Field of Mars (The Complete Novel) (32 page)

Rufinius dropped to his knees beside the historian to check for a beating heart, but there was none that he could detect. The arrow had passed clean through the camp prefect’s right breast and, unhindered by body armor or shield, had penetrated beyond his back.

Fashioning a litter from palisade sticks and skins, Rufinius and three other men hurried Appias to a wagon, which the tribune commandeered, thrashing the camel all the way.

*

Mena walked from her tent as Rufinius approached on the wagon. Upon seeing the driver, she called out, “Tribune, what battle rages? We have seen fires.”

“If you have a physician in your midst, call on him now!” Rufinius brought the camel to a halt, jumped down from the wagon and ran to Appias laid out in its tray.

“You are covered in blackness and you stink of pitch.”

“Mena, for Bellona’s sake put a cock in it! Appias has taken an arrow. He breathes not!”

Mena immediately grabbed a passing urchin and sent the boy on his way with a message while men gathered and lifted the injured legionary from the wagon and carried him to the augury’s tent. A table was roughly cleared of various items of animal skin, bones, and plants. The historian was placed on it, lying on his side, the bloodied arrowhead on the end of the lethal shaft protruding from his back, clearly visible in the candlelight.

A small man whose years were no more than Rufinius’s, a member of the Han, came into the tent, along with an aide carrying a compact trunk in front of her. They went immediately to the injured Roman.

“Hey …!” Rufinius exclaimed, taking a step toward him.

“His name is Wu,” said Mena, blocking the tribune’s attempt to stop the Han’s entry. “Our knowledge of medicine is juvenile compared to his.”

“We’re his enemy. Why would he help?”

“The apothecary’s foe is sickness and injury. I am told he would attend Han, Xiongnu, or Roman equally. Now grow up or leave.”

Rufinius took the admonishment and stood back as the assistant opened her trunk, removed a small oval of polished metal and handed it to Wu, who placed it under Appias’s nose. After several seconds, Wu examined the metal disk against a candle and let out a loud exclamation. He held the oval toward Mena so that she could see what delighted him so.

“What!” Rufinius demanded.

“There is mist on the instrument. Appias breathes,” Mena answered.

A barrage of instructions followed from Wu in the same strange tongue spoken by the captured Han officers. The assistant passed him a small cutting blade and a roll of coarse fabric. The physician gestured at Rufinius to step forward and, after a moment’s hesitation, the tribune did as he was bid. When he came close enough, Wu grabbed one of Rufinius’s wrists in his own small but powerful hand and brought it gently toward the shaft of the arrow protruding from Appias’s back. Through gestures, Wu made it known that he wanted Rufinius to grip the shaft firmly so that it would not move around in Appias’s flesh. The physician disappeared behind the camp prefect’s shoulder and Rufinius felt the vibration of the arrowhead being sawn off.

Wu gestured Rufinius aside, carefully extracted the shaft from Appias’s chest and then held the arrowhead up to the light, muttering disappointment.

“The Sogdians dip their arrows in rotting horse shit,” Mena said. “Your prefect friend lives, but his hold on this world might fade.”

The physician held his ear to the hole in Appias’s chest and seemed pleased. It bled profusely but there were no pink bubbles. The lungs had not been pierced.

Lucia raced into the tent. “Rufinius? Is it Rufinius?”

“I’m here,” he said.

“They told me it was you who had been delivered here, mortally wounded.”

“No … It’s Appias.”

Lucia joined her husband and looked down on the man lying on his side. Wu carefully pulled the arrow shaft from Appias’s chest, drawing it out the way it went in. He then fashioned a pad from the coarse fabric, placed it against the wound and rolled Appias gently so that the pad was kept in place against his back by his own weight.

The assistant moved the trunk to the table, placing it beside Appias, and Wu rummaged through it. He suddenly stopped when he realized that the area around him was full of people. He glared at Rufinius, shouted at him, gesturing at him to leave. He then did the same to Lucia and Mena and several others who had come to watch the Han doctor at work.

Rufinius allowed himself to be expelled. There was nothing more he could do for Appias now, except to try and guarantee his comrade’s continued survival. “You trust in this man’s witchcraft?” he asked Mena.

