Field of Mars (The Complete Novel) (28 page)

This day arrived like any other, the sun arriving unaccompanied by cloud on a horizon so broad it seemed not to be flat but to have a curve on it, an impression as deceiving as the distant pools of false silver.

The legion marched ever onward, as it had marched every day for what seemed an eternity. But in the mind of Rufinius, and on this day more than others, the rancor the tribune felt at being kept from Lucia festered until action of any kind seemed his only release.

“Dentianus,” Rufinius called out as he rode toward the men marching in front of the first century.

“Primor!” Dentianus replied, saluting.

“Find me a cornicen.” Rufinius dismounted, held his horse by the reins and watched the legion pass by.

“Primor!” Dentianus snapped, and then ran back through the lines, returning shortly after with a legionary properly outfitted and a large circular, highly polished brass cornu under his arm. The young man came to attention in Rufinius’s presence so rigidly he trembled.

“Stand easy, cornicen,” Rufinius told him and the man relaxed only slightly. “Sound the order to form up in cohorts.” The tribune reclaimed his saddle.

“Primor. Form up,” the cornicen said. Nervous, he placed his lips on the instrument and blew only air. He begged forgiveness, licked his lips and tried anew. This time the note came out clear and piercing and other cornicens down the line passed the order throughout the army. A sound like mild thunder rolled through the air as 5,000 legionaries responded, running to claim their rightful places.

The dust obscuring his vision, Rufinius pushed down on the saddle to raise himself up in the hope of gaining a better view of the formations assembling on the plain. It helped little.

“Walk with me, cornicen,” said Rufinius, taking his seat once again.

“Yes, primor.”

“What is your name?”

“Magnus Nankervis.”

“Where are you from?”

“Antioch, primor.”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

Rufinius believed him to be younger still, his dark suntanned face still boyish and his arms yet to develop the muscles of manhood.

“Why did you join the legions of Crassus?”

“As a trainee glass blower I wasn’t seeing much excitement.”

“What think you about the army now?”

“May I speak honestly?”

“There is no other way, cornicen.”

“Excitement is overrated, primor.”

Rufinius grinned at the young man. “Now that I have experienced the alternative, I would have a dull life too.” Away in the distant haze he spied General Saikan stopping to drink from a water camel. The tribune weighed the stratagem in his mind. “Can you ride, Magnus Nankervis?”

“Yes, primor. When I was young, I – ”

“Go get yourself an animal from the remounts, on my authority, then report back to me. Hurry.” Dismissing the cornicen, Rufinius cast around and saw the man he hoped to see. “Appias!” he called out and gestured to the man.

The historian moved his mount alongside Rufinius.

“Primor?”

“Round up my staff and the primipilus.”

Later, a group of officers clustered around their tribune in a mounted semicircle, hidden by the ever-present dust from the view of General Saikan and his retinue.

“First Cohort only,” Rufinius said, recapping the maneuvers. “And remember, wait for the final command: 
execute
.”

The tribune’s staff nodded as one.

“Questions?”

“No,” voiced several.

“I know the what, but I don’t know the why,” said Appias.

“To make an impression,” Rufinius replied. “Now go.”

*

Around an hour later, Rufinius spied General Saikan and his escort cantering alongside the First Cohort and smiled privately. Saikan couldn’t have been more keenly placed, thought Rufinius, for what he had in mind. “Magnus, call troops to halt.”

“Primor. Troops to halt!” The cornicen brought the instrument to his lips and blew the notes that were quickly echoed down the lines.

Waiting till he could see the standards of signifers raised high in the air, Rufinius snapped, “Execute.”

“Execute!” repeated Magnus.

At the first note, the standards dropped in unison and over 5,000 men, women, transports, and animals, stretched over four miles, stopped in their tracks as if frozen in place. Dust swirled around the column and the desert fell silent.

