Field of Mars (The Complete Novel)
Page 28
“So says the witch. Each of us has a core of the other.”
“I will be sure to reserve a seat for you on the Ferryboat to Hades,” said Rufinius.
“And I will greet you in the Eternal Blue Sky.”
Rufinius could not help but grin.
“The witch was your slave?” said Saikan. “I have never seen an uglier woman.”
“There is beauty within.”
“Ugliness and beauty,” Saikan observed with a nod. “Yin and Yang.” Finally, he turned back to Rufinius. “It will be difficult for you to be a slave on the one hand and command men on the other. These are your own personal counterparts.”
“Yes,” Rufinius agreed.
“Be careful when you engage in battle, Tribune,” the general said, mirth in his eyes. “If you die, as you know, it will go badly for me also.”
“I’ll keep it in mind, General. And what of the deserters?”
“The tracks of the runaway slaves could not be followed. They curved away to the north and east and then disappeared in the sand. The scouts of my Parthian friends believe your legionaries will head toward the setting sun, toward lands ruled by Rome. What do you think?”
Rufinius recalled Fabianus’s fear about his soul being lost from the sight of the gods. “I can’t be sure. Your scouts might be right, but the deserters know Rome holds nothing for them.”
“A waste.”
Rufinius agreed, but not because a dead slave was a lost investment. Fabianus had been a good optio and, at least until the aftermath at the slave camp, they had worked together well enough.
“My Parthian friends tell me that we will find the edge of the desert in less than three days,” said Saikan.
“What lies beyond it?”
“Barren hills and valleys and more desert. But the worst of the dust will be behind us. At least for a time.”
*
Two days hence and shortly before the end of the day’s march, it was Carbo who first spotted the carrion birds circling high. Parthian scouts saw them next and galloped forward to the area beneath their flight. Soon the column itself approached the site, the birds having been chased off with a volley of well-aimed Parthian arrows. Lying on the sand, stiff as marble statues, were the remains of Fabianus and eleven others, their throats cut deep.
“A disagreement among them?” Libo wondered.
“If so, an argument Fabianus and his supporters lost,” Appias remarked.
General Saikan rode up to inspect the corpses and Rufinius joined him. “Hardly the work of the desert, General,” he said.
“Where are the other slaves who ran with these?”
Rufinius gestured at the bloodied, flyblown corpses. “Perhaps heading in a different direction to one these men wanted.”
“How should their deaths be honored?” asked the general.
“Do as every legionary here would wish in his heart. To be buried as a Roman.”
That night, the bodies of the twelve dead legionaries, each wrapped in oiled linen and with Charon’s obol in the mouth, were placed on a pyre made from the wood poles used to support the walls of the tents.
Mena was given twelve chickens to sacrifice to the gods in the legionaries’ names and, much to the army’s relief, the exta of every bird was found to be in glowing health.
Rufinius spoke of the deeds of Fabianus, and men selected from the contuberniums of the other eleven deceased also spoke.
The pyre was then lit, the army in attendance, the ceremony bathed in the light from a cold silver moon. The legionaries were pleased with the respect paid to their comrades, knowing that they too would be well sent off when their time came. And when the fires burned out, the remains of the men were placed in urns and given to the master of the baggage train to store until stone could be procured for cenotaphs and the urns then properly buried.
“What do you think of the observances paid, historian?” Rufinius asked Appias as the army retired at last for the night.
“Now the men know the gods will see them, no matter how far the army marches east.”
“Then wherever the spirit of Fabianus resides, I hope it is well satisfied.”
XXVII
The night air was clearer in the foothills, the worst of the heat and the dust of desert plain behind the legions. Stars filled the night sky like a spray of sparkling gems, but the light was weak without the moon to power it.
On this night Mena ventured from the baggage train and came forth through the darker shadows to the army’s forward units. There she found Rufinius asleep in the tent’s doorway, snoring gently, his limbs again accustomed to the rigors of the march.
