The men looked at each other and nodded, the arguments put forward by the tribune being good and solid.
“This talk of marching to the end of the world,” Rufinius continued, “where some among us are convinced the entrance to Hades can be found … Is not Hades a place of fire? If that is our destination, wouldn’t it be getting hotter? But haven’t you noticed that instead it grows colder? If it wasn’t for a new bride in my bed, my teeth would be chattering nightly.”
Now several of the men laughed.
“While I think of it, aren’t the Gates of Hades in Taenarum or Solfatara? I can promise you, Graecia is not our destination and nor is it Italia. Men … one more season, I’m told, and we will have reached our goal. There we will begin soldiering for the King of the Xiongnu, earning the right to be wealthy landowners. We have come a very long way – that’s true. Soon these deserted lands will end.”
“Yes, tribune,” said the optio, amid murmurings of assent from his men.
Rufinius and Appias continued further along the rampart to a section still being dug from the soft, weathered stone.
“One more season’s march. You believe that?” asked Appias.
“We have been on this desert for many long months. It must end sooner or later and Saikan claimed it would be a march of three seasons.”
“And you believe him?”
“There is reason informing my view.”
“Which is?”
“Commerce, Appias. Have you seen all the silks and pearls we now convey? I have never laid eyes on such wealth. It had to have come from somewhere. Do not doubt there is a rich place beyond the meeting of sky and land. We will soon be there, doing what we legionaries do best – fighting and building.”
“Drinking and fucking. That’s what Libo and Carbo would say.”
Rufinius grinned. “We’re good at that, too. There are better times ahead. I can feel it. We are engaged in an adventure beyond anything experienced by Romans before us. Think on it. Already we have beheld what no Roman has witnessed. Not even Alexander the Macedonian who conquered the world ventured this far to the east, and still we march on.”
“Many Romans feel as that optio does. As you said, we are strangers in a strange land and every day we march further from everything we know.”
“And you, Appias? How do you feel? Does the emptiness grow the further we march from your wife?”
Appias breathed deep. “I can’t deny that I miss Quinta anew. I wonder if she has returned to Rome. Does she make sacrifices to the gods on my behalf? When will she consider that I have passed from this earth, never to return? When will she remarry? She is a fine woman with an equally fine bosom. Perhaps even now the suitors circle her as they did Penelope. But there will be no Odysseus arriving home to dispense retribution.”
Rufinius placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“You are lucky, Rufinius,” Appias continued. “I envy you. You have Lucia, a prize won for you by the loyalty of an army.”
“Don’t doubt that I am grateful to the gods and the centuries for that.”
Below them, legionaries toiled with picks, digging at the stone.
“They would do that and more for their tribune, Alexandricus.” Appias looked around him at the legionaries toiling with refreshed muscles in the presence of Rufinius. “Remember Optio Fabianus’s question – will the women in the Han lands we march to even fuck like us? What do you think?”
Rufinius smiled. “Surely it will be a grand undertaking to find out.”
“I am beginning to sound like Libo,” Appias ventured, shaking his head.
“All men have the same needs. I have seen several of the Han women. They are very small and compact, a condition which they prize and which their clothes accentuate. They look like elegant girls, though they are definitely women.”
“Are they slaves?”
“According to Saikan, the pretty ones are called concubines.”
“And that is?”
“A woman kept for sexual purposes. More like a second, third or fourth wife, behind the main wife.”
“I found it difficult enough keeping one wife happy,” said Appias. “I imagine the politics of the bedroom would become complicated, the competition between the women for favors extreme. And you say you have met some of these … concubines?”
“Several. They traveled with the senior officers and some of the wealthier merchants,” answered Rufinius. “And I do not doubt that they fuck every bit as grandly as a Roman woman.”
“What’s that!” shouted one of the legionaries toiling on the rock.
The exclamation distracted Rufinius and Appias, who gazed out beyond the wall. In the near distance, a thin line of fire appeared to be spreading in the darkness. The fire grew in intensity and then appeared to be coming toward the camp, moving quickly.
