Dragons and Romans

by William David Ellis

  The generals, used to threats and browbeatings from the council of Carthage, didn’t flinch at the threat Asdrubal made by using the phrase, “At the moment the dragon prefers Romans.” Himlico, the youngest general, grinned as the high priest spoke, and Baal Esker, the oldest, barely raised an eyebrow. Asdrubal could not see or sense any danger reflected in their simple expressions, but Sappho, who was probably the shrewdest of the three, interpreted their expressions differently and thought, “The priest is walking on very, very thin ice.”

  Asdrubal continued, “My plan consists of three phases. First, I will attack the guard post the Romans have in place to warn of any movement in our city. Second, the army reinforced by our citizens moves out from behind the walls as quickly and quietly as possible. Third, once the army, with its shock troops in place, begins to move toward the Roman camp, I attack the Romans with the dragon. They will be expecting their outpost to warn them, but they will not expect the dragon to be reinforced by the army. The coordinated attack should shatter their disorganized troops, who are prepared for a dragon, but not for the Carthaginian forces. Now what I want from you, is to help me flesh out the details: the timing, the organization of the troops, and to aid with the dispatching of the outpost. What ideas do you have?”

  Baal Esker spoke calmly as though addressing Asdrubal over dinner rather than discussing the fate of a hundred thousand human beings. “It would help us if you could explain how you intend to slip up on the outpost sentries?”

  Asdrubal, expecting that question, determined the best way to answer it was a demonstration. “It would be simple to explain what I intend to do, but you might have a hard time believing me. So, I will show you instead. Watch carefully, please.”

  With that, Asdrubal moved to his throne and sat. He closed his eyes and concentrated his thoughts, using his imagination like a painter would a canvass. He saw the room he was in, he saw the generals watching him, cautious and curious, frowning, not knowing what to expect. He heard the buzzing sound that always accompanied his essence as it slipped away from his body and floated up to the ceiling. Then he moved downward, encircling the youngest general Himlico.

  As Asdrubal moved closer to Himlico, the young man felt a cold chill touch him. The other generals noticed Himlico’s response and backed away warily, walking the fine line between not looking fearful and abandoning their companion. Himlico continued to react, chill bumps responded, hair stood on end. And then Asdrubal seized the general’s neck with spectral hands and began to choke him. Himlico fought the grip around his neck and flayed about like a fish. Baal Esker and Sappho abandoned all pretense of bravery. Their faces paled, they cursed and jumped back from the struggling Himlico. Just as he was about to pass out, the convulsions stopped. Asdrubal’s eyes opened, he took several deep breaths, and slowly arose from his throne. Himlico panted on the floor where he had been thrown and rubbed the frozen skin of his neck. A red band of handprints formed on his neck, and the image was not lost on the others.

  Asdrubal paused for dramatic effect, then stood over the stricken general and helped him stand. “Well, do you see how I intend to destroy the Roman outposts now?”

  The generals were shaken and Himlico, still wheezing from the experience, nodded his head, as did Baal Esker. Only Sappho answered quietly, “Yes, I think we do.”

  Asdrubal gloated over his browbeaten generals. He did not realize proud men were dangerous men, and especially so when terrified. They may have been intimidated at the moment, but Sappho, who headed the Carthaginian secret police, had also noticed a flaw in Asdrubal’s plan. When his soul left his body, the priest was vulnerable. He wasn’t sure how to use that insight but was certain he could find a way. He was also pretty sure that Asdrubal was not aware of his vulnerability. For now, he would file away the observation.

  Drowning his thoughts in a pool of stone, Sappho spoke. “High priest, Asdrubal, may I ask a question? We are aware of five Roman outposts. They have approximately five men to a post. I am amazed at your ability to move in the secret places. It is stunning. But I am not sure of your speed. How quickly you can kill a Roman guard? Can you sustain your attack indefinitely? How do you propose our special troops assist you in this attack?”

