The Last Roman: Book One: Exile

by B. K. Greenwood

  "Good morning," Thomas said.

  "Yes, it is, thanks to you." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tossed him a fig. "Are you hungry?"

  "A little." Thomas caught the fruit and popped it into his mouth.

  "Walk with me."

  He was quiet, and Thomas looked over at him as they walked. Alabar rubbed his hands together as if cleaning them in water. He glanced at Thomas once, but quickly looked away. As they reached the boundaries of the oasis, he finally spoke.

  "I used to be a soldier."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, when I was much younger. I was the fourth of eight sons. My father assumed I would never take over leadership of the tribe, so he sent me away to my uncle, who was a general in the Sultan's army."

  Thomas nodded silently. They had passed onto the edges of the desert and into the gaze of the rising sun.

  "I have been in two battles and many skirmishes."

  "It's not a pretty thing."

  "No, it's not." He turned toward Thomas. "I have known many excellent warriors, men who had no equal…that is, until last night. You are so fast! And skilled! You must be the greatest warrior alive!"

  Thomas watched the sun shimmer as it crept into the light blue sky. "No, there's one better."

  "I don't believe it!" He dismissed Thomas's reply with a wave of his hand. "One thing is for sure…you are no sheepherder."

  "You saved my life, and I'm willing to do whatever you ask to repay that debt. I only ask to be treated like any other man."

  "But you are like no other man!" He turned and pointed into the distance. "Those cutthroats have been raiding my tribe for three generations…and we could never stand up to them. But you single-handedly drove them away!"

  "What do you want from me?"

  "Teach my men. Teach them how to fight, how to defend our tribe. That's all I ask."

  Thomas did not reply right away. It is one thing to kill a man and quite another to teach others to do it. It was like committing multiple sins at once. But then again, avoiding sin had not worked out for him. Thomas lifted his gaze and met Alabar's dark, anxious eyes.

  "Alright, I will train your men."

  "Outstanding!" He slapped his hands together. "The others will be delighted to hear!"

  Thomas could get used to the heat, but not the sand. It found its way into the mouth, ears, and eyes. It turned sweat into sandpaper and made riding a horse a truly miserable experience. And the wind was picking up, which meant more sand.

  Thomas looked to see how his companions were doing, securing his sash across the bottom part of his face. They rode in single file, following in the footsteps of his mount as they clung to their horses. Each of them led a camel laden with goods.

  Twice a year, a party went to the nearest town to purchase supplies for the tribe. They would trade dried fruit, wool, and sheep for rice, sugar, and spices. On the last trip, Thomas had gone along as a guard, but this time he was in charge. Many things had changed over the previous year. Thomas was not only trusted; he was their leader.

  Given a group of young men, Thomas had transformed them into a lean fighting force capable of protecting the tribe from its enemies. They had nearly annihilated two raiding parties, and the word had spread. There had not been an attack in almost four moons. As a result, they could bring more goods to the city and purchase luxuries for the tribe to make life much easier. The women would be pleased with the tiny treasures they had purchased.

  The image of the women running to their husbands after the long absence flashed through his mind. Thomas ignored the tightening in his chest and studied the distant horizon. He could have had any of the single women in the tribe, but that would not have been fair to them. No part of him had anything left to give.

  Thomas was lost in thought when they finished climbing a long, shallow dune. As the wind faded, the sky shifted to sunset. A smile crossed his face as he looked forward to a cool bath and a long night's sleep.

  "Look!"

  It was Sohail, the rider following right behind him. As Thomas lifted his gaze to the horizon, a knot formed in the pit of his stomach. There were several spirals of black smoke rising from the distant oasis.

  Thomas shifted in his saddle, directing his gaze toward Sohail. "Pick one man to stay with the camels; the rest follow me."

  Without waiting for a response, Thomas spurred his horse down the face of the dune. This close to the oasis, the sand gave way to flat, broken wasteland. As he reached the bottom, Thomas hunkered behind the neck of his steed and urged him forward.

  Speeding across the open desert, Thomas should have heard the hoofs clattering against the splintered earth or the labored breathing of his beast as he struggled to please his master. Thomas should have heard the howling of the wind as it battered his robe and blew the scarf from his weathered face. But he did not. He only heard the pounding of his heart as it propelled blood through his tortured veins. And screams, screams that haunted his soul.

  The first bodies lay near the oasis entrance, where several guards had made a futile stand. Thomas sped past the bodies and into the center of the camp. Most of the tents were dark outlines on the ground, their contents smoldering in the fading light. To his right, just beyond the broken fences of the animal pen, was a twenty-foot pile of bodies, charred and smoking. Thomas could see the horns and hooves of several goats, but otherwise, the mass was indistinguishable.

  His stomach already churning, Thomas guided his horse toward another pile near the edge of the spring.

  Alabar was tied to a post and surrounded by his family's bodies, along with the men who had fallen during the struggle. They had then lit the pile, burning him alive. His face was contorted with pain and anguish as he looked up toward the sky. Thomas dismounted from his horse as the others skidded to a halt beside him.

