Field of Mars (The Complete Novel) (22 page)

General Saikan jumped to his feet and shouted “
Fei! Ting!”

“No, stop!” Bataar exclaimed, leaping up as his lord snapped further instructions at him. “The Roman belongs to Xiongnu! You have part-payment in your hand already, sealing our agreement. This man below is no longer yours to do with as you please.”

Farnavindah could not deny the transaction. The leather bag containing the precious gems was moist with sweat and indeed sat in his small fat hands. The weight of the bag reminded him that the offense just dealt to his pride in Parthian manhood was small compared to the wealth the Roman had just won for him.

“The deal was properly done,” he agreed with a distasteful nod.

Like every other Parthian who had just witnessed the spectacle, Captain Ishmah was galled that one man could bring the might of Parthia into question so emphatically. And the man a lowly slave at that.

“I wish to purchase him back in the name of the King of Kings, your friend and ally,” Ishmah said, addressing General Saikan with all the grace he could muster.

Bataar relayed the request to his master while Ishmah rose to his feet to better survey the carnage on the black sand below.

“The General agrees.” Bataar bowed to Ishmah. “As long as the price is acceptable.”

Ishmah gazed down at the Roman covered in blood and sand, his chest no longer heaving with the exertion of battle. “What price would be acceptable?”

“Five talents of gold and five of silver,” Bataar said with a nod to the general.

“But that is absurd!” Farnavindah clamored, annoyed that there would potentially be no commissions from this sale coming his way.

“Also, we would require two of your camels on which to transport the payment, for metal is heavy,” Bataar added.

“Let me first have a private word with the slave master,” Ishmah told him, beckoning at the man to attend him.

Farnavindah made his way to the vacated position beside the King’s representative. “It is an exorbitant settlement, Lord,” the slave master replied with haste.

“You will make it back easily from the sale of the five thousand legionaries at – what was the price? And let’s not forget there’s also the remaining five thousand slaves for you to sell,” Ishmah replied.

“Me?” Farnavindah was shocked. “Are you suggesting
I
pay? Lord, I must protest! The sale of so many slaves is a costly affair. Look around you at the city being built for the single purpose of transporting them.”

“Which, I have no doubt, you will also be able to sell at a profit once you’ve finished here.”

The slave master was about to protest further when Ishmah stopped him with a predatory look. “Do not bicker with the representative of King Orodes, Slave Master, or your privileged position may be taken away as easily as you found it granted.”

“Lord,” said Farnavindah bowing, in sudden and full retreat. Had this man not killed Spāhbed Surenas, one of his oldest friends, and Parthia’s greatest generalissimo?

“Perhaps there is another way to resolve this. Your bodyguards. Are they as fearsome as they appear?”

Farnavindah looked over at North, West, East, and South, the scowls on their terrible faces carved as if by an ancient wind, the huge eye inked on each of their bellies staring down time itself.

“Indeed, Lord. I once had need of them to cut a swath through a thousand Egyptian soldiers. They had escaped the pens after coercing their overseers into providing them weapons. Three hundred were slaughtered by my four and the rest marched readily back into imprisonment rather than continue the engagement with the Eyes of the Moon.”

“I have no doubt that you are exaggerating, tick,” Ishmah replied. “You have witnessed this single Roman with a sword in his hand. My question – can your four ornaments with their strange looks and battle axes best him and return honor to Parthia?”

“Of that I have no doubt, Lord.”

Ishmah examined the face of Farnavindah and then cast his gaze over the Yuezhi. The slave master seemed to believe his own words and the enormous warriors were indeed frightening to behold.

“General Saikan,” he said, “I agree the price as all here bear witness.” He then said to Farnavindah, “Now kill the Roman.”

*

The entrance to the pen again swung ajar. And now? Rufinius wondered. The archers atop the wall had withdrawn. The sun was higher in the morning sky and the heat of the day was upon him, his thirst raw and powerful. His arm below the shoulder wound where the skin was peeled back oozed blood and clear fluid. He bent over one of the fallen Parthians and tore away what little clothing the man had, using it to bind the wound.

One of the slave master’s bodyguards walked onto the enclosed oval battleground and announced his arrival by clashing axe heads before him. In his footsteps came three more, the disturbing green eye inked on each man wide and staring. But of fear there was none in Rufinius. These were men. And all men bled.

