Field of Mars (The Complete Novel) (35 page)

“You will provide me with a Roman from among this army. I would know more of this empire,” said Zhizhi.

“It would be my honor, great Chanyu,” the General replied. “I will find the right man. And if you could witness a Roman army on the field of battle, you would see thousands of men act as one. It is at once a thing of great violence and great beauty. I witnessed this very legion in action against the Han army of almost equal numbers accompanying the caravan. The battle was short but terrible, the outcome never in doubt. Their organization and their ferocity will strike fear into the hearts of your enemies, I assure you.”

“I will come to the Han caravan presently, Guli Saikan. Talking of it only serves to bring the rising heat of anger to my face.”

Saikan bowed his head. “Yes, Chanyu.”

Zhizhi addressed the tribune. “Roman, do you agree with Guli Saikan’s assessment of your army’s defeat?”

“The desert was a factor, great Chanyu, for there was no cover from a rain of arrows that was inexhaustible, launched by bows with phenomenal range. Others were poor leadership, the arrogance General Saikan spoke of, and our own bows that lacked the range of the Parthian weapon.”

“You speak our tongue well.”

“I have had enough time to learn the basics, Chanyu Zhizhi.”

Chanyu Zhizhi grunted, returned to his seat, and regarded both Rufinius and Saikan darkly as if deliberating their fate. “Have you anything further to say, Guli Saikan?”

“Only that I bring the great Chanyu a personal gift.”

Zhizhi’s mood remained unchanged. “Another gift? Is that in addition to the ending, by your action, of any chance of peace between Xiongnu and Han?”

“Great Chanyu,” said Saikan as boldly as he dared. “When I left these lands to travel west as your emissary to Parthia, it was to buy soldiers for the coming inevitable war with the Han. That was my chief purpose. On the journey home, when we came upon the Han caravan, I had been beyond communication with your court for almost seven seasons and was not to know that the winds had changed. In sacking their caravan, I chose only to do so in order to bring greater glory and wealth to you.”

“You said you had a gift …” the Dragon King replied, unimpressed.

The general made a gesture and one of his men brought forward a face that surprised Rufinius.

Zhizhi laughed and the great hall laughed along with him. “Saikan,” he shouted over the raucous noise, “pray tell me that is not for my bedroom!” More laughter ensued before it finally died down, and then only to better hear Saikan’s reply.

“Her name is Mena,” the general announced. “She is a witch and an augury.”

Mena stood before the King not as a slave but as a woman of great power with her back straight and her head unbowed. When Rufinius saw her, his chest filled with pride for knowing her and yet he was also fearful. Kings were like gods – unreliable and unpredictable. Mena could be feted or just as readily put to the sword.

“She will tell of your future and the futures of your enemies,” the general informed him. “I have witnessed her foresight first hand and can attest to it. We have spent almost a year in the desert and, like Alexandricus, she speaks Xiongnu.”

“Can you tell the futures of my enemies and lay spells on them?”

Mena opened her tattooed eye and a beetle crawled out of it, ran down her nose and then flew off. “Of course.”

Men seated nearby gasped at this display but the Chanyu was intrigued and Rufinius could barely hide his smirk. He had seen her perform this trick so many times, most impressively with a newborn scorpion, its stinger secretly removed.

“Provide some evidence of this power,” the Chanyu told her, leaning forward on his chair, stroking his beard in consideration. “Tell me what sentence I am to proclaim on Guli Saikan.”

“Lord King, while I am nothing but a slave and worth only what value you place upon me, anything I say on this matter now will only influence your decision in another direction.”

Zhizhi took a moment to consider her reply. “Yes, of course you are right.”

“If it is proof you seek, I would ask only that you give me some time to produce it.”

“How much time? A week, a month?” the Chanyu asked, intrigued by this ghastly old one-eyed hag.

“Minutes.”

“Then it is minutes you shall have. Now turn around so that I may not look upon you.”

Mena dutifully turned her back on the Dragon King as laughter rang from the tables nearer to the Chanyu’s.

When it died down, Zhizhi boomed, “Guli Saikan of the Left!”

General Saikan raised his eyes from the floor.

“For your meddling that has brought war and hardship upon my people,” the Chanyu continued, “I sentence you to be quartered.” A sharp intake of breath could be heard among the general’s vassals crowding the great hall. Zhizhi continued. “And you, Roman – show me fealty.”

Rufinius took to his right knee, head bowed in the correct Roman way.

“As the commander of the instrument that has brought this war to the Xiongnu, I sentence you to be quartered also.”

