Dragons and Romans

by William David Ellis

  All ballistae bolts were tipped with the obsidian points Xenophanes devised. Oenus’ troops had shed buckets of blood getting those damn, wickedly sharp things installed, but even as they bled, they knew the dragon would as well. Oenus had talked with the ballistae commanders of the ship and knew the tips worked, so he was as psychologically prepared as he could be. Now they waited. Like always. In some ways the waiting was worse than the battle. Waiting gave access to worrying, and remembering, and second-guessing, and really just thinking. In a real battle, you didn’t have time to ponder; you either were ready and trained, or you were dead.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Miriam awoke to the strong male voice of tribune Sarrius courteously calling her name, “Domina Miriam? Domina Miriam?”

  She quickly rose from her warm bundle, trying not to wake Issur as she went to the tent entrance and opened it. Sarrius and Torbernus stood outside, “Legate Regulus asks for you to meet with him, ma’am.”

  Miriam nodded and threw Torbernus a grateful look. The grizzled old veteran grinned. “He’s not a problem, Domina Miriam. I like the little fellow, and we have a good time.” Then in a solemn voice that revealed the level of his conviction, “And you know I will protect him with my life.”

  She replied, “I am not worried about him in your care, Torbernus. I am worried about you in his. “He has had a rash for the last two days and is not a happy little fellow.”

  “Hmm, well, then I will just have to butter his little behind with one of my old grandmother’s potions. Let me see what did she call it? It was a mixture of butter, honey, and just a drop or two of what Roman soldiers drink on the march, posca.”

  “Hmmm...Never heard of it, but it sounds like it might work,” she replied.

  “I promise you, ma’am, from firsthand experience, it will help him. Now, I have to warn you, he might have grown facial hair by the time you get back. It is fairly potent,” he teased.

  “So long as you put it on his butt and don’t feed it to him, I am fine with it,” she laughed. And then she hugged him, “Thank you, Torbernus. I could not have made it without you.” The old man stiffened as she hugged him. Not expecting the hug, his eyes watered for a moment, and he cleared his throat quickly, “Not a problem, Domina Miriam, not a problem at all.”

  As she walked away, he called back to her, “I just remembered the name.”

  “She called it, Bianca’s baby butt paste...”

  Miriam laughed and shook her head, “Even rhymes.”

  As soon as they got out of earshot, Sarrius tattled, “His grandmother did not invent that concoction, domina. Nor is it called Bianca’s baby butt paste. It is the common remedy for soldier marching rash and has been a staple of the medico’s potions for as long as there has been a marching Roman soldier. We call it soldier’s butt-rot remedy.

  “Yuck!” Miriam laughed. “I think I prefer Torbernus’ name!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sarrius agreed, eyes twinkling.

  Miriam had just enough time to wonder if both of the soldiers had been teasing her when she got to Regulus’ tent. The transformation in Sarrius’ demeanor was instantaneous. He straightened up, his smile disappeared, his voice hardened, and his shoulders squared. He announced their arrival in a military tone and escorted her into Regulus’ presence. Regulus looked up from a parchment he and Han Xing were scouring. He gestured for her to join them.

  “This is a map. It is an artist’s image of what the area around the camp and city of Carthage would look like if seen from a bird’s eye view high in the sky. We use it to plot the enemy’s position in reference to our own.”

  Miriam looked it over quietly. “I have seen these in both Carthage and the ship that brought me here. I didn’t understand their use for a while, but later I guessed.”

  Han Xing nodded his head in approval. “Somehow I am not surprised you would already know what this was and its purpose. You are quite a woman, Domina Miriam.”

  “Not you too, General Han? I am not surprised the men use that title. But you are a commander and strategic leader of this army.”

  “Am I not allowed also to be respectful, Miriam?”

  “Yes, of course, sir, it’s just that… It’s not necessary.”

  “I didn’t think it was. I just wanted to convey my respect.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Miriam yielded.

