'Heaven on earth,' said Maximus. 'Sure, a man could die happy.'
Wherever they looked now were girls. Tall, short; thin, rounded; dark and blond. All beautiful.
'The concubines of the King of Kings,' said Rutilus, having to raise his voice. 'About four hundred of them. At least one for every day of the year.'
Calgacus joined Maximus, crowding behind Rutilus and Ballista. Demetrius hung back. All five men were silent.
The noise dropped to some stifled sobs. The girls got down and performed proskynesis to the tall, red-haired man.
Rutilus laughed and pointed to Ballista. Hurriedly, the girls realigned themselves.
'It makes no difference,' said Ballista. 'Give them to the troops. Then kill them.'
Some must have understood Greek. The wailing redoubled.
'Kyrios' — Demetrius had to shout — 'this is not you. This is wrong.'
Ballista did not respond.
'Kyrios' — Demetrius pushed in front of him — 'you cannot kill defenceless women. They are slaves. They did not kill the kyria or your boys.'
'No,' said Ballista, 'I killed my sons. I took an oath. Like Jason, I broke it. Like Jason, the gods took the lives of the oath-breaker's darling sons. Soon they will take mine.'
'Kyrios,' said Demetrius, 'your mind is wandering, confused by grief. Medea lied. Jason took no oath. Your oath was taken under duress. It has no meaning.'
Ballista took off his helmet. His hair was matted, his face streaked with dirt and dried blood. He gazed far away, lost in thought.
'When Medea accused Jason of perjury, he did not deny it. In my case there is no woman, no lie. I took the oath. Of my own free will.' Again he seemed far away. 'Free will,' he murmured.
Suddenly Ballista snapped out of it. 'Rutilus, go and tell Ragonius Clarus I will see him soon. Wait for my order.'
If Rutilus was surprised, he hid it. He saluted and left.
When he had gone, Ballista started to talk fast. 'I am perjured three times over. I broke the sacramentum I took to Maximinus Thrax, and the one to Valerian. I broke the terrible oath to Shapur. One more broken oath makes no difference. I never really intended to keep the one to Macrianus's sons — value their safety above everything, indeed.' Ballista's voice had something of its old tone. 'Demetrius, pass me your writing things.'
Busily, Ballista dashed off a few lines. He handed the stylus and block back to Demetrius. He pulled the ring with his seal off his finger and gave that to Demetrius as well.
Confused, the young Greek gazed at the seal — Cupid winding a siege engine.
'Go to the ships, find the Concordia; her trierarch Priscus owes me a favour from long ago — you may remember him. That is an order for him to transport you to the west. Go to Gallienus. The ring should get you an audience. Tell him how things stand in the east. Tell him I would never have served the pretenders if their father had not held my family hostage.'
Ballista swung round to Maximus and Calgacus. 'You two, find a sack or something. Fill it with gold for the boy.'
As the other two rummaged around, Demetrius tried to find words. 'Kyrios, if I can go, so can you. We all can.'
Ballista shook his head.
'Kyrios, as your family are… now they are gone, Macrianus has no hold over you.'
Ballista smiled ruefully. 'I am what the Romans call devotus, dedicated to the infernal powers, to death. I will stay here — take what vengeance I can on the Sassanids, before the gods strike me down.'
Demetrius was crying. 'Kyrios — Calgacus, Maximus, you love these men. Let them come with me.'
Ballista looked at Calgacus.
The old Caledonian stopped stuffing precious trinkets into a pillowcase. 'I swore an oath to your father, the northern oath. If you fall on a battlefield, I will not leave it. I did outside Edessa, to protect your boys. I will not do so again. Fuck that.'
'Maximus?'
'I take it you have forgotten you saved my life in Africa all those years ago and me somehow never getting round to returning the favour.' The Hibernian grinned. 'And sure, you are a strange man — trying to tear me from all these lovely girls.'
Ballista took the bundle of booty from Calgacus and gave it to Demetrius. He hugged the boy, kissed him on the forehead. 'Go now. And do not worry, the men must have the girls, but they will not be killed.'
Tears streaming down his face, Demetrius embraced the other two. He stopped at the curtain, looking back.
'Go now.'
