Now with the good news that the Numidian cavalry was positioned for an attack on the enemy’s rear, Baal Esker felt confident the high priest’s plan would work. He had threatened, beaten, and in some cases, hacked the heads off of a few citizens who would not or could not maintain the strictest silence as they moved forward out of the inner walls to stage at the gates of the final defense. It had taken the masses six hours to move through seven gates at approximately five thousand people per hour. Yet, they were now gathered and quiet. He had been concerned about beginning in the early evening before dark for fear the Roman outpost would hear them, but Baal was shining down on them, or in this case, raining down in furious torrents. The rain kept all but the most dedicated eyes at bay. The people were wet, cold, and miserable, but terrified of opening their mouths, terrified of their soldier escorts, and terrified of the enemy they faced. But they were gathered.
****
Han Xing called Decemus in. “It’s time,” he began as soon as Decemus settled into the room. “Our spies have informed us that the Carthaginian army and over half its population have massed behind their walls and are about to pour out. We didn’t expect them to use their citizenry as fodder, but considering they just killed off half their children, we should have.” Hans Xing spat out the words, disgusted. The idea of using the people who the army were supposed to protect in order to protect the army, revolted him. He didn’t stop to dwell on it but pushed on.
“We expect the dragon will also come out before them. That is why it is necessary your team find a way, or make a way through, to reach the high priest while he is in some trance and kill him.” Han paused, not really knowing what he could add, then started to encourage Decemus that the Roman army would rescue him as soon as they defeated the Carthaginians. But he stopped himself from making promises he knew he could not keep.
Before he could say anything else, Decemus responded, “We understand, sir. We will not fail you.” Decemus stiffened, backed up one step, and was about to pivot and leave when Han Xing saluted first. It was not something a ranking officer did to an enlisted man. Social class divided the Roman army, with the rich as the officers and the common man as the enlisted. Occasionally, and more common in Regulus’ army than others, a man of exceptional talent and luck, would rise to a higher rank. But even with Regulus’ merit standards, for a high-ranking officer to salute a lower ranking officer, and especially to salute first, was unheard of. The salute itself was an expression of extreme gratitude and respect, acknowledging the person to whom it was delivered as worthy of great honor.
Decemus was startled. He had always admired Han Xing as a non-Italian like himself. The Asian general had set the example and was a role model, for Decemus personally, the father he had never known. The look on Han Xing’s face told Decemus how much trust he had in him. It also told him, I know I am sending you to your death, and if there were any other way I would not do it, but you are the only one who can accomplish this.
Energy passed through their eye contact, as though the heavens themselves had descended, anointing him with power and authority. Decemus received the commission of trust, and the blessing of a father, and knew in his heart Asdrubal was as good as dead.
An hour later, Decemus and his contubernium, made their quiet way down the same tunnel that a few weeks ago a few of them had crawled their bloodstained way out of. They had no idea how far they would get before they found the tunnel blocked either by stone or Carthaginian soldiers. But they were committed to moving forward until they could move no more, and that would mean they were dead.
Decemus didn’t know exactly how far underground they were, but he frequently stopped their silent progression, thinking he could hear the mass of people who must be assembled above them. Finally, he determined it had to be his imagination. But often, when he was sure he wasn’t observed, he would place his hand on the cold stone ceiling over his head, feeling for the vibration of the gathered crowd.
Chapter Thirty
Sappho, the head of the Carthaginian secret police, also had spies, some of which he shared with Han Xing. Some of those shared spies he knew about, and some he did not. Either way, he had been informed the moment Decemus’ contubernium entered the tunnels. He was prepared for them. The plan was to wait until the Romans in the tunnels got close to carrying out whatever it was they intended to do. Sappho had not been able to discover the Roman team’s mission. He wasn’t about to let them carry out their plan, but he was experienced enough to know that the closer they got without actually being allowed to accomplish their mission, the more he would learn, and the better counter-plot he could enact. So, he waited, with his soldiers who were trained in capture and interrogation, for the Romans to exit the tunnel and enter his hands.
