Field of Mars (The Complete Novel) (24 page)

Though the legionaries carried nothing on their backs, the baggage train was still far larger than would have been considered customary for a single legion.

“What commerce is this?” Rufinius asked Saikan when he saw wagons carting lions, leopards, and a large black cat the size of a small lioness.

“We bring to Parthia a fine Han material called silk that is as smooth as warm cream against the skin. It is a material prized above all by women who rank it alongside pearls, and it is used to make dresses that leave nothing to the imagination. This is silk bartered for gold, which in turn is used to purchase exotic animals, perfumes, and spices. These items are then transported east and will ultimately find their way into the most exclusive markets in the Han cities. This is the route of which I have spoken already, and the value of the trade that we ply is worth an empire. You and your men may well find yourselves defending this route, or attacking it, depending on which nation holds sway over this stretch or that, Han or Xiongnu.”

General Saikan’s words hardly penetrated Rufinius’s awareness, for he had seen Nonus riding a horse among the baggage wagons. He was directing a large squadron of overseers to their duties as if he were their master. And yet it was not this that had captured Rufinius’s attention so completely, nor the sight of Mena, his former slave riding in a cart as a person of importance might, but the three wagons Nonus accompanied, surrounded by Parthian archers. Each of these wagons was brightly painted in the Roman style and adorned with images of erotica – one featuring a redheaded woman, the other a black woman, and the third a woman of golden color. In each brightly colored wagon was imprisoned a handsome specimen captured from Crassus’s baggage train, pleasure whores that had previously belonged to Roman officers of high rank. One of these imprisoned women Rufinius knew well already – Lucia, her golden hair and skin impossible to miss though the covered wagon’s side opening was heavily barred.

“They are beauties, are they not?” said Saikan through Translator Bataar. “I see one in particular has caught your eye. She is spectacular. Her hair, though short, is like spun gold and her eyes burn a fierce cold blue. They are not unlike your own, though they are lit with a different fire.”

“Where are they bound, those wagons?” Rufinius asked, doing his best to keep his true interest hidden, for with the duties of running the army, he had not had time to claim Lucia as his servant. “For the markets of Han? If so, I would purchase – ”

“No. These treasures I have bought personally. They are destined for the amusement of Chanyu Zhizhi, a man of famed vigor. It is said he keeps more than a hundred concubines sore.” Saikan winked at Rufinius. “The King will be surprised and delighted by such exotica, I am sure.”

The news of Lucia’s fate brought a sharp pain to Rufinius’s chest as the dust pall cleared momentarily, allowing for a better view of the wagons. The object of his fascination turned in his direction, saw him and held up her hand on the barred opening – a disguised salutation. The sight of Lucia caused a tumble of emotions within Rufinius. He was thrilled that she was near, but also angered by the future procured for her, a product of his own failure to act.

“You know this woman already, I see,” ventured Saikan.

“We met once.”

“I am told she belonged to an important Roman officer, but Zhizhi will believe he is her first. The old women of the palace will see to the deception.”

“My Lord Saikan! It is a fine morning, is it not?” said Nonus as he rode up with several overseers, their hoods long dispensed with. “And look. It is none other than Rufinius Alexandricus, the tribune, out reviewing his troops.”

“Why are you here?” Rufinius asked, his desire to hack the man to pieces kept barely in check. He glared at Nonus. Then to Saikan he said, “I do not want this cunnus anywhere near the legionaries.”

“That is not a command you can give, Tribune,” Saikan cautioned. “This overseer came to us with a warning that Roman soldiers are deceptive. True or not, it confirmed what King Orodes had heard and so I have acquired him as my advisor.”

“When it comes to distrust, you will find this man peerless,” said Rufinius.

“Come Alexandricus, there is no need for such anxiety,” Nonus scoffed.

“Stay out of my way. You are here only because you see more opportunity with us than being sold in a slave market.”

“Of course that is true, primor. I won’t deny it. Perhaps I can be of service to you, also.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Are you sure you are capable of whipping the horse when it needs to be thrashed?”

“Explain your meaning,” Rufinius demanded.

“It might be helpful to turn your back when onerous duty is called for. You have the men’s love. Give their fear to me.”

Rufinius glanced at General Saikan, who returned the look with nothing to offer.

