“In the Field of Beasts,” he said and pointed east of the city.
“Thank you. The blessings of your gods on you and your family.”
The man gestured in acknowledgement and his cart creaked on.
The Field of Beasts was easy to find. The reek of manure was thick enough to coat the tongue. Several small strings of horses were staked out, but it was the large herd that caught Rufio’s eye. Over two hundred magnificent Arabians were enclosed in a huge pen made of posts with a single rope line stretched between them. Some strips of white cloth had been tied to the cord and fluttered in the breeze. It was a clever way to control a large number of horses with minimum manpower. The rope ran about chest high to the horses—high enough to inhibit jumping and low enough to discourage going underneath. A lone tent had been pitched at the edge of the pen.
Rufio approached the grazing herd but saw no one about. An unguarded herd was a risky proposition in this land of thieves. One of the sections of rope had fallen off a post and offered an escape route. Rufio decided to do a good deed.
“May I give you a cool drink?”
Still down on the ground, Rufio turned on one knee.
A girl of about ten smiled at him. He had never before been startled by a child, but for a moment he just stared at the girl. Her eyes, as blue as the surface of the sea, cast their light far more deeply into him than most would ever have dared. And yet she was unafraid of anything she saw there. He felt like he could not move. Even stranger, he did not want to move. Heavy, dreamy lids half-hid her eyes, but still they held him. Most striking was her hair. Not the usual wispy tendrils of the prepubescent girl, but a grown woman’s mane. Thick as a forest, but yellow and wild, a golden jungle that made her head seem big for her body. Her lithe frame was as thin as a blade and draped in a black caftan.
“Yes, I’ll take some water.”
Still smiling, she handed him the cup.
“What’s your name,” he asked and took a sip.
“Morlana.”
He returned the cup to her. “Mine is Rufio.”
“You’ve met my decurion,” a Roman voice said from beyond her.
Rufio looked up. A man of about fifty and thick as a pillar strode toward them. Rufio knew instantly that he had once been a soldier.
“Now I know why she speaks Latin so well,” Rufio said, standing up.
“Decimus Mallius.”
“Rufio. Twenty-fifth Legion.”
“Well, I’ve been retired for years, but if my memory isn’t entirely dry-rotted, the Twenty-fifth is in Gaul.”
“Rome is wherever a legionary rests his head.”
“Good answer!” he said with a laugh. “Are you here with a vexillation?”
“One cohort.”
He whistled softly. “Brave men among all these jackals. Why are you here?”
“Not something I can discuss at the moment. Why are you here?”
“I served in Syria with III Gallica. Decided to retire and live with the Judaeans.”
“I thought they were jackals.”
“Oh, no, not them. The rest. Steal the wax out of your ears.”
Rufio glanced at Morlana. She was staring at him and he smiled at her. She smiled and averted her eyes.
“Interested in some horses?”
“If the price is sweet. Are they green?”
“No, much better than that. Each one is married to bridle and saddle. I’ve tried out each one myself.”
“Very thorough.”
“I want happy return buyers, not angry riders with broken collar bones.”
“Sex?”
“Mostly stallions. A few geldings. The Nabataeans prefer to ride mares. They cull the studs.”
“Are the geldings healed?”
“They were trimmed in the winter, when the flies are scarce. How many do you want?”
“All of them.”
He laughed again. “Don’t tease a tired old soldier.”
“In fact, I need more than you have. I want to mount the entire cohort.”
“My partner will be here soon with at least another three hundred.”
“How soon?”
“This is the desert. Time has no meaning to these people.”
“If he arrives before we leave, I’ll take them all. The silver is at hand.”
Mallius slid an arm around this daughter. “Sweetheart, let’s share our tent with this good man.”
With hardly enough light left to see, Flavia hurried through the camp to the centurion’s tent. Inside, Rufio sat in near darkness in a wicker chair he had bought in the city. The tiniest of lamps burned weakly on a table behind his right elbow. He seemed not so much a man as a forbidding silhouette carved from the darkness.
“What’s wrong?” Flavia asked.
“What do you mean?” were the words that slid out of the shadows.
“The tribune told me you weren’t well. That he upset you this morning and you haven’t been well since then.”
“Crus? How could he upset me? What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know. How could I know?”
“Come here.”
She stepped next to his chair and he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.
“I’ve had a terrible day.”
She dropped to the ground next to him and leaned against his legs. She still could barely make him out in the darkness.
“Tell me what happened,” she asked.
“The most amazing thing. And the most terrible thing. And they were both the same thing.”
She kissed his knee and rubbed it gently as a signal for him to continue.
He told her about looking for a horse trader and finding Mallius and making the deal. Then he told her about Morlana.
“I cannot get that little girl out of my mind.”
Flavia encouraged him with her silence.
“She was so open and confident. She came right up to me without hesitation.”
“You were with children the first time I saw you.”
“This was different. It usually takes a while. People have feared me all my life. Some say it’s my stare. Children or adults—it doesn’t matter. But this child came up to my door and knocked, and I opened it without a second thought. Now I cannot stop thinking about her. I close my eyes and I see her face. And I don’t know why.”
