“Do you know you have an eye smile?” Flavia asked.
“What’s that?”
“Sometimes your expression is completely blank except for your eyes—they have the most amazing smile.”
He laughed. “It’s funny that no one has ever told me that.”
“Everyone probably thinks you already know.”
“Well, I never did until now.”
“You look into me so deeply,” Flavia said. “What are you seeking?”
“The reason for you.”
“It’s the will of your goddess.”
“I honor her.”
“When you look into me with love, I often think I see some sadness, too. Why?”
“You deserve the robes of a princess, not the old cloak of a soldier.”
She murmured and rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder. “I want only my centurion. So don’t say that again. I command it.”
“And who would dare disobey Flavia?” he said with a gentle laugh.
She placed a hand over his left breast. “Something else troubles you today, I think. Share it with me. My heart beats with yours.”
“A man has an enormous task to perform, but he’s young. Downy as a hatchling. He goes to an older man. Wiser in the agonies of the world. He asks his help. A very great favor.”
Flavia pushed herself up and swept the long black hair away from her face. “You say yes because your honor demands it.”
“It’s a faraway place with many dangers.”
She smiled a smile that could have melted granite. “Then your Sequani protectress has to accompany you. To see that you return safely to your haven in the forests of Gaul.”
Overwhelmed, Rufio crushed his lips to hers and squeezed her so tightly he felt as if every pore of her body were joined to his.
“I’ll never let you be apart from me,” he whispered.
“Our spirits are fused.” She pressed her face into his neck. “Forever.”
He smiled and pushed her back and touched his lips to each of her dark eyebrows.
“What is this faraway land?”
“A cauldron called Judaea. I’ll tell you about it later. I have to return to the fort now. But first I have something to give you.”
As Rufio rose and dressed, Flavia got out of bed and stood naked by the hot brazier near the window. Rufio could hear her sigh as she watched the snow falling in the central garden around which the house had been built.
He gazed at her from behind. Her black hair hung halfway down her back and contrasted stunningly with her pink skin. A bronze torque encircled her right biceps. Her body seemed as soft as doeskin, and yet she was muscled like a huntress. The sweep of her back and the contour of her hips and bottom could have been born only in the mind of divinity.
“This is such a lovely villa,” she said, still looking onto the snowy scene. “These rugs and hangings remind me of your rooms at the fort. Who is your friend?”
“A cotton merchant from Alexandria. He built this house here on the edge of the settlement to be close to his customers. But it’s far enough out to be peaceful and to give his horses space to run.”
She turned toward him. “We should have a place like this, my love. A home where we can be together away from the fort. A place to share each other.” She smiled. “Where we can hear birds sing far from the noise of marching men. And where my mare can graze outside my window.”
“Here is your gift.” He handed her a small bronze key.
“But where is the strongbox that goes with it?” she said and tapped him playfully on the end of his nose.
“You’re in it.”
Her smile vanished and her lips parted slightly. “This house?”
“We need heavy walls to contain your wails of passion.”
She simply stared at him.
“My friend retired to his estate in Italy. I gave him more than he asked before he changed his mind. But that smile in your eyes is worth a dozen slabs of gold.”
She yelped in pleasure and bounded toward him and wrapped him in her arms. She pulled him toward the bed and pushed him back and leaped on top of him.
“You rogue—you set me on fire! Get this tunic off and burn once more in the arms of your protectress!”
4
LET HIM WHO DID THE FAVOR BE SILENT. LET HIM WHO ACCEPTED IT SPEAK.
SENECA
Rufio stepped into the crowded changing room of the bathhouse just as Arrianus’s fist crashed into the face of another soldier. The man collapsed like a sack of wheat. On the way down, he banged his head against the edge of a bench, scattering coins and dice across the mosaic floor.
“Centurion!” a soldier yelled in warning, but it was too late.
Rufio looped his towel around Arrianus’s neck and jerked him back. He twisted brutally and wrenched Arrianus sideways and sent him tumbling to the hard tiles.
The other soldiers retreated to the edges of the room.
Rufio dropped to one knee beside the fallen man. Conscious but dazed, the soldier gaped at him like a child struggling to pull himself out of a bad dream.
“Relax,” Rufio said soothingly. He eased the man’s head back against the wall. Above him in a niche, a statue of Fortuna gazed down with that inscrutable expression that so maddened all those who sought her favor.
“He was cheating me,” Arrianus shouted from across the room, but Rufio ignored him.
“Rest a bit,” the centurion said. “Then have one of your friends take you back to your barracks.”
“Thank you,” he managed to croak.
“He was palming coins,” Arrianus said and hurried over to Rufio to plead his case.
A backhand from the centurion rocked his head rearward, but he managed to stay on his feet.
“You embarrass my century with this kind of nonsense?” Rufio said.
Arrianus was as feisty as a ferret, and, like most short men, prone to see enemies and plots coiling behind every sidelong glance.
“Is this true?” Rufio asked the other soldier.
“Yes,” he said, unable to lie before that searching gaze.