Approval rose from the vassals and the Chanyu let it run its course before raising a hand to bring silence to the room. Into this void he called out, “However, given that killing either man in the circumstances now facing the Empire of the Tribes of Xiongnu would be an affront to common sense, as your merciful Chanyu I commute these sentences. Instead you are both to march north to defend our lands against the Dinlin tribes, who have broken their treaty with me and have chosen pillage in place of peace – you, Roman, to better learn war as it is practiced in these lands; and, you, Guli Saikan, that the experience of being out of favor will teach you humility.”

The Chanyu turned again to Rufinius. “I accept that my army’s journey has been long and arduous so I will provide my Roman swordsmen with three days of meat, grain and rest. Then you must take my men and leave.” The Chanyu’s eyes swept the great hall. “Is there anything further?”

“Yes, Chanyu,” said a small voice.

“Who speaks?”

Mena raised her hand, her back still to the Chanyu. “Minutes have transpired.”

“Turn and face me, witch,” Zhizhi told her.

Mena held out her hand and took a tightly folded parcel of silk from it. She then prized it open so that it became a single square sheet several hands in width. Han characters were painted on it, the paint long dried.

“What is that?” inquired the Chanyu, motioning to see it.

A vassal snatched the silk from Mena and ran it to him. And as Zhizhi looked over it, surprise spread across his face. “How is this possible? You have made a record … a record of the sentence just imposed on Guli Saikan and the Roman by me that is true in every detail. How is it possible that this could be written before it was pronounced?”

*

Rufinius and Lucia rode through the mist, shoulders hunched against the icicles that bit their skin, Lucia leaning into her husband’s back for the shelter it afforded. In the space between them they carried a precious load.

“How is the patient today?” Lucia called as their mount approached the wagon and came to a stop beside the wagon.

Appias, laid out under bearskins in the back of the wagon, turned his ashen face toward them. “He will live,” he replied, his voice weak and his words accompanied by a rattling cough.

“As I believe I told you already,” Mena added, seated up the front, the reins in her hands.

“You did,” agreed Rufinius. “But I have seen you look better, friend,” he said to Appias, noting Feiyan sitting attentively beside him and folding bandages.

“Concern is misplaced,” Mena advised him. “Yes, the patient looks bad but Appias’s time to pass is not upon him.”

“These claimed abilities of yours I am beginning to find disturbing, Mena. How did you manage that trick in front of the Chanyu?”

“What trick?” she replied. The hag then bowed slightly as if Rufinius had given her a great compliment.

The tribune continued, “Appias, Lucia and I have brought your weapons and armor. As a legionary, you cannot be without them.”

Lucia placed his mail cuirass, gladius, pugio, red sagum, focale and polished galea on the boards beside the wounded man. Appias reached for the gladius, pleased to be reunited with it, but had not the strength to lift it. Rufinius took the sword from the pile, pulled it from its scabbard, and held the blade so that it caught what little light was available. “I have sharpened and honed its blade for you, should the Xiongnu give you any trouble.”

“I thank you, Alexandricus. I’m sure it will give them pause,” said Appias.

“It would if they saw you in action against the Han.” The two men took each other’s hand. “Be well, historian.”

“And you, Tribune.” Appias did his best to smile against the pain that wracked his body.

“What does the Han doctor say?” Rufinius asked, looking first at Feiyan and then Mena.

“Poison has returned to the blood,” the hag said. “The doctor is not as confident as me.”

“I would ask that you make sacrifices on Appias’s behalf and beg for an intercession from whichever gods you think appropriate. There must be a white calf somewhere among all this livestock that can be purchased.”

“I will see to it, as well as make entreaties of my own.”

Rufinius walked around to the front of the wagon, reached up and pulled Mena into an embrace. “You have been a good slave but an even better friend. I will miss your counsel almost as much as your scheming.”

“The gods love you, Rufinius. In this they are not alone.”

“Look after him,” he said, nodding at Appias.

“You know I will.”

Nearby, cornicens blew the order to march and all over the legion optiones and tesserarii responded by yelling at their men, preparing them to move off as one, properly arrayed in their lines, rather than as a ragged group of 5,000 stragglers. Watching on were the people of the Chanyu’s capital, along with their many dogs, the entire city come to see the army of foreigners depart. The army, however, was in two minds about leaving. The legionaries had become accustomed to the comforts of plentiful fish, meat, and grain, and relished the reintroduction of coarse bread to their diet. But, conversely, they were also pleased to be removed from the sight of their mistrustful dominus, Chanyu Zhizhi.

Lucia placed a hand on Appias’s good shoulder. “We are all sorry to be leaving without you.”

“Dentianus and Carbo told me to tell you to hurry and get better,” Rufinius added. “And Libo called you a cunnus.”

“You tell them thanks,” Appias replied. “Even Libo. I have no regret. The Xiongnu want to know all about Rome. Before I’m finished with them, they’ll wish they had never heard of it.”