“Stay beyond the reach of my sword arm, Nonus. You know I mean it.” Rufinius dug his heels into the mare to get her moving. He soon caught up with the wagon on which Lucia was chained, only to have his passage blocked by several Parthian archers and a wall of horseflesh. Rufinius wheeled his mare about and rode in a different direction. And though he could feel Lucia’s eyes on him, the tribune kept his own averted, for fear she would be alerted to his distress.

Rufinius cantered along the length of the column. Lost in his own thoughts, the tribune saw not the scowl presented to him by Optio Fabianus when he passed the man marching at the back of the century. Continuing on, he arrived eventually at the tip of the spear, where Petronius could be found when the primipilus was not elsewhere inspecting the column and making himself seen by the rank and file.

Petronius and his bodyguard were marching this morning, their horses being led by groomsmen off to one side of the column and ahead of the dust being raised.

Shadowing the primipilus was a squadron of Parthian horsemen, keeping an eye on him and his retinue for reasons beyond the understanding of Rufinius. Did the Parthians believe Petronius and his men would take off into the desert? Or perhaps lead the column astray? The tribune had long since stopped wondering on the actions of his captors for they were too often a mystery.

“Hail, Tribune!” said Petronius, saluting Rufinius, the sun catching his black skin where sweat had run rivers through the dust. “’Tis a fine morning to be leading the flower of Syria to a better dawn! Today, more than any other, I smell plunder in the breeze. Every step brings us closer.”

Rufinius attempted to put dark considerations of Lucia and Nonus from his mind and returned the salute with a grin. “The gods and I dearly hope that your nose can be relied on, Petro.”

The tribune dismounted as the primipilus waved to him and a groomsman appeared and took the reins of his horse. Rufinius stood and waited for the ranks of the leading century to approach, and when the legionaries drew abreast, he joined the first line. Beside him marched Dentianus, with Appias at his shoulder, and then Libo and Carbo. The final two places in the contubernium were occupied by two cousins from Antioch who kept to themselves.

“What troubles Alexandricus?” Dentianus inquired on seeing the darkness in Rufinius’s face that the tribune had not altogether managed to chase away. “If it’s a person, I am concerned for his health.”

Try though he might, Rufinius could not remove the picture of Lucia from his mind, trapped and caged in the manner of an animal.

“It seems my own position in the ranks is balanced by Nonus, who has the ear of our Xiongnu masters,” Rufinius finally managed to say.

“Nonus, the purveyor of shade?” Dentianus asked.

“The same.”

“What is his role?” Appias wanted to know.

“Head trouble maker,” Rufinius said.

“There may be another standing in line before him,” said Carbo. “Fabianus. His fear of leaving the gods behind hasn’t gone away. There are others who believe as he does. There’s much disquiet among them.”

“I can do no more about it than I have already done,” Rufinius told him. “Inaction is the enemy. Marching is not enough and ramparts and trenches are considered unnecessary activity while we’re on friendly ground. General Saikan has given permission for rudes to be fashioned. Once swords are placed in our hands, even wooden ones, the optio’s mood will change.”

“Fabianus has taken to grumbling anew,” said Dentianus. “You know of his worriment.”

“Are we gossiping old women now?”

“I’m just telling you what I am hearing.”

Carbo agreed. “Maybe he thinks he should have been the one to receive the feather-plumed gold galea?”

“No matter what galea is on my head, this says I’m a slave,” said Rufinius curling a finger around the iron torc on his neck and giving it a tug. “No better and no worse than any man in the rank and file.”

“But you do get a horse, primor,” suggested Carbo, “Even if it is a short fat cunnus with fur that looks ravaged by moths.”

Rufinius grinned though he was in no mind to.

“The other big concern is Appias here,” said Libo.

“Me?” said Appias.

Libo ignored the historian and spoke instead to Rufinius. “He marches in a contubernium as a legionary but, of course, he is a pretender in our ranks. I guarantee you that he will wield a sword like a four-year-old. First skirmish and our historian’s a dead man.”

“Who said anything about being a legionary?” said Appias. “I fight with a stylus, not steel.”

“You’ll learn how to fight with a gladius, Appias, or you will travel in the baggage train with the women,” Rufinius said. “The man fighting beside you depends on your sword arm, as you depend on his. There will soon be rudes passed around and then, at the end of every day’s march, Libo will teach you one end of a sword from the other.”

