“Yes, you were,” she agreed.
He chuckled, nodding, “And?”
“And I wanted to answer your question,” she replied as she crushed the apple-scented herb into her mortar bowl. “You asked how we Jews can believe in one God who orchestrates everything. I think you actually said something like, ‘How can you Jews look at all creation in its incredible forms and thousands of novel expressions and believe in only one God?’ I have an answer for you, sir.”
“And what is that, domina?”
“It depends on the size of your god, Legate Regulus. A small god would require many assistants; many gods would be required to orchestrate the universe. It would be larger than any of them; therefore, it would by its very size require many administrators. But if God were larger than the universe, it would only require Him. So, it depends on the size of your God.”
Regulus was impressed. He had not expected Miriam to be so able an apologist of her doctrine, and it left him thinking. He was quiet for a long time. She looked over to see if he had fallen asleep on his own and found him looking at her.
“Are you well, General?”
“Very,” he replied. “Your response raises as many questions as it answers. But I cannot refute what I am experiencing in my own flesh. I don’t know what to tell you, but I promise you, if we live through the next few days, we will discuss this at length and in detail. Good enough?”
“I believe it is,” She nodded. “Now, drink this and settle back, close your eyes and listen.”
“Aha,” he snickered. “You’ve spent entirely too much time with Nachum. You’re as demanding as he is. Or is that your nature as a Jew, or as a woman, or what?”
She smiled. “Actually, sir, I hardly ever see Nachum. His duties keep him occupied, and I have been attending my child and following up on the duties assigned to me.”
“Hmmm! So, you are just bossy by nature?” He settled back on his cot, attempting to hide the smile that threatened to creep across his battered face. For some reason, it appealed to him, that she had not seen much of Nachum. Not sure why? He lied to himself, but by then she had ignored his last question and begun to sing, and he found himself listening to her melodic voice.
****
Regulus drifted off to sleep, and as before, found himself in a lush green pasture. He sighed contently but didn’t relax completely. He knew he had to meet with Eliasz. The old man said the previous evening that Regulus had been given enough information for one nap, and this was the next one, so Regulus was expecting to meet as before. He waited and waited, and nothing happened. A sense of urgency began to inch its way into Regulus’ heart. Where was the old man? Was this another nightmare? Had the first dream even been real? If not, where was he now?
As he was about to despair, he noticed someone walking toward him. The figure was not dressed at all like Eliasz; this person was obviously noble, dressed in a purple robe similar to what the city of Carthage’s rich patrons wore. As the figure drew closer, Regulus noticed a strikingly handsome man of indeterminate age. The closer the figure came, the more ragged Regulus felt. Finally, the man stood in front of him and said, “So, you are the Roman?”
“I am a Roman,” Regulus answered.
“You are the warrior sent to destroy this horrible city of child sacrifice and misdirected Baal worship.”
“I suppose that is so,” Regulus agreed.
“Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news… But it has been determined that you will not be allowed to do so.”
“What?” Regulus boomed. “What do you mean not allowed? I lost hundreds of men in this battle, and you are saying, ‘I am not allowed.’ The enemy has sent hordes of darkness against us. And we are still standing, and you have the gall to tell me I am not allowed. Just who the hell do you think you are?”
The purple-robed man grinned at Regulus. “Temper, temper Roman. The anger of man does not accomplish the righteousness of the gods. Now, as I was saying, you are to wake, command your army to move off, board its ships and go back to Rome. Leave this city to its own devices. But leave it quickly. If you do not, we will be aggrieved, and you do not wish that, legate.” The man’s calm demeanor vanished, replaced by a stern voice.
“Who are you?” Regulus demanded. “And where is Eliasz?”
“How do you know I am not Eliasz? Isn’t this a dream? Am I not free to take any form I please?”
“I know you are not Eliasz. You do not...” Regulus stopped, groped for the right word, and finally settled on, “feel like him. He had something about him that is entirely missing from you!” As he spoke, the words began to surge forth, “I don’t know who you are, but I am sure you are not of the same clan as Eliasz. What have you done with him? Are you a servant of the high priest?”