And suddenly a humming sound filled the air and several men nearby fell dead, struck down by arrows. Legionnaires started to run here and there, attempting to flee from the singing rain of death. Everywhere arrowheads were burying themselves deep in the ground and transfixing many men.
Rufinius ran for cover behind a mound of dirt that had been topped with a stack of palisade sticks yet to be set in the rampart. From this vantage point, the tribune watched the approaching fire as it divided into individual fireballs that seemed to skim and dart across the night. Along with the sounds made by the falling arrows, a strange noise began to assault the legionaries’ ears. It was a screaming that seemed human but also not, a howl that was not far from a battle cry.
Rufinius searched around for Appias as other legionaries joined him behind the palisade sticks, but could not find the camp prefect among the confusion.
The darting, dancing, shrieking balls of fire advanced and grew in size. They began to ascend the unfinished section of rampart, herded there by bandits on horseback prodding them with lances. And suddenly these fires were inside the camp itself and Rufinius saw that each individual flaming ball ran on short powerful legs. And the shrieks were cries of pain, the running fire being a large herd of full grown pigs set alight and driven into the encampment. The air filled with still more humming arrows and the smell of burning flesh and pitch as the pigs galloped into the encampment, bursting through tents and plowing into wagons, setting all alight in their path.
And then the men on horseback were clambering up the unfinished rampart, spearing legionaries with their lances or firing arrows in the Parthian and Xiongnu way as they rode, their hands free of the reins.
Everywhere there was shouting and screaming. And then, from somewhere, a cornicen was heard calling the legionaries to battle. Rufinius too, exhorted the men to fight, standing and drawing his gladius. The legionaries overcame their panic and responded, grabbing their javelins and dispatching the pigs, ending their torment with javelin thrusts. They also set upon the attackers, spearing their horses and sending riders to their deaths. Attention then turned to the fires; they spared little of their precious water and instead beating at them with anything that came to hand, from sword blades to animal skins.
The rain of death became sporadic and Rufinius was joined by other legionaries as he set upon the riders now loose in the camp. The tribune opened the belly of one enemy’s horse and jumped on the back of another, ending the rider’s life with a slice across his throat. Now mounted on a horse, he turned on the invaders, riding among them, thrusting and chopping with his sword.
Soon, all around lay the dead and dying horsemen and their mounts, the numbers of Roman defenders far more plentiful than they. The fires too were extinguished, the air thick with the acrid smoke of burned leather, and pig, and the smoldering black pitch covering their hindquarters that had been set alight to drive the animals mad with fear and pain.
Rufinius walked among the legionaries, searching for raiders who still breathed, ending their lives and the lives of their horses and livestock. It was then that he came upon Appias, who was lying on his back, his eyes closed and the pallor
of his skin deathly, an arrow through his chest.
XXXVI
Rufinius dropped to his knees beside the historian to check for a beating heart, but there was none that he could detect. The arrow had passed clean through the camp prefect’s right breast and, unhindered by body armor or shield, had penetrated beyond his back.
Fashioning a litter from palisade sticks and skins, Rufinius and three other men hurried Appias to a wagon, which the tribune commandeered, thrashing the camel all the way.
*
Mena walked from her tent as Rufinius approached on the wagon. Upon seeing the driver, she called out, “Tribune, what battle rages? We have seen fires.”
“If you have a physician in your midst, call on him now!” Rufinius brought the camel to a halt, jumped down from the wagon and ran to Appias laid out in its tray.
“You are covered in blackness and you stink of pitch.”
“Mena, for Bellona’s sake put a cock in it! Appias has taken an arrow. He breathes not!”
Mena immediately grabbed a passing urchin and sent the boy on his way with a message while men gathered and lifted the injured legionary from the wagon and carried him to the augury’s tent. A table was roughly cleared of various items of animal skin, bones, and plants. The historian was placed on it, lying on his side, the bloodied arrowhead on the end of the lethal shaft protruding from his back, clearly visible in the candlelight.