*

The sudden, unexpected cessation of the column’s movement and the eerie silence accompanying it caused the horses carrying Saikan and his entourage to shy and buck. The general reacted, wheeling his mount around, trying to control it. Bringing it finally to rein, he snapped, “Who ordered this halt?”

It was clear from the blank faces around him that none of his officers knew more than he. Saikan squinted into the dust at the immobile column. What was this about? His gut told him it did not bode well so he drew up his officers and bodyguard in a line abreast facing the column, their horses fetlock to fetlock and bows held at the ready.

‘What do we do, lord?” inquired Saikan’s chief bodyguard, utterly perplexed.

The general’s mind raced through the options. Against 5,000 legionaries, there was only one thing they could do. “Nothing.”

*

Rufinius waited until the dust pall had cleared the centuries and baggage train before issuing the next order. “Hostiles to the right,” he said, voice steady. “Engage.”

Magnus repeated the order before sounding his instrument.

Upon hearing it, Primus Pilus Petronius wheeled around his mount to face the column. With a bellowing voice that could possibly be heard in his hometown of Leptis Magna, the officer called out, “Prepare to engage …!”

At the front of the column, the five signifers raised their standards to the sky.

“RIGHT – FACE!”

Five standards dropped. At the sight of this, the 800 legionaries of the First turned on the balls of their left feet and then stamped the desert sands with their right in a one-two beat that was crisp and perfect.

Petronius rode to the head of the Third Century, his back to the Xiongnus. Five hundred double paces away, their horses stood as if rooted to the ground like trees. The cohort’s five signifers moved out and assumed positions centered in front of their centuries.

Watching this, Rufinius recalled the thrill of seeing his own father on parade in Alexandria and noted that Saikan and his men had held their positions in a helpful skirmish line abreast the First. The Xiongnu could just have easily run away in the face of this overwhelming show of force that they must know was aimed at them, and Rufinius admired their courage.

Each century’s optio and tesserarius moved down the ranks and files checking alignments, shouting at the men, correcting any imperfections. Petronius’s own optio marched forward and took his leader’s place in the First Century and only then did the primipilus give his next command. “SHIELDS!”

As one, 800 scutum covers were removed and dropped into the spaces between the lines. The breeze carried away the dust. Absolute quiet.

Petronius scanned his five double-sized centuries for deficiencies and found none. Shaking his head, he murmured privately, “Slave army?” These men were Roman legionaries! He secured his staff in his belt. “SHIELDS FRONT!”

The standards were raised and dropped and 800 scuta snapped to the ready.

“DRAW SWORDS!”

The men gripped the hilts of their gladii with their right hands and the rasp of 800 weapons leaving sheathes and coming to the vertical sliced through the silence.

*

Facing this exhibition across the sand, Saikan was both thrilled by the precision and intimidated by it.

“Lord …!” exclaimed one of his bodyguards nervously, reaching for an arrow as his mount reared skyward with unease.

All of his men followed the guard’s example and plucked arrows from quivers and notched them to bowstrings.

“You will
not
damage the Chanyu’s property!” Saikan commanded them.

*

Observing Rufinius from a position not far away, Appias did not like the way this was playing out. Suddenly, he understood. The tribune wanted to make a point to Saikan, but the manner of it could easily and quickly get out of hand. What if one of the Xiongnu was unnerved enough to fire an arrow at Rufinius? History was replete with instances such as this that ended in disaster. He whipped his horse with the reins and got it galloping towards his commander.

*

“GLADII – THRUST ATTACK HIGH!” Petronius bellowed, and 800 swords came to the horizontal against the upper edge of scuta; menacing; lethal.

“ADVANCE AT THE WALK – MARCH!”

By the left, feet moved forward the regulation thirty inches and with every step the legionaries’ gladius thumped against his shield, the
tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump
of 800 men marching and beating their swords in unison deeply satisfying.

Petronius moved to his place with the First Century, quickly vacated by his optio who took the primipilus’s mount and led it to the rear through the gap between centuries. There the officer sent it on its way with a slap on the rump before resuming his own proper place in the lines.