“Hardly, Roman, I serve no one. I am a being of light, and I’ve walked this planet since its conception. You are a worm before me. A lesser being. As is Eliasz, and if you do not obey me, I will crush your army against the walls of this city. It is mine to protect. It pays homage to me; its worship energizes me, and I will see that continue. Now, bow before me!”
Regulus felt a great crushing weight descend upon him, forcing him to bend. He screamed out against it and pushed back. His face broke out in sweat, quickly turning to rivulets of blood. He raged against the force pushing him down, roaring, “I know who you are…you are Baal, and you.... are.... not... a ... god! There is only one God!” He railed against the creature who transformed before him. It was not a man but a hideous, serpentine creature with dragon wings, walking on two feet, with clawed fingers on withered hands, black with great veins protruding beneath the skin. His slitted, snake-like eyes burned red.
Regulus lost all sense of time. He couldn’t tell if moments or days passed; all he knew was he would not bend. He heard his own voice cry out, “Eliasz!” then the pressure broke. And darkness fell.
Regulus awoke surprisingly refreshed and relieved. He opened his eyes, expecting to see his tent and was surprised to see that once again he was in the green pasture. He rubbed his eyes and sat up.
“Well, you slept long enough, boy!” The old man in the homespun garments chided.
“Are you really you?” Regulus responded cautiously. It was morning. The old man had a small fire made with something that smelled delicious grilling on it.
“What do you think, Regulus, do I feel like me to you? That didn’t quite sound right, did it?” The old man chuckled.
“Hmm. You do. But that raises another question…” and with that, Regulus proceeded to raise his voice and in his best inspector general tone, barked, “Just where in the hell have you been, and what in the hell was that damn thing that demanded my surrender and attacked me!”
Eliasz, unruffled, ignored Regulus, who had stood to deliver his ultimatum, and asked, “Are you hungry?”
Regulus raised his eyebrows, looked down on the seated old man, sighed, and gave up in an exasperated shrug of his shoulders. “Sort of,” he answered. “Can we eat here?”
“Well, I don’t know if you can, but I most certainly can. Here, try a piece of this.” Eliasz handed Regulus a piece of fish. Regulus accepted the gift and hungrily stuffed it in his mouth. His eyes lit up, and he mumbled with his mouth full, “Hmmm this is good! What do you call it?”
“Don’t know what you Romans call it, but I call it fish,” Eliasz teased.
“Why is it everyone I know is a smart ass?” Regulus snapped back.
Eliasz stared at Regulus. “You do seem to draw them, don’t you?” Hmm, I will have to ponder that more but appears to me like you are reaping, and you can only reap what you have sowed. Something to consider, son. “Now, since you raised the question, it so happens that is exactly where I was and what I have been doing.”
Regulus’ confused look prodded Eliasz to continue.
“In hell and delayed by hell, son. That Baal fellow ambushed me for a season, couldn’t hold me long. My friend in high places doesn’t take kindly to His messengers bei
ng delayed. And by the way, you did all right there. How did you know Baal wasn’t who he claimed to be?”
Regulus thought about it a moment, smirked, almost didn’t say anything, then admitted. “Miriam.”
“Yep, I thought so. That last conversation you had about one God… it pushed you over, didn’t it? She is a smart girl, son. She is going to do you proud.”
Regulus, embarrassed and annoyed at having his private conversations spied upon, tried to back up and was about to deny his attraction to Miriam when Eliasz looked at him and said, “Don’t even, boy... don’t even.”
“Fine!” Regulus barked. “It was what she said about there being one and not many. Baal admitted to being the guardian of Carthage and energized by its worship, and its worship involves the sacrifices of innocents. So, I knew it wasn’t you. Couldn’t be. And while we are talking, just who are you anyway? Miriam and Nachum think you are their prophet, Elijah, and yet you told me your name was Eliasz.”