“Is it witchcraft? I don’t know. I have seen him at work on others. He has especial knowledge beyond anything I have seen. He utilizes roots, leaves, powdered bone, as well as certain rocks, which he crushes, and he uses even the mold that grows on horse milk and cheese.”

“Do you speak his language?”

“No, but I can understand him.”

“Can he understand you?” Rufinius asked her.

“I believe so.”

“Then you tell him that if Appias dies, so does he.”

Mena flared so that even the empty hole in her eye socket seemed angry. “Do not act the tyrant here, Rufinius Alexandricus. It doesn’t sit well on you. Wu is your companion’s best chance at life. If you so much as look sharply at this apothecary, I shall have to make you pay with all manner of curses such to ensure the afterlife, when you finally reach it, is most unpleasant for you. Now, if you would do us the honor of leaving.”

Rufinius stared at Mena and knew when he was beaten. “All the same …” he told her and retreated hastily from the tent.

*

“Appias?” said Libo. “How did it happen?”

Rufinius stood in the middle of his contubernium, which had gathered around. “A raid. The Sogdians attacked the camp. They set fire to burning hogs and drove them at us.”

Carbo seemed both pleased and astonished. “Burning hogs? I could fight that much harder with the smell of bacon in the air!”

“It was less than agreeable, I assure you.”

“Where did the arrow strike him?” Dentianus asked.

“In the chest. He was shot clean through and the wound does not suck. The barb and shaft were also easily removed.”

“Well that’s something.”

“Yes, but the arrow was poisoned,” Rufinius revealed.

Carbo frowned, hands on hips. “Oh … will he live?”

“I don’t know. That’s up to the gods and the medicine of the Han.”

“There is a Han doctor attending him?” Dentianus was surprised.

“He is the best, I am told.”

“When have you heard of anyone attended by a physician who claims to be the worst?” Carbo said.

Rufinius shook his head. “He will live.”

“Appias is unlucky,” Libo pointed out. “He’s not really a legionary and yet he is the one who is attacked.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Come all this way only to be struck down in a raid by a band of hog farmers …”

“I saw him fight in the battle against the Han,” Dentianus offered. “Appias is as much legionary as you or me.”

“Of course he is,” Libo corrected himself. “Unlucky cunnus.”

“He will journey in the baggage train with Mena. Lucia will also attend him,” said Rufinius, “and report on his condition.”

The sound of approaching horses signaled the arrival of General Saikan. The horse came to a hurried stop in a cloud of dust and the general slid from his saddle. “Alexandricus! It is not you who lies dying! I heard a report that you had taken an arrow.”

“No, Appias. Wounded in the chest.”

“That is unfortunate. He is your camp prefect.”

“A Han doctor attends him. Mena swears by him.”

“The Han are indeed skilled at medicine. If at all possible, he will be returned to you and your men. What can you tell me of the raid? I heard you were there?”

“It was small, but purposeful, led by men with nothing to lose.”

“I have toured the defenses that were breached. Many of your legionaries feast on the forequarters of hog, but many were also burned or shot with arrows.”

“The raiding party was two hundred or more,” said Rufinius. “They attacked us in a place well chosen.”

“Tomorrow we cross the Amu Darya. On the far side of the river lie the Xiongnu lands and this skirmishing will end.”

Rufinius was pleased that progress had been made. “What awaits us there?”

“To begin with, a friendly escort of five hundred horse archers. The terrain then rises sharply thereafter and we will skirt a series of mountain ranges, keeping to the foothills. It will be cold and the snows are due, but your men are used to privation and will have little trouble.”

“So the desert finally ends.”

“Yes, I am pleased to say that it does.”

“And how far beyond the river lies the palace of your Chanyu Zhizhi?”

“Our lands are vast but, fortunately, our King resides in the west at this time. We will be there in less than the passage of one moon.”

*

Long before the army reached the river, the dust gave way to the greenery of marshes, which were full of ticks. Care had to be taken when brushing past trees or shrubs, for the biting insects were known to be poisonous.

A narrow band of farmland came next, which the legions denuded of many beets and cabbages. Xiongnu horsemen had scouted the river before the arrival of the legions and found a simple crossing made of sturdy wood beams near a hamlet charging a toll for its use. On the far side of the sandy banks, where the river came to a narrow pinch point, waited a large number of armed Xiongnu horsemen.

