"You're going to throw the broken blade like a knife, right?"
"You'll see."
* * * *
The hilt lay between my outstretched hands. It would be a close thing and my timing would have to be perfect. The stink made my eyes water, and since I could only keep them open a slit, I was certain I would misjudge the distance and the moment.
The clatter of those bony wings almost drowned out my thundering heart. The Old One landed, and I saw a row of clawed feet. Two things happened simultaneously—I snatched up the hilt and drew the sword while the Old One's teeth drove into my back. It lifted me into the air like a hound preparing for the head shake that would snap the spine of a rabbit.
I screamed; its saliva burned like Greek Fire. It also gave a horrified cry when it heard the thrum of the sword. Its broad chest was directly in front of me as I hung in its jaws. I slapped the flat of the sword against the scales. The Old One dropped me, and I rolled feebly away before I was smothered by its bulk when it fell writhing onto the ground. I swear, the creature's dying cries could probably have been heard in Apollonia. I stuffed the folds of my cloak in my ears, and I felt sorry for the girl; she couldn't cover her ears. The silence, when it finally came, was almost as shocking as the noise.
Then Scientius's arms were around me, and he helped me to my feet. “Oh, well done, well done,” he said as he pulled the material of my tunic out of the wounds, and poured warm water from his waterskin across the bloody bites. The girl continued to alternate between sobs and screams. I waved Scientius toward her.
"I can't take much more of that noise. Get her down."
But the good citizens of Cyrene had done an excellent job on anchoring the chains. Scientius finally admitted defeat, and he galloped away to summon men with chisels. I limped off to retrieve my horse and shared my waterskin with Cleodolinda, for such was her name.
"You will be well rewarded by my father,” she said after I'd trickled a bit of water into her mouth.
"Good."
"He rules this city,” she added.
"Even better,” I said.
She cast me a look from beneath her lashes and added, “I'm of marriageable age."
"Oh,” I said.
* * * *
"Hold it. A princess offers herself to you and you say oh?"
"First, her father was never going to marry her off to a military tribune, and second, she was far from a beauty. Money buys beauty, and I figured I'd have money coming."
"You'd stab your enemies in the back, and you're greedy for money."
The Patrician shrugged. “So?"
"I thought this was a story about you being a hero,” the Centurion said.
"I fought a dragon and saved a city. How much more heroic do you want?"
"You won by playing dead,” the Centurion argued.
"But I won."
"Well, it's still a poor tale. You should say you scaled the cliff, and leaped onto its back, and hacked at the wings, and—"
"I'll leave you to embellish it."
* * * *
In due course the king and his guard arrived. The king's initial reaction was one of skepticism and suspicion, but softened as his daughter told the tale. Fortunately she'd been crazed with fear so her story bore no resemblance to the actual facts.
* * * *
"Did she make it heroic?” the Centurion demanded.
"Very."
"Good.” He settled back against the wall, satisfied. “Me and the princess, we'll do this up right."
* * * *
I was invited to the palace and graciously accepted. Usually Scientius hustles us away from the scene of an incursion, but this time he wanted to linger. My slave wandered through the madly celebrating citizenry. As for myself, I feasted, dodged the princess, and arranged with a bank in Apollonia to handle the upcoming reward.
Scientius found me in the mews one morning where I was trying to decide if I actually wanted to try hunting with an eagle rather than a hawk. The bird's flat, hateful stare and the weight of the thing made me decide against it.
"You need to get your ass out of the palace and down to some of the taverns."
"So I can drink cheap, sour wine, and fight off the fleas and bedbugs. No thanks."
Scientius ignored me. “They've drawn the exact wrong conclusion."
"About what?"
"About what defeated the Old One. They've decided it was the offer of women that did the trick."
I was stung. “What about me? I killed the damn thing."
"They say the offering of the maidens inclined the gods to listen, and they sent you."
"So, they're going to keep on sacrificing young girls in the hope of keeping a steady flow of heroes wandering through?"
"That pretty well captures the gist of it,” Scientius said.
I exhausted my vocabulary of curses in a couple of different languages, then said, “Why are people so damn dumb?"
"Because the world is frightening and you don't have enough knowledge to understand it, so you try to propitiate what are basically naturally occurring phenomena.” He paused and stroked a finger down the breast of a hawk, then added, “and nobody likes dying."
My gloves hit the bench, and the sharp sound had the birds screeching and beating their wings as they fought against their jesses. Feathers flew around us. “Well, they certainly are keen on killing."
"Absolutely, if they think it will keep them from dying."
So, I abused my palate and my gut in a series of taverns. I chatted with the women washing clothes at the city fountains. Shared war stories with soldiers in the guardroom of the palace. And finally I casually raised the topic with my host.
He waved a plump, pink hand, and nearly knocked the tray from the hands of a slave who was offering him slices of roast pig. “Yes, I have heard this, too. Some of the city fathers have petitioned me to find a way to raise the level of our sacrifices from birds, sheep, and oxen, because they have been pushed by their constituents who are always ignorant and often violent."
"You're not going to accede to this madness, are you?” I asked. “Rome will not be happy."