The signifers, standards grounded, marked time as the centuries advanced around them, and picked up the pace when the formations passed and they came abreast of the optiones.

*

With this poetry in motion, Rufinius surveyed the field, ready to choose his moment. Without taking his eyes from the scene, he addressed Magnus, “When I say
‘now’
, Cornicen, signal ‘Advance at the double’. When the standards go up, signal ‘Execute’. No need to repeat my orders.”

“Yes, Tribune,” Magnus replied.

Appias reined in sharply next to Rufinius, galling his animal. “Rufinius! What are you doing?”

The tribune ignored him and instead snapped, “Now!”

Magnus blew sharply. The standards were raised and Magnus completed his instructions. The legionaries immediately stepped into double time, shields raised and swords held high against them, heading straight for General Saikan and his officers.

*

The horses were panicked and uncontrollable. Saikan leaped from his and it bolted, whinnying and bucking into the open desert. Having no choice, lest they be considered cowards, the general’s men followed his lead, dismounting and releasing their terrified animals. With their feet now in contact with the ground, the Xiongnu felt it pulsing with the rhythm struck by the Romans.

It was clear to Saikan that the beast thundering toward them would impale him and his men and then trample their bodies underfoot. And though his heart beat with fear, he showed none of it in his face. If he was to die here on this plain, bitten by the hand he had fed, so be it.

*

Cornicen Magnus could see as plainly as anyone that if the legionaries were not stopped, the Xiongnu general and all the men gathered with him would perish. He fingered his instrument, palms sweating, and glanced at the tribune. Still the legionaries charged.

Beside him, Appias beseeched, “Tribune! Don’t!”

But Rufinius would not be moved until he was ready. Only when slaughter seemed certain did he bellow, “HALT!”

Magnus blew the cornu immediately and sharply, followed by the call to execute. And the centuries stopped as one, with not the slightest hesitation. The dust kicked up in their double-time charge rolled over them, and then rolled over the Xiongnu, standing unmoved in the path of the cohort.

Rufinius, pleased, said to Magnus: “March in the front with me from now on, Cornicen.”

Young Magnus, with anxiety still thumping hard in his chest, watched the tribune thrash his horse at a gallop toward the Xiongnu, while Camp Prefect Appias Cominius rode in pursuit.

*

The tips of 800 lethal gladii were thrust forward in the dust cloud, at least 30 of them pointed directly at the faces of General Saikan and his men. The front line of legionaries had stopped barely two paces away from inflicting certain death on them. Behind these swords, Saikan noted that the Romans breathed easily considering their exertions in the heat and dust. The desert march had hardened them.

On either side of the general stood men doing their best to appear serene in the face of such overwhelming intimidation, their bows drawn and their arms visibly shaking. Somewhere a bowstring twanged but the arrow was snatched harmlessly from its flight by an armored shield. Saikan’s hand rose up in a silent, “Hold.”

Appias left far behind, Rufinius reined in his animal and dismounted. “Primus Pilus, the First Cohort will stand down!” he shouted.

Petronius responded with the cry, “BY CENTURIES … SHEATH … SWORDS!” The order was picked up by the nearest centurions and repeated down the line and 800 swords
snicked
into their scabbards, 160 at a time.

Rufinius raised his hand in salute to the primipilus and the men of the First. Then he turned to Saikan and said, “General, your army is ready.”

His face a mask, Saikan replied, “Yes, Tribune, but whose orders will they follow? Yours or mine?”

General Saikan took to leading the column, the march continuing more or less peacefully through Sogdiana. Attacks on the legionaries and baggage by day decreased, with the Xiongnu archers hunting the brigands more aggressively than was the Parthian habit. And the Romans secured the nights after Rufinius won the argument with Saikan to build defensive encampments at the close of each day’s march, the job given to Camp Prefect Appias and his engineers. In this period of relative ease, the general and Rufinius spent much time in each other’s company, both men able to converse in a mixture of Latin and Xiongnu. Each came to know the other’s mind on a range of issues, most notably military tactics, and the gods they feared. But there was one issue uppermost concerning Rufinius that remained unspoken. It was this that he brought to the general’s tent one particular night after the baggage train was safely retained within the encampment’s earthworks.