  Asdrubal had asked for the general’s help. At least on the surface. What he really wanted was their compliance. But shrewd enough to realize that Sappho had asked legitimate questions, he thought a moment and answered, “I don’t know, General Sappho, that is why I called you together. What would you suggest?”

  Himlico, who had almost recovered from the priest’s demonstration, croaked, “I can attest to the shock value of the attack. It will frighten the Romans. But will it paralyze them to the point of inaction? If I were the Roman commander, the troops I placed around the city to sound the alarm would have combat experience. They would not be easily shaken, and if one of them were seized, the others would sound an alarm. I do not wish to diminish the power of your attack, but if we want it to be successful, we need to use it to its greatest effect.”

  Asdrubal was arrogant, but not stupid, especially considering he was the dark one. He scratched his chin and squinted his eyes in thought. The generals also grew quiet, thinking. First, how to defeat the Romans, and second, how to survive and remove Asdrubal.

  “Finally,” Sappho answered, “as I understand our problem, the first few seconds of the attack are the most important. The Roman’s initial reaction to your attack seems to create the most vulnerable moment.” Everyone in the room nodded in agreement. “Suppose,” he continued, “we don’t wait for the high priest, Asdrubal, to destroy an outpost. Suppose, he only takes out their optio, and while the Romans are reacting to the supernatural attack, we ambush the rest with troops that have inched their way close and are waiting for the high priest’s move. You sir,” Sappho said, motioning to Asdrubal with respect, “race to the next post and the next. If there were a way to signal our hidden troops, this would be extremely effective. Is there a signal you could give the troop leaders, sir?”

  Asdrubal thought it through and was about to answer a frustrated no, when Himlico responded, “When you first approached me, I felt a cold chill, and my hair stood on end. Would the cold work as a signal?”

  Asdrubal grinned. These men were clever. They would have to be to have survived the rivalries of their own army. “Yes!” he answered triumphantly. “That would work. That would work fine.” The idea of his terrifying, invisible presence that cast a cold aura being the signal gratified his enormous ego.

  “Now that brings us to phase two. After I eliminate the outposts, we have a short window of time to get our troops from behind the wall and into attack formation. My thought is to hit the Romans as quickly as possible with overwhelming force. And with that in mind, I decided to enlist all able-bodied citizens who can carry a spear and sword as the first line of attack. They will charge the Romans who will not have time to organize into defensive formations. The Romans will slaughter them, no doubt, but they will also kill enough Romans so that when our regular troops get into battle, the Romans are bled and weakened and about to break. Any suggestions on how to maximize the shock value of those extra numbers?”

  The generals were surprised at the merciless use of their own citizens to break the Roman army. They knew that matters were desperate and that the fate of citizens captured by the Romans was either execution or enslavement. Even so, throwing the common people into the lines as shock troops did not set easy with them. They saw the benefit and weighed the butcher’s bill against the consequences of losing the war but weren’t happy about it. Neither were they sure how to move the mass of citizen soldiers forward into the battle. It took years for regular troops to harden and develop the instinctive skills to move forward and obey orders regardless of casualties and personal risk. An ordinary person was like a herd animal. How could they control them long enough to join and sustain an engagement with the Romans?

  Each Carthaginian general knew a question lingered in the dimly l
it room like the ever-present fog of incense. “What if these citizens flee and try to retreat through the regular army? Would our troops be forced to break the retreat as they normally would?” Himlico asked quietly.

  Sappho stepped up and broke the unease as everyone waited for someone else to voice this shared concern. “I do not see as we have a choice. I am sure you are as concerned as we are for our citizens’ welfare and would not want them slaughtered, but we do not have a choice,” he repeated, trying to convince himself and his associates. “Carthage is fighting for her life. We’ve already given our children, sacrificing the future generation for the present one. We can’t stop now. This is a battle to the death. As to the tactics, I don’t think we should take time to explain to everyone the motivation behind our strategy. Many would not care; their interest would be only for themselves. So, we must use deception and tell the population that the Romans are breaching the walls and we must repel them. We give the order: Everyone must do their duty. Come to the central gathering place. There, we will hand out spears and swords. It is also conveniently located at the main gate, so we can funnel people in some order through that gate. If we move them forward with the troops, we have a good chance of arriving at the Roman lines at the same time you are attacking with the dragon, the third stage.”

