Mists of the Miskatonic (Mist of the Miskatonic Book 1) (6 page)

“Prefect Gaius Cornelius Gallus made his wishes crystal clear: find the missing soldiers and loot these ancient ruins. An order from the Prefect is an order from Caesar himself. Turning and running now would be an act of disgrace, Augustinus. Calm yourself, lest emotions wrench dignity from soldierly duty,” the Primus ordered. “No evidence exists of our brothers’ deaths other than a sword and helmet, easily lost in a sandstorm. No evidence, that is, other than hysterical speculation.”

“Five legionnaires dead. Most slaves and auxiliaries are chancing death in the desert rather than staying to complete orders. In the face of such, the temperate decision would be to head back down the Nile to Memphis for resupply and reinforcements,” Augustinus stated resolutely. “None could fault you for that. Don’t forget the cryptic message delivered to us by the gods on that blade.”

Vitus turned and glared at the Posterior. “What the Prefect and Caesar think is relevant to command decisions. Since neither is within shouting distance, such choices and orders are left to me alone. Counsel in such matters is not welcome, Augustinus: you are third in command. You may take leave. Supply the forward camp with clean water and meet the supply caravan. To question how orders are interpreted or divine Caesar’s will is solely my charge, whether or not you believe messages from the gods.”

“Yes, Primus,” Augustinus murmured, and he turned and walked away. Lucius followed behind.

The two ascended the odd steps, crossed the smooth stone rooftops then descended the other side. Once clear of any chance that Vitus might overhear, Augustinus swore under his breath. “Whatever bedevils this place will be the death of us all,” he whispered. “The Primus’ stubborn refusal to deal with reality in this matter infuriates me. Our brothers obviously arrived here, never to be heard from again. Caution would be the best course of action. These ruins are set with dangerous snares. Such is the riddle for engineers to solve, not legionnaires.”

“Solving it will involve more death,” Lucuis said quietly.

The two walked past the ruins to where Anok Sabé still lay in the shade of a tent.  The pair stood over him. His bloodshot eyes stared out into the shimmer of the desert. The Egyptian twitched slightly as he muttered gibberish. The slave raved through chapped lips, his words switched from his native tongue to Latin in no discernible pattern.

“The body is giving out after two days in this heat even in shade, without water. His grip on this realm fails. This delirium marks the final hours before death. The mumbling and raving begins as the gods come close to touching him,” Lucius said.

Augustinus leaned close to the slave. “He still stinks.”

The two watched Anok rant for a few more minutes and tried to decipher his gibberish. Lucius looked out into the desert at where the dying man stared. “It sounds like he speaks of death watching him, but understanding is nigh impossible. So close to demise, he touches the spirit world.”

“Regurgitating words in random order is what often happens at the end of this delirium. Touching nothing other than death is his state,” Augustinus said before he walked away. “Best to focus on the task at hand.”

“Martinus is the lucky one, resting in the shade with limitless skins of cool water. The division of labor seems most unfair,” Lucius laughed. “Perhaps tomorrow, it will be his turn to cross this oven.”

Into the late afternoon and evening, the line of tired legionnaires and attending camels moved east. The heat, combined with the lack of sleep, had the soldiers on edge. Lips were taut as they moved, all of their concentration on their march. Lucius and Augustinus led the column, eyes forward as the stone spire appeared that overlooked the abandoned Egyptian village. “Thank Jupiter,” Lucius whispered, as he thought ahead to shade and cena. “This has been a most trying day.”

“At least there is nothing left to go awry,” Augustinus said drolly. “Most of the slaves have already fled and our provisions are low enough there is nothing left to fight over. Thank Minerva that resupplies are on the way here now as we speak.”

Lucius grinned, grit in his teeth. “Wine is needed to calm my troubled thoughts and prepare me for sleep,” he said. “And wash this sand from my mouth.”

As they drew nearer the small camp, the Prior could see Martinus Marius sitting against one of the stone walls.

“Martinus,” Augustinus shouted. “Martinus!”