*

Riding with Rufinius beside him, General Saikan approached a small party of Xiongnu horsemen waiting at the head of the crossing. “Pass the order for the centuries to halt,” he told Rufinius. “Those banners you see showing a red dragon’s head on white? They are the Chanyu’s men, his personal guard. I am to go forward and speak with them.”

Rufinius watched on as General Saikan rode with his retinue and the colorful banners of his house, along with numerous others captured from the Han caravan. On the far side of the river, a larger squadron of riders carrying the dragon banners rode out from the bank and onto the bridge to join the horsemen already waiting there. Once on the bridge, Saikan dismounted and walked forward to the center of the span. A single rider representing the Chanyu came forward, but this man stayed in his saddle, securing the high ground.

Rufinius could see clearly that the meeting of the two men was not a joyous occasion. The Chanyu’s envoy appeared to be shouting at Saikan and, indeed, the wind carried fragments of his angry displeasure to the tribune’s ears.

After several minutes of this unhappy assemblage, General Saikan returned to his horse and regained his saddle. He rode at a gallop back to the legion’s front lines. Saikan reined in his horse beside Rufinius and gazed back across the river at the squadrons of horse riders drawn up in formation, facing the Roman lines. Rufinius examined the general’s face but could see no hint of consternation, despite the embarrassing rebuke witnessed by the army and Saikan’s own close followers. For what seemed an uncomfortable eternity, the general sat on his horse beside Rufinius, saying nothing. Rufinius himself had learned enough of the general’s manner to know that asking questions would not lead to answers. Saikan would speak only when ready.

Eventually he moved in his saddle and said, “Much displeasure comes with the Chanyu’s men.”

Rufinius looked at the general and waited for him to explain.

“Mena read the bones correctly.”

“Mena?” Rufinius answered, no less perplexed. “How is she involved?”

“You doubt her; I do not. She warned me of this … In the time I have journeyed to Parthia and back, Chanyu Zhizhi has been busy attempting to secure the borders of Xiongnu ahead of his younger brother, Chanyu Huhanye. The Dragon King hoped to sign a new treaty with Emperor Xian of Han and, in so doing, relegate his brother to a lesser status. The treaty would guarantee the sovereignty of Xiongnu and Chanyu Zhizhi’s place as first among equals in the pantheon of princes vying for favors in the court of the Everlasting Joy Palace. In return, the tribes of Xiongnu would no longer intercept or bring harm to Han caravans on the silk road.”

The general turned to face Rufinius. “Alexandricus, purely because of our actions against the caravan, we are again at war with the great Empire of the Han. So let us get the men across, for though it is doubtful my Chanyu will have further need of me, he will most certainly now have need of them.”

As had become her regular habit, Lucia looked in on the prostrate body of the historian and camp prefect, his breathing shallow. Wu’s assistant, whom she now knew to be named Feiyan, tamped the sweat from his forehead and rubbed the tips of fine needles that were stuck in his skin all over his body.

Feiyan glanced up from her duties and gave Lucia a smile of reassurance, the light of numerous candles holding back the shadows. The air was sweet with other aromas, emanating from several intricately patterned brass holders that contained the smoldering embers of various plants and barks. But there was also something malodorous and corrupt in the air.

Lucia gestured to Feiyan that she wanted to check Appias’s fever, and received a nod. Lucia pressed her fingertips to his damp forehead and felt the poison burning within him. Appias had not regained full consciousness since being brought from the battlefield, but his limbs had been seen to twitch and his lips had whispered conversations no one had caught.

Mena entered and joined Lucia’s side. “Feiyan … she sleeps beside him on the floor,” the hag said, “and has not left his side once.”

“Is the doctor afraid of the threat made by Rufinius?”

“I doubt he’s given it a moment’s thought. Feiyan is attentive because it is in her nature.”

“What are the pins?” asked Lucia. “That seems most strange.”

“It is Han medicine. The name they give it is ‘Zhenjiu’.”

“Zhenjiu,” Lucia repeated. “How does it work?”