“Well, I accommodate the culture I am addressing. You Romans wouldn’t embrace a Jewish prophet, so I didn’t appeal to you as one. But my origin and mission are not nearly as important as what you do next, so you decide which issue you want to talk about. By the way, when you ran Baal off like that, you pretty much insured your victory over Carthage.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Regulus exhaled slowly.
“Still going to be a battle though. The serpent’s head is bashed in, but the tail and coils are still thrashing. Not all the people who live in that city are Baal’s slaves either. At least not voluntarily. So, you make sure that you don’t confuse the two when you enter the city. Do you hear me?”
“And how do you suppose I do that?” scoffed Regulus. “Knock on the door and say are you a true worshiper of Baal, or do you just pretend?”
“Nope, wrong question. Ask them if they were forced to offer their child. The really evil ones weren’t. They found substitutes and used them. The ones with red eyes from grieving the loss of their children, those are the ones you need to save. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Regulus answered solemnly.
“Now, let me tell you what is about to happen. The funny thing is that ambush Baal attempted, gave him away. Because while I was chained in his dominion, I heard the plans that Asdrubal and his generals made. Listen up, boy. I will tell you what they are planning. You are a smart man; you and old Han Xing can determine a defense. And don’t worry about getting it wrong or missing out on how it ought to be done. Just do it. You will be surprised at how much you already know. Now pay attention. First off, do you remember when you were attacked?”
****
Regulus awoke. This time, although refreshed, he was stiff and sore and his face hurt, so he knew he was back in his tent. He noticed that Miriam had fallen asleep and lay on the floor in a bundle. That doesn’t look very comfortable. He rose and placed a blanket around her then quietly stepped out of his tent to find Sarrius seated around a fire. Does that man ever sleep? He called the tribune to him and ordered him to find Han Xing and bring him quickly to his quarters.
Regulus had been trained in every strategy of warfare that the Roman legions knew from close quarter combat to defensive engineering. But what they faced now was a different kind of warfare. The tactics were different, the stages were different, even the soldiers were different. To top it off, he had gotten it from a dream in which he had encountered the demon god of his enemy and the prophet of the God of hosts, or at least that was what Regulus was hoping. Battle was coming and would be fought in ways he could never have imagined right alongside the most common battle practices of the legion.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Adolphus, the optio commanding one of the observation outposts the Romans had surrounding the walls of Carthage, had been in the legion for twenty-two years and had great respect for both Regulus and Han Xing. That respect was being tested. He just received some of the strangest orders he had ever been given.
His orders were to pull back from his observation tent, build up the fire like the troops did before they turned in, but not sleep in the tent and campfire area. Instead, he was to station himself and his men outside that area and keep watch. Adolphus understood the idea of setting a trap, pulling back, and keeping watch for attackers. He got that, and had that been all, no problem. The orders got strange afterward, really strange. So bizarre that he double-checked them with another of his soldiers who could read. He was even tempted to send a soldier back to clarify the orders. His orders read: If any of your men experience a seizure or feel a cold chill strange enough to raise the hair on their necks, they are to alert Adolphus and sound the warning trumpet immediately. Each man is to keep watch on the city, listen for ambushing troops, and watch out for his friends who might at any moment fall to the ground. They had also been instructed to surround the tent area starting 100 feet out with tribulus ground spikes, diagonal-shaped, sharp, spiked prongs, three inches high. They spent the whole night spreading out the tribulus. Which wasn’t out of the ordinary. But to look for seizures and feel for cold chills? It was night in a desert for crying out loud! Of course, there were going to be cold chills; every bone in his body ached. The whole situation was unheard of. And then, he had been told by the other optios that every observation outpost had been given the same instructions. First a fire-breathing dragon and now this. He had not been trained to fight the bizarre, but hopefully, somebody had, and these were their orders. Now his job was to follow those instructions and pray they worked.
****
Adolphus wasn’t the only one confused. Decemus and his surviving individual combat team, assassins by any other name, had been called up by Han Xing.