“I can offer you horse wine, tribune,” said Saikan, rising from a seating position on the ground when Rufinius was admitted to his tent.

“I am developing a taste for it, as are many legionaries,” Rufinius informed him. “Your men have a trade in it.”

“What do they barter in exchange, if I may ask?”

“Leather goods, pottery, trinkets.”

“It is better that our two nations exchange life’s necessities than arrows and javelins.”

Rufinius nodded. A massed army of mounted Xiongnu archers with their deadly and sure aim would be a formidable force indeed.

Saikan poured the tribune a cup of wine and handed it to him. “I admire the earthworks dug by your men in the last hours of daylight. It has me wondering what could they build in a week.”

“Rome,” answered Rufinius, sipping the sweet wine.

“An army that builds after it fights, to secure the land it has won. That is a revelation,” observed Saikan. “The camps your large armies erect must be the size of towns.”

“Indeed they are, General.”

“And what’s to stop the enemy occupying them when you leave?”

“Once vacated, and for that very reason, they are often either pulled to the ground or burned, unless they must by necessity house a retreating force.”

“It seems a lot of effort for one night’s sleep.”

“Well rested men fight harder.”

Saikan couldn’t dispute that.

“I have a question about the terms of the agreement between the legionaries and your King,” said Rufinius, changing direction.

The general examined Rufinius’s face. “Is this the question that burns to be asked? For some time now I have sensed your distraction.”

Rufinius was surprised. Were his thoughts plain? “It has been on my mind … With the disbursement of weapons among the men, your legionaries become more of an army than an army of slaves.”

“That is true.”

“Then, as we are armed and performing the duties intended for us, I would ask for part payment,” said Rufinius, drinking the last of the wine and setting the cup on the ground.

“I cannot offer you land or freedom or drachma or – ”

“I would take a wife,” Rufinius almost blurted.

“While we yet march?”

The tribune nodded.

Saikan considered the request. “Certainly what you ask for is part of the agreement, though the legion has done nothing to earn payment yet. Nevertheless, I see no reason to delay if you are keen to marry. If it’s permission you seek, you have it. Do I know her name?”

“The woman you know as the golden whore. It is she I would take to wife.”

Though outwardly calm, Saikan’s mind raced at the implications of the request. “Any woman other than the golden whore and you would have not just my permission but my blessing. She, however, is a present for the Chanyu.”

“What the King hasn’t received, he doesn’t own.”

“There is the problem. Riders have gone forward with an inventory. Chanyu Zhizhi awaits his prize. The answer is no, Alexandricus. It is not possible.”

“The road to Xiongnu is long and perilous, General. Things happen.”

“Are you threatening me, Tribune?” Saikan got to his feet, as did Rufinius.

“That is not my meaning. I refer to the woman. Who is to say that some crisis did not befall
her
?”

“Do you think I would place your desires – a slave’s – above those of my King’s?” The more Saikan considered it, the more it brought anger rising into his throat. “You ask too much, Alexandricus. As I said, the answer is no.”

“I don’t recall any caveats or conditions placed on who we could or couldn’t take to wife, General,” said Rufinius speaking bluntly and with considerable enmity, realizing again the crushing limitations of being owned by another. “Many will wonder, when the time comes for their payment, whether a deal honestly struck will be honored.” He turned and walked out.

Watching the departing shadow stride into the night, General Saikan knew he had not heard the last word on the tribune’s anger and resentment.

*

After several days’ journey across a landscape that held no feature or color save for a drab pale brown, a short line of greenery appeared on the horizon. As the hours passed, the line became stands of shrubs and some trees, marking the presence of a large oasis.