"But Rome is far away, and Diocletian has his own problems."
I had to admit that was true. Not all was well between his co-emperors Maximian, Galerius, and Constantius, and Diocletian chose to rule his quarter of the empire from Nicomedia, while still insisting he was the most senior of the four emperors. Would they even notice, much less care, that Cyrene had begun human sacrifice?
The king continued, “I can't cure their ignorance, but I can give them a little bit of blood and keep them from my door."
"Your own daughter was offered in sacrifice,” I said.
"That was because I made the mistake of a lottery. The priests will find a different formula."
"And which god will you feed with this blood?” He looked at me oddly and I realized that my phrasing was probably strange to a person who didn't actually understand the true nature of the world.
"I'll leave such matters of theology to the priests. It doesn't matter to me."
But it certainly mattered to me. There were some Old Ones whose power I did not want increased.
* * * *
"Wait a minute. The monster you killed was an Old One. Now you're saying the gods are also Old Ones.” The Centurion rubbed at his scalp as if trying to force the idea into his head.
The Patrician gave a slow smile. “You see, I knew you were a clever man."
* * * *
Of all things, the one that most distressed my slave was human sacrifice. Which is why I waited until we were in the caldarium, where the rising steam offered an obscuring veil. He possessed many more languages than me, and therefore an even more impressive vocabulary of profanity. Once he ran down Scientius reverted to Latin and said,
"You must stop this."
"How?"
"You could appoint yourself military governor,” he suggested.
"I'm a military tribune traveling wi
th no entourage, just a disrespectful slave. No one is going to believe that tale. I might as well just kill the king, and crown myself ruler of Cyrene. I might last a couple of days before the captain of his guards decides that's a pretty good blueprint for advancement. And Attius would like to marry Cleodolinda."
"Perhaps the girl could appeal to her father. Beg him to spare anyone else from the terror she endured. He must love his daughter."
Despite being the most brilliant man I've ever known, Scientius has moments of breathtaking naiveté. “Her father chained her to a rock in front of an Old One. If he'd really loved her he would have refused, or hustled her out of the city, and told the citizens she died of a fever."
He paced, hands clasped behind his back. “I've worked too hard to wean your species away from sacrificing humans to appease vengeful deities. At least the animals don't feed the Old Ones. And I thought my fostering of a loving, merciful god was a master stroke."
"And it might have been if the poor, dumb Christians hadn't refused to offer libations to the emperor, and hadn't added in the gibberish about eating flesh and drinking blood,” I said as I climbed out of the hot water, and quickly slid into sandals so the heated floor didn't burn my feet.
"As hateful and murderous as you Romans are, you at least have the right attitude on cannibalism and human sacrifice,” Scientius said.
"Which we exemplify by killing Christians."
Scientius followed me into the frigidarium where I plunged into the marble pool and gasped as the cold water hit my overheated skin. “I think we let Rome handle this. I'll just take my reward, and tell them—"
My slave rejected that with a resounding, “No! Rome won't do a damn thing. We're in Cyrenaica. None of the four emperors will bother with this; they're too busy plotting against each other."
As I stepped out of the tub, my mind spun in frantic circles, thoughts bumping against each other like rudderless boats in a maelstrom. Scientius wrapped me in the Egyptian cotton towel and started to give me a vigorous rubdown, but I walked away, hating him for putting me in this spot. I had no idea what to do. I just knew that I never wanted to see another girl, face contorted in terror, betrayed by her loved ones, facing an Old One.
The answer came to me in a dream. That sounds mystical, but it was actually the result of overeating at the banquet, and the discussion of Christianity, both of which made me think of my mother. She had come to Christianity after the death of my infant sister. Mother viewed the Christian promise of resurrection as far preferable to Hades for Juliana, so the shrine to the household gods was torn out, and even the death masks of the ancestors were consigned to a storeroom. We had worshiped privately in the family quarters with only a handful of trusted slaves present.
When I'd followed my father into military service, I adopted Mars as a personal god, and made offerings to him, figuring a soldier could never have too many gods on his side.
That had been the state of affairs until I'd met Scientius at the theater in Epheuses. He had told me I was a special and unique person (and what man doesn't like to hear that), so I listened and thought him a madman when he told me that all the gods were monsters invading our world, and that he had created this amalgam god called Jesus to try and counter them.
I was perfectly happy to drink his wine and let him rave. Then he had me draw the sword, and I knew it was all true. There were no gods, just monsters. I had the ability to wield a weapon that could kill them. The only question was, would I do so, or flee back into comforting ignorance? I decided to see the world, not through a glass darkly, as Paul had said in his epistle, but face to face—even though the faces were often terrifying. I'm one of the few men in the world to possess such knowledge, and it's a lonely and isolating thing.
And now I was faced with a decision that would put me in direct conflict with the emperor I served.
* * * *
"What in Hades’ name did you do?"
* * * *
"Shut down the temples and take the treasure?” The king's tone was thoughtful, but there was a touch of barely suppressed excitement.
