The Sea of Grass

by Gilbert M. Stack

  As they warmed to the topic, Marcus could see that both Alberto and Carmelita admired Juan Pablo for his accomplishments. “So why did you frown when I mentioned his name?”

  Rather than look embarrassed and try to pretend Marcus had misunderstood his expression, Alberto let loose with a sharp Gente curse. “It is the damn Qing refugees! They are everywhere in Amatista now because of Señor Juan Pablo. First he debased himself by marrying a Qing woman when he already had a perfectly respectable señora for his wife. But the business required him to marry again to convince the Qing to abscond from Aquamarina and resettle in Amatista and he abandoned all propriety as if he were a Gota barbarian. Then he encouraged thousands—it may be tens of thousands now—to follow them to our city and its hinterland to work in the silk factories.”

  “They are disgusting,” Carmelita agreed. “They work for such a small pittance that the Gota prefer to hire them over proper Gente families.”

  Marcus had heard arguments like this before. When Aquila had first begun to expand it had brought tens of thousands of slaves home to do the sort of work that no Aquilan should have to. But the result was not universal happiness as the number of poor in Aquila and its territories blossomed forcing the government to eliminate the property requirement for legion service and to divert hundreds of thousands of denari from other projects to feed the poor. It was popular to this day to grumble about the situation, but the loudest complaints came from wealthy slaveholders unhappy that their taxes were going to feed the poor. He wondered how many Qing servants Alberto and Carmelita employed in their home.

  But there was still at least one portion of the story that Marcus failed to understand. “You described the Qing as refugees?”

  “Yes,” Alberto said, “there were always a few of them around, but the situation got much worse forty years ago when the Qing Empire invaded Ttang across the Bottomless Sea. This caused hordes of the Ttang to flee their country in rickety little boats to end up in the cities of the Jeweled Coast. Mostly they stayed there for the first couple of decades, but since your brother established the silk trade in Amatista far too many have relocated to our home.”

  “As if it were not bad enough,” Carmelita added, “that we have to put up with the Gota lording it over us in our own city, now we have these vermin everywhere as well.”

  The conversation had taken a decidedly unpleasant turn for Marcus. It was not that he could not understand the frustrations of the Gente couple, but why could they not see that their problems were ultimately of their own making? The Gente were infamously divided among themselves, remembering insults given three hundred years before and so conscious of status that they could barely unite to run their city-states much less the whole of the Jeweled Hills and the Jeweled Coast.

  Their internal divisions were so bad that they had infected the Gota with their malaise. In the years following their conquest, the Gota had been united under a single thegn but today every major city claimed one.

  He glanced toward the caravan which continued to pull away from them. “Well, we better catch up with the others. If you wouldn’t mind, Señor Alberto, I will assign one of the legionnaires to ride with you and give you pointers on the fine art of driving a large wagon like this. A gentleman such as yourself has probably never had the opportunity before.”

  “Again you are most generous with us,” Alberto told him. “I do not know what my wife and I would have done had you not been willing to lend us your aid.”

  “It has been my pleasure,” Marcus assured him. At the very least, he mused, it was educational. Juan Pablo was evidently far more important than Marcus had realized. He wondered what trouble could cause such a man to reach out to his half-brother in Aquila for assistance.

  He pointed at one of the men whose banter during the replacement of the broken axle had revealed that he had plenty of experience driving wagons and carts and jerked his thumb toward the front of the wagon. Then he scooped up the rest of his borrowed legionnaires and led them back to their Green Vigil.

  Day Four

  The Men Are Sharp and Well-Trained

  Fort Prime was a typical Aquilan castrum with a deep ditch surrounding the exterior with the dirt thrown inward to build an earthen wall. Had they not been in the middle of a treeless prairie a wooden palisade would have fortified the square perimeter. Inside a wide street bisected the castrum and in the center could be found the headquarters of the commanding officer, the supply warehouse, a forum for business and a parade ground for reviewing the troops. Tents lined the street to either side of the central buildings laid out by cohort and hand. In short, Prime was laid out exactly like every other castrum Marcus had ever seen.