“Do you need to know?”
“YES!” he shouted.
“Perhaps she’s a special little girl,” Flavia said gently, undeterred by his anger.
“I saw her gazing at me many times while I spoke with her father. She was so trusting. Unafraid. I wanted to reach out and cup her chin and caress her cheek.”
“With your thumb. The way you do with me.”
“After I finished negotiating with Mallius for the horses, she wouldn’t stop asking me questions. About Gaul, about Rome, whether I had any children, how my dagger was made. She was insatiable.”
“I was right. She’s a special girl.”
“Mallius had some business in the city, but it was clear she didn’t want to go. She was having too much fun with this warrior from a strange land. She asked her father if she could stay with me while he was in the city. He didn’t even hesitate to say yes.”
“He’s a wise man.”
“He trusted a near-stranger with his beautiful child. I spent all day with her. She pummeled me with questions. Everything you can imagine.”
Flavia smiled.
“She was tireless. She loved to talk about animals. When I described the horses in the great circus in Rome, she actually gasped. She said she wanted to see that more than anything.”
Rufio paused, and Flavia allowed the quiet and the dark to soothe him.
“About halfway through the day, I said to her—jokingly—that I’d never gone to all this trouble for a child before. Without an instant’s hesitation, she grinned and said, ‘Well, you’re doing a good job!’ I burst out laughing.”
Flavia squeezed his
knee.
“I couldn’t bear the thought of the day ending. Finally when Mallius came back, it was time for me to go. I was about to leave when Morlana lunged at me and threw her arms around me. She hugged me so tightly I could feel every rib in her lean little body. And I stood there like a fool. I was afraid to touch her. My arms just hung there. I looked past her and saw Mallius smiling. So finally I curled my arms around her. She hugged me even more tightly. Without thought, I pressed my lips against those golden waves of hair.”
Flavia leaned her face against his thigh. “You’re a very different man than most people see.”
“Finally she eased up a bit but still held me. I asked her if she would come to see me. She looked up at me but seemed too filled with emotion to speak. She just nodded. Never have I left the presence of a child and felt the pang I felt today.”
Flavia waited, but he seemed finished.
“You’re not telling me everything. You said that something about this was terrible. What?”
“The beauty of it was terrible.” His voice was unsteady.
“I don’t understand.”
“All my life I’ve fought. I’ve always chosen the line of greatest resistance. I’ve raced around the Empire and smashed back the barbarians. Laid roads and built towns. Battled the enemies of Rome. I’ve asked for nothing in return except for a place to lay my head. . . .”
“That’s one of the reasons I love you so much.”
“But I’ve never created life. Mallius created something precious. In an almost offhand way. Today I saw the road I chose not to take. All my triumphs—what are they compared to a trusting little girl throwing her arms around me?”
“We can have children, my love.”
“No, no, it’s too late for that. Too late for me. I’ve made my choices.”
“They were for the good of your men. For the glory of Rome.”
“I know. Yet my victories seem like a passing breeze compared to a ten-year-old girl who didn’t exist for me one day ago.”
Flavia longed to comfort him, but she did not know how.
“I don’t understand this!” Rufio said.
“Some things cannot be understood. They can only be felt.”
She reached up in the dark and touched his face.
“Keep these things locked in your heart,” he whispered. He sounded drained.
“I will. Forever.”
26
COMMON DANGER BRINGS FORTH HARMONY.
ROMAN SAYING
“No, I’ve foresworn the grape,” Bellator said.
Mallius’s daughter retreated with the cup and returned it to the tent.
“Shall we inspect the horseflesh?” Mallius asked.
“Let’s do it now.”
They climbed over the rope and walked out toward the herd.
“I thought the centurion was pleased with the purchase.”
“He is,” Bellator said. “But I was a cavalryman in my infancy, so I thought I’d pass my hand over a few flanks.”
Bellator heard running behind him, and he turned and saw the little girl hurrying to keep up. She looked around eagerly as if she were expecting someone.
The crisp morning breeze had invigorated the horses, and they snorted and twitched with all the vibrancy of their desert race.
“Well, I commend Rufio and I commend you,” Bellator said, taking in the Arabs. “A wise purchase indeed. I don’t think I have to finger any teeth today.”
“Thank you.”
“What about tack?”
“There are several honest makers here in Caesarea. I’ve already made arrangements for a fair price for you. I keep them fat the two or three times a year I bring horses up here. They deal honestly with me.”
“I want four-horned saddles.”
“You’ll have them.”
“You’ll pardon me,” Bellator said and sat down on the grass. “I have an old injury that this wet air is torturing.”
“Is that why you no longer ride?” Mallius said, sitting down across from him.
“It splays my hips too much.”
The girl was still standing and searching the distance beyond Bellator.
“Morlana,” Mallius said and pointed to the ground.
She immediately sat beside him but was as restless as a filly.
“Do you work for the Nabataeans then?” Bellator asked.
“I work for myself. The Nabataeans don’t care to associate with the Judaeans, so I buy the horses and resell them for a fair profit.”
“How do you get them here? Where are your helpers? Besides Morlana, I mean.”
“I hire them when I begin and dismiss them when we arrive here.”
Morlana touched her father’s sleeve. He turned and she leaned forward and whispered something.
“It’s not polite to whisper in front of a guest,” Mallius said.
“That’s all right,” Bellator said with a smile when he saw her redden.
Mallius placed a comforting hand over hers and looked back at Bellator. “We were wondering if the centurion is going to join us.”
“No, he has business with the king.”
“Herod?” Mallius said in surprise.
“Yes.”
The disappointment on Morlana’s face spoke with the eloquence of a tragic ode. Bellator was always amused at how young girls never felt anything halfway.
“He must be an important man,” Mallius said.
“He’s an unknown soldier from a frontier outpost. Or at least he was unknown until this year.”
Mallius turned to his daughter. “Maybe we’ll see him again before we leave.”
“Where is home?” Bellator asked.
“A village near the Salt Sea.”
“That’s a long way to travel alone. What about bandits?”
“They’re an endless worry in Judaea. And they’re merciless. But there are fortified inns along the way. We’ll stay there at night.”
Bellator glanced at the fidgety girl who probably had little excitement in her life. And who, apparently, had taken a fancy to a stern-faced soldier from the wilderness of Gaul.
“Why not travel with us?” Bellator said. “No place on earth is safer than in the midst of the Second Cohort.”
Morlana’s eyes widened and she looked up at her father.
“Where are you headed?” Mallius said.
“Same direction.”
“Then we shall.”
“Oh, daddy,” Morlana said and threw her arms around her father’s neck and kissed him on the cheek.
“Perhaps you can repay us,” Bellator said. “You understand the Nabataeans. The tribune will want to talk with you. He has a commission from Caesar on grave matters.”
“I asked Rufio about it, but he was a tight as a murex.”
“On his own, he’s daring to the point of folly, but he’s very cautious with the lives of his men.”
“I’ll give whatever advice I have. And I can tell you at the outset that you needn’t fear the Nabataeans. But the Parthians are another animal entirely.”
“As we suspected.”
“When do you leave?”
“A few weeks. Why not join our camp now? We have only one pretty face at the moment.” He gazed at Morlana. “It would be much nicer to have two.”
She blushed and smiled and squeezed her father’s arm.
Crus and Rufio followed Matthias down a narrow palace entryway guarded by four soldiers with swords on their hips. The three visitors were ordered to leave their daggers. One of the guards then escorted them through a doorway to the left. Off to the right stretched a bank of rooms, and Rufio could smell steam and fresh water emanating from them. There must have been a bathhouse in the palace. Roman tastes indeed.
To the left, the three men entered an open air forecourt similar to the one in the Principia at the fort, though smaller. At the opposite side, a doorway opened to the throne room. Guards were posted there as well.
Long like a Roman basilica but narr
ower, the reception hall of the king was paved in white mosaic. Twin rows of magnificent columns of pink Egyptian granite topped with Corinthian capitals performed Atlas’s task of supporting the roof. Bucolic garden frescoes in the Roman style adorned the plastered walls. Yet they were oddly sterile. Neither man nor beast nor fowl dared enter these silent gardens, in deference to the bizarre Jewish proscription of animate images of any kind.
At the end of the hall loomed the man who had summoned them. The three men strode with measured respect down the long room between rows of guards. About thirty feet from the throne, three soldiers stopped them and one searched Matthias for weapons. The guard declined to inspect the Romans, and all three were now allowed to pass.
In a chair carved from cedar on a raised marble slab sat the man of legend. He wore a white tunic and pants trimmed with gold, with a half-cloak of red around his shoulders. The most hated and feared ruler in the entire East gazed at them in silence. Forever watched by Romans, smothered by sycophants, badgered by fools, betrayed by his own blood—now he was confronted by two specimens of that relentless race to whom he owed his throne, and who never let him forget it.
Herod was shorter than Rufio remembered. Stouter as well. Silver streaked his black hair and thick beard. His brow seemed heavier than it did years ago, as if now he had to make an effort to keep it from falling. He was clearly past his prime. Yet the fearsome eyes remained. It was as if some capricious god had melded the eyes of a Greek philosopher with those of a caged lion. Hopeful for honesty and expecting treachery, those eyes now burned into the Romans.
“The people of Judaea welcome our Roman friends,” Herod said in a powerful voice that rumbled down the throne room. His Latin was excellent in both enunciation and intonation.
Crus stepped forward. “Caesar sends his greetings with those of the Senate and the people of Rome.”
“Approach,” Herod said in a softer voice.
Crus closed to within comfortable speaking distance.
“You are the tribune of whom Matthias spoke.”
It was not a question so much as a pronouncement.
“Ulpius Crus.”
“A political soldier then.”
“I am.”
Horses on the Storm Page 14