  “Well, now that you two have settled that monumental problem, perhaps you can turn your attention toward the trivial matters before us?” Regulus griped impatiently.

  Miriam looked at Han Xing and whispered, “Is he always so sarcastic?”

  Han Xing answered in a stage voice, intended for Regulus. “Only when he is exhausted, wounded, worried, or jealous, Domina Miriam.”

  Regulus responded to them both, “You do know I am standing here and can hear you quite plainly?”

  Miriam turned toward him with a look of absolute innocence, and Han Xing reflected his inscrutable blank expression.

  Regulus grunted, looked at both of them, shook his head and proceeded.

  “I am, I ....” he stuttered, “hesitant would be an understatement. But that is as good a description as I have this moment. You know about the visions, the dreams if you will, of my meeting with Eliasz or Elijah or whatever he calls himself. Well, in this last one, he shared some things we would call intelligence. Things he knew and expected from the Carthaginian high priest. And it is as you expected, Han. He is planning on using the dragon and the army in a combined effort. Eliasz was quick to say he did not know everything, but he did give us a sense of how to counter the attacks. I already sent orders to the outpost watching the city and scouts out to keep an eye on our flank, which, if I remember Han, was your idea to start with. But the other things Eliasz suggested are going to require your help, Miriam. And if I…let me rephrase that… if we had not been attacked by a creature out of legend, and a cold ghost hadn’t almost strangled me, and if I had not seen with my own eyes the power of Othniyel’s trumpet, I would never dare to mention this. But I have seen these things. And so, being a pragmatic Roman, I will go with what is working.”

  Miriam noticed how Regulus was stalling, trying to validate his words by reminding them of what they already knew. He must be thinking something very different.

  “Miriam, Eliasz thinks we should, or rather... you should ... at my orders... apparently,” then Regulus just sighed and said reluctantly, “sing…and Othniyel should blow his trumpet at strategic times of the battle. And I think …this is madness, but what can I do? Either I am delusional and everything that happened in the last few weeks has not happened, or things happened just as I remember them, and I am talking to a long-dead prophet who commands a legion of invisible soldiers and is himself commanded by what he calls the Lord of Hosts. I would prefer this didn’t leave the tent. It is hard enough for me to believe these things, and I am hearing and seeing it firsthand. I know if word got out, rumors would fly, things would be exaggerated, as if they could be, and my junior officers would lose confidence.”

  “General Regulus, the reason for all this confusion and second-guessing you are struggling with is because your typical pragmatic Roman doesn’t leave room in his worldview, and therefore his arsenals, for dark war,” Han Xing responded urgently but respectfully. “The domain of the spirits, the gods, demons and dragons, and who knows what else…We Chinese don’t have that problem. We are engulfed in it! And sometimes betrayed by it. But never hesitant to believe it. Did the prophet give instruction about what types of songs Miriam should sing, or how long, or ...?”

  Regulus cut him off. “No, he said she would have to listen for herself, and trust her God was big enough to overcome her spiritual deafness. I am pretty sure he didn’t mean that as an insult, Miriam.”

  “I didn’t take it that way, sir,” Miriam grimaced. “This is hard! I feel the weight descending on me like the walls of Carthage just fell on me. It’s almost like a heavy, dark blanket just fell on me, suffocating me.”

&
nbsp; “It is called duty,” Han Xing offered. “Leadership in battle kills more commanders than swords or arrows. What will really open your eyes is when you discover that when you leave the camp, that weight eases, and then when you return, it falls back on you heavier than ever.”

  “Mercy,” she half groaned. “I feel like the young camel that was just introduced to its first caravan load. I will just have to buckle down and adjust. As I think about it, I remember in our ancient scriptures there is an instance where our nation was saved by a king and a prophet who put the songsters out front of the battle lines. As they sang, the Lord God set ambushes. So, this is not as unique or irrational as it may sound to you. Spiritual war is carried out as General Han Xing has said, ‘In the spirit.’”