He lifted the long Parthian sword from the black sand, the gore on its handle sticky in his grip. The centurion breathed deep for his muscles were sapped of strength, the desert exertions having claimed his stamina. The slave master would not let him walk from this place, of that he was certain.

The four bodyguards came toward him. All but one carried heavy axes and were clashing the heads together. Rufinius answered their call with his own, swinging his sword, the air humming past the blade’s edge. Reacquainting himself with its weight, he longed for the familiarity of the nimble gladius – his own preferred weapon of bloodletting.

There was a moment of silence when the air seemed still, the moment that always precedes a time when men are aware that total violence approaches. Then the first eye came at him, a leap through the air that Rufinius had not expected, for the big man was lighter of foot than seemed possible. The axe came slashing next, its immense head heavy with death. But Rufinius caught it, barred it, stopped it above him, his weakened arms shaking with the effort. He rolled to the side, releasing the axe from contact with his sword and the eye stepped back to join the others.

Another of the four approached him, but with no weapon in his hand that Rufinius could see. The two men sized each other up with little more than a sword’s length between them. The barbarian then lifted his hand to his mouth, blew lightly, and a fine mist burst forth and covered Rufinius, filling his throat with a dry and choking dust. He coughed it from his lungs and wiped his watering eyes with the back of a dirty hand. And when he looked again at the four men before him, they were gone.
A noise behind …!
Turning, Rufinius judged a flicker of movement. Chasing it, he found the four men at last, but they were changed – now the stuff of nightmare – joined together as one, four green staring eyes contained in a singular body. Their arms and legs had lengthened, the eight having become the arms and legs of something giant and grotesque. Rufinius shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. What magic was this? The horror with its four green staring eyes came forth, rushing at him, gaining in speed, each of its arms ending in an axe whirring with frightening dexterity. Rufinius ducked and parried and moved left and right but the scything, cleaving axes followed his every move.

The creature appeared to climb the wall briefly before springing free of it, coming for him through the air.

But then something also changed within Rufinius and his own sword became as a blur, driven by a magical force of its own. His senses seemed heightened and sharpened as never before and all his fatigue vanished. It was as if he could see behind and in front of himself at the same time, and even the barest shifting of sand grains beneath his feet were like a roar in his ears. And suddenly his sword was wet with blood. An arm cut from the creature lay with an axe on the black sand. The monstrosity reeled back but the blood lust ran high in Rufinius’s veins and he screamed with a terrible cry and rushed at it, possessed with a clarity of purpose he had never before known.

*

“My Eyes! Stop this, stop it now,” shrieked Farnavindah as one of his Eyes lost both arms in a blink, the Roman’s sword a flashing scything blur in the sunlight. The man’s head was removed next and kicked away by the Roman so that it bounced against the wall with a wet thud. And suddenly the second Eye was cut in half, the sword passing straight through him with such speed that all the man could do was look down upon his own belly in wonder at the line of blood drawn across the eye. An instant later he found himself in two, surprise in his face.

Farnavindah screamed again to end it, that he would pay whatever price necessary as the two remaining Eyes ran to the closed entranceway and begged to be released.

Captain Ishmah was both intrigued and shocked. What could cause a man to fight with such ardor?

The Roman walked toward the survivors slowly now, stalking them, seeming to relish their fear.

“Do you wish this to continue?” Bataar asked the Xiongnu general. “The slave master says he will give anything to stop it.” Saikan gave him a reply and the translator faced Farnavindah. “General Saikan says that if the most gracious Slave Master will reduce the price of the purchased legionaries back to the original 2,000 drachma per slave, he agrees to end the display. But this warrior below must be included in the bargain.”

Captain Ishmah had had enough of Farnavindah, these Xiongnu, and the freakish talent of the Roman legionary. Perhaps it would be best to be rid of all of them, especially the Roman whose sword might be better wielded in another land. “If your lord and the slave master are in agreement, I withdraw my offer to purchase the slave. But I would see the barbarian from the west finish the job.”