Demetrius left.
'What now?' Maximus asked.
'Now who is the strange one?' said Ballista. 'All these girls. Pick a couple for yourselves, more if you want, and take the rest out to the troops.'
Maximus, using his best Persian, ordered the terrified concubines to get moving.
'Wait,' said Ballista. He also spoke in Persian to the girls. 'Which of you is the favourite of the King of Kings?'
None of them answered, but several pairs of eyes slid to one tall, statuesque girl.
'You stay. The rest out.' Ballista turned to Maximus and Calgacus. 'And do not come back until I call you.' Back in the tent, Maximus was looking at the girl. No one else was. Ragonius Clarus, Rutilus and Calgacus were all looking at Ballista, and he was looking at the drink in his hand.
The girl, huddled on the floor by the throne, was crying, painful, dry sobs. Gods below, she is a concubine. What had the fucker done to her? Unpleasant thoughts crept up on Maximus. So much for Ballista's ridiculous superstition of fidelity — fuck another woman and get a theta after his name on the military roll next time in combat. Julia was dead. But it was not that. The fool was putting up one finger to the gods. It was the same as putting out the fire on the altar — fuck you, come and get me.
'Dominus,' Calgacus was using his courtly voice, 'the Legatus et Vir Clarissimus, Gaius Ragonius Clarus, accompanied by the Praefectus et Vir Egregius, Marcus Aurelius Rutilus.'
Ballista looked up with no evident interest.
Unfortunately for Ragonius Clarus, he had just caught sight of the two slaughtered eunuchs at the rear of the room. He stared open-mouthed, horrified, like Demetrius after the killing.
Maximus hoped the young Greek would be on his way by now. It would all be fine. The trierarch Priscus of the Concordia had been promoted to that position five years ago by Ballista. The ship's home port was Ravenna. Its crew were westerners. They would be glad to go home.
So Demetrius's journey should be fine, but his arrival was another matter. How exactly would the emperor Gallienus respond to what the pretty-boy Greek had to say to him? Dominus, I am the accensus to the traitor Ballista, and thus privy to all his secrets. He is very sorry he left your father to rot in Persia and that he is now leading the armies of your sworn enemies. He was forced into it. Now his family are dead, he has no intention of returning to the fold but intends to kill Persians until he is dropped by a stray arrow.
And then there was the Maximinus Thrax problem. Most of, if not all, the other twelve conspirators were dead. They had all had good reason to keep quiet. Ballista had told only four people of his role in killing that emperor. There was Maximus himself and Calgacus; the other two, Julia and Turpio, were dead. Recently, in his ravings, Ballista had spoken of it twice in front of Demetrius. Unlike the others, the boy had not been sworn to secrecy. He would not want to tell, but he was not tough. Even his pleasures were womanish. Under pressure, he would talk. It was not that Gallienus was likely to have any fondness for the memory of the long-dead tyrant, but a track record of killing emperors was unlikely to endear anyone to the man on the throne of the Caesars. It would seem a nasty precedent.
'You wanted to see me.' Ballista spoke conversationally, apparently unaware of the oddity of the scene: a northern barbarian in a stained tunic sitting on the throne of the King of Kings, bits of armour scattered around, a sobbing, half-naked girl, and two dead eunuchs in a pool of blood.
'Indeed.' Clarus tried to rally himself. 'Yes, indeed.' He cleared his throat, as if
about to address the senate or recite a poem.
Well, well, thought Maximus, you are scared of my boy. And so you fucking should be, especially as he is now.
Clarus produced an ivory and gold codicil. He glanced at Rutilus for reassurance. The big red-headed officer nodded.
Shame, thought Maximus, I rather liked you, Ginger. But you are obviously a cunt like the rest of Macrianus's boys.
'Marcus Clodius Ballista,' intoned Clarus, 'I give you joy of your victory.'
Ballista took a drink.
'In recognition of your success,' Clarus ploughed on, 'our noble emperors show you the great honour of appointing you joint Praetorian Prefect with Maeonius Astyanax. Henceforth your status is raised from Vir Perfectissimus to that of Vir Eminentissimus.'
Ballista raised his glass almost mockingly.
