“My senior centurion,” Crus said to the graybeard.
The Judaean stood up and turned around.
Rufio dismounted and approached.
“This is Simon,” Matthias said.
“Quintus Rufio.” He grabbed a camp stool and sat down, and Simon resumed his eat.
About sixty, the old man had a crease in his face for every crisis in the history of the kingdom. He conveyed the look of someone who had seen as much as any man can, and perhaps more than most men should.
“Simon takes no delight in our presence here,” Crus said with barely controlled frustration. “Nor do the people of Hezrail.”
“I see,” Rufio said.
Simon stared calmly at Rufio.
“No laborers for us,” Matthias said. “He claims all are occupied.”
“Then he lies,” Rufio said, looking at Simon. “Does Elah not forbid the telling of lies? Or do I misread your holy texts?”
Startled, Simon said, “No Roman knows our sacred writings.”
“Look at me,” Rufio commanded.
Simon’s eyes peered uncertainly into his.
“Do you think I’m just any Roman?”
Simon hesitated.
“Do you?”
“Perhaps not.”
“Don’t worry,” Crus said. “We’re not going to press any of your people into service. We’re not brutes—regardless of what you’ve been told.”
“We trust no foreigners.”
“You don’t even trust each other,” Rufio said with contempt.
“Our ways are our ways. And we leave our doors unbarred to no Romans. We have heard the commanders of Roman legions speak promises before. And such promises are always followed by more Roman legions.”
“We’re here to help,” Crus said.
“You’re Romans. You’re here to help yourselves.”
“There are men out there who’d be happy to crush this kingdom like an ant hill,” Rufio said.
“Yes, I know. Parthians and others.”
“You’ve seen Parthians?” Matthias asked.
“I have. But we do not fear them. We fear only our God.”
“He’s the least of your worries,” Rufio said.
“We’re at peace with Him.”
Rufio waved that aside. “A rare moment in the tale of your people.”
“If the Parthians sweep in from the desert, you’ll all fall before them,” Crus said.
“Prostituting ourselves to you first will not lighten that pain.”
“Enough!” Matthias said. “Are you mad? You’re helpless here.”
“No one is helpless in the arms of Elah.”
Crus stood up. “We didn’t expect incense and sacrifices when we rode in here,” he said in the tone of a man learning fast and aging fast. “But we expected more than this.”
“Then you know not this people,” Simon answered. “Our memories are long. Did you know that Pompeius himself rode his—.”
“Sweet Venus’s tits!” Rufio shouted. “Not again! I don’t care if that horse shit in your temple. There are savage men out there eyeing your children in their beds.”
“Elah will send protection.”
“He has sent it,” Matthias said. “Men with horses and blades. Spurn them at your peril.”
“Perils we understand.” Simon turned to Rufio. “Long after the bones of your horses have bleached in the sun, we will still be here.”
“Yes,” Rufio said in resignation. “Shackled to the floor.”
Simon seemed confused. “I don’t understand.”
“I know,” Rufio answered wearily. “That’s your folly. And your destiny.”
38
HOW MANY ANIMALS HAVE WE COME TO KNOW FOR THE FIRST TIME IN OUR OWN AGE.
SENECA
Rufio’s five centurions gathered around a table inside Crus’s tent and had their duties assigned to them. Two of the centurions had been optios in other cohorts. Rufio was forever prowling the legion for exceptional men, and when two of his own centurions retired, he had persuaded Sabinus to promote two optios and transfer them to the Second Cohort. Even as a tesserarius in his youth, Rufio had been as deft of hand as a cheating dice player in dealing with his superiors. Of course, Sabinus had probably known he was being worked. Yet the Legate was indulgent to the man who both induced stomach pains in his commander and, paradoxically, brought him peace as well. To the hero of Scorpion Hill, Sabinus was inclined to give much. Though indifferent to acclaim, Rufio was happy to play upon his fame as if it were a musical instrument in order to enhance the quality of his cohort.
Four of his centurions were older than he, one about the same age. Two had served in Egypt, one in Spain, the other two mostly in Gaul. All bore the scars of wounds or injuries or disease. They rippled with the confidence bestowed by years of service in lands where one never slept without a sword to hand. They were seasoned Roman men.
Rufio assigned one century for fort clean up, one for repairs, the three others for new construction within the fort. His own century he reserved for all matters relating to the horses, including the building of pens and training areas, as well as daily care. The soldier who just recently had been sleeping in the snow and gagging on barley Rufio suddenly promoted.
Arrianus laughed, suspecting a joke, but Rufio’s eyes were stern.
“Secondarius Equitatum,” Rufio said. “You’ve never heard of it because I just created it. You’ll assist Bellator. In a land like this, nothing is more important than our horses. If they die, we die.”
“My father would be very proud of this. It would bring tears to his eyes.”
“When we leave this cauldron, you can write to him and tell him.”
“Thank you, centurion.”