  He noted with approval the crisp, watchful, movements of the Prime legionnaires. This was not a post which took its responsibilities lightly. The men on duty all wore their armor including their shields and while an appropriate number kept an eye on the wagons rolling in through the gates, the posted watchmen kept their eyes out on the plains where they belonged. No one gave the appearance of having forgotten that they were in the legion. It was a welcome return to normality for Marcus after his years stationed under the lax command of Praetor Castor in the Fire Islands.

  The wagons were directed to begin pulling off the road to the west of the central street with legionnaires directing the traffic with a skill and efficiency that suggested they had done this many times before. As Marcus’ wagon drew closer, he could see that there were far fewer tents than he had expected—there were no more than two hundred men posted in a fort large enough to support an entire legion. Understaffing was a perpetual problem in the military, but this seemed particularly light given the reports of active raiding by the local savages.

  Kuno turned the wagon when their turn came and parked where directed. Then he jumped off the wagon and with Calidus’ help began to unhitch the team.

  Marcus caught Severus’ eye. “Let’s take a look around. I like the look of these legionnaires but something about this setup is troubling me.”

  “Could it be,” Severus asked, “that you’re wondering how two hands can hold a castrum this large?”

  “Something like that,” Marcus agreed.

  ****

  “The men are sharp and well-trained,” Severus conceded.

  “I agree,” Marcus said, “but there aren’t enough of them to hold the outer perimeter. A whole phalanx could do it, but not one small cohort—I don’t care how good they are.”

  He turned in place on the top of the earthen wall to examine the rest of the battlements. Legionnaires had been posted at regular intervals so they could see what was coming, but especially with their numbers distracted by the caravan, there simply weren’t enough to respond to a significant attack.

  Marcus pointed at the buildings at the center of the castrum. “Whoever is in charge here needs to fortify that. Throw up an inner wall that surrounds the praetorium, the quaestorim, the forum and the parade ground.”

  “That would take a huge set of balls,” Severus noted. “Can you imagine the storm he’d kick up back in Dona, or even in the Senate in Aquila, if he let savages pillage the wagons of the caravan while he and his men hid behind an inner wall?”

  Marcus couldn’t care less about political storms and Severus knew it, but he played out the argument to see if there was something important he was missing. “The goods might be lost, but an inner wall would be the only chance to make sure all those civilians survive if the savages attack in force.”

  “How big a force are you thinking of?” Severus asked as he watched a red vigil stride toward them from the direction of the wagons

  Marcus shrugged. “All it would take is two or three hundred men to rush the wall in the front and this cohort would have nothing left to defend against any number coming over the walls to the side and rear. It’s too big to defend.”

  “That’s how I see it too,” Severus admitted. “Are you going to tell that to the officer in charge of this place?”

&nbs
p; Marcus rolled his eyes at his old friend, “Only if he asks.”

  A Red Vigil called out to them from a hundred feet away, but did not stop advancing on their position. “I am looking for Tribune Marcus Venandus and Black Vigil Severus Lupus.”

  “We are they,” Marcus admitted.

  The Vigil came to a sharp halt and saluted crisply. “Tribune Marcus, it is my pleasure to invite you to dine tonight with Tribune Lucanus.”

  Marcus returned the salute, pressing his fist to his heart. “I would be honored.”

  The man addressed Severus. “Black Vigil, the vigils of Fort Prime would be most pleased if you would join them in the mess tonight. There will be stories to be told, Vigil, and we always want to learn what we can of the road.”

  Severus nodded without verbally answering.

  The Red Vigil clearly understood the taciturn way of the blacks and pivoted back to face Marcus. “Tribune Lucanus has charged me to seek out members of the caravan who it would be proper to invite to his table. I’ve already extended an invitation to the Gota lord and the Caravan Master and his son. Would the Tribune care to recommend others who should merit an invitation?”