When Farnavindah realized the fortune he would forfeit
and
the murder to continue, his retook his place on the bench and covered his face with a square of silk. But while he could not see, the screams of the remaining Eyes found his ears and these he was forced to endure till the screams ended and cruel silence rose from the area of battle.

*

Rufinius became aware of hands carrying him through the camp, his feet dragging through the sand. The feeling of battle had left him and in its place was a slow heaviness.

“Do I live?” he croaked.

“You live,” came the reply.

Serpents appeared to slip from out of the ground covering the sand beneath his feet in a writhing tangle and yet he could not sense their movement.

Eventually Rufinius was brought to the company of his own people in the holding pen. He could not recognize their faces, as each wobbled and some changed color when they spoke to him, but he knew them. And with the intimacy of recognition, he let sleep come and take him.

Rufinius woke as if from a dream that left him exhausted and weak.

“Have I been sick?” he asked Fabianus.

Fabianus called out to Appias to come and attend. The historian raced to Rufinius and cajoled the men crowded around him to stand back.

Rufinius’s croaking voice repeated the question for the historian’s ears as clean water was administered to the patient, which he greedily drank.

“No. Maybe … I don’t know,” Appias told him. “You have been raving off and on for days, all of it nonsensical. I believe you were given a potion of sorts. Do you remember the arena?”

“I remember a nightmare,” replied Rufinius. “A creature with four huge eyes and whirring battle axes.”

“Yes, you have mentioned it over and over. You fought and killed eight men in a gladiatorial contest. I believe it was not supposed to end with you victorious.”

“What do you know?”

“The story among the overseers, who had heard it from a Parthian, is now all over the encampment. In the arena, you gained the strength of ten, some vengeful god seeming to possess your person. After sending four Parthian swordsmen to the Ferryman, you then hacked two of the slave master’s Eyes to pieces such that the remaining two fled from the battle on witnessing the horrible end brought to their brothers. They begged to be released but the keeper of the gate, fearful of setting you free, refused to open it. These surviving Eyes did not last long and when the butchery was done, you collapsed and have remained that way for two days, as if your soul had left for Hades.”

“I remember snakes,” said Rufinius. “But I have no recollection of anything else.” He looked at his arm, the flap of skin roughly sewn in place, already healing.

“Your fame spreads, Rufinius. There is no one who doesn’t know your name.”

“More water, if we have it,” said Rufinius sitting up with difficulty.

“We have it. And food in abundance also. Our treatment here has improved markedly since you returned from the fight.”

A deep dish full of water was brought by Libo and handed to the centurion. “Word is you handed a good Roman lesson to the cunni, primor.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Rufinius. “Give me a hand up, legionary.”

Libo held out his arm. Rufinius took it and lifted himself to his feet, his head swimming with dizziness. The entrance to the pen opened, admitting a large number of armed, armored men, foot archers and barbarians of unknown origin.

Rufinius examined the men coming toward him. The colorful robes of the Parthians among them told him they were senior officers. But the other men accompanying them were in their middle years. With large bellies, short stature, heavy red or black beards and unusual clothing, they were of a race he had never seen before. Their demeanor, though, told him that they were soldiers. For these men to have reached old age they must have survived many battles and therefore respect was due. One of these foreigners, a man with a long red beard whose economy of movement and bearing suggested that he was the party’s leader, bowed rigidly to Rufinius. A Parthian officer, a younger man of supreme arrogance who attempted to speak without making eye contact with Rufinius, addressed the centurion through the translator.

“You are Tullus Bassius Rufinius, known as Alexandricus?” the Parthian asked.

“Yes,” answered Rufinius.

“You will address me as Lord or I will have you whipped.”

“Yes.”

“Do not test me, slave. You and five thousand of your army have been purchased by King Zhizhi of the Kingdom of Northern Xiongnu.”

Silence fell over the legionaries.

“King Zhizhi’s representative, Lord Saikan, wishes to speak with you,” the Parthian continued.

On hearing his name mentioned, the older foreigner, who had earlier bowed, now gave Rufinius a nod. Another foreigner stepped forward and translated his strange tongue.

“Lord Saikan from Northern Xiongnu compliments Alexandricus on a superb victory and wishes that you lead his army of Romans.”

“What?” Rufinius asked, his mind still addled. “What army of Romans?”

