It was worse in the camp. Nicholas recognized the general outline of a traditional Legion encampment, but the tent city that housed the workers sprawled riotously in thickets of dirty tan tents. The brick-surfaced road was clogged with people coming and going. It was worse in the dust and mud off the highway. Nicholas schooled himself to patience, closing his nostrils against the humid stink of thousands of unwashed bodies, dung, flies, oil, smoke from green wood and the stench of bricks drying in the sun. Slowly, the walls of the fortress rose up, closer and closer.
– |Inside Pelusium, the crowds thinned, replaced by grim-faced couriers and legionaries on every corner. It seemed the city had been emptied of citizens, everyone turned out for billets and workshops. Still riding, Nicholas passed a long, low building. Through the open windows, he saw rows and rows of women squatting on the floor, splitting marsh cane for wicker and weaving it into mats.
"We use it to stabilize the face of the wall," the centurion commented. "Or to make brick forms. Need a lot of it."
At the center of the town was a plaza serving mainly to frame a giant gate into the fortress. The gate was flanked by huge round pillars and a flat, squared-off roof. Carved into the walls of the gate were figures of men and gods and tall ibis. Both doors were chocked open by column roundels and guarded by a full cohort of Western troops. The standards and battle emblems of four legions hung above the portal.
Nicholas whistled, seeing that two of the ensigns were brand-new, lacking the metal plaques depicting famous victories. It was strange to see the bronze eagles shining new and fresh in the sun, without the nicks and patina of age that marked their fellows. The other standards did show their age, though, and Sextus slapped his thigh in delight.
"Frontius, my friend, we've come home! I thought I saw Scortius directing the workers on the first bridge. Centurion…" Sextus pointed, drawing Nicholas' attention. "That's the standard of the First, by the gods, our own blessed Minerva, may she watch over us!"
Nicholas smiled at the good humor in the faces of the engineers. They would have quite a tale to tell to their comrades when they were reunited.
"Dismount and follow me, centurion." The Western officer swung off his nag and led them through a crowd of slaves waiting inside the fortress gate. Nicholas followed, making sure that Vladimir and Dwyrin were right at his side. He didn't want to lose track of them in this mob. Following the centurion, they crossed a yard of sun-baked brick and entered another monumental gate, this one guarded by twin sphinxes painted as lions. White plaster walls rose up behind them, etched with long rows of writing. Nicholas could not read the signs, but he didn't care. Sextus and Frontius, without an invitation, hurried to join them.
– |The centurion pushed open a door of polished cedar twice the height of a man and they entered a long, cool room. It was open on two sides, to the north and west, giving a fabulous view of the green fields of the delta and the sea. An arm of the ancient Nile lay alongside Pelusium and from the top of the fortress, broad brown water could be seen, rolling slowly north to the sea. High above the fetid stink of the town, the room was airy and comfortable. A breeze rustled through the windows. The rest of the chamber was cluttered with long tables, a mismatched collection of chairs and numerous staff officers, sitting and writing.
"Legate, ave!" The Western officer saluted a tall redheaded man standing over the largest table. Nicholas saluted as well, but said nothing. An immensely detailed map covered the big table. Even from his poor angle, Nicholas could make out the two channels they had crossed and the main river. He guessed, from the profusion of marks, that three lines of defense were being prepared.
"Centurion?" The redheaded man looked up, square face framed by a rich, curly beard. Like the officers hunched over the tables, he was wearing a segmented breastplate of hooked iron bands over a red tunic. A pleated kilt almost reached his knees, doing little to disguise powerful thighs and thick calves. "What news?"
"A cohort of the Fourth Engineers of the First has come in from the desert, sir. This is their commander, Nicholas of Roskilde. You wanted to see anyone from the East, quick as may be."
Nick stepped forward and made a half-bow to the man. The legate smiled, his whole face lighting up, and reached out a thick hand, clasping Nicholas' wrist. "Well met, then! You've come from Judea?"