Rufio knew that the finest soldiers were invariably the ones who thought for themselves and who, in their youth, picked their way around orders as if they were avoiding pointed metal lilies in the ditch of a fort. Ultimately such men made the best leaders. The idiocy was that they were rarely allowed to be. They were quashed by older men who preferred geldings to studs. But not in the Second Cohort. Here the rampant stallions were permitted to kick and bite all they wanted. An occasional stick across the withers brought them into line. Rufio knew he had now found another to join Valerius and Metellus. Stomach pains were worth it.
“What is that?” Flavia asked, staring at a structure such as she had never seen before.
“A round training pen for the horses,” Bellator said. “It’s called a gyrus.”
“Why are the walls so high?”
“To keep the horses from getting distracted.
She walked over and examined the boards and iron. “This is from the wagons, isn’t it?”
“We dismantled about half of them. Training starts tomorrow.”
“But why make it round? Wouldn’t it be easier to make it square?”
“It would, but round is better. No corners for reluctant animals to try to flee to.”
“Such a simple idea,” she said with a smile. “Why did the Sequani never think of that?”
“Well, don’t give us the credit. It was invented long ago by the Lapithae.”
She turned and looked at him. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“A legendary race of great horsemen from the mountains of Thessaly in Greece. They’re famous for having battled and beaten the Centaurs.”
“Who are they?”
“A race of beings who are half man and half horse.”
Flavia laughed. “You’re teasing me.”
But Bellator did not smile. “I’ve seen many bizarre things emerge from Greece.”
“But that cannot be. Can it?”
He pointed to a shady spot against the pen wall. Flavia sat and he sat down beside her.
“Our philosophers claim such a thing is impossible,” Bellator said.
“But you don’t believe them?”
“Never trust a man who is certain. He simply hasn’t lived long enough. As
for philosophers, the only thing certain about them is the mildew in their moldy brains.”
She smiled. “Why are you so shy with your opinions?”
“Natural reticence.”
She laughed and touched one of his meaty hands. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’d rather be here than dining with Jupiter.”
“But half man and half horse!” she said, unable to get the image out of her mind. “It makes me shiver.”
“And they’re mad with lust and all forms of debauchery. One was even responsible for the death of Hercules.”
“But where could such creatures come from?”
“Centaurus was the deformed son of Apollo. He ran with the horses of Magnesia and mated with the mares and gave rise to the centaurs.”
Despite the late morning warmth, Flavia felt chilly and wrapped her arms around herself. “You like to shock me, don’t you?”
“Sometimes. But I’m not trying to now.”
She saw the seriousness in his eyes.
“Of one thing we can be sure,” he said. “If at this moment on the slopes of Thessaly herds of centaurs are running through darkened woods, they care nothing for philosophers who scoff at their existence.”
Flavia leaned her head back against the planks and closed her eyes. Thrilled and appalled, she could not let go of that frightening vision. Finally she stood up. She touched Bellator on a shoulder and walked away with troubled eyes.
To Rufio, the desert at night was a pulsing threat. He stood just behind the trench line of the camp and gazed into the eastern blackness. Sounds raced undistorted through desert air. Distance did not matter. On this still night, he was certain he could have heard someone cough in the ruins of Babylon.
Yet, oddly, raids were still possible. If the wind were blowing away from camp, the danger increased. Without leaves to rustle or twigs to snap, this wasteland offered few warnings to the unwary. It was no accident that the Nabataeans preferred mares, animals quieter in ambush than stallions or geldings. And if the raiders rode camels, prepare for the worst, for those strange beasts seemed to walk on the wind.
Rufio toured the perimeter and satisfied himself that all was secure. Nonetheless, he would be happier when his men were sleeping behind walls.
Rufio’s tent was a cozy respite from the anxieties of command. Neko had several lamps burning and had set out a pitcher of water along with a plate of cured olives and slices of Parmula ham. He had placed them on the little table where Rufio always kept a single lamp and his small red porphyry statue of Victoria. Long into the night, Rufio would often sit there, pondering the lessons of the day. Neko knew this was his master’s sacred place, and the Egyptian always treated it with reverence.
Rufio smiled at Neko dozing in a chair and pulled off his sword and dagger belts. Flavia was long asleep at the far end of the tent, where Neko had made a partition with a wool blanket to give the sleeping area some privacy.
The metallic clatter of the weapons belts woke Neko, who jumped up with a start. The centurion signaled to him to be quiet and to go off to bed in the small adjoining tent.
Rufio stood for a moment in the center of the tent and stretched and breathed deeply. Then he sat down by Victoria and sought her counsel.
Crus inspected the gyrus as well as the training arena being constructed beyond it. The men’s progress was amazing. Soon both enclosures would be completed. He noticed Flavia and Morlana outside the far end of the big rectangular arena. Morlana was launching arrows with startling skill at a red rag attached to a hay bale. Occasionally Flavia would correct the girl’s stance or posture. The young woman’s patience never waned.
Crus wondered if Lucia would ever present him with a daughter. All good Roman men wanted sons, and so did he. Yet the gaze of love of a young girl toward her father could cast a light across the blackest night. Crus understood Rufio’s longing. He was certain that Morlana would plead with Mallius to take her to Rome with the cohort when this was done. Rufio and Flavia had become the extended family she had never had. But unless Rufio retired, he and Flavia would eventually return to Gaul. That, Crus was certain, would break the little girl’s heart.