  Asdrubal took up the conversation. “When I see the army out the gate, I will attack the Romans, concentrating on their command tent. They will be taken by surprise, have no time to react, and when our army attacks, they should be routed.” Asdrubal was pleased. The commanders had bought his plan. In his mind he could see the masses overwhelming the Romans. It would be a terrible slaughter of both sides, but he had more to spare. He would win this battle, and then he would wipe the Roman scourge from the planet and set himself on the throne as emperor.

  ****

  The generals were not as excited. They knew the best plans did not survive the first contact with the enemy. This plan did not guarantee victory. All it ensured was carnage. But they had no choice, and the priest’s schemes were the best hope they had. They would surprise the Romans, no doubt, but the whole battle rested on too many variables to be a sure bet. For instance, how quickly would the Romans react? Could the priest take out the sentry posts before an alarm sounded? How long and how effective would the priest be at controlling the dragon? And lastly, would the citizens of Carthage be able to throw themselves on the Roman army and create enough chaos that the regular troops could take advantage and crush the Romans?

  Many of the citizens of Carthage had served in the army, but Asdrubal’s plan included women, half-grown children, and older people. They didn’t mind sending soldiers to die; it was the soldier’s duty, even so, they hated wasting them. What they were about to do was unprecedented, and there would be a terrible political price to pay afterward. No one wanted to think about the repercussions of destroying their own citizenry. They did not have that leisure, and so as soon as Asdrubal dismissed them, they left hurriedly.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Regulus fell onto his cot. His wounds ached, his face muscles throbbed, and his day had not been easy. He had lost weight as a result of his injuries, and that, combined with the chill of North African nights, caused him to shiver. It was late, only a few hours before dawn, when he would have to push his weary body all over again. He was tempted to give into the weariness that called to him and try to sleep, but his ever-vigilant warrior mentality would not allow him to. As soon as his head touched the pillow, he was wide awake. He knew better now than to rest without posting a guard, in this case, a spiritual guard. So, he called to his tribune, Sarrius, “Sarrius, will you please send for Miriam. I need to talk to her.”

  Sarrius didn’t blink or dare allow a hint of a smile to creep across his stony face. He knew Regulus watched him like an owl hovering over a mouse for just such a slip.

  Regulus laughed, aware that Sarrius was doing a stellar job of hiding his thoughts. “You’re doing a good job, tribune, I will not flog you for grinning when I ask you to fetch her. But if you laugh out loud, you will be assigned latrine duty for a month.”

  Sarrius knew that if he dared allow himself to grin, he would never be able to keep the dam from breaking, and he would reek for weeks. He simply nodded and quickly retreated, then when out of earshot or what he thought was earshot and allowed himself to chuckle. He was glad for his commander. He had heard the woman sing, and she was a beauty as well. The flaming scar across her cheek could not hide the strength and joy that radiated from her. He had heard tales from the wounded she ministered to and knew the whole camp had fallen in love with her and her child. If she pleased his legate and caused him to be a better commander, that was a wonderful thing. So Sarrius allowed himself to snicker all the way to Miriam’s tent, then shut it off and announced himself.

  Miriam tried to stay awake after putting baby Issur down for the night and was partially successful. Her mind raced. What was going to happen to her? Would the Romans win this fight? If so, would she be forgotten like so much disposable gear left behind by every Roman camp? Would the dragon attack again? What about the dark spirits that attacked Regulus? Could they find a way to combat that? What was a Roman doing encountering Elijah anyway? Were his dreams real or caused by the constant pain of his wounds? How could they not be real but the dragon be real? She took a deep breath and laid her head down on the bundle of blankets that acted as her and Issur’s bed. It seemed like she had just shut her eyes when she heard the general’s assistant, Sarrius—she thought that was his name—calling her. She rose quickly and opened the tent flap.