'With your new dignitas come new mandata.' Clarus seemed about to pass the codicil to Ballista then thought better of it. 'Some three thousand of the Sassanids have fled west towards Sebaste. You are to take the entire fleet and a thousand infantry and prevent these reptiles effecting a union with the Sassanid force which we understand is returning via the hills from Selinus in the west.'
Ballista made no comment.
'The emperors have shown me the honour,' Clarus continued, 'of appointing me to your old post of Prefect of Cavalry. I am to assume command of the remaining troops here at Soli. Once joined by five thousand cavalry making their way from Syria, I am to march north after the bulk of Shapur's horde. While the enemy still has some nine thousand horsemen, the gods willing, Demosthenes will hold the Cilician Gates against them, and I will bring them to battle on the plains south of the Taurus mountains.'
Oh fucking great, thought Maximus. Clarus gets an equivalent force to fight Shapur, while we get just a thousand men and a few marines to take on three thousand reptiles at Sebaste, maybe six thousand if the ones from Selinus join with them before we do. Fucking great. Just as well Ballista has decided he is devotus.
'Soli today, Sebaste next; it is all the same to me,' said Ballista. 'Maybe we should all have a drink. Roxanne?'
As the girl, sniffing once or twice, got up and busied herself, Maximus looked at the luxury all around in the inner sanctum of the King of Kings. It took him a while to realize why it bothered him. The only man he knew that had seen it before was old Turpio. And look how it had ended for him. Defying the fates, Maximus picked up a discarded necklace and hung it around his neck.
The headland of Sebaste was low but solid in the dark night. The little boat rode the gentle swell. Ballista had commandeered the fishing smack from Soli. They had sailed down to Sebaste at last light and started their fishing. Ballista worked it with the old fisherman. They used a dragnet with floats here. The boat was square-rigged, nothing too different from the fishing boats of Ballista's childhood.
Maximus, Calgacus and two marines huddled in the bottom of the boat. Sounds can carry a long way over water at night, so they did not complain.
Ballista had watched the Great Bear circle and pale. It had been a long night, but soon it would be over. He yawned, stretched and gazed up at the eastern sky. No sign of it lightening yet.
It was the old man who first saw the signal. Tapping Ballista's arm, he pointed to the shore. There it was. A solitary beacon to the east of Sebaste, on the road from Soli. The first part of Ballista's plan had worked. The land forces, even though only an inadequate thousand men, were in position.
Ballista unshuttered and hoisted the lantern. As the old man hurriedly pulled in his nets, Ballista scanned the dark sea to the south. Nothing. No sign that the second, crucial element of his plan was in place. He could not wait. There was no time.
With the old man at the steering oar, Ballista brought the sail round. It was far too early for the morning breeze from the sea, but the hint of the prevailing westerly should bring them in to the beach west of Sebaste.
As the low headland slid past to their right, the old man talked inaudibly to himself. Mastering an urge to look south, Ballista stared at the sky. Now there was a faint but definite pink tinge above the black outline of the town. Maximus started to get up. With a hand on his friend's arm, Ballista indicated it was too soon.
Sudden and clear a trumpet rang out from the town. Before its echo had faded, it was answered by others. Torches flared along the wall. Some of them were moving. One or two shouts floated across the water. The Sassanids were aware of the Roman troops to the east. So far so good — providing the dark-painted ships of the fleet, their oars muffled, were gliding in out of sight behind the fishing boat. Ballista did not think what would happen if it were not so. In many ways, he did not care. Soon there would be more blood for the ghosts. For those whom fate has cursed Music itself sings but one note — Unending miseries, torment and wrong!
A word of warning from the old man, and he ran the boat up on to the beach.
Ballista swung himself over the side. He landed knee-deep in the water. Maximus passed him his sword belt. Ballista buckled it on. Then he pulled the floppy cap from his belt. Scooping his long hair under it, he crammed it over his brows.
Maximus was beside him, fiddling with his own eastern cap. Calgacus and the two marines jumped out of the boat. While they readied themselves, Ballista and Maximus pushed the boat off. The old man just waved as he unshipped the oars.