Rufinius grinned. “That’s the Appias we all know.”

“You will be back,” Mena told the tribune. “You and General Saikan.”

“How do you know?” asked Rufinius.

Mena shrugged. “Because I know.”

“As I said, Mena – disturbing.”

Li-ch’ien, province of Gansu, Chin

a.d. Prid. Id. Oct. 750 AUC

14 October, 4 BC

There is a trunk on the floor in front of me. As trunks go it is unremarkable, made from bamboo and banded with iron painted black and a lock on the lid that has never been fastened. I remove the lock, open the lid and there inside is proof, if you need it, that these tales of mine are not tall. I reach in and lift out the red wool sagum and bring it to my nose. It is holed here and there not by sword thrusts but by hungry insects, and yet still even now, after all these years, it smells of sweat and the hearth, of a thousand cook fires and thousands of miles marched. I lay it on the low table and lift my galea from the chest, the bronze heavy in my old hands. It fits well on my head, but you will have to take my word on it, for my skin these days is thin and tears easily. I place it instead on the sagum, return to the chest and remove the article I wish to see the most – a legionary’s best friend, dearer to him than even the comrade by his shoulder. Of course I am referring to the gladius. I pull it from the scabbard, my initials – ACM, Appias Cominius Maro – beaten into the steel blade near the wood guard. The handle of shaped bone feels smooth and still familiar in my hand after all these years. There are rust spots on the blade, but they are superficial. And the blade’s edge … it is pitted here and there where it has clashed against opponents’ blades, but it is as wickedly sharp as the day Rufinius returned it to me, for it has not been used in combat since.

These are the implements of my former life. I have taken this chest from storage in preparation for the visit from my good friend Protector-General Chen Tang. He is old now too, though in fine health, and will enjoy a stroll down Via Memory. Handling these items helps me to see. And what I can see now as clearly as if it happened only yesterday, is the moment Rufinius and Lucia turned their horse around and rode for the head of the column. Cornicens sounded and 5,000 legionaries shouldered their baggage poles and marched away into the cold mist, centurions and optiones shouting orders. But not before the entire legion broke into song …
Barabbus left his wife with slave, and asked of them to please behave …

There is something beautiful about a marching Roman legion, the precision of it, the color and the spectacle of it. There is order and power to be seen in the even ranks and files. It is both ferocious and civilized – 5,000 men marching in step, 5,000 red sagae, 5,000 scuta held in left hand, 5,000 baggage poles over right shoulder …

In the order of the Roman legion can be seen a metaphor for peace and commerce and law and roads and currency and worship of the gods; all that invariably follows the slaughter and blood of a conquering Roman army like sunshine after a storm. But of course, there was nothing behind this legion – none of the benefits of Roman dominion. The legion that followed Rufinius Alexandricus was cut off from the body of Rome like an amputated limb.

I’ll admit to you that I wept as I watched these fine sons of Rome seemingly banished forever, marching into the fine chill mist that consumed them. I wept to see the departure of my friends and comrades and the small reminder of the home I had left and the woman I loved that I would never see again. I wept because I was lost, just as those 5,000 were lost. I wept for Rufinius who, though younger than I, had become like a father to the men. On his shoulders had come to rest all their hopes, whatever it was that they individually hoped for. What would become of him and Lucia, Dentianus, Libo, and Carbo? See? Even now, a whole lifetime later, I weep at the memory of how alone and uncertain I felt that day, the lump in my throat making it hard to swallow.

“Yes, Viridia, I will put the sword down. When I die, I wish to be buried as a legionary. Do not forget! As for these tears, I shed them for these same friends and comrades and, of course, for myself. There is no one else left. I am the last unless you count my friend and physician Apothecary Wu. And that, young thing, is the main sorrow of old age. It is not the realization of failing health or lost virility. Indeed, if you live long enough you will get to the point where the realization of your coming death is a welcome blessing. The number one sorrow of advanced age is that your only companions are the ghosts that inhabit your mind. And those ghosts never age, remaining ever as young as the day they passed from your sight. Whereas you, meanwhile, march on to suffer the indignities of old age on your own.”

Viridia tosses me a cloth to wipe my eyes and that is the fullest extent of her sympathy.

“Yes, Viridia, you are right. I do have you and so I am not alone, but I am emotional nonetheless because, as I have recounted to you many times, in my mind I can put myself on that grassy plain in the back of that wagon and I am left behind in a strange land, the air white with ice mist.”

Viridia remains unmoved and I think I know why. “I know you are jealous of Feiyan and you loathe it when I speak of her, but she was my only comfort in those early days and she has long passed to the Infinite Blue Sky. But let us not speak of that now. There is much still to write and my hour glass is almost run out.”