“My understanding of it is thin, but the Han believe a force flows through the body, which can heal it. The needles stimulate the force and make it stronger,” Mena said. “I am told the secrets of Zhenjiu take a lifetime to learn.”

“But Feiyan is perhaps my age, though it is hard to tell,” said Lucia. “See her skin? It is as smooth as a child’s. Is she not too young for such work?”

“She may work the needles as you see her do here, but only Wu may place them.”

“But he is not old, either.”

“He has been schooled in the art by no less than the Han Emperor’s father, who is said to be a witch of some kind.”

Lucia could not help but be impressed. “I can smell the wound. It festers. Does Appias improve or grow worse?”

“Whether magic has been employed or not I cannot say, but I believe he hovers between the two.”

The two women watched Feiyan tend to Appias, moving around his body again from needle to needle. When this task was completed, she withdrew the pad covering the entry wound forced by the arrow and smeared the festering hole with a sticky substance from a bowl.

“Honey,” Mena whispered. “I watched Wu prepare the poultice. It’s mixed with garlic and the dried parts of foreign plants and insects I am not familiar with.”

Feiyan placed a clean pad on the wound. And suddenly Appias was awake, terror on his face and he snatched Feiyan’s wrist. She screamed and struggled to break free and, in the brief tussle, Appias crashed to the ground.

Lucia and Mena rushed to help Feiyan, who was crying out. Wu came in and between the four out them, they returned the unconscious historian to his cot, the wound oozing black blood and pus.

“Appias is strong,” Mena told Lucia. “But perhaps he is not strong enough.”

*

When the historian opened his eyes days later, Feiyan was leaning over him. The unexpected movement startled her and she drew back.

Appias’s head pounded. “Water,” he said, and the Han woman withdrew from sight and retuned with a bowl containing a liquid. She held it to his lips and he drank the foul broth thick with plant roots and it caused him to gag.

He lay back on the cot, his breathing heavy and bubbling in his throat. The woman set about changing the pad on his chest. Lifting it off his skin, she leaned in close to him, sniffed at the wound and walked quickly from the tent.

Moments later she returned with one of the Han, a young man of slight build. He snapped commands at the woman as a master speaks to a slave. He, too, smelled the wound and frowned, placed his hand under Appias’s armpit for a short while and then left the tent muttering aloud to himself.

The woman returned and moved around the tent, attending to various medicines. She came to Appias and saw him staring at her. Placing a hand lightly on his chest she said, “Appias.” And then with a hand against her own chest: “Feiyan.”

Appias looked at her, his vision blurry and unseeing, before closing his eyes.

*

The days for Appias were a wild dream only partly remembered. He was conveyed in a covered wagon, his body freezing cold or burning hot, and every rut in the snow-covered landscape sending a jolt of searing pain through his chest and shoulder. The nights were little better and punctuated with servings of the ghastly familiar broth. Whether day or night, reality and dreams mixed, and the visions that came to him were comprehensively violent – of men hacking at each other, of plains scattered with corpses and the parts of men. There were images of debauchery, too, that invariably turned to bloody slaughter, as the fever battled within him for supremacy.

But then, one day, Appias opened his eyes and they were free from dreams and the heaviness of fever. The air, too, smelled clean and sweet, the corruption gone that had taken root in his chest.

By his feet slept a woman, who was in equal measure both familiar and a stranger to him. Her face was fine of feature and utterly unlined and unblemished. But it was her hands that he recognized and associated with gentleness and concern – small hands that were adult in strength and yet childlike in size.

Appias noticed the old blood-stained pad on his breast. He raised it and the movement caused a sharp pain in his shoulder and back that caught in his lungs. He rested momentarily, braced for the discomfort, and raised the pad once more. The ugly wound beneath was scabbed over but completely absent of rot.

Seeing the wound triggered Appias’s memory, and he recalled the moment when he was punched hard in the chest so that all the breath rushed from his mouth and left him starved of air. He remembered the sight of animals on fire, running and screaming through the earthworks, legionaries chasing them and stabbing them with javelins or attacking them with pila and gladii. He remembered lying on the ground, the hole in his chest sucking and then blowing pink bubbles, and then the world fading to black. And from there his memory failed him, being populated thereafter by dreams of armies being cut to pieces by his own sword, the sole light in the darkness a pair of small hands protecting him from hordes of the dead come to carry him to Hades, the hands belonging to the Han woman lying by his feet.