****
As they continued on, Decemus made a special note to ensure they were following the same route they had taken on their first venture into the underbelly of Carthage. From time to time, he would discover an object they had left behind when they hobbled blindly through the grime and filth. There were candle droppings on the few places they had stopped. Once his team did take a wrong turn but figured out their mistake and found the right tunnel. After hours of wading through the refuse of Carthage’s sewer, they finally came to the drain cover that roofed the vent through which he and his men attacked the first time. He called for his listener.
Bevyn had been a friend as well as the most amazing listener Decemus ever imagined possible. The young man who stood before him now, like Bevyn, was not a Roman, and unlike Bevyn, he was not a Celt. He was African, and so black he was almost blue, at least in Decemus’ eyes. Decemus had never seen a black man before meeting Tiras, and it was quite an experience for him. At first, he thought perhaps the man had been burned and tortured, but when asked, Tiras laughed so hard that Decemus was embarrassed, especially when Tiras asked him if he had been laundered and all his pigment bleached out. After that, they became good friends and fierce competitors. Decemus excelled in some things, Tiras in others, but in the art of listening, only Bevyn was better than Tiras. Although Bevyn was a better listener, Tiras had an ability that Bevyn did not share. He had an excellent sense of smell. He could distinguish men by their scent. He often reminded Decemus and others that cleanliness was a quality of deity, and they should practice it more often.
As Tiras moved up to place his ear and nose against the drain cover, the rest of the men moved back to give the listener room to hear, and not have his own team members’ breath and heartbeats interfere with the listening and scenting process.
Tiras slowly moved toward the grate, like a cat, cautiously feeling where every foot placed, pacing his breathing and moving slowly so as not, if possible, to even rustle the air currents moving through the drain and out the building. He closed his eyes and reached out with his ears and nose. The walls around him disappeared, and in his mind, he moved up through the grate, listening and smelling. This allowed his ears and nose to paint pictures on his imagination of the room and its contents. Tiras moved, deliberately shortening his own breath. He slowed his heartbeat so as not to hinder his sensory outreach.
Suddenly, he caught the slightest scent of something odd coming from the ceiling, extremely faint and not in sync with the rest of the room. Scents and sounds blended into a natural flow if allowed to reside together for a time. This scent did not flow but stood out. Tiras reached out to examine it. As he guided his ear closer to the gap between the drain bars, he slowly moved his hand to steady himself against the grate to keep from falling. At that same moment he identified the smell, the oil used on a crossbow to keep the bow strings supple. A microsecond later he realized it was aimed at the grate, and his fingers had just tripped the web-thin, silk-string trigger. A burst of white light exploded in his mind, and he slumped down silently, a slender steel shaft driven through one ear and out the other.
****
Asdrubal shifted down in his seat. He knew this was going to be a prolonged out-of-body event and was trying to
make the body he would be leaving as comfortable as possible, so that when he came back, he wouldn’t have to deal with the soreness and stiffness he discovered accommodated his times of spirit projection.
Finally, he knew it was time. He was attended by a few of his most trusted bodyguards. The spirits that whispered to him as a normal man were now very attendant to him as the dark high priest. As that individual, he commanded them. As a dark spirit, he had access to recesses and avenues of movement in his servant’s minds that he did not have as a human being. When out of the body, he could observe their thoughts by hovering over them and listening, but in his corporeal form he could not. The spirits made up for some of that loss by acting as spies and scouts although they did not have access to everybody or everything. Asdrubal had found out the hard way when he sent them to spy on the Romans, and they came back wounded, beaten, and extremely angry from an encounter with beings of light that guarded the Romans. That was a development he needed to give serious consideration, but not now. He had to offer those dark assistants three human sacrifices to refresh them. He could have just forced their compliance, but he wanted partners he could trust with his back turned. Not that he would deliberately turn his back on anyone. It paid off because his dark minions told him the Romans were planning to assassinate him when he was out of the body and vulnerable.