*

Thirteen days after leaving the slave camp, the mighty Tigris was forded. Many Parthian villagers came to see the sight of thousands of western soldiers bent under the yoke of King Orodes being loaded into a flotilla of barges. Along with the Romans, the Xiongnu horsemen and their Parthian escort were soon all brought safely across.

General Saikan saw to the purchase of hard lumber for the manufacture of rudes – practice swords. And soon the last rays of the sun were met with the clatter of wooden swords, thousands of legionaries engaged in thrust, parry, and stab.

*

Nonus waited in the shadows for the guards to pass around the wineskin. He waited some more for the wine and the poppy milk mixed with it to take effect and soon the men were asleep on the sand, stretched out as if felled in battle. The night was half over and the sun would soon be climbing into the sky, chasing away darkness. Time was short. Nearby, a lion caught his scent and gave a low grunt.

Nonus approached the wagons within the ring of guards, the hood covering his head, his own breathing harsh in his ears. As Chief Overseer he had freedom of movement, but this was forbidden territory. He passed by the wagon of the Red Pleasure Whore, images painted on its side of a woman with hair the color of fire being fucked by a man from behind. Her name was Koulm, said to be from the island of Britannia. Other painted images showed her sucking and fucking in a range of athletic positions. If the woman was capable of such acts, Nonus thought, the Xiongnu king would indeed prize her as much as his wife would despise her.

A little further along he passed the wagon of Jaha, the black pleasure whore, the erotica on her wagon advertising the fact that she had breasts, vulva, and cock, which she used to good effect taking a woman while a man took her.

Though the parade of images excited him, his own cock making its presence known, Nonus gave the wagon a wide berth. A tribune, who had perished early on Crassus’s ill-fated march through the desert, had owned Jaha. A string of officers had subsequently bought her but each had died within days of the purchase and the legionaries now thought of the woman as the embodiment of ill fortune.

Venturing a little farther into the shadows, Nonus found the guards asleep and lifted the keys soundlessly from the cord around the neck of the chief among them. A minute later, he stood before the image he sought on the wagon of the golden whore. It showed her astride a man’s face as he lay on his back, her body arching in ecstasy. Another image showed her sucking a man’s cock while the fingers of her free hand probed his anus.

Nonus gulped air as he approached the steps to the wagon’s door, his heart pounding with lust and fear. The key slipped into the lock with barely a sound. Turning it released the mechanism and he removed the lock carefully, placing it on the ladder’s top rung. Lifting the latch, the door opened and out swirled air perfumed with fragrances and spices and he heard the breathing of the woman laid out on her bed.

In two steps he was upon her, a hand over her mouth, another on her breast, his cock questing for her cleft and his body pressed down on her, forcing her legs apart. The woman’s eyes shot open wide, and then wider still when he brought his face inches from her own.

“Do not cry out,” he rasped. “Fuck without a fight and I shall leave you and not come back. Make a sound and I will make your body a scabbard for a gladius of steel.”

Nonus felt the woman’s muscles relax beneath him.

“You are wise, Andica. Yes, I know your name. I also know that you favor Rufinius Alexandricus.”

Lucia shook her head.

“I take my hand from your mouth. If you care not to die, the only sound you can make is one of pleasure.” Lucia nodded and Nonus released his hold on her. “There is no need to lie about Alexandricus. I tell you now, you need a new diversion. He will soon be a dead man.” Nonus reached between her legs, tore a rent in her garments and thrust his cock between the lips of her vulva. “You are dry, but I have a remedy.” He spat on his hand, returned it between her legs and lubricated her.

“Nonus,” Lucia whispered and reached down to hold him in her hand. “The overseer of overseers. I am honored to have you inside me.” She rubbed his cock, moved her hips and gasped in his ear.

“You are shrewd enough to be generous with your body, woman,” Nonus hissed, wrapping an arm beneath her waist and lifting himself roughly inside her.

His guard down, it was only then that Lucia struck out, raking his face with her fingernails and stabbing him in the leg with an ivory comb placed beside her bed, its tines snapping off deep beneath his skin. She kicked at him and slashed out with her nails again so that, overwhelmed by her ferocity, he fell away from the cot.

Nearby, the large black leopard growled noisily at the disturbance.