"Yes, sir. I'm an Eastern officer, but my men are Western. This is Vladimir, my aide, and Dwyrin, our thaumaturge, and these fellows are-"
"Sextus and Frontius," finished the legate, grinning like a fool. The two engineers saluted sharply, sunburned faces wreathed with unexpected smiles. "I know them from when I commanded the First myself. Good to see you, lads. I'm glad you're not dead!"
"Not a chance, Your Worship!" Sextus jabbed at Nicholas with his thumb. "Centurion wouldn't hear of it! Bit of a close shave, though."
"True," Frontius interjected, rubbing his chin. "Nary a whisker left!"
The redheaded man shook a thick finger at Sextus. "None of that 'Your Worship' business, Sextus. You know I hate it."
"Your 'Worship'?" Nicholas said, feeling peeved at being left out of the joke. The man turned back to him, nodding.
"Sorry, centurion. I am Aurelian Atreus, Caesar of the Western Empire and commanding legate of the expeditionary forces in Egypt. Come, sit and tell me what you've seen and done. Someone will bring us something to eat, I think."
– |Aurelian did not lie, and a large and highly spiced lunch was laid out for them. Nicholas found the Western Prince forthright and blunt. It took a long time to relate everything that had happened since he had set foot on Judean soil, but when Nicholas was done, Aurelian was nodding to himself as if much once hidden had been revealed.
"These Arabs are well equipped with siege equipment, then?"
Nicholas, Sextus and Frontius all nodded in agreement. Dwyrin and Vladimir had fallen asleep in the cool room, stuffed full, but the three officers remained alert and focused. Being interviewed by a prince of the Empire had an invigorating effect. Two scribes joined them, quietly writing down everything they said.
"Would you say that they've fielded a real army, then?" The Prince was curious, watching Nicholas with interest. "Regular camps, siege works, infantry and cavalry-thaumaturges to support their efforts?"
"Yes, sir. It's very clear they are not some raiding band, or even rebellious militia. They have clever commanders who adjust to circumstance and attack weakness with strength."
Aurelian nodded, rubbing a fist against his chin. His eyes narrowed. "You're thinking of the way they caught out the boy, sending phantoms against him."
"Yes," Nicholas answered. "Whoever is in command of the army that rooted us out of Capitolina is a canny fellow-he knew he couldn't get in the front door, so he made sure we were busy watching it while he unlocked the back."
"Good." Aurelian smiled, rubbing his hands together. "You've seen our little earthworks effort, then?"
"I have." Nicholas sounded impressed because he was. The massive effort to fortify the approaches to Pelusium beggared anything he had ever seen the Eastern army attempt. There was a great deal of professional rivalry between the two armies, though from everything Nicholas had seen since taking service with the Eastern Empire, the Western Legions were far superior in logistics, planning and discipline. Very few of the Eastern officers had the technical skill to direct such a project. None of their troops would have been willing to dig, either, but that had always been a foundation of the Western army, even in the days of the Republic. "I doubt they will be able to get through."
"I know." Aurelian sprang up, seemingly filled with limitless energy. "I don't expect them to, really. I just want them to go around for that back door, but the way I want. Plus, it gets my men in shape. Too many of them are recruits, so we alternate days of drill, marching and digging."
Nicholas swallowed a laugh, but the Prince caught his expression and grinned back.
"No, centurion, I'm not a popular commander right now. They hate me, I'd guess, but they
have to get used to it. Our desertion rate is high, but most come back after a week or so. Men don't really like to leave, once they've been in the Legion awhile. The citizens outside"-he pointed out the window at the town and the fields beyond the river-"don't understand us so well."
"Lord Aurelian? What happens to us?" Sextus got up and took a parade rest, feet wide, hands clasped behind his back. The Prince nodded at him, acknowledging the question.
"Well, I'm keeping you and your cohort here, Sextus. I have a project in the south, down by the Reed Sea, that will be to your liking. I've been putting it off because my other surveyors and engineers were busy up here with the diversion channels and the dams. You'll have a few days to rest up the men and get your gear sorted out-I'd guess you had to abandon your wagons and tools in Aelia?"
"True, sir!" Sextus and Frontius both groaned, shaking their heads in dismay.