A small man whose years were no more than Rufinius’s, a member of the Han, came into the tent, along with an aide carrying a compact trunk in front of her. They went immediately to the injured Roman.
“Hey …!” Rufinius exclaimed, taking a step toward him.
“His name is Wu,” said Mena, blocking the tribune’s attempt to stop the Han’s entry. “Our knowledge of medicine is juvenile compared to his.”
“We’re his enemy. Why would he help?”
“The apothecary’s foe is sickness and injury. I am told he would attend Han, Xiongnu, or Roman equally. Now grow up or leave.”
Rufinius took the admonishment and stood back as the assistant opened her trunk, removed a small oval of polished metal and handed it to Wu, who placed it under Appias’s nose. After several seconds, Wu examined the metal disk against a candle and let out a loud exclamation. He held the oval toward Mena so that she could see what delighted him so.
“What!” Rufinius demanded.
“There is mist on the instrument. Appias breathes,” Mena answered.
A barrage of instructions followed from Wu in the same strange tongue spoken by the captured Han officers. The assistant passed him a small cutting blade and a roll of coarse fabric. The physician gestured at Rufinius to step forward and, after a moment’s hesitation, the tribune did as he was bid. When he came close enough, Wu grabbed one of Rufinius’s wrists in his own small but powerful hand and brought it gently toward the shaft of the arrow protruding from Appias’s back. Through gestures, Wu made it known that he wanted Rufinius to grip the shaft firmly so that it would not move around in Appias’s flesh. The physician disappeared behind the camp prefect’s shoulder and Rufinius felt the vibration of the arrowhead being sawn off.
Wu gestured Rufinius aside, carefully extracted the shaft from Appias’s chest and then held the arrowhead up to the light, muttering disappointment.
“The Sogdians dip their arrows in rotting horse shit,” Mena said. “Your prefect friend lives, but his hold on this world might fade.”
The physician held his ear to the hole in Appias’s chest and seemed pleased. It bled profusely but there were no pink bubbles. The lungs had not been pierced.
Lucia raced into the tent. “Rufinius? Is it Rufinius?”
“I’m here,” he said.
“They told me it was you who had been delivered here, mortally wounded.”
“No … It’s Appias.”
Lucia joined her husband and looked down on the man lying on his side. Wu carefully pulled the arrow shaft from Appias’s chest, drawing it out the way it went in. He then fashioned a pad from the coarse fabric, placed it against the wound and rolled Appias gently so that the pad was kept in place against his back by his own weight.
The assistant moved the trunk to the table, placing it beside Appias, and Wu rummaged through it. He suddenly stopped when he realized that the area around him was full of people. He glared at Rufinius, shouted at him, gesturing at him to leave. He then did the same to Lucia and Mena and several others who had come to watch the Han doctor at work.
Rufinius allowed himself to be expelled. There was nothing more he could do for Appias now, except to try and guarantee his comrade’s continued survival. “You trust in this man’s witchcraft?” he asked Mena.
“Is it witchcraft? I don’t know. I have seen him at work on others. He has especial knowledge beyond anything I have seen. He utilizes roots, leaves, powdered bone, as well as certain rocks, which he crushes, and he uses even the mold that grows on horse milk and cheese.”
“Do you speak his language?”
“No, but I can understand him.”
“Can he understand you?” Rufinius asked her.
“I believe so.”
“Then you tell him that if Appias dies, so does he.”
Mena flared so that even the empty hole in her eye socket seemed angry. “Do not act the tyrant here, Rufinius Alexandricus. It doesn’t sit well on you. Wu is your companion’s best chance at life. If you so much as look sharply at this apothecary, I shall have to make you pay with all manner of curses such to ensure the afterlife, when you finally reach it, is most unpleasant for you. Now, if you would do us the honor of leaving.”