“The 5,000 legionaries purchased by Lord Saikan on behalf of the Dragon King, Chanyu Zhizhi of Xiongnu.”

Rufinius was stunned. “Slave soldiers?”

“You and your men will help secure our borders,” the translator continued. “We need fine swordsmen, and if your legionaries can fight with even half your strength and dexterity, Alexandrian, we can surely teach the Han that the men of Northern Xiongnu are worthy of their fear.”

Rufinius was unsure how to respond, there being too many questions on his lips jostling for pre-eminence. Where was Northern Xiongnu? Why had they come to
him
? What would stop the men running away the second they left the pens? And if swords were put in their hands, what would stop this slave army from turning on its master?

“I am no legate,” he said eventually.

“No, you are not,” the translator replied after consultation with his lord, General Saikan. “But you are a man others would follow and that is a good start. Being a centurion, your own leaders would have seen leadership in you.”

“I attained the very lowest order of centurion. And only recently.”

General Saikan himself stepped forward and walked toward Rufinius. The two men stood toe-to-toe, Rufinius looking down on the foreigner with the red beard who seemed far from intimidated though he towered over him. The barbarian general spoke, his words made clear to Rufinius by the translator.

“Your leaders deserted you and the war you fought is lost. You are taken prisoner far from your native soil with no future that you can own. I can do nothing about the past, and your ties with your homeland are severed forever. This is all true. But service in the name of the Dragon King will benefit you. As a Roman legionary, you are forbidden to take a wife. As a soldier in the army of Chanyu Zhizhi, you will be permitted to marry. In a Roman legion I am told that you are bound to service for twenty-five years before release. Give my Chanyu fifteen faithful years and you will be freed. This is also truth.”

“Why me?” said Rufinius perplexed. “I am no one.”

“Not according to your men. We have heard them call your name. It has become a byword for triumph.”

Rufinius dismissed the accolade. “There are other officers far more experienced than me.”

“Soldiers do not willingly follow experience alone.”

Rufinius looked down on the man, knowing not what to say. He was twenty-five years of age and a veteran and he knew how to maneuver his century and maintain discipline and morale, but leading an entire legion? Of slaves …?

Impatient for a reply, the general pushed him. “Are you interested in doing something for your men or not? I guarantee you will not get a better offer, Roman.”

Rufinius wondered if he could manage this foreigner and his offer until a more worthy officer stepped up to take his place. “Are … are your conditions of service for one or for all?”

“You think of your men first. That is good. All slaves are equal.”

Rufinius could not believe what he was hearing, let alone that it was he this general addressed on behalf of 5,000 Roman legionaries. “And what … what of pay? At the end of fifteen years of service, will a soldier have nothing to show for it?” He waited for the Parthian lash, but it never came.

“All slaves are fed and clothed at their owner’s expense – and you are owned by Chanyu Zhizhi. The Xiongnu are nomadic people, though there is an increased need for settlements on our border regions. Payment on conclusion of service will be a parcel of land, enough land to support a family.”

Rufinius was stunned. While it may not have been unusual for Roman legionaries to be afforded such guarantees, he and his men were
slaves
. Still he pressed. “The men need to buy items for comfort on the march. Whores, for one thing.”

“It benefits the female camp followers to form relationships with the men. And for the men the gains are obvious. As I said, the Dragon King will feed, cloth and arm you. Payment is unnecessary.”

“What of booty?”

“It will be won in the name of Chanyu Zhizhi, but I am sure a suitable arrangement can be struck. Your men would just steal it otherwise.”

Rufinius grinned briefly. Soldiers from different lands were as one at heart. “Will there be a written contract between the Xiongnu and my men?”

“The contract is spoken and needs no other confirmation, save for the five thousand witnesses who will swear to uphold it. You and your men will continue to wear slave torcs and be bound by the rules that govern slaves, as well as the rules you obeyed as soldiers, until the years of service are complete. This to me seems to me a fair bargain.”

Rufinius considered the offer for a moment. “My answer is no.”

“No?” The barbarian was perplexed.

“Who can lead an armed rabble to a satisfactory conclusion?” The centurion recalled the lectures delivered by his father and grandfather.

“Is this what you call your own men? A rabble?”