Placing a bony hand on the tribune’s shoulder, she shook it until his eyes finally came open and he started, disoriented, in the twilight of sleep, his body flinching when he gained sight of his former slave. Mena placed her finger against her lips to caution silence and backed out of the tent.
Rufinius came to her, stretching his back. “You unnerved my very soul, hag.”
“None of your barbs!” she hissed. “Do you wish to see a certain someone or not? I am here as promised, the moon no longer with us. It is now or never.”
The tribune placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her thin bones a squeeze. “Now is good,” he said, excited at the prospect of seeing Lucia. “But let us venture there by separate paths so that if there is trouble, you will not be implicated.”
Mena agreed. “I will meet you in the center of the train where the most precious cargo is quartered. Look for the wagons ringed by guards. Their heads should be resting on their chests by now.” From the folds of her shawl she brought forth a small earthen flask with a rag stopper.
Rufinius walked the quarter mile down the ranks, passing the evening’s watchword to Roman sentries where necessary, and avoiding Parthian guards and overseers whenever possible.
The aromas that rose from the baggage train were different to those that distinguished the men. The legions smelled of sour man-sweat, beans, and urine, the baggage train smelled of camel and horse sweat and varieties of dung. But with the breeze at his back, it was the unfamiliar grunt of an exotic animal that told Rufinius he neared the destination.
Avoiding the wagons housing the two lions, he ventured near another and a sudden guttural growl gave him fright. Then, a shadow blacker than the night itself spun around and leaped past the small barred window and snarled loudly. A black leopard.
Rufinius continued further into the parked wagons and came upon a snoring guard slumped against a wheel. Above him, on the side of the wagon and dimly visible in the starlight were painted human figures copulating, the woman’s hair as red as flame.
Keeping to the shadows, Rufinius moved to the next painted wagon, housing the Black Whore, and listened to the night.
“Where do you go, Tribune?” questioned a voice from the shadows.
Rufinius kept surprise from his reply. “No business of yours, Nonus.”
The overseer stepped into the tribune’s path. “You are a long way from your place in the ranks.”
“Do you follow me?”
“I have better things to do with my night. Why are you here?”
“I see no chains keeping me bound to my tent,” said Rufinius.
“There are no slave legionaries for you to command among the wagons.”
“I have not reviewed the commerce that the centuries will in time be asked to defend and know little of numbers or composition. Now, when there is no marching to be done and the air is cool, seems a good time to conduct a head count.”
“When there is no light to see by?”
“There is no requirement on me to answer any questions you may have.”
“Am I an imbecile? I know there is someone you have a special interest in, slave. I just came from her wagon, doing my rounds, and all her guards were asleep like this one here. And now I find you close by. Surely that is no coincidence. I wonder if there is something else on your mind other than head counts.”
“Do you know how the Xiongnu execute their enemies?” Nonus inquired. “Hands and feet are tethered to horses facing north, south, east, and west and the horses are startled to a gallop …”
“What is your point?”
“The golden whore, the one I saw you fucking for the slave master’s delight. If you are making your way to her wagon be warned. This woman is now a legally purchased slave bound for the bedroom of the Xiongnu King, not yours. If you are caught with her I will see that you find yourself heading in four directions at once.”
Anger flared in Rufinius such that he wished there was a gladius within reach. “There is word this same Golden Whore turned you into a shrieking woman.”
“That is a lie,” Nonus snapped.
“Indeed, how can it be true?” said Rufinius. “You have a known predilection for girls who are barely off their mother’s breast and cannot defend themselves. Your habits are despised among those who travel in the train. You know how they execute their enemies, Nonus? Slowly and painfully, the means added to food and water. If I walked in your skin, I would be careful what I put in my mouth.”
Somewhere close, a lion yawned noisily. The choices now open to Rufinius were minimal and he knew it. So he turned and retraced his steps, fury burning in his chest.
Nonus also turned away, but with the glow of victory spreading through him.