“Napping in the sun. Life is hard here,” Lucius chuckled. “The scoundrel refuses to stir at our approach. Our day has been spent walking under the searing rays. He is napping like a Roman Senator, stuffed with grapes and wine. He forgets his station.”

They moved closer and Lucius began to feel an odd twist in the pit of his stomach. He observed the still figure.

“Lucius, some evil lurks here,” Augustinus said quietly, drew his gladius and moved forward quickly towards Martinus.

Lucius pulled his sword and pointed to the other legionnaires. “Stay with beasts and be alert to anything out of the ordinary.” He moved quickly behind the other man who sprinted towards the ruins. He could see the clouds of sand kicked up as Augustinus ran.

Martinus was plainly visible as he leaned against the wall, his face strange and dark. A few more steps allowed the discoloration to become apparent. Dried blood. The two slowed and held their swords out, alert for the unusual other than their dead comrade. As they stepped closer, Lucius could see the handle of a pugio that stuck out of the legionnaire’s neck. Tracks were left in the sand at his feet: sandal prints that led back into camp. “Dammit all,” he whispered. “Augustinus, find the two slaves left to tend camp.”

The rest of the legionnaires approached. They hobbled the camels and searched the camp. It only took a few minutes to find a pair of tracks that led away to the east. Lucius and Augustinus stood over Martinus’ corpse, long since stiff from the hot day. “This happened hours ago, most likely not long after our journey west began. After our march here, there is no way we can run the two down who did this. Even if we had a chance of catching the fiends, it would endanger our charge to keep the forward camp supplied with water. We cannot risk losing more men.”

The decision not to pursue the murderers did not sit well with the other legionnaires. They grumbled about a lack of retribution. Cena was hastily prepared and the troop buried Martinus while waiting for the meal. The soldiers said a few words around the grave on the north side of the ruins, and Lucius stuck the dead soldier’s gladius in the sand near where the head of their dead man lay. He gently set the helmet on the pommel of the sword and quietly watched as the galea swayed from side to side, as it found an eerie equilibrium. When the helmet stopped its ghostly rhythm, Lucius turned to the others. “Regardless of death, regardless of circumstance, Martinus was a loyal soldier of Rome. The gods will welcome him in the afterlife. He will see the Elysium Fields.”

The other legionnaires affirmed the statement, and then returned to the camp for cena. Dinner was loaves, salted dried fish and an ampule of wine. The circle of soldiers ate and passed around the jug in silence. They took long draughts and stared into the cook fire attended by the two slaves that remained. Augustinus noted the Egyptians’ barely contained hatred. His eyes met Lucius’ who watched, and nodded in agreement. “These two have been loyal. To lose them would further compromise our mission. Tonight, we will double the watch and stay close together for safety. We are legionnaires. We will overcome these difficulties.”

“The more watches there are, the less sleep we will have,” Hortensius Julius grumped. “This assignment will be the death of all.”

“Vitus made it clear that there is no turning back. In the Primus’ absence, we forge ahead. Desertion from the Legion would put a price on one, hunted like a dog throughout the Empire would be final days,” Lucius said. “We are here to stay…”

“Or until our blades are found buried in the sand, scripted with bloody cipher,” Hortensius interrupted. “We are dead men.”

“We are Romans!” shouted Lucius. “Our forces overcame at Actium against the odds. Evidence of our missing brothers was found, against the odds. Survival in this inhospitable place is against the odds. Now find your spine and harden to the duty that is yet to come. In a few weeks as we rest in Memphis, this will seem like a distant bad dream.”

“Or nightmare,” Hortensius mumbled.

The slaves were bound with stout leather cords to prevent their escape during the night. Once Lucius checked and rechecked the bonds, he slowly wandered over to the coals of the cook fire where Augustinus was on the first watch. The Posterior was crouched by the pit, finishing the last drops of wine from the ampule, as a second armed and armored soldier wandered the perimeter of the camp.

“Watch ends when you wake in a few hours to take the burden. Best get some sleep. Today was a long, tiring chain of calamities one after another,” Augustinus grumbled. “I fear that our assignment here has become the errand of fools.”