Rufinius stared at Mena and knew when he was beaten. “All the same …” he told her and retreated hastily from the tent.
*
“Appias?” said Libo. “How did it happen?”
Rufinius stood in the middle of his contubernium, which had gathered around. “A raid. The Sogdians attacked the camp. They set fire to burning hogs and drove them at us.”
Carbo seemed both pleased and astonished. “Burning hogs? I could fight that much harder with the smell of bacon in the air!”
“It was less than agreeable, I assure you.”
“Where did the arrow strike him?” Dentianus asked.
“In the chest. He was shot clean through and the wound does not suck. The barb and shaft were also easily removed.”
“Well that’s something.”
“Yes, but the arrow was poisoned,” Rufinius revealed.
Carbo frowned, hands on hips. “Oh … will he live?”
“I don’t know. That’s up to the gods and the medicine of the Han.”
“There is a Han doctor attending him?” Dentianus was surprised.
“He is the best, I am told.”
“When have you heard of anyone attended by a physician who claims to be the worst?” Carbo said.
Rufinius shook his head. “He will live.”
“Appias is unlucky,” Libo pointed out. “He’s not really a legionary and yet he is the one who is attacked.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Come all this way only to be struck down in a raid by a band of hog farmers …”
“I saw him fight in the battle against the Han,” Dentianus offered. “Appias is as much legionary as you or me.”
“Of course he is,” Libo corrected himself. “Unlucky cunnus.”
“He will journey in the baggage train with Mena. Lucia will also attend him,” said Rufinius, “and report on his condition.”
The sound of approaching horses signaled the arrival of General Saikan. The horse came to a hurried stop in a cloud of dust and the general slid from his saddle. “Alexandricus! It is not you who lies dying! I heard a report that you had taken an arrow.”
“No, Appias. Wounded in the chest.”
“That is unfortunate. He is your camp prefect.”
“A Han doctor attends him. Mena swears by him.”
“The Han are indeed skilled at medicine. If at all possi
ble, he will be returned to you and your men. What can you tell me of the raid? I heard you were there?”
“It was small, but purposeful, led by men with nothing to lose.”
“I have toured the defenses that were breached. Many of your legionaries feast on the forequarters of hog, but many were also burned or shot with arrows.”
“The raiding party was two hundred or more,” said Rufinius. “They attacked us in a place well chosen.”
“Tomorrow we cross the Amu Darya. On the far side of the river lie the Xiongnu lands and this skirmishing will end.”
Rufinius was pleased that progress had been made. “What awaits us there?”
“To begin with, a friendly escort of five hundred horse archers. The terrain then rises sharply thereafter and we will skirt a series of mountain ranges, keeping to the foothills. It will be cold and the snows are due, but your men are used to privation and will have little trouble.”
“So the desert finally ends.”
“Yes, I am pleased to say that it does.”
“And how far beyond the river lies the palace of your Chanyu Zhizhi?”
“Our lands are vast but, fortunately, our King resides in the west at this time. We will be there in less than the passage of one moon.”
*
Long before the army reached the river, the dust gave way to the greenery of marshes, which were full of ticks. Care had to be taken when brushing past trees or shrubs, for the biting insects were known to be poisonous.
A narrow band of farmland came next, which the legions denuded of many beets and cabbages. Xiongnu horsemen had scouted the river before the arrival of the legions and found a simple crossing made of sturdy wood beams near a hamlet charging a toll for its use. On the far side of the sandy banks, where the river came to a narrow pinch point, waited a large number of armed Xiongnu horsemen.
*
Riding with Rufinius beside him, General Saikan approached a small party of Xiongnu horsemen waiting at the head of the crossing. “Pass the order for the centuries to halt,” he told Rufinius. “Those banners you see showing a red dragon’s head on white? They are the Chanyu’s men, his personal guard. I am to go forward and speak with them.”
Field of Mars (The Complete Novel) Page 34