As he drifted off, he could feel his essence lift out of the body that housed it. As always, the movement was accompanied by a buzzing sound, as though a thousand bees escorted him through the transition. He lifted and moved quickly, like a dark wind. His generals suggested he start with the outpost farthest from the gate and therefore closest to the main body of the Roman army. He saw the wisdom in their plan and proceeded to move.
****
Asdrubal saw the Carthaginian troops that had crept close to the Roman outpost. To his feral eyes they glowed light green in the night. Accompanied by the rains and thunder that cloaked his armies massing, he slithered in close to the optio in charge of the Carthaginian ambush team and touched him. The man jumped but quickly recovered. Asdrubal whispered, “Now!” and the optio hurriedly motioned to his men to begin their stealthy assault on the outpost. Rapidly moving forward, Asdrubal saw the Romans trying to hide from his assault team. The Romans had not seen his troops yet. Good, he thought. He identified the Roman optio and waited until the Carthaginians could catch up to him, which was longer than expected because of having to avoid the spikes they had painfully discovered on a previous reconnaissance. Finally, his troops gathered.
Immediately Asdrubal assaulted the Roman optio, snapping his neck before the man could cry out. Asdrubal expected the Romans to be paralyzed with fear as they saw their leader falling before an unknown attacker. But thanks to Regulus’ strange order, the Romans had been warned this could happen.
They had tried to prepare for it, but it was similar to preparing for a battle with a ghost. They hardly believed it possible. Now that it was upon them, they moved slower than they could have, but moved none-the-less. Most reached out for their leader, but not all. Some of them raced in the opposite direction, expecting an attack by human troops, they were not disappointed. Their trumpet player, the soldier with the responsibility of blowing his horn and warning the rest of the Romans was the next to go down, a poisoned dart in his neck. Asdrubal saw that and quickly moved on to the next outpost, alerting the next Carthaginian optio to begin his attack. Things were moving smoothly. If they could keep this up, the Romans would have no warning.
****
Adolphus was sleepy and wet and cold, his tunic tightly wrapped around him did little good because it was soaked through and through. He had been tempted to move his men closer to the fires, but he did not. Adolphus had been troubled for days. He knew the Carthaginians were up to something. He knew they would try to surprise the Romans. And he knew no army would try an attack in this weather, so it was for that reason he expected them to. Adolphus also knew his highest priority was to warn the main army that slept behind him. He was extremely aware the attackers knew his mission and would attack him and his trumpeter first. For that reason, Adolphus had two men assigned to trumpets, one on each side of the camp. At the first sign of an attack, they would both sound a warning. He had done all he could do but was still uneasy.
****
Asdrubal flew on to the fourth outpost, his plan working perfectly! He had destroyed three Roman outposts without a problem. It was working so well that he took a moment to alert Baal Esker to begin the attack ahead of schedule. The general had been reluctant but didn’t complain about success. Now Asdrubal sighted the fourth outpost. As usual, he saw his own troops gathered close for a quick and deadly attack. The Roman troops, huddled in the storm, were getting harder to see as the cold rain blurred the heat signatures he looked for. Finally, he located the optio huddled toward the center of the Roman soldiers and descended on him.
****
Adolphus felt the supernatural cold before Asdrubal grabbed his neck. He had just time to pull the trumpeter’s tunic, awakening the startled man from a frozen slumber. The groggy soldier tried to move the trumpet quickly to his mouth, but it was torn from his hands by an invisible force. The high priest was forced to abandon the optio to concentrate on the threat of the trumpeter. The trumpeter cried aloud, awakening the rest of the troops, most of whom had not been asleep, having been relentlessly forewarned by Adolphus’ irritating nagging. Now it paid off. They saw Adolphus on the ground but alive. One ran to help him; the rest faced the attackers they knew were coming. The second trumpeter sounded the alarm. Lightning flashed and rolling thunder half-muted the trumpet. A dart pierced the trumpeter’s throat, and his last thoughts before the darkness swallowed him were, I hope they heard me.