*
Waiting for Rufinius, Mena watched helpless as Nonus stepped from the shadows and confronted the tribune. The two adversaries talked in low voices that did not carry but the animosity between them needed no words. After Rufinius departed, the overseer went to Andica’s wagon and stood there for several minutes, perhaps considering action, before striding into the night.
*
After the following day’s march, when the sound of exhausted men sleeping rose from the centuries, Mena again came to Rufinius. The two walked in the cool night air, away from the tents. “The overseer Nonus has chosen the means of bringing you the most pain. He has his eyes on Lucia,” Mena said.
“How do you know this?” asked Rufinius.
“Just accept that I know it. I have looked into his heart and seen the poison.”
“I will find the means to kill him.”
“No, you can’t have a hand in it.”
“And why not?”
“Because then you will leave General Saikan with no choice. Execution by his hand is not the path for either of you.”
“I don’t believe in your witchcraft.”
“Lucia needs your help,” the hag said. “The overseer watches her wagon, biding his time. When there is again no moon, I am sure he will return.”
Rufinius sifted through his thoughts as they walked and the seedling of a plan germinated. Perhaps the gods had given his reconnoiter of the baggage train a different purpose. “Could Nonus be convinced that Lucia has changed her heart and might welcome an advance?”
“Perhaps if she were to deliver it. His ego dwarfs an elephant.”
“I have some thoughts I can share. We will need the services of an artisan.”
XXVIII
Days and nights passed. The march through mountain passes was hard on feet used to the forgiveness of sand. But game was prevalent here and Parthian hunting parties began adding the meat of wild goat and fox to the legionaries’ diet of beans and hard bread. The skins of these animals were also distributed among the men, for as the hills steepened, temperatures began dropping.
The Xiongnu seemed more at home in this wilderness and dressed in expertly sewn skins that covered them from head to toe. And, though their feet were sore, the hearts of the legionaries lifted with the flat desert seemingly behind them at last.
Steep gorges and rugged hillsides hid local brigands. The more adventurous among these occasionally attacked the column, only to be driven off by the arrows of the Parthian archers. Attacks soon decreased and then stopped altogether as the toll of death among them proved a discouragement.
“If we’d made it to these hills,” observed Libo as he watched a couple of Parthians on horseback galloping after men running across a distant ridge line, “it would have been a different story with these sand-loving cunni. They would be sucking my cock rather than the other way around.”
“Is there something you would care to tell us, Libo?” Appias inquired, by now almost considered a legionary by the men at either shoulder. “Have you a favorite cock among our captors?”
The men carried on in this vein, discussing in typical fashion about what might have been the result of the battle in other circumstances. Rufinius, though, kept to himself, his mind on a divergent engagement, which, so far, seemed to have stalled.
*
The moon was a sliver in the heavens, its light weak. Perhaps it was that which emboldened Nonus to approach Lucia’s wagon once again, or the sight of two guards sleeping noisily at their posts. The overseer checked the area and found it oddly deserted. The night, though, was closer to sunrise than to sunset. Doubling back, he soon found the wagon with its erotic signage. And here again the guards were asleep.
With some trepidation, Nonus went to the bars and whispered, “Andica …”
Nothing.
“Andica …”
Still no answer. Concerned about discovery, he turned to leave.
“Who is it?” the woman known as Andica to all but the most intimate of her friendships replied.
“Nonus.”
Silence greeted him.
“You said nothing about my visit, keeping it secret. I have wondered why? I believed you would shout it all about.”
“Why do you think I’ve said nothing?”
“I have no thoughts on it,” the overseer admitted.
“You men are foolish,” Andica whispered, coming to the bars. “I have had thoughts of your hands on me, holding me down, hurting me. They keep me awake.”
“I … I do not believe it,” he stammered.
“Do you not think a woman such as I, who has been lying with men of all kinds from a young age, might enjoy rough treatment? How else might I feel excitement?”