"Better your heads stay on your necks," Aurelian growled. "Those can't be replaced."
"And us, sir?" Nicholas straightened too, though he had never been drilled in the various forms used by the Western troops. "Do you have a place for us?"
"I do." Aurelian sighed, looking over the three of them. "But you're Eastern property, according to the agreement between the two emperors. I'll have to put you on the next courier boat for Constantinople, though I'd rather keep you. You seem a man with a good head, Nicholas, and I have few enough of them under my command. Your young friend would be a boon, too, but he is strictly off limits."
"Sir?"
Aurelian grimaced, but spread his hands wide. "Heraclius and my brother struck a deal last year, where Egypt would be placed under Western administration so that Eastern troops, clerks and staff could be moved east into Persia to form the core of a new administration in the captured provinces. Under the terms, the taxes are split half and half, but all military personnel of Eastern origin are remanded to the offices in Constantinople. Most everyone left last fall, but you're here now and you're Eastern. A pity."
Nicholas nodded in understanding, though he was disappointed. Dwyrin had been telling him about the vast monuments and temples of the land along the river. Nicholas had already seen more of Constantinople than he had ever wanted to see. The prospect of spending some time amongst the tombs and dead cities of this ancient land had intrigued him.
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate your candor and your hospitality. The pickled eels were particularly good."
"Aren't they? My brother always complains about my taste, but everything's better with garlic, I say."
Nicholas smiled, delighted to find the Prince a man after his own heart.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The Flavian, Roma Mater
Chunk-chunk-chunk-chunk.
Wheels rattled and the roof above Thyatis' head split open, flooding the stone shaft with sunlight. The platform beneath her feet shuddered and creaked as it rose up, iron pulleys squeaking. Sound flooded the shaft as she ascended, a booming, rolling roar that made the air shudder. Thyatis flexed her arms and legs, seeing them shine with oil, rolling back and forth on the balls of her feet. She knew what made the sound and it filled her with an unexpected thrill. She checked the twine tying back her hair, the snugness of her loincloth and breast band.
Sunlight touched the crown of her head and then she rose through the floor of the arena at the heart of the Flavian. The wooden doors covering the elevator fell back onto the sand. Her sudden appearance in the center of the great oval was greeted with a low roar of applause. Thyatis blinked in the sunlight. It was early and only half of the marble seats were filled. Still, tens of thousands clapped hands to shoulders as the platform rattled to a halt. She raised her hand, greeting the crowd.
Jeers and shouts met her gesture. Thyatis turned, surveying the arena. All around her other trapdoors were swinging open. She stepped away from the platform.
The nearest elevator clanked to a halt and a woman in rags stood up, staring around in horror. Thyatis raised an eyebrow, seeing that the next platform had also stopped. This one deposited a very large, angry-looking lion. It was a magnificent beast, tall as a woman at the shoulder, with a heavy dark mane and tawny pelt. The lion was blinking in the sun, puzzled by the noise. Lions again, she thought, becoming very still. But no high grass!
At a glance, she guessed there were sixteen women and sixteen beasts; more lions; a handful of bears; some scrawny leopards and a pack of wild dogs. She assumed, watching the animals stare around, growling and yipping, they had been starved, perhaps baited with human blood. Diana grinned in relief, seeing an elevator to her left had delivered a spear. Moving softly to avoid drawing the attention of the angry black bear just beyond, she stepped to the weapon and picked it up. It felt good in her hands, a smooth ashwood shaft tipped with eight inches of polished iron.
– |A great shout echoed from the walls of the Flavian, distracting Maxian for a moment. He was pacing along a wooden roof circling the top of the arena. The roof was forty feet wide and served as a preparation area for the big canvas sails that shaded the seats below. The Prince stepped to the edge, one booted foot on the lip, and looked down onto an oval of sand a hundred and forty-eight feet below. Black dots ran on the sand, chased by other black dots. The crowd was howling with laughter. To Maxian, his hair blown sideways by the breeze, it sounded like the surf on a rocky shore.