Though only midday, General Saikan called a halt and the legionaries set to building fortifications for the encampment. Soon enclosed within Roman trench and rampart was the oasis in its entirety – a cool spring feeding a sprawling pond lined with reed beds full of birds, and a natural orchard of palms with dates in abundance.

For three days the legion remained in camp, replenishing its water supplies and refreshing the men’s spirits, their diet augmented by fruit and fowl.

On the third night, Rufinius returned to the contubernium’s area following an inspection of the defenses. Dentianus, Libo, and Carbo were out scouting for opportunities with baggage whores, leaving Appias alone with his thoughts.

“Put weapons in hand and spirits lift,” Rufinius commented to Appias as he walked into the light that danced from a small cooking fire.

“Earthworks and roast duck have also had a positive effect,” Appias replied, offering Rufinius some dates.

“Walls for the camp would add further reassurance, if there was suitable material at hand. And I would return to palisade sticks and baggage poles too, if lumber was available.”

“Careful, you’ll turn this slave army into a real Roman one.”

“If I had my way …” the tribune agreed and unhitched the shoulder strap from which hung his sword. “Carrying the gladius on my left side as a senior officer must – I am still not familiar with it.”

“I dare say as tribune you could wear it on your head if you so wished,” the prefect replied, his sword also worn on the left hip.

“The army does things for a reason, Appias.”

“What’s the reason for wearing the sword on this side or that?”

“I have no idea, though drawing a gladius with your right hand from a scabbard on your left hip does feel more natural.”

“Then why doesn’t every legionary, whether centurion or officer, wear his sword on the left if this is better practice?”

“Because senior officers do not carry and throw javelins.”

“As I wield a javelin and sword with my right hand both, how is carrying the sword on my left in the least helpful?”

“How many times daily are you told – ‘Appias, you think too much!’”

“I lose count, and yet my fellow legionaries never grow tired of repeating it.”

“Some observations never wear out, my friend.” Rufinius grinned as he sat on the ground by the cooking fire. “What smells good?”

Appias handed him a bowl and spoon. “Stew. Rabbit and fox. Thank Carbo for it. He has become adept with the Parthian bow. The fox was chasing the rabbit. At the moment she caught up with it and killed it, Carbo shot the fox. I’m sure there’s an omen in that.”

“I’ll ask Mena,” said Rufinius.

“You remind me … No one has seen her around here for a while.”

Both men knew which Mena Appias referred to.

Rufinius looked at Appias. “I gave my word.”

“You did … So what will you do? The men know of your feelings for the golden woman. You have a different countenance these days. Is something amiss?”

“No, nothing.”

“Say what needs saying, primor. You’re among friends.”

“You ask what I will do about her. You will know only if opportunity presents, and that will be up to the gods.”

“Might it be something like the resolution that came along for Nonus?”

Rufinius looked at Appias and spooned some stew into his mouth. “This is good,” he said, changing the subject. He was hungry. He finished it quickly and set the bowl aside. “Tell me – did your Ptolemy venture through Sogdiana?”

“No.”

“Do you know anything about this land?”

“Only what I’ve learned from the Xiongnu.

“Then tell me,” Rufinius insisted.

“The Sogdians share Parthian gods and look like Parthians, but have their own independence. For many years they paid tribute to the Xiongnu. But those days are over. The Sogdians believe they own this trading route they call the silk road. The two nations of Sogdiana and Xiongnu are not technically at war, but the survival of both is linked to ownership of the route, so a confrontation looms.”

Rufinius picked at a collection of dates and ate one. “What is the mind of our masters, the Xiongnu? You spend much time with Translator Bataar and I know you ask questions of their politics.”

Appias drew a deep breath and tried to explain the complicated situation the Xiongnu found themselves in. “I fear it is a nest of snakes. Not long ago, the Xiongnu were powerful and feared by the Han. For generations Han Emperors have been building a wall that stretches for more than a thousand miles, to keep the Xiongnu out. Can you believe it?”