“Why?”
“I got drunk in the settlement and was robbed. I have no more money until the next stipendium.”
“All right. Talk with your signifer. If he’s as good a man as mine is, he’ll advance you something until then. Were you winning tonight?”
“Yes, centurion.”
“Count up your honest winnings and give back one coin in twenty to Arrianus. That’s your fine for palming.”
“Yes, centurion.”
Rufio turned toward Arrianus. His upper lip had already swollen to the size of a plum.
“My office, fifteen minutes.”
Rufio settled back in the comfortable wicker chair behind his desk and took the cup of Setian wine from his slave. Rufio was wearing the off-white tunic he favored in the evening after the pleasures of the bath.
“Thank you, Neko.”
The Egyptian lowered his head in acknowledgement.
“You decorated my house as beautifully as you did my quarters here,” Rufio said, gesturing at the rugs and hangings and bronze oil lamps that Neko had arranged as deftly as an artist.
“I want to make all your rooms cozy ones. Warm refuges from the fierce cares of war.”
“You’re indispensable to me,” Rufio said and sipped his wine.
“A master should never say that to a slave.” He smiled. “But then, you are not just any master.”
“How could I be when I have a servant who tells me that his people had created a great civilization when Romans were still living in huts?”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever said such a thing.”
“You say it with your eyes every day.” Rufio smiled at him over his cup.
Neko lowered his head an inch in acquiescence.
“We’re going to return to the desert, my friend.”
“Indeed? Egypt?”
“Judaea.”
“Ah
, the Jews. A strange people.”
“None stranger. Ready for a journey?”
“I have but one role, to be within call of you.”
Rufio’s eyes smiled. “Go to bed now.”
“I sleep when you sleep. And you are awake late tonight.”
“I have much thinking to do. Go to your room. I’ll call if I need you.”
After Neko had left, Rufio turned his chair around toward the corner behind his desk where the bust of Julius Caesar presided from a plinth draped with purple cloth. Neko had arranged an ornate triple lamp stand in such a way that the three flames illumined the great Roman’s face with an eerie, otherworldly light. It was the perfect vision for silent contemplation.
Rufio did not turn around when he heard Arrianus enter the office.
“You made a fool of yourself and your century over a dice game,” he said without looking at him. “Suppose you’d broken his jaw. Or blinded him. Over a handful of coins? Or to puff up your shrunken manhood? You broke discipline. Until you regain it, you’re not entitled to share a barracks with these men. For the next three nights you’ll pitch your tent in the snow outside the fort. And no wheat or fruit or meat. You’ll live on barley.” Rufio turned and drilled him with his eyes. “Understood?”
“Yes, centurion.”
“Is that enough time to find some discipline?”
“I’m not sure, centurion. Three nights I could do standing on my head.”
“Good—I’m pleased my soldiers are so tough. I’ll give you three more to get you back on your feet. Six nights under leather. Barley and water. Dismissed.”
Arrianus left without another word, and Rufio turned to his contemplation of Caesar.
Yet it was not to be, at least not yet. The last man he expected to see at this time of night strode into his office.
“Commander,” Rufio said and stood up.
Sabinus peeled off his red cloak and looked casual as a bathhouse lounger in his off-white tunic with no sash of rank. He waved Rufio back down and pulled a chair before the desk.
“I enjoy spending time in your quarters more than in those of any other soldier in the fort.” He gazed at Caesar brought to life by the flickering yellow light. “I wish I were old enough to have known him.”
“My father did.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“He served in the Tenth.”
“Did he tell you many stories?”
“Oh, yes. And if I’m in need of guidance, I come here to try to draw something of Caesar’s spirit. His wisdom. And when I’m in Rome and feeling restless, I go down to the Forum at night. I stand in front of his temple before the altar built outside. On the spot where they cremated him. And there I feel peace.”
Sabinus smiled.
“And how ironic that is,” Rufio went on. “Peace was the one thing his enemies would never allow him. When those butchers cut him down, they had no idea they were performing an act of mercy.”
“Now he belongs to the annals of Rome.”
“Here,” Rufio said quietly, “in the dark of the night, he belongs only to me.”
Sabinus nodded his understanding. “Now how about some of that excellent wine you have stashed away?”
“Forgive me, commander. Neko!”
But the Egyptian was already on his way in with a pitcher and a plate of fruits and cheeses.
“Let’s get more comfortable,” Rufio said, and he led Sabinus into his small dining room.
Neko had lit the lamps and gotten the big iron brazier going.
“Your choice.” Rufio pointed to chairs and couches.
“It’s been a long day,” Sabinus answered and stretched out on one of the three couches arranged around a low central oak table.
Neko came up to the open fourth side of the table and set out the food and drink and then stood in the background.
“Not many of my centurions have couches for dining.”
“I think more clearly when my body is at ease.”
“Do you think even when you’re eating?”
“I think even when I’m sleeping.”
Sabinus looked around at the Oriental rugs and the lush wall hangings. “I like that one.” He pointed behind Rufio.