All of the people in the seats seemed very small and insignificant, like ants. Maxian turned away and resumed his measured pacing. The sailors handling the canvas awning ignored him. Some of Gaius Julius' men followed him at a distance, keeping watch. The old Roman had begun to accumulate retired soldiers and barbarian mercenaries. Such men were easy to find in Rome. Maxian did not think he needed bodyguards, but Gaius ignored his protests.
The Prince began a soft chant, a little mnemonic to keep pace as he measured the distance around the oval. As he walked, he dropped tiny copper beads onto the planks, grinding them under his heel to fix them in place.
Maxian ignored the heat and the noise of the crowd. The fragile pattern around the people in the stands was far more important. It was almost drowned by the shuddering power bound into the stone, sand and wood of the building. Bound by centuries of blood sacrifice.
– |The black-maned lion crashed to earth, throwing down one of the running women. Her scream choked off as powerful jaws bit through her neck, splintering bone. Blood spattered across the white sand and the lion roared in anger, shaking the suddenly limp body. It didn't understand why the creature that smelled so good tasted so bad. The corpse flew away and the lion turned, blazing yellow eyes blinking.
Thyatis sprinted in, shouting. Blood streaked her side, oozing from four long parallel cuts left by a leopard's claw. The spear, slick with blood, was in her hands. Snarling, the lion reared, batting at her with giant paws. The spear punched into its chest, ashwood flexing with the blow, and Thyatis gritted her teeth, feeling the point grind across bone and then slip wetly between ribs. The lion screamed, a long wail of pain, and staggered aside. The spear was wrenched from her hands as the beast toppled over.
The lion thrashed on the ground, blood gouting from the wound. As it rolled over, the spear broke, drawing another howl of anguish. The lion staggered up, then fell over on one side, panting heavily. Thyatis wiped sweat from her bow, continuing to chant. With each kill, she urged the spirits of the dead on, to placate the gods and grant her friends swift passage into the golden fields beyond the dark river.
"Help me!" A cry drew her attention. Thyatis turned, seeing the pack of wild dogs circling closer, driving a woman in a brief tunic towards her. The woman's skin was dark as fine ebony and she had snatched up a sword. She held it in both hands, keeping it between herself and the nearest dog. The pack was crouching low, slinking over the sand, ready to dart in and catch her ankle or knee in sharp teeth. Thyatis looked around, ignoring the woman.
"Please, help me!"
Three of the female lions were still alive and had found one another. Now they were hun
ting in a pack, confused by the thick smells and the massive sound that reverberated from the amphitheater walls. In the stands, the matinee crowd was in a cheerful mood. They had waited a long time to see the games again, and the usual sad spectacle of slaves or criminals driven before the beasts was proving unexpectedly amusing. The bears and leopards were dead, along with most of the women. Only Thyatis and the Nubian were left.
"Give me the sword," Thyatis shouted, rushing the nearest dog. The Nubian looked wildly over her shoulder, then tossed the blade-a Legion-issue gladius-to the redheaded woman. Thyatis caught it out of the air in a deft motion, then leapt sideways. The first dog bolted back from her movement, but the pack itself turned, yelping. The gladius slashed down, shearing through the muzzle of the nearest dog. It yelped, then staggered away, pawing at its ruined nose. The others bolted, but Thyatis was quick, catching the slowest dog and hamstringing it. Crying mournfully, the dog tried to drag itself away, but the gladius punched down, severing its spine.
The Nubian woman backed up, finding a spear on the ground. Thyatis darted towards her. The pack circled again, yipping in high-pitched anger.
"Spear," Thyatis barked and the Nubian woman threw her the weapon. It was lighter than the one she had lost in the lion, but it would do. The gladius slipped into the side of her loincloth, pressing tight against oil-slick skin.
Just after dawn, the guards had hustled Diana out of her cell and into the baths at the northern end of the Flavian. Two slaves had scrubbed her down, even washing her hair with an eye-stinging soap. Thyatis hadn't minded the rough treatment-it had been weeks since she had been clean. When they oiled her, she was alarmed. The oil did not have the usual sweet, lemony scent dispensed in the baths and gymnasiums of the city. It was rank and musky, like a cat in heat.
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