****
Oenus commanded the closest ballista to outpost four. His battle group’s secondary task after firing their ballista was to identify and repeat any warning an outpost trumpeter might sound.
Sostratus, a replacement for a man that had been lost in the first engagement with the dragon, had been assigned listening post duty. The group of soldiers were cold and wet and miserable. This night was exactly the kind in which a crafty enemy would attack, Oenus had told the young soldier, hoping to keep the man alert and aware in spite of his wretched duty station. Sostratus had been doing fine, but as the night wore on, he found himself nodding off. All he had to do was keep his ears open, but that was hard work. He had to concentrate to do it, and with the night sky rolling with thunder, Sostratus was afraid if a trumpet did sound, he might not hear it.
Suddenly, he heard something. A single blast, it sounded a long way off and was not repeated. He had been told to expect a long blast, repeated many times. Not a short call only sounded once. He paused and was about to pass it off because he had not heard any more. He didn’t want to bring the wrath of Oenus on his head for a false alarm, but then he thought what if they were under attack and could only get off one blast?
He ran for his optio’s tent. Oenus woke immediately, listened to Sostratus’ report, and rapidly woke up all his men and had them prepare for an attack. He quickly dispatched a runner to the commander’s headquarters, and as an afterthought, also sent a small detachment of troops with two trumpeters forward to check on the outpost. The outpost was a thousand yards ahead of him in the dark on a rainy night, but better safe and soggy than dead forever because he did not take the warning he got. When everything that could be done was done, he sighed and signaled the rest of his troop to settle down and listen.
****
Adolphus had not been killed when Asdrubal’s dark spirit attacked him. He was gasping for breath, and his neck was swollen and bruised, but he did not have to scream to exert his authority. His men lost half their number in the Carthaginian attack, but they had beaten back their enemies and were now trying to blow the trumpet. The two men assigned and trained in that art were dead, and the rest were only able to get a pathetic bleat out of the horn, not enough to catch the ear of the
sleeping army.
Adolphus knew they had minutes before the dragon and the host it led would surge through the gaps the destroyed sentry posts created. He had heard no other trumpets, but he knew his own trumpeter had gone down after a single blast. The infuriating thunderstorm and accompanying rain had probably assured all listening ears were further deafened by being in their tents and out of the rain. So, he ordered his men to retreat down the path leading to the rest of the army and told them to keep trying to blow the trumpets while running toward the camp. Five minutes later, they met Oenus’s troops, and seconds later, the trumpets were blaring forth the warning to the rest of the camp.
****
Asdrubal cursed the light when he heard Oenus’s trumpets. Immediately, he flew back to his city and forced his way into the dragon’s psyche. The beast woke from its semi-hibernation with a start. It resisted the intrusion of Asdrubal like a bucking horse might a rider. But Asdrubal knew his trade. He mentally spurred the beast into submission and forced it into the sky, screeching its rage as it rose into the night. As the dragon hurried through the rain-drenched darkness, Asdrubal saw through the beast’s eyes the heat of two hundred-thousand Carthaginian shock troops, moving slowly toward the Roman camp like an irresistible glacier. He also saw the movement of the Roman ant bed that had been kicked over. Asdrubal knew the trumpets had been heard. But he also knew the Romans had counted on more time and not anticipated his massed charge coming so quickly.
****
15 minutes earlier
Regulus leaped from his bed and strained to hear. The camp was quiet, but he heard his name called. For a moment, he was confused then realized, it had been Eliasz calling out to him. He knew the attack was imminent. His awakening coincided with the first attack on the sentry outpost. Regulus heard no trumpets and had not been roused by the call of a sentry, but he knew the attack had begun and quickly called out to Sarrius his attendant and bodyguard to wake the camp and prepare for battle.
Dragons and Romans Page 16