“Careful. The example we set is duplicated by others. Experienced legionnaires set the tenor for how others behave,” Lucius answered. “Our orders are clear. Doubt must be removed from our hearts.”

“Mayhap on the morrow these events will be understandable,” Augustinus said.

“Perhaps,” Lucius said before he quietly retired to his tent. The dreams this night of were not the distant waters of the cool Nile but enclosed spaces and the sounds of angry winds.

Lucius and Augustinus stood over the bodies of the bound slaves. Huge cuts across their throats had killed the pair. Their blood soaked into the sands of the desert. The legionnaires had gathered around the bodies quietly after they were discovered. “When the bastard is discovered who put pugio to throat of our remaining slaves, they will feel the sting of the whip,” Lucius seethed. “This makes our mission even harder. Does the miscreant wish to confess now, or wait until the mystery is discovered?”

The eight legionnaires stood silently. Eyes shifted warily from soldier to soldier. “All right then,” Augustinus said. “Primus awaits shipment of clean water. Let’s get moving and see to tasks.”

“Shame these vanished primitives had not engineered aqueducts instead of towering tombs,” Hortensius said quietly.

The legionnaires buried the Egyptians in an unmarked grave on the east side of the ruined village. While two soldiers prepared jentaculum, the rest over-loaded the camels with clean water drawn from the well. The work was done and the first meal taken in silence while the Romans cast doubtful glances at one another. By mid-morning, the caravan once again forged westward to the outpost of the long forgotten city across burnt sands.

By early afternoon the legionnaires were within sight of the ancient ruins. Upon Lucius’ approached all seemed normal at first glance. As they marched closer he realized no legionnaires could be seen, nor could any camels be spotted. His sweaty hand touched the pommel of his gladius and he pulled the blade from its sheath. “Something is wrong,” he said.

“We should see our brothers by now,” Augustinus said. The rest of the legionnaires drew their swords. Two stayed with the camels and the supplies of water. The others advanced on the tents. The soldiers split into two groups. Lucius went with Hortensius and another up the small steps of the outpost. The other four skirted east around the structures.

From the top of the cyclopean stone buildings, Lucius could see down into the partially excavated courtyard. Several bodies of legionnaires were scattered on the sands in front of the trapped triangular stone marker that had killed two legionnaires the day earlier. Dark stains marked the grit where they had bled out. “Jupiter help us,” Lucius whispered. He then led his two comrades down the misshapen stairs to the pit where the bodies lay. Once inside the courtyard, an open space where once a stone wall had stood indicated Vitus and his men had found an egress into the forgotten ruins.

“Lucius, look at this,” Augustinus said quietly. He held up a shiny shiv of silver metal pulled from the neck of a dead Egyptian. Lucius reached out and took the slim blade in his fingers.

“Craftsmanship unknown to me,” Lucius whispered. The thin blade was half again as long as a man’s fist. It was weighted heavy on the blade end with a tiny thin handle too small to wield in hand-to-hand combat. “It is similar to plumbatae. It appears to be the method of destruction of these men.”

“The combatants threw these darts at our comrades like we throw plumbatae before pressing flesh with swords. They are not dissimilar in size and weight,” Augustinus said angrily. “This metal is unknown. Not Berber.”

“Tracks lead from the opening in the wall to this pit where our comrades met their end,” Hortensius said and pointed to the sand. “These marks indicate where bodies were dragged.”

Lucius turned and noticed another scarlet smear on the stone door jamb. It was smaller than a man’s hand: child sized, but the four fingers were fatter and shorter than they should have been. It was clearly a bloody handprint, left by an unknown fiend. Maybe some misshapen dwarf’s hand or a devil. He scratched at the dried smear: the blood flaked and fell. “This happened some time ago. Maybe during the night or early this morning,” he said, and then looked into the darkness. “Answers to any riddles are inside this edifice.”

“Whoever is responsible for these deaths has withdrawn to their warren beneath the hot sands. Leave them be, lest we also meet our deaths in this scorching hell,” Hortensius said. “Retreat appears to be best option.”