signifer at his side and Avitus following on his donkey. They all looked northward, where a dark mass was now readily visible.
“They don’t march in columns,” Marcus said. His face was as unreadable as granite.
“They do not march at all,” Inglena said. “They are a swarm.”
“Bees?” Marcus said.
“This is a swarm sent,” Inglena said.
“The Gniva sends them?” Julian said.
She shrugged. “All we have are legends, and legends say all kinds of things. The Gniva does this, no he doesn’t, a Horde is like that, no it isn’t … there are a thousand stories and perhaps none of them are true. But I can tell you this much: every pack or swarm or Horde, has its leader. Kill the leader and the rest disperse until a new leader emerges. I have seen this in our own fighting. It is one legend that is true.”
“We have less than an hour, General,” Marcus said. “We would need most of that time to deploy. Your orders?”
Julian’s stomach clenched. What should he say? A fight was certain, and it was on his shoulders to set the order of battle.
“I intend to meet the enemy on the field below,” he said. “Before I give my orders, do any of you wish to speak?”
He was stalling, but it was a way to get advice without looking like he needed it. He looked at each of them in turn, no one had anything to say.
“What formation, General?” Marcus said.
Julian’s mouth went dry and his brain stopped short. He tried to think, casting about for anything his father might have told him, any clue from his childhood, but there was nothing. It was just like his father to abandon him now.