  Regulus nodded in agreement. “I don’t know when the battle will commence. I expect it will hit the outposts first, but when and where I have no idea. Neither did Eliasz. All we can do is wait.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Nine days earlier

  Asdrubal had hoped for some time that their former allies, the Numidians, could be persuaded to help lift the siege. The Numidians were dark-skinned, heavy-bearded peoples that lived west of Carthage and were more mercenary than ally. They had an off-again on-again relationship with the city, some decades warring against them, other times paid by Carthage to war against Rome. Sometimes that switch would come in the same war, and once in the same battle. Currently, when most needed, the Numidians sat on the sidelines waiting to scavenge the leftovers once Rome destroyed Carthage.

  Asdrubal intended to do something about that. The high priest discovered when he went calling outside the body, he could go anywhere he could imagine being. He also discovered the farther away from his body he went, the less of a presence he could project and the shorter time he could stay. The out-of-body experience required energy and consumed it quickly. It occurred to the high priest what he could not get the Numidian King Jugurtha to do by bribing him, he might get by terrifying him. A visit in the night by the dark priest might just be the incentive Jugurtha needed.

  ****

  Jugurtha lay in bed, his attendants having been dismissed. He had been uneasy all afternoon. Typically, he was active and hovering over all the administrative minutiae of his large country. He inherited the kingdom from his grandfather, or at least that is what he claimed. He was actually the illegitimate grandson of Masinissa, a Roman ally. Jugurtha became so popular with the people that his uncle, who had been the ruler at the time, sent him off to fight for the Roman general, Scipio the younger, in a Spanish campaign. He had been impressed with Scipio because he was a man of integrity and morality in a time of corruption. But Scipio was Roman, and when Rome told Numidia to jump, it expected the country to ask how high. Numidia was a conquered state, held on a leash by Rome. But Jugurtha wanted his country free of Roman influence. The only state he hated more than Rome was Carthage, yet truth be known, Jugurtha would fight either one if the other paid him enough. The fact they were currently embroiled in a war that would ultimately destroy Carthage and weaken Rome thrilled him. In excellent physical condition for his age, he had ruled Numidia from its capital city for twenty-five years. Fifty was ancient among his people but blessed with good genes and serpentine-like craftiness, he had survived, and that, above all, was the chief goal of a Berber king.

  Jugurtha got out of bed walked toward his window that opened onto a balcony, preparing to look over the city he ruled. He stepped out and noticed a cold wind blowing in from the east. That in itself was unusual because the winds usually came from the northwest this time of year. The fact the wind was cold was also strange. Jugurtha didn’t have much time to consider the strange wind for as soon as he felt the wind, he heard a voice, a whisper at first. He shook his head in disbelief and hurriedly looked around his room to see who it was that called to him. Before he could move, he heard his name called again, this time louder. “Jugurtha! Jugurtha!”

  He fell on his face, terrified. A cold chill, and pressure like a hand, touched his back, causing him to jump and cry out. The hair on his neck stood at attention. He could barely think for fear and was about to yell out for his attendants when the cold hand shifted from his back to his throat, gripping him like a fox does a rabbit. A snarling voice barked, “Quiet, Jugurtha!”

  He felt the contents of his stomach threaten to come up but forced his fear and the bile that came with it back down his throat.

  The voice continued, “Listen to me, king of Numidia.”

  “Yes yes...” Jugurtha managed to squeak out.

  “Rome has laid siege to Carthage, but I have brought forth my dark one to help the great city of Carthage. Perhaps you have heard of the dragon aiding my people?”

  Jugurtha had heard rumors of the dragon but did not think them any more than fables. He changed his mind quickly.

  “You are to take your cavalry and ride to Carthage and attack the Romans from the rear, while my dragon and people attack them from the city. Together we will destroy the Romans and win a great victory. Be at Carthage in ten days or less, Jugurtha, with your army. If you do not, I will come and visit you again and bring my dragon with me, and you and your city will die in my grip.” With that, Asdrubal shook Jugurtha like a rag doll. When he quit whimpering, Asdrubal demanded, “Do you understand me, Jugurtha...?”