  Marcus considered the request for a moment. He had made a point of introducing himself to most of the principals traveling with the caravan. There were seven major merchants, a dozen families, and a motley assortment of men who had personal reasons for risking the overland route to go north. “Only two others come to mind. One is a student magus traveling north. He would certainly be flattered by an invitation and he might know some people in common with your own magus.”

  The Red Vigil nodded.

  “As for the other, there is a Gente man traveling with his very pregnant wife. I suspect they would both benefit greatly from a properly cooked meal. It would be a kindness to invite them, but I doubt seriously that they would expect it.”

  Again the officer nodded before asking for the three names and informing him that dinner would be served at the praetorium at sunset.

  ****

  The first person Marcus saw as he entered the praetorium was Apprentice Magus Seneca Liberus who stood just inside the door looking around as if trying to figure out who it would be appropriate for him to approach. Marcus clapped him stoutly on the shoulder and the poor man nearly leaped out of his shoes.

  “What!”

  He whirled around, saw Marcus, and flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, excuse me, Tribune. You snuck up on me. I—normally I have a sense for people moving about me. It has to do with their spirits and—”

  Marcus cut him off when he started to babble. “I think your stomach is the problem. It senses the chance to have a real dinner for the first time since we left Dona and that’s all that you can think about.”

  Seneca clearly wasn’t certain if Marcus was being serious or not. “I…guess that it’s, Sir.”

  “Come on,” Marcus said, “let’s go meet the Tribune and his officers.”

  The younger man gratefully followed after Marcus as he walked deeper into the room and discovered that the legionnaires he was seeking were not yet present. No one else was really mixing yet. In addition to Master Burkhard and his son, there were all of the major merchants in the caravan—a fact that surprised Marcus somewhat, but shouldn’t have. Half the reason for this gathering was to let the Tribune learn what was happening in Dona and elsewhere in the south and traders always made it their business to know what was going on in the world. Many of the merchants were southerners of some sort, the others were Gente from the Jeweled Hills and the two groups were standing on opposite sides of the room.

  The Gota, Lord Evorik, stood with two women looking disdainfully upon his traveling companions. Where the Gente were dark of hair and features with their manicured mustaches and close-trimmed beards, the Gota had wild shocks of long red hair that screamed barbarian by contrast. The observation intrigued Marcus and he tried to figure out why he drew such a conclusion.

  Both groups dressed in the same expensive silks, although the merchants added elaborately embroidered vests to their attire. Both groups wore copious numbers of jewels adorning their clothing—either topazes or amethysts, presumably depending on their city of origin. Both also wore rings with a variety of precious stones all in all making what to an Aquilan’s taste was a crude display of wealth. The only true difference between the lord and the Gente men was that he wore thick bands of gold on his wrists and even his upper arms, where they wore thinner bands on their wrists alone. Were a couple of armlets enough to mark him a barbarian, or was it the hard look in his eyes with which he stared down the merchants in the room?

  The guests stirred when Alberto and Carmelita entered the room behind Marcus and Seneca. Marcus met their eyes and nodded, but did not retrace his steps to speak with them. He was planning to approach the Gota lord first as he was obviously the ranking civilian in the room, but before he could finish acting on his intention, a man wearing the sash of a tribune—thick red band bordered on one side by a thin green line and on the other by a thin black one—entered the room. The magus walking beside him wore a sash with three stars. Behind them came two lesser tribunes to round out the party.

  “Welcome!” The Tribune greeted them. “Welcome to Fort Prime. I am Tribune Lucanus. This is Magus Jocasta, my cohort wizard. And these are my Lesser Tribunes, Brennius and Caius. I thank you all for joining me tonight and look forward to speaking with each of you. The food will be out shortly. In the meantime,” he snagged a cup of wine off a tray carried by a servant, or more likely, a slave. “Enjoy the wine and your night off from the trail.”

  He waited patiently while the few guests such as Marcus and Seneca who did not yet have drinks received them, and then the whole company indulged together to officially start the evening.