As they walked through the entrance and past the posted guards of Han Xing’s tent, Decemus worried. He had new men to replace those who had died in the last mission. He was relatively healed up, still a little sore where the arrow had pierced his leg. What really worried him was that his old team had trained together to instinctively know how each would react, but that was his old team, and these new men had not had time to develop a combat rhythm. Memories stained his mind from the first mission, one he had barely survived. He remembered the smell of the drains, the constantly dripping water, and the cries of his men as they bled and died in those drains. He remembered sliding down the moldy tunnel wall and slipping into unconsciousness. He remembered watching Miriam’s dim candle flicker and finally disappear as the dark of the grave overwhelmed them, then the sound of panting and the rough tongue of the Roman terriers that found them. Finally, Decemus pulled himself out of the involuntary trance and listened to Han Xing lay out the plan.
Hearing the new mission details, he caught himself wondering why being a part of Han Xing’s kill squad ever appealed to him. The mission called for the team to go back into Carthage through the tunnels they used the first time. Either it was a brilliant move, because the Carthaginians would never expect the Romans to use the same entryway twice, or stupid because they would set traps or post guards to ambush them. The only way to know which, was to trudge up the pipes until they found out. Then, there was the task itself. Kill the high priest! Probably the most protected man in the entire city! The leader of the city. From all rumors, he was assisted by a supernatural force, which had spoiled their previous mission and killed half his team.
Han Xing said they were up against it, so this mission had to succeed. No matter the cost. The assassination would take place at the same time the Carthaginians attacked the Roman legion. The priest would be possessing the dragon, vulnerable to attack from Decemus’ men, or so he said. Decemus also worried about the exit strategy instructions... kill the priest and go hide. As soon as the battle is won, the Romans will enter the city and find you, were a little unconvincing. Was this another mission that no one really expected them to come back from? Of course, it was. But the last one was as well, yet he and half the team had survived.
Another confusing part of the plan was the timing: Attack the high
priest when the Carthaginians and the dragon attacked the Romans. Seemed to Decemus it ought to be the Romans attacking not the Carthaginians, but then who was he to decide? Han Xing seemed to think this was going to work. Or else he couldn’t think of anything else, and this was a desperate attempt to get the legion’s tail out of the fire. The dragon was the problem; the high priest controlled the dragon. Eliminate the priest, and the dragon goes down. Couldn’t be simpler. Decemus took a deep breath, said “yes sir and no sir” in the right order, and left the tent with his men to prepare for the mission.
****
Oenus was now the commander of all three hundred ballistae. His bravery, and luck really, in leading his group to fire their weapons into the dragon’s eye, combined with the death of the previous commander, left him in command. Funny how a man could wish for something for years, and when it finally comes his way, regret the day and wonder how he could ever have been so stupid as to want the crushing weight of command. After planning with Han Xing, he devised a scheme where the ballistae deployed in concentric half-rings around the camp. E,ach ring had groups of ballistae massed for simple, overwhelming power. They were also, thanks to Han Xing’s new ideas, positioned for overlapping fire, so no matter which way the dragon attacked, they would be hitting it with combined force. The greatest concentration of ballistae was around the commander’s headquarters, or at least what was supposed to look like the headquarters. There was no way either Regulus or Han Xing would be that exposed. They would be in positions that were camouflaged and able to move at a moment’s notice. The obvious headquarters was bait. The Romans wanted the dragon to fly toward it, for in doing so, it would fly through their thickest and most deadly fire zones.
Oenus had been instructed in the reason and necessity for wearing the heat protective clothing. They were well-insulated, and as a result, hot! A couple of his men, who had trained in them, collapsed after wearing them all day. So, he instituted two-thirds on, one-third off, changing every two hours around the clock. It gave the men a break from the heat, and even though they were vulnerable if attacked, the men who were clothed would probably be able to buy time for the others to get clothed. They had trained on how to quickly get into the heat-resistant clothing: gloves, hoods, pants like the Arabs wore, and long-sleeved shirts. Oenus was confident their speed would increase when motivated by a fire-breathing dragon.
Dragons and Romans Page 14