Appias took one of the skins that had slipped from the woman’s shoulder and replaced it across her. And then he closed his eyes and slept.

*

Lucia pulled up in a covered wagon and saw Dentianus and Carbo drilling in the flickering light of the small cooking fire. They were at a friendly and altogether stupid game of thrust and parry with double-edged gladii that cut skin and bone as easily as air.

“Dentianus,” Lucia called out. “Have you seen the tribune anywhere?”

The legionaries took a break from their foolery. “Lucia! It is a fair night when you pay us a visit. Rufinius was here moments ago. You seem flustered. Is there a problem that needs dealing with? Can we assist?”

“It’s Appias. The fever has broken at last. I would take Rufinius to him.”

“The cunnus will live?” asked Carbo.

“He’s weak but he knows who he is at last.”

“Wife!” Rufinius called playfully as he strolled into the firelight. “Would you dine with your favorite contubernium tonight?” He went to the wagon, pulled her toward him, and stole a kiss from her.

“No, you’re coming with me. Someone wishes to see you.”

*

Rufinius and Lucia arrived at the doctor’s tent. Mena was already in attendance, as was Feiyan, who kneeled on a mat on the floor and pulverized ingredients in a heavy stone mortarium and pistillum. A couple of braziers burned wood cleanly with no smoke, warming the air, snow and frost thick on the ground outside. Appias lay propped up on a board, covered mostly in fox and wolf pelts to keep the chill from him, his breast exposed. Fine needles ringed the skin around the wound, turned purple with healing.

“Rufinius!” Appias exclaimed. “What gives in the land of the living?”

The tribune went to his comrade’s side and took his arm. “You shake hands like a man used to wielding a stylus, historian. Only three weeks and already they have weaned the legionary out of you.”

Appias smiled. “And you, Rufinius, heavily bearded now and wearing wolf, I see. Are you becoming a barbarian? Is a sturdy legionary's sagum no longer fitting attire for a tribune?”

“When in Rome …” Rufinius grinned. “We all thought you would be dining with the heroes of Troy by now. Perhaps you are tougher than you look and, speaking for Dentianus, Carbo, and Libo, all are relieved that your tiresome recounting of times past and eternal questioning is still with us. When do you rise from your sick bed and rejoin the contubernium?”

“Two weeks,” said Mena interrupting. “I have asked the Han doctor.”

“That is an age!” replied Rufinius.

“As you said, he is lucky to be with us. You can see how much weight he has lost.”

Rufinius nodded and regarded his comrade anew. His muscles had wasted and there were black circles around his eyes. “You look well enough to me,” he said. “But if you desire to travel feet up like a potentate for a while, so be it.” He leaned forward in the dim light and regarded the fine needles stuck in Appias’s skin and went to touch one of them. But then the Han woman was suddenly beside him, her small white hand gently drawing his soldier’s rough and dirt-ingrained fingers away, shaking her head. Rufinius nodded at her and drew back. In this moment he saw her as if for the first time. Her skin was as fine Han silk, her black eyes the shape of the Greek nut, an impossibly small nose and a rosebud for a mouth. Was she beautiful? It was difficult for Rufinius to say. Certainly the woman called Feiyan was exotic, but her beauty was too foreign for him to properly judge. She bowed at him respectfully and returned to the shadows.

“I hear that we are now in the lands of the Xiongnu,” said Appias, breaking the spell that had come over Rufinius.

“Um … yes. Yes, we are, but there will be no hero’s welcome. General Saikan is now accompanied by Chanyu Zhizhi’s men, and afforded almost the status of the detained.”

“Why? What has happened?”

“The Han caravan we captured. It was traveling under the protection of Chanyu Zhizhi, who hoped to convince the Han Emperor of his peaceful intentions. Unfortunately no one told Saikan. Much displeasure awaits us in the court of this Xiongnu monarch.”

“What of Saikan’s contract with the legionaries?”

Rufinius nodded. “With you now back from the dead, comrade, that is my deepest concern.”

“How far is left to march?” Appias asked.

“After so long, I almost don’t believe it. No more than two days, I am told.”