  “Yes, yes, master. We will attack the Romans in ten days outside the city of Carthage.”

  “Good! Jugurtha, do not be late, or I will be very displeased.”

  The cold grip lifted from Jugurtha’s throat, whipped through the balcony curtain like a short-lived tornado, and as quickly as it came, left.

  Jugurtha lay on the floor shaking. He could hardly move. He couldn’t believe what just happened. But he couldn’t deny it happened either. He forced himself to his knees and pulled himself up a wall. He got his balance and slowly walked toward the bowl of water on the drawer of his bedroom to wash his flushed face. The candles lit the room with a dim glow, but they cast enough light for Jugurtha to note in the burnished bronze acting as his mirror a scarlet handprint circled his neck.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Back at the first Roman outpost, Adolphus growled, mumbled to himself, and paced, daring any of his men to get in his way. They had waited for three days, parading around in their outpost during the day, and pulling away from it at night, endlessly looking for the sneak attack they knew would come. They were under orders to look out for each other and to call out if they felt a sickly cold breath on their neck, so with bleary, bloodshot eyes, they scoured the land between them and the walls of Carthage.

  There had been one awful monotony-breaking event. One of his men stumbled on a tribulus they had set out for the enemy to step on in the dark. The soldier had the strength and presence of mind not to cry out beyond his initial wounding although he bit through his lip in the process. Adolphus quickly moved him to the medico’s tent and hoped no enemy eyes with long-range seeing devices noticed the incident. He had no way of knowing whether they did or not. He promised himself he would recommend the soldier for a medal. It had not been the soldier’s fault the spike had not been properly placed, and he showed amazing strength and courage to keep from screaming. The spike wasn’t barbed, so it was relatively easy to remove, and if infection did not set in, the soldier would recover completely. The accident had been the day’s major event and had the unintended but positive effect of causing the outpost soldiers to be more situationally aware. It probably wouldn’t last long, but for the moment, they were definitely on their collective toes.

  With night falling, Adolphus became very tense. The window between sunset and dark was the times sentries feared most when on guard in hostile territory expecting an attack. The only time worse was right before dawn, traditionally the time of attack, but considering the craftiness the Carthaginians had consistently displayed, you never knew. So, Adolphus welcomed the new alertness even at the cost of a soldier short.

  ****

  As
drubal knew the Numidian cavalry was in place and could not remain hidden long. He had waited eagerly for this moment, having discussed the timing of the attack with his generals. At any other time, they would have chosen dawn, but they realized this time the circumstances were different. They needed darkness’ cloak to conceal the efforts of the outpost attackers. The commanders, moving troops and citizens forward to the three main gates, knew the time they bought from the night would make the difference in this battle. Asdrubal didn’t need light. He was a creature of the dark… and the other weapon, the dragon, made its own light, so the troops would just have to make do. The time chosen was called the “the hush of the night,” usually between two and three in the morning. It seemed to be the best compromise between the cover of darkness and dawn’s arrival, allowing them to be in place and able to see when the light dawned.

  ****

  Strategically, Carthage boasted defending walls, twenty-three miles long, with guard towers looming over the defenses every two hundred yards. Outside the towering walls were two other rings of walls, the second from the city was shorter than the previous, but still an able defense against enemies that might breach the first. The first wasn’t much more than a hill impeded by stakes and soldiers when the situation required. It was from behind the first two outer walls that Baal Esker, the oldest of Asdrubal’s generals, and the one the people had the most trust in, corralled the citizens of Carthage, at least 200,000 of them, reinforced, and held together by his regular army that numbered 60,000. Together, with the dragon and Asdrubal’s out-of-body ability, Baal Esker hoped to overwhelm the Romans.