“A thousand miles …” Rufinius was awed.

“But today,” Appias continued, “the Xiongnu are fractured and far from united. Where once they were a single people and ruled their northern lands fearing no one, disunity has arisen. We will arrive in the midst of civil war. The lineage of the Chanyu has come under dispute. Whether by greed or some family dispute, three Chanyus, all brothers, claimed the right to rule – Chanyu Runzhen, Chanyu Huhanye and Chanyu Zhizhi. They all sought peaceful relations with the Han Emperor Xuan, who came to terms with the Xiongnu and then considerably reduced his army along the border.”

“And yet it came undone, for why purchase an army of legionaries otherwise?” Rufinius said, handing Appias a chunk of salted bread.

“Last year, Chanyu Zhizhi fought and killed Runzhen for the throne,” Appias said, “and named himself the Dragon King – the rightful king. Zhizhi then offered battle to Huhanye, his younger brother, in an attempt to reunify his nation. But Huhanye ran to the Han court, seeking vassal status and the protection that comes with it.”

“So now Chanyu Zhizhi – General Saikan’s king – faces annihilation from the Han Emperor?” Rufinius asked.

Appias nodded, his forehead lined with concern. “Yes, you see the heart of it. What’s more, over the years the Han have grown vastly superior to the Xiongnu in all terms that count: land, wealth and men. The only strategy left to Zhizhi to remain in power is the one he currently pursues, the one you already know of: to form alliances here and there, only to break them when needed. This has kept the nations guessing around the Xiongnu land ruled by Zhizhi, but the fear is that the Emperor Xuan and his generals are growing weary of this dance and will strike.”

“How many soldiers can the Han put in the field?”

“In times of peril, I’m told up to three hundred thousand.”

Rufinius whistled quietly. “When do the Xiongnu think this battle will happen?”

“Who can say?”

“What of General Saikan? His status is tied to Zhizhi’s,” Rufinius said. “How can we be sure his contract with us will be honored?”

“It is hard to say. The Xiongnu society is complicated. The Chanyu is the supreme ruler. Beneath him are men called the Wise Kings of the Left and Right. The Left King is the heir and the Right King is second in line to the throne. Beneath each of these are other pairs of officials called “Guli”. That’s what I think Saikan is.”

“Guli Saikan.” Rufinius finished eating and wiped his mouth with the top of his forearm.

“Perhaps in Rome he would be called a senator,” said Appias. “Beneath Saikan are various army commanders and then officers who lead men, from a thousand down to ten.”

The tribune breathed deep. “With three Chanyus, there would be many more Kings of the Left and Right.”

“Exactly. The question for us now is whether Saikan is correctly aligned. If Zhizhi falls, Saikan’s word to you and us will be meaningless.”

“Then we must do our best to see that he doesn’t fall.”

The clatter of horses drawing near caused Rufinius to reach for his gladius and rise to his feet.

It was General Saikan arriving, as if he had heard his name being called aloud. He had a spare horse in tow, so something was in the air.

“Alexandricus! Come!” The general untied the horse’s reins from his saddle and held them out to Rufinius. “There is something you must see.”

Rufinius nodded to Appias and then mounted up. “We have not spoken in a while,” said Saikan as they rode.

“The dominus has not asked his slave to speak,” replied Rufinius without a hint of irony.

The general regarded the Roman riding beside him. Was the damage done to their relationship irreparable? All this for a woman, and a whore at that?

The party rode to a towering rock outcrop near the edge of the encampment. Saikan slipped off his horse and, with Rufinius in his wake, climbed easily to the peak overlooking the desert plain. Gathered here already were several of the general’s senior officers. All were gazing to the south and east where a faint orange light glowed below the horizon.

“Camp fires … An army comes,” said Rufinius.

“No,” Saikan replied. “That is no army.”