"You wouldn't have to finish construction on that massive temple to Hercules. Think of the money you'd save,” I offered, pushing but trying to keep from pushing too much.
We were in the king's study. It was an impressive space with hundreds of scrolls, all collected, he told me, by his grandfather. I noticed a layer of dust over most of them—apparently this current scion of the royal family was not a reader.
"The fucking priests are never satisfied. They're sucking the treasury dry,” the king said as he refilled my cup with good Falernian wine.
As I allowed the rich, sweet sip to roll around my mouth, I briefly considered whether life as Cleodolinda's husband would be all that bad. I could drink wine like this every day, and live in a palace.... A palace at the ass end of the empire, populated by provincial yokels, I reminded myself.
"But what am I going to have to give these Christians?” the king continued.
"Not much.” I took another sip. “For them it's all about poverty and meekness, and turning the other cheek."
"Absurd,” the king said.
I didn't mention that my slave had conceived of these ideas hoping to turn humans from war to peace.
* * * *
"That's crazy,” the Centurion said “Humans like to fight."
The Patrician agreed. “That's exactly what I told Scientius. I think he gives us far too much credit. The Christians are already murmuring against the Mithrans, and the Jews, and our gods."
"Yeah, but look at them.” The Centurion gestured at the knot of sleeping Christians. “They're like sheep going to slaughter."
"But humans like to fight,” the Patrician reminded him.
* * * *
The king had one last objection. “But how will we convince the nobles and the people that this is the best way to keep them safe?"
"We put on a show,” I said. “We gather in the throne room in front of as many worthy citizens as you can cram in. You offer me a reward and I say....” I stood and declaimed in the best Cretian fashion. “I will not accept your coin, oh, great king. The only reward I will accept is the knowledge I have brought Cyrene to the one true god. Without the power of Jesus the Christ I could never have defeated the monster. God sent me to you. God's only price is that you accept and love him. No blood is necessary to earn the love and protection of the Lord. His only demand is that you love each other. I did not come because you sacrificed your children. God sent me so that no more children need die.” I sat back down, wet my throat with another swallow of wine and shrugged.
"Do you mean that?” The cup executed a turn in the air, spilling a bit of wine onto the king's lap.
"What?"
"About the reward,” the king said.
"No. You're about to get the wealth of the temples. Don't be greedy."
"I could say the same of you."
* * * *
"And did you get the money?” the Centurion asked.
"Would I have returned to be part of Diocletian's personal guard if I had?"
"How did you lose that much gold?"
"I wasn't going to lug gold across a thousand miles of stinking desert filled with bandits, or put it on a ship and risk the pirates. I took a bank draft,” the Patrician answered. “And the king made sure there was no money in the bank in Cyrene to back it."
"You were an idiot."
The man looked around at the stone walls. “Given my current situation, you are demonstrably correct."
"And how did you get here?” the Centurion asked.
"They threatened my mother."
* * * *
Whenever you are close to power you have rivals. Factions form, people jockey for position, backbiting ensues. Mine was a little turd named Lucius Cornelius. He couldn't abide the fact that a provincial like myself was the Emperor's favorite. He felt that honor should have been his as Roman born, and as a member of a powerful family.
I was careful to guard my back in the physical sense, and since I knew Lucius was a physical coward I wasn't terribly worried. I hadn't counted on him being cunning rather than brave. He made it his business to find out everything he could about me and my family.
My mother is a dear woman, but like all converts she refused to be circumspect about her Christian faith.
Lucius picked his moment well. Diocletian was wroth over a fire that had broken out in the palace. Galerius, his fellow emperor and a fervent hater of this new cult, convinced Diocletian that the Christians had set the fire. Diocletian had ordered another round of arrests and persecutions.
We were at a banquet. I had been invited to join in as a guest, though I was seated well down the table. I saw Lucius enter, rapping the heels of his sandals against the marble floor in that way men have when they want all to know they are on important business. He bent down low to whisper in Diocletian's ear.
I returned to my conversation, and my first indication of trouble was how my tablemates suddenly fell silent, and some rose to their feet. I looked over my shoulder to see the Emperor bearing down on me. He's a tall, thin man with a hard mouth, and at this moment his lips were folded so tight that they seemed to have disappeared.
He seized me by the back of my toga, dragged me off the couch, and threw me to the floor at his feet. When you're manhandled by an emperor you acquiesce. I lay on the floor looking up at him.
"Your mother is a Christian. How can I trust that you are not also a follower of that troublesome cult?” the emperor demanded.
"Have I ever failed to make the proper obeisance to the gods?” I hedged.
"You can't trust what one of them says,” Lucius murmured. “They are sly, having wormed their way into your very palace."
It was cleverly done. The reminder of the recent fire had the blood surging into Diocletian's face. The man takes his architecture very seriously.
"You are dismissed, sir,” the emperor shouted at me and he spun away.
"And the mother,” Lucius pushed.
I came off the floor, my hand closing into a fist.
"Execute her,” my former lord ordered.
"How weak,” I said, and filled the words with drawling contempt and patrician disdain. “She is only a woman. What man fights with women?"
FSF, August-September 2009 Page 8