  “She’s beautiful,” Seneca breathed even as Tribune Lucanus started across the floor in their direction.

  Marcus glanced at Carmelita before he realized that Seneca was staring at the magus. “A word of advice,” he offered, even though he was fairly certain the young man would prove unable to follow it. “Never get involved in a romance with your superiors.”

  Seneca turned to him in confusion. “But I’m not in the legion.”

  “You’re still a student,” Marcus reminded him. “Every full magus is your better.”

  He broke off as the Magus and Tribune reached them. “You must be Tribune Marcus,” Lucanus said. “I’ve heard rumors of the campaign in the Fire Islands—legions of skeletons rising from their graves.” He said it as if he half expected Marcus to deny the story.

  “It did get rather dicey,” Marcus admitted. “I’d be happy to share the whole tale over dinner if you’re truly interested. But first, may I present a student traveling with our caravan to continue his studies in the north.”

  Suddenly shy, he had to subtly push the young wizard in the small of the back to get him to step forward, “Seneca Liberus of the Collegium Magicae in Aquila.”

  “I am an alumna of that school myself,” Magus Jocasta informed them. “You must tell me everything that’s been happening there these past years. I am simply starved for proper gossip.”

  She stepped aside with Seneca leaving the two tribunes alone together.

  “I certainly would like to hear your story,” Lucanus picked up the earlier line of conversation.

  “Excellent,” Marcus agreed, “because I would like to hear from you all about these savages on the Sea of Grass.”

  “Just let me meet the rest of my guests and get them seated at the table,” Lucanus suggested. “Then we can talk all night if need be.”

  ****

  “Mule piss!” Lord Evorik exclaimed. “I know those tiny horses of theirs are fast and their arrows certainly are a nuisance, but no Sea of Grass savage can stand up to a company of Gota cavalry. Why my twenty warriors alone are sufficient to ensure the safety of the entire caravan, even without Master Burkhard’s guards.”

  The Gota lord and his two wives, Marcus had lea
rned, were traveling home to the city of Topacio after a diplomatic mission to Dona. He was, like many barbarians, a pompous and overbearing character, but based on the hard steel in his glare, Marcus was willing to bet he could back up at least half of what he was saying.

  The conversation between Marcus, Evorik and Lucanus was in Aquilan, as this was a Republic fort. Marcus sat on the left of the Tribune while the Gota lord sat on his right with his two wives speaking quietly together beside him. They spoke Gente, which Marcus found particularly interesting. The conquerors had in some ways become the conquered.

  “The savages like to attack out of a dust cloud,” Lucanus picked up his explanation. “There shaman have some minor gifts in this regard. Unfortunately, that isn’t as much help to the defender as you might think because the wind is constantly picking up on these plains which makes dust all too common.”

  “The wagons also generate a lot of dust,” Marcus observed. “We might as well be setting signal fires wherever we go.”

  Lucanus nodded sympathetically. “So to get back to the problem at Fort Segundus, the savages employed their hit and run tactics and the Great Tribune sent out a cohort to punish them. The savages charge in on their ponies firing arrows, but a solid legion shield wall is usually able to protect the men from such an attack while the second file readies its pilum. We carry four with us here as it is the principle method of spoiling a savage attack. That’s why we have so many wagonloads of pilum in your caravan. Each fort is in constant need of resupply.”

  “Get on with the attack,” Evorik demanded. “We’re warriors, not clerks. You can waste time talking about resupply when you’re in bed with your wives.”

  At least one of the Gente among the merchants could follow their conversation because he frowned in disgust at the Gota’s statement.

  “So normally it only takes a couple of well-thrown volleys of pilum to scare the savages off, but this time was different. They kept circling the cohort, forcing them to form a square. Then they shot high into the air so that their arrows came down inside the square where the shields were not protecting the men. Quickly the men ran out of pilum and there was nothing they could do to strike back—the cowards wouldn’t come within reach of their swords. So the Lesser Tribune detailed a dozen men to break out and try to alert Fort Segundus to their peril.