Ballista pulled Isangrim's little blade on his right hip an inch or two out of its sheath, snapped it back, drew the big sword on his left a little, pushed it back, touched the healing stone tied to the scabbard. He was glad Calgacus had retrieved his sword from the body of Garshasp. At moments like this, Ballista was painfully aware that, much of the time, he was not thinking clearly. My heart would burst, My sick head beats and burns, Till passion pleads to ease its pain.
Ballista checked the others.
'Time to go.'
The sand crunched under their boots. The town wall was black off to the right. The west gate was hidden in shadow. It was, Ballista thought, a good job they had been here before and knew the layout. The noise from the town seemed to have faded.
A couple of trees grew in front of the gate. The land smelled hot away from the sea. The heavy doors were shut. Ballista looked back at the sea. Was there a line of white — not a wave — out there?
Ballista unsheathed his sword. With the pommel he beat loudly on the gate.
'Open the gate,' he called in Persian. 'Open the gate. The country is alive with Romans.'
From inside came a babble of talk.
'Open.' Ballista beat on the gate again. 'I am Vardan, son of Nashbad. I have an order from Shapur.'
A bonneted head popped up over the battlements.
'Open the gate now,' roared Ballista. 'The man who delays the command of the King of Kings will suffer.'
The head disappeared.
A few moments later there was a scraping sound — the gate opened.
Ballista pushed past the first Persian. There were two more inside. He killed one with a thrust to the stomach, the second with a blow to the back of the neck. Maximus was sawing his blade into the throat of the first one. It had all taken about four seconds.
'Calgacus, take the marines and get up on the wall walk. Maximus, you stay with me.'
Ballista took stock. He had hoped there might be something, say a cart or some barrels, anything really, to wedge the gate open. There was nothing obvious. Still, it should not be for long.
'Maximus, help me drag the bodies to block the gates.'
No sooner had they finished than figures appeared in the street.
'Shut the gate,' a voice shouted.
'We cannot — orders,' Ballista replied in Persian.
The men walked up. There were four of them.
'Shut the gate, now.'
Ballista waited until they were close then stabbed the leader in the guts. Maximus cut down another. The two remaining Sassanids went for their swords. Their yells were cut short before their blades were free of their scabbards.<
br />
'They will be all over us now, like a cheap toga,' Maximus grunted as he helped pull the fresh corpses to add to the obstruction in the gateway.
'Not for long,' said Ballista, searching through the dead for things of use. 'You could have left with Demetrius.'
'Yes, I could have.'
The two men equipped themselves with small Persian shields, bows and arrows. Maximus added a helmet. Ballista did not. Better no helmet than an ill-fitting one that might slip down over your eyes, impede your movement. There was no time to take any armour.
As Maximus ran up to the wall walk, his arms full of bows, quivers and shields for the others, Ballista studied the town. The sun was not up yet, but it was quite light. To the right was another gate leading to the peninsula. It was open. Through it could be seen a curved portico stretching along the south-west of the enclosed main harbour. Ahead the street ran straight, becoming the north-western dock of the harbour. Off to the left, the theatre rose above the exercise ground of the gymnasium.
The streets were deserted. Down by the empty docks a cat stalked a pigeon. A confused noise came from the east, beyond the far walls. Inside the town all was deathly quiet. Sebaste had fallen twice, first to the Sassanid force that had gone on to Selinus, now to these easterners who had escaped west from the battle of Soli. Those inhabitants who had not fled or been killed would be hiding. It was not surprising there were no civilians, but it was wonderful there were no Persians. Ballista's plan had worked. Seeing just a meagre thousand Roman soldiers advancing from the east, the Persians must have issued out to confront them.
Maximus came back down the steps. He was blowing hard.
'You are out of condition,' Ballista muttered. 'Your wind has gone.'
Before Maximus could answer, an arrow whipped between them. Hunched down, shields up, they stepped back into the shelter of the gateway. More arrows came from under the arch of the gate to the peninsula. They snicked off the stonework.
'Fuck,' said Maximus. 'They did not all fall for it then. Fuck a vestal.'
'Nicely put,' Ballista replied. He peeked out from behind the gate then jerked his head back as three or four arrows sliced towards him. One missed his ear by an inch or so. 'Fuck, indeed.'
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