Lost Legio IX: The Karus Saga

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “A prisoner?” Karus was surprised. He had begun to believe the city was empty. Apparently, it was not completely so. He noticed Dio and Felix sharing a look.

  “Yes, sir,” Crix rasped. “A woman in her early twenties. It appears that she was locked up, chained, and left some food and water. However, I estimate that she ran out of both a couple of days back.”

  Karus was even more surprised by that. Someone had wanted her to survive, at least for a time. The question was, why?

  “What is her condition?”

  “Passable,” he said. “The prisoner will live.”

  “Where is she now?” Karus rubbed his chin. He wanted to speak with her.