Knowing he was for the moment beaten and his life depended on rapid escape, Nonus found his feet and raced to the door.

“If a word is spoken I will kill you,” he snarled before leaving.

“Return and it will be me who fucks you with a steel gladius, Overseer,” said Lucia, her limbs quaking with fear and anger the instant he closed the door.

*

On this morning, Libo woke before the sunrise, his stomach an empty yawning cave and a biting wind blowing sand in his face through a flap in the tent.

Beside him Appias groaned.

“Yes, historian, you’re right. It’s not a dream,” Libo said. “You really are marching across an eternal cock-sucking desert with a slave torc tight around your learned throat.”

“No, it’s not that. I feel like you put me in my grave twice over,” the historian complained, opening his eyes. “Yesterday’s practice with the rudes was hard and I am bruised all over.”

Leaning in through the open end of the tent, Rufinius said, “A thrust with a real sword will leave more than a bruise. Libo does you a favor. Let’s move it, legionaries.”

The men filed out of their sleeping quarters and stepped into a stiff breeze laden with grit as Libo said, “Before you learn to kill you need to learn how to stay alive, Appias. Later we will practice the parry.” He demonstrated the movements with an imaginary sword in hand.

“Ah, but if he learns to kill and kill quickly,” suggested Carbo, “does not the parry then become a useless skill never used?”

“Wise words from the greatest sword arm in the whole of his own dim mind,” Libo said playfully.

“Lick my ass,” Carbo replied, grinning as Parthian camels approached, part of the usual morning ritual on this march. “Does anyone smell pork stew with leavened bread and honey cakes for dessert, because if my nose doesn’t deceive me …”

The legionaries joined the lines forming for the service of the meal that would have to sustain them till the evening. When it was Carbo’s turn, a fellow slave handed him a battered tin bowl, ladled a limp stew of beans into it, and another slave passed him a square of the hard, tasteless Parthian biscuit. Carbo brought his face close to the bowl and breathed deep. “Ah, see? My nose never lies. Is this not a feast worth rising for?”

Rufinius was about to join the lines with the last of the men, but the arrival at a gallop of General Saikan along with Translator Bataar and others, including Nonus, prevented him.

“Tribune! Get your horse and come!” Saikan ordered with somewhat less than his usual calm demeanor.

“What has happened?” Rufinius sensed a problem. A groom hurriedly brought the mount and handed him the reins.

“Do not waste breath on words,” said Saikan.

A short while later, the riders approached an area of desert where a squadron of Parthian archers had tethered their horses for the night. Strewn about on the sand were the flyblown corpses of many young grooms and Parthian archers, crows and other carrion birds feasting on their eyes.

“What has happened here?” Rufinius asked.

“You know nothing of this?” Nonus asked.

“Why would I?”

Nonus looked at Saikan. “A question answered with a question, Lord. He scarcely denies it.”

Rufinius was pleased to see the overseer’s face torn by ragged gouges. “Do you also bed lions, Nonus?”

The general held up his hand. “Enough.”

“Why are men lying here dead?” Rufinius asked. “Is the answer known?”

“The attackers came here before sunrise, needing horses,” the general said through Bataar. “Before they could steal them, they had to kill all those who would sound the alarm.”

“Who did this?”

“Fabianus,” Nonus replied.

“Fabianus?”

“Him and a party of legionaries. One of the guards survived long enough to tell us what happened.”

“And you’re sure it was Fabianus?”

“The guard recognized him,” Nonus continued. “Fabianus chose the night with sound foresight. If they ride on the sand ridges, the wind that is with us will quickly hide the tracks of their horses. And they have a long head start.”

“A troop of archers has already left in pursuit,” Saikan revealed.

Rufinius was at a loss. “Fabianus did not share his intentions with me.”

“Yet he was once your optio,” Nonus countered.

Rufinius brought his horse alongside the overseer’s. “I believe you’re enjoying this.”

“Not a single bit … Tribune,” Nonus replied, his back to the Xiongnu and a smirk on his lips.

“Most of those killed are boys. All are slaves,” Saikan said looking down on the stiff body of a Parthian who had barely reached puberty, birds hopping about on his face. “The killing of a man’s property is a most detestable crime.”

The dead all had severe head wounds and Rufinius noted several blood-and-brain-slicked rocks strewn around, the weapons used to bludgeon life from them. “What now?”