A golden leopard against a deep green forest struck a startling note in a room dominated by the dark reds of the rugs.
“My favorite. I bought it from a Persian trader in Antioch. No one weaves like the Persians.”
“Why do you refuse to return to the East?”
“Ah,” Rufio said and took sip of wine. “You’ve been speaking with Crus.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t know I’m here.”
“I’ve had enough sand between my teeth to last me the rest of my life.”
“What else?”
“Nothing else. I’m happy here.”
“I see.” Sabinus reached for a wedge of cheese. “Well, I’m happy to have you here, but why not do a favor for a deserving young man?”
“A favor?” he said with a laugh. “It’s not like buying him a cup of beer in the settlement. Have you ever been to a desert?”
“No.”
“I thought not.”
“He’ll be lost out there without someone like you. You know that.”
“Yes, he will.”
Sabinus searched Rufio’s eyes. “I don’t believe I’ve misjudged you. You’re not that cold.”
Rufio remained silent.
“Would you do it as a favor for me?”
“Yes,” Rufio said calmly as he scooped an olive from the bowl. “As a favor for you and for Crus and for Rome.”
Sabinus stared at him warily, looking for a leg snare. “It’s that easy for you to change your mind?”
“Nothing is that easy. You must do a favor for me. I don’t want to go alone.”
“Flavia,” Sabinus said, smiling. “All right. I’ll break the rules for you. But I cannot allow all your officers to take their women as well.”
“That’s not the reason”—Rufio smiled—“not the only reason anyway. The horse and the bow are the weapons of the East. I might need Flavia to teach those skills to others. Horses I can do, at least to some extent, but the bow is Flavia’s weapon. She’s the finest archer I’ve seen outside of Africa.”
“Very well.”
“Something else. I want my cohort, too.”
“Now I see! You laid the trap before I walked in the door.”
“I’m just a simple soldier.”
“How can I send your cohort? It’s become one of the finest in the legion. I need them. And a vexillation of that size is unreasonable. You know we’re undermanned.”
Rufio split the olive with his teeth and popped out the stone and set it on the table. Then he chewed the fruit and washed it down with wine.
“No answer?” Sabinus asked.
“Certainly there’s an answer,” Rufio said with the hint of a taunt. “Order me to go. Against my will.”
“You know I never would,” Sabinus said in exasperation. “It was a twisted fortune that brought you here to me.”
“Why not do a favor for a deserving older man?”
5
SO GREAT IS THE STRENGTH OF HONESTY THAT WE SHOULD ESTEEM IT EVEN IN OUR FOES.
CICERO
Sharp sun glancing off the snow felt like the edge of a blade of grass being drawn across the eyeballs. The soldiers squinted at the glare as they labored through their afternoon weapons drill. They were armored with helmets and mail but wore no cloaks, despite the chill.
Rufio observed from a distance as Valerius, his optio, goaded them through their exertions. Though only in his twenties, Valerius was as relentless as a centurion in his pursuit of perfection.
“Arrianus looks like a tortoise today,” Rufio said as he came up behind Valerius.
“Very sluggish. It’s difficult to get any sleep when you spend all night shivering.”
“How many more nights for him?”
“Two.”
Ru
fio folded his arms and watched his men assault the training stakes. “Draw their records. I want to know how many have served in hot climates.”
“Are we leaving?”
“For about six months. After this weather breaks. Eager for a frolic in the desert?”
Valerius smiled. “I’ve heard that the women along the Nile have a technique of squeezing with their—.”
“No, not Egypt. Judaea—land of burnt offerings and bad food.”
“Isn’t Herod on the throne there?” he asked in surprise. Why would—?”
“My thoughts, too. Is Metellus still enraptured by that Sequani woman?”
“Oh, yes—Calpurnia. And her little girl worships him.”
“I cannot imagine what it’s like to be worshipped by a child.”
“Neither could he until it happened.”
“Authorize him three days’ leave.”
Rufio bent down and scooped up some melting snow. He pressed it into a ball as hard as alabaster and drilled it into the spot behind Arrianus’s right knee. His leg crumpled like a dead leaf.
“Wake up, soldier!”
Arrianus stopped himself before he had spun completely around, and then he thrust back at the oak stake with renewed fury.
“I’m having supper tonight with Sabinus and Crus and the noble senator Bulla. I won’t see you at dusk when you take an extra blanket and a bowl of stewed venison to our wayward gambler camped in the snow.”
Valerius smiled.
Rufio gazed at the clearing sky and inhaled the crisp air. “The longest snowfall always seems too brief. And yet nothing is more pleasant than the first scent of spring.” He shook his head to himself. “Men are such strange creatures.”
He turned away and headed back to the barracks.
Paki was curled up on his desk but stood up as soon as she heard him come in. Already purring, she stretched her back legs out languidly behind her and then walked to the edge with her tail high in the air.
Rufio extended a hand and she rubbed her face hard against his fingers. He leaned down and let her lick his nose vigorously several times.
Horses on the Storm Page 2