Nonus felt his mentula grow beneath his skins like an animal awakening. “What of the scratching, the goring from your comb? The wounds you left on me fester.”
“Have you not seen lions at their rutting? I watch it all day. Do you think there are no wounds passed between male and female as they seek solace within each other’s thorny embrace? Give me a man who loves taking pain as much as he enjoys giving it.”
Nonus took hold of his phallus. “And Alexandricus?”
“He cares too much for his precious men and will not risk as you have risked … Nonus, if I go another night without a cock inside me, I will perish.”
“I cannot open the door without a key.”
“Landica!” she hissed. “There is a guard with it here somewhere …”
“No, I looked.”
“Then you must come back. In two nights time the moon will not rise and the darkness will be complete. I will see to the guards. Bring rope to tie me down. I like that. With the sentries drugged we can fuck until dawn.”
“Give me your hand and prove your devotion,” Nonus said.
Andica reached out through the bars and the overseer gave her his shaft. Taking hold of it, she cooed, “You are bigger than I remember.” She moved her hand on him, finding rhythm, and he grasped the bars and clenched his teeth with the pleasure of her efforts. His breath rose sharply as Andica worked to a quickening pace and then hot semen shot across her wrist and Nonus sucked in his breath. Releasing him and turning to her divan, Andica whispered, “A fine memory to keep me wet.”
A noise close by startled Nonus and he stumbled away from the wagon, seeking the shadows.
Mena, the source of the noise, which she had made with good purpose, hobbled into the starlight and went over to the wagon. “He will return?” she
asked.
“No promise of it, but I hope so,” Lucia replied, washing her hands in a basin.
*
For two days and a night, Nonus wondered if he had dreamed the encounter, but the angry wound in his leg from which he had removed ivory comb tines was no dream. Was it possible he had found someone who loved as he did, a grown woman for whom pain was the perfect accompaniment to arousal? She was far older than he liked but there was no doubt about her charms …
There were no rumors connecting Rufinius Alexandricus and Andica, at least nothing fresh being whispered, other than the stories Nonus himself had circulated. Were her words about him true? Every time he thought of her lying beneath him, day or night, his mentula stirred.
Nonus counted footsteps as he marched, and then the hours themselves. He watched the sun as it rose, reached its zenith, and then slowly descended. Next he endured the dusk and waited impatiently for night. The delicious torment of time dragging its feet kept him awake until dawn. The following day inched by no different to the last. But then the night arrived thick and black, the stars obscured by cloud.
Before the appointed hour, Nonus ate the greasy hindquarter of a fox while he thought about trussing Andica with the rope she asked for, and bruising her golden skin. Finally, with fires dying and the men either drifting away to sleep by embers or finding shelter within their tents, the overseer began his approach. But first he walked the entire length of the column, the night shadows becoming blacker as the cloud cover grew more dense.
With the night half over and his patience at an end, Nonus arrived at the baggage train. Carefully, he slipped past tired guards and went around the wagons of the baggage whores. He avoided the treasure wagons, guarded by diligent men hand-picked by General Saikan. Skirting around the cooking wagons and stopping only to steal a coil of rope from the saddle of a Parthian baggage camel, Nonus heard the familiar growl of a lion in the darkness and knew his destination was near.
Here the night was at its most complete. Canvas awnings had been slung earlier to provide late afternoon shade and now harbored shadows of complete blackness. The overseer made his way from one wagon to another, coming upon a guard obviously drugged, the man lying face down in the dirt. Nonus hunted for the lead watchman, the keeper of the key, and was thrilled to see that he too had been taken to the poppy’s breast. Lifting the items he was hoping to find from around the man’s neck, Nonus soon came upon the wagon of Koulm, the Red Whore. Several wagons further on he found the one housing the manwoman, the Black Whore Jaha. Andica’s wagon had to be nearby. Moving stealthily through the night, he soon saw the painted images that he could not shake from his memory, that of the golden whore fucking the face of a man lying on his back …