  Some were calling the names of their loved ones. Thomas knew they would not receive an answer. Tears of rage rolled down his dust-covered cheek as he turned toward Sohail.

  "One hour," Thomas said. "The men have one hour to make their peace. Then we ride."

  Without waiting for a reply, Thomas walked away.

  Thomas sat on a rock near the shallow pool's edge, staring down into the clear water. Several water bugs scooted along, sending tiny ripples across the smooth surface. He heard the soft crunch of Sohail's boots as he reluctantly approached. He stopped, then started to walk away.

  "Sohail."

  "Yes?"

  Thomas was still staring down at the water. "Are they ready?"

  "Yes…and no."

  Thomas spun, his dark expression driving Sohail back a step.

  "They want to know what we are going to do."

  Standing, Thomas walked past Sohail and to the group of men waiting near the camp center. They had brought the camels in from the desert and unloaded them into a pile near a tall palm tree. Most of them were staring at the ground but looked up as Thomas approached. He studied each of them closely. All had lost someone in the raid.

  "These were not normal raiders," Thomas said.

  They looked up, puzzled expressions on their faces.

  "Normal raiders would have plundered, not destroyed. It makes no sense to destroy if you plan on plundering again."

  "Then who were they?" Mushad asked.

  "Christians." Thomas tossed a silver cross onto the sand.

  "Impossible." Sohail shook his head. "The closest Christian outpost is five hundred miles from here."

  "It was…but they pushed south after consolidating their position in Jerusalem. My guess is they're expanding."

  "Are you sure?" Sohal cocked his head to the side.

  "Come see."

  As Thomas walked to the entrance of the camp, the others followed close behind. He knelt beside a set of horse hooves and traced one with his finger.

  "This is the hoof mark of one of our horses. Notice how small and sharp it is." Thomas pointed to another one next to it. "This is much wider and compressed. A much larger hors
e, with a heavier load, made this mark. Knights."

  "How many?" one of them asked.

  Thomas stood and brushed the sand from his hands. "Twenty-five, maybe thirty. They would have the same number of men in support, squires."

  "Fifty or sixty men?" Sohail gasped. "There are only fifteen of us!"

  "Yes, the odds are about even." The others looked at him anxiously. Thomas studied each one of their faces. "You have all lost much more than I, but that does not lessen my grief. You accepted me into this tribe, and now I ride to avenge them. I will quench my thirsty blade."

  One by one, each man nodded in agreement. Satisfied, Thomas looked to Sohail.

  "Bury the goods we brought from the city. If I am right, they may have taken some women and children as slaves. We will need these supplies to start over. Release the camels, they may stay here around the oasis, or they may flee. So be it. Pack the extra horses with all our gold and all the water we can carry. Be quick."

  Thomas watched the men work. It was good for them; unoccupied sorrow is not healthy. By the time they left, most were too exhausted to grieve. They rode just as the moon topped the distant horizon, wrapping the desert in its soft brilliance. It was easy to see where the Christians had gone, and even a child could have followed the trail.

  Thomas glanced back at the dark figures riding in the moonlight. Each one would have plenty of time to brood before they caught up with their quarry. He figured the Christians hit the camp at dawn, so they had a full day's head start. They would move slowly, with the captives on foot. Thomas calculated they would catch them by the following night.

  They camped right after midnight and were moving again before dawn. Thomas was not sure how many of the men slept, but it was vital for them to try. Strung out in a thin black line, they crept across the desert. Early in the afternoon, Thomas sent one man to scout ahead.

  He came back an hour later, his smile shining through the dirt and sweat.

  "I found them!" He turned his horse around and pointed toward the horizon. "They camp just beyond that hill, near a dried-up well."

  "Did they see you?"

  "No, they are not looking back."

  "That shall be their undoing."

  The campfire was visible from a mile away. Thomas stood on top of a large dune and studied them in the disappearing moonlight. He could see several men near the outer edges of the firelight, sitting, not standing. Good, sitting men usually become sleeping men.

  His first goal was to rescue the women and children. Then they would see to any revenge. Thomas went into the camp and saw how the prisoners were guarded. He waited until the moon had disappeared behind the distant mountains, then he crept up on the nearest guard. The man was slumped over, almost lying down on the sand. He died in his sleep.

  Thomas continued to the ruins surrounding the abandoned well. He knelt in the shadows of a broken wall and carefully peered over the top. No one manned the dying campfire. A couple of dozen men were lying around the embers, rolled up in blankets. There were several other buildings in various states of disarray. The one to his right was the only one with a guard lying next to the door.

  Thomas crept around the back of the building, sliding his dagger free as he made his way into the darkness between the two structures. He stopped near the corner of the building, less than two feet from the sleeping guard. Thomas looked toward the campfire, making sure the others were still sleeping. Satisfied they were, he leaned forward and, placing his hand over the guard's mouth, slit his throat. He might have been awake when he died.

  Thomas dropped his body into the darkness, then crept back and kicked sand over the pool of blood. Next, he stepped into the room, kneeling by the doorway as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness.

  After a few minutes, Thomas was pleased to see dozens of bodies lying on the floor. He moved toward the nearest one, which was Alabar's oldest daughter. She bolted awake as he slipped one hand over her mouth. She struggled until Thomas leaned forward and whispered to her.

  "Ashina, it is I, Thomas."

  As she looked up at him, her frightened expression turned to one of relief. Thomas released his grip on her mouth and nodded toward the others.

  "Wake them, but quietly…very quietly."

  He moved to the door and watched the center of camp as she woke the others. When they were awake, she knelt beside him.

  "How are we going to get out of here?" she asked.

  "We're going to walk out." Thomas motioned for the others to come closer. "You'll go out the door and around the corner into the shadows. Go to the back of the building next to this one, then move straight out into the desert. You will find the others. Do you understand?"

  They all nodded. Thomas looked at the two women holding infants.

  "You must keep them quiet."

  Nodding, they looked down at their sleeping babies.

  "Alright, let's go."

  He turned back to the door and peered out at the camp. All was quiet. He watched the sleeping men and used his left hand to motion them forward. It seemed to take forever for the last one to leave the room.

  Twenty minutes later, Thomas stood watching the tearful reunions. Several of the men stood around the edge of the gathering, realizing their loved ones were not among those rescued. A few minutes later, they drifted into the darkness.

  Thomas studied the fading firelight and set his jaw.

  The following day, there was quite a commotion in the Christian camp. They scrambled around the ruins and fanned out into the desert. Thomas watched them from the top of the nearby dune, in plain sight. He was sure they saw him, but he did not care.

  Thomas had left them only one horse, and as the morning breeze rippled his robe, he imagined the debate. They could try to walk to the nearest town, some forty miles to the north. On foot, they could probably make that journey in two days. But to keep up that pace, they would have to abandon their armor. Or they could send out a rider for help, which is what they attempted to do. Thomas watched the horse streak across the desert, knowing his men waited less than two miles away.

  Thirty minutes later, the horse returned without its rider. As the men gathered around the animal, they argued. They were trying to decide if they should set out on foot or wait for darkness and try another rider. Either way, Thomas knew it was only a matter of time. And he had plenty of that.

  They broke camp around noon and set out across the desert. They had kept their armor and abandoned their booty. One of them rode into the distance as a scout. Not a smart move. The horse came back an hour later, without its rider. They learned their lesson, and from that point forward, the men took shifts riding the horse within the group's relative safety.

  Thomas and his men paced the advance, always within sight. When they stopped, he stopped. The great dunes gave way to an arid, broken land littered with jagged boulders and thorny bushes. As the sun crept across the sky, the beleaguered marauders crept across the desert. They survived the first day but had traveled less than seven miles.

  They sent one rider out that night, after sundown and before the moon had risen above the nearby mountains. It took nearly an hour to catch him. Now Thomas had three captives. The men wanted to kill the Christians outright, but he had a better idea.

  As the morning sun broke, Thomas sent the riderless horse back. The Christians reluctantly broke camp and started across the desert. Again Thomas followed, his band hovering like vultures. By noon, some of the Christians began to discard their armor. Thomas smiled at Sohail and nodded toward the trail of equipment scattered across the sand.

  "It is done."

  By late afternoon, the once tight formation of men stretched out across the desert like a string of ants. When stragglers fell back far enough to lose sight of their companions, Thomas had his men sweep down and eliminated them.

  Before dusk, the long line came to a stop and gathered around three bodies laid out in their path. They were the captives, stripped naked and covered with squished dates. The
latter had attracted all sorts of desert insects. They were not dead, but they wished they were.

  The Christians made camp, probably assuming it would be their last night on earth. Thomas' men killed the sentries as soon as the sun went down, and another set just after midnight. He waited until dawn to launch the final attack. Most of the enemy surrendered within minutes. He watched as his men disarmed and lined the haggard Christians before him. Thomas dismounted, looking up and down their number.

  "Who is your leader?"

  A tall man with short black hair and a long gray beard stepped forward.

  "I am."

  Thomas took a step toward him and undid the scarf covering his face.

  "You attacked a camp in an oasis."

  His eyes narrowed, and he raised his head in defiance. "Yes."

  "Did they surrender?"

  "Yes."

  "Yet, you killed all the men and most of the women and children. The rest, you took into bondage?"

  "Yes."

  "Is this something your religion teaches?"

  "We are at war with these pagans; our religion teaches us to defend ourselves against barbarians."

  "Like me?" Thomas glared at him. "I have been in your magnificent halls, broken bread with your mighty kings. I have broken bread with your savior. I have forgotten more about Christianity than any man could ever know." A wry smile crossed his lips. "And that is why I shall wipe it from the face of the earth."

  The leader started to reply, but Thomas turned away. Nodding at Sohail, he instructed.

  "Burn them…burn them all."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  There are three kinds of men; those who are preceded by their shadow,

  those who are pursued by it and those who have never seen the sun.

  — Gerd de Ley

  Modern Day

  Rome

  Thomas stood before the massive window and looked out across the darkening city. The recent showers had discouraged even the most persistent tourists, forcing them to seek refuge within the thousands of cafes that dotted the ancient city.