“What you need is not five thousand men armed with sword and shield, but a Roman legion. That is the basis of the army that has conquered the world.”

“But not Parthia.”

“Let us see where Parthia lies in fifty years.” Rufinius waited patiently for the translation.

A corner of Saikan’s lips rose, the palest hint of amusement. “So your answer is no.”

“Who are your enemies, General?” Rufinius asked.

“They are many, but they are one. The Empire of the Han.”

“I have not heard of it.”

General Saikan’s eyes crinkled at the corners with bemusement. “And yet I believe the land ruled by Rome could fit comfortably inside the land ruled by the Han.”

Rufinius doubted it. The world was surely not that big. “Then what difference can one single legion make in any contest between …” He struggled to get his tongue around the words, “… Xiongnu and Han?”

“That is not a question for a captive slave. The Chanyu, my King, believes it will. And so it will.”

Rufinius ignored the mild rebuke. “How many day’s march is your kingdom from this river?”

“It is not days, it is not months. We will march for more than three of the four seasons without stopping to reach it.”

Was this an exaggeration? Rufinius could not keep the surprise from his face.

“The land between here and the city of Talas, where the Chanyu will be residing, is mostly desert, either plain or mountain,” Saikan continued. “Food and water is scarce. In the day it is hot. As the sun travels south the nights will grow cold. You would not see a city or a town for the entire journey, for I would not place before slaves the temptation to run.”

“Roman legionaries do not fear hardship.”

“That is my understanding also … I have five hundred horsemen in a separate camp nearby. These men will join the squadrons of the army of King Orodes – also five hundred men – and escort the march to the end of the Parthian lands. On Parthian soil you will march as slaves unarmed, your weapons captured in the desert battle brought along in the baggage. You will not be permitted to forage. Our Parthian hosts will provide food. Once the Empire of Parthia is behind us, weapons will be redistributed to your men and your service as soldiers will commence. It would be up to you to see that my legion is battle ready.”

“When does the march begin?” asked Rufinius.

“Soon.”

“There are many legionaries here wearing slave torcs. How might you select the men for this legion?”

“If you accept leadership, the method of selection would be yours.”

Rufinius’s mind raced. Was he capable? Would the more senior centurions revolt?

“There are many older veterans among the legionaries,” Saikan observed. “The men who make up your legion should be far from the age of retirement. There is much fighting to be done and our lands, though beautiful, are harsh. Strong young muscles and bones are required.”

“Armies require youth
and
experience.”

“I cannot afford old age, and where we are going neither can you.”

Rufinius looked into the eyes of the foreigner and saw … nothing. The man’s face was empty of expression. If you could not read a man’s emotions, how could he be trusted? “Would the men be chained on the march?”

“The journey is difficult enough without the added weight of shackles."

Rufinius rubbed his hand across his mouth and chin in consideration.

“Yes or no. You have one day to come to a decision,” the general said, “but every man you choose must be capable of wielding a sword.”

He then turned his back on Rufinius, deliberately making himself vulnerable, exposing his neck and spine. Rufinius made no move toward him. After several moments Saikan, satisfied, walked slowly away. The Parthian officers, archers, and overseers moved aside to let him and his entourage pass.

The rest of the party also withdrew, leaving Rufinius surrounded by legionaries calling out his name and wanting to touch him and gain some of his good luck, for the exchange with the barbarian general had been heard by many.

*

After some private consideration, Rufinius came later to Appias seeking counsel.

“You bargain well, Rufinius,” the historian told him. “You were born to a money lender, surely.”

“Does history have any advice for me?”

“Rufinius, asking for the lessons of history to assist in making a decision suggests that you’re going to make the right one,” said Appias.

“How so?”

“The great Proconsul Crassus knew all the answers before he ever asked the questions. Though he had said he wanted me along to record his greatness, and to provide any wisdom that might have been passed down the ages, in reality he desired all of the former and none of the latter. And so history consumed him. His experiences will be a cautionary tale for generations to come, at least for those prepared to listen. Learning from the mistakes of others helps one avoid the pitfalls. With that said, in answer to your question, I have no advice for you from history.”

“Just tell me what you think.”

“You know the saying of old women – that keeping your hook always baited will bring more fish.”