Neko seemed always to be busy on behalf of his master. So Flavia was surprised when she pulled back the tent flap to see him in Rufio’s wicker chair. A bronze lamp burned next to the statue of Victoria. Neko sat beside the table with his eyes closed and his hands in his lap. He did not seem to be asleep. A look of serene contemplation bathed his features. When a cool evening breeze blew in and touched him, he turned and saw Flavia.
“Sit back down, Neko.”
“Not while you stand.”
“Neko . . .”
“The centurion will be here soon. Time for me to prepare a refreshment and to lay out a reading or two for him for the night.”
She crossed the interior of the tent. “He’s meeting with the tribune and the other centurions. They’re discussing Parthians. I’m expecting a long night.”
She took a chair from beside the big table at the far side of the tent and set it across from the other one.
“Spend time with me, Neko. I need your knowledge and your learning.”
Neko was the only man she knew who could settle into a chair as silently as a folded piece of cloth.
“Have you ever heard of centaurs?”
“Yes.”
“Do they exist?”
“I cannot answer that. I’ve not been everywhere.”
“I mean can they exist?”
“Philosophers say no.”
“What do you say?”
“I say that the word impossible should never pass a wise man’s lips.”
She looked away and stared idly at the wick burning in the bronze next to the little red statue.
“Did you know that there is a race of lizards in which there are no males?” Neko asked.
She turned back to him.
“All females,” he said. “They always have fertile eggs inside them. They lay them and the babies hatch out. No males needed. A race of virgins!”
She managed a smile. “How dull.”
“Who could believe such a thing exists? But it does.”
She traced a forefinger along the edge of the table but said nothing.
“Why this concern about centaurs?”
“I don’t know. But it bothers me. The fact that there could be such creatures.”
“Some of them are archers, as you are. Wouldn’t it be marvelous to see one?”
“Not the way Bellator describes them.”
“Ah, the old horseman. Best to treat with a skeptical ear anything you hear from that tale spinner.”
“The thought of them makes me restless.”
“Perhaps someday you and Rufio and I can go to Mount Pelion in Thessaly and see for ourselves.”
She stared at him in horror. “Are you serious?”
“Oh, perhaps half-serious. Rufio and I have been there. Not to the mount itself, but we passed through Thessaly several years ago.”
“Oh, why didn’t you climb the mount and see?”
Neko smiled. “Why indeed. I suppose we should have.”
“It’s the mixture of intelligence and passions that frightens me. And brute power. And then put a weapon into that creature’s hand. I know it sounds silly, but it makes me . . . I don’t know.”
“There are men like that, too.”
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Is that what bothers you? Does that mixture seem familiar to you?”
“No!” she shouted and jumped up. “Don’t say such a thing!”
Neko was imperturbable. “Please sit as a favor to me.”
She did so.
“Bellator was selective in his narrative. He left out someone—the greatest of the centaurs. Not descended from the twisted freak Centaurus, but the son of Kronos the titan, the father of Zeus.”
“Who is Zeus?”
“The king of the Greek gods.”
“Plea
se tell me more.”
“Kronos transformed himself into a stallion when he seduced Philyra. She bore the most magnificent centaur of all—Chiron. Noble and wise, he tutored Achilles himself on horsemanship, as well as the arts of the bow and the ways of war. But also the secrets of healing and the glories of music. He could play the lyre like no other. Temperate yet fierce. Gentle but fearless.”
“That is like someone I know.”
“Chiron was the sole centaur who was immortal. But in a terrible mishap he was accidentally wounded by Hercules with an arrow dipped in the blood of the Lernaean Hydra. The agony was unending. Chiron begged Zeus to take away his immortality. Zeus allowed Chiron to die and then hurled him up into the heavens, and the noble archer is now that great constellation of stars whose arrow forever guides sailors on their way.”
“I’ve seen those stars!” She leaned forward and touched Neko’s right hand. “That’s a wonderful story. Thank you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. All these powerful men on horseback everywhere must be overwhelming me. I think the desert air is affecting my mind.”
Neko rose and went to prepare for Rufio’s return.
“One thing more,” he said, turning back to Flavia. “Some claim that Zeus allows Chiron to return to earth on rare occasions. To intervene for those he favors.”
Flavia just stared at him.
Neko smiled. “A comforting thought, perhaps, for the impetuous archer from Gaul. She might be wise to seek his guidance.”
Then the Egyptian went back to his duties.
Thank you, my friend, Flavia whispered in her heart. I love you.
She went outside and gazed at the heavens. There he was, spread across the blackness, the archer in all his eternal magnificence. Vast, remote, bow drawn in silent unending power.
Flavia dropped to her knees and lowered her head and prayed.
Rufio was looking over the horse paddocks in the mid-morning sun when he saw Crus approaching.
“When was the last time you were inside the fort?” Crus said.
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