  The tribune addressed her respectfully, “Legate Regulus requests your company, ma’am.”

  Miriam smiled. She knew it was more than a request but appreciated the way the soldier had worded it. She knew she had no more choice than any other soldier in the army. Was she now a soldier too? “I will be right with you, Tribune Sarrius, as soon as I get Torbernus to watch over Issur.”

  “Already seen to him ma’am,” Sarrius answered as Torbernus walked up behind him, awake, but obviously just so.

  Miriam was grateful but curious that the tribune knew enough about her and was efficient enough to have already taken care of watching over her child. “Thank you, sir,” she commended. She went on to address Torbernus, “And you too, Torbernus. I really appreciate this.”

  The old supply optio nodded his head, “Anytime, Domina Miriam.” His respect and approval of her stole through his eyes.

  She and Sarrius departed, leaving Torbernus to watch over Issur like a protective eagle over his own brood. As they walked, she addressed Sarrius, “Tribune, may I ask you a question?”

  “Sure ma’am, anything. What can I do for you?”

  “I am not that fluent in the language of Rome, and Optio Torbernus used a word just now I did not understand. He said…I think I am pronouncing it right ‘domina.’ What does that mean?”

  Sarrius answered immediately, “It means, lady, noblewoman, special, elite. A woman of respect, ma’am.”

  “Oh,” Miriam blushed, and paused. “I am honored. He is a very gracious man.”

  “Not only him, ma’am. The whole army knows what you are doing for Legate Regulus, and many of them heard you sing and know that you’ve been with the sick and are a fine healer. You’ve not recoiled from holding the hands of dying men you don’t know and were not of your people. The whole army sees you as domina, ma’am.

  “Oh, my!” she whispered, feeling the weight of the honor fall on her.

  They arrived at Regulus’ tent, and Sarrius announced her, withdrew discreetly, and watched as word traveled around the tents that Miriam the singer had arrived. She was still reeling from the revelation Sarrius had shared when she entered the tent.

  “Good evening, Miriam,” Regulus greeted, and then in the most un-Roman and especially un-legate like manner, he began to apologize. “I know it’s extremely late, or early, one or the other. And I am grateful you came.” Then he caught her moo
d, and the cheerful friend changed into the powerful general. “What’s wrong?”

  She stared at him a moment, shook her head to fling off her thoughts and answered, “Well, I think I got a promotion, General.”

  Regulus settled back into his comfortable persona and replied, “Really? Tell me about it.”

  “I just found out the whole army thinks of me as Domina Miriam. Evidently, I am well-respected, and I feel like I just got an army’s worth of big brothers. It’s a little overwhelming.”

  “I guess it would be,” Regulus half smiled, impressed. “It’s quite an honor, though. Respect is not automatic with these men. And especially not for a woman. Most of the women found around a Roman camp would not be considered domina material, so you overcame several barriers to be esteemed so.”

  “I guess so,” she admitted. Then her mood shifted, deflecting the conversation and said, “Now, down to business. You want me to manipulate your scars, or sing, or serve the concoction, as you call it, first?”

  Regulus took a deep breath and exhaled. “I think you better put me to sleep as soon as you can. It appears, or at least I hope, I have an appointment with your prophet. I also sense that time is short and something is about to happen. If you manipulate the wounds, I will probably not be able to drift off quickly for screaming. So, if you will, Domina Miriam, mix your concoction and sing? And while you are mixing, talk to me. Take my mind off my troubles. Tell me something, anything that will engage my weary brain.”

  “Hmm. I would not want to take advantage of you when you are under so much pressure, Commander, but I do have some questions. You piqued my curiosity and also bothered me.”

  Regulus looked amused. “Really? How so?”

  “Well, do you remember when we had the conversation about gods? It was when I was first introduced to you.”

  “Yes, I was going on like a typical arrogant Roman who is pragmatic and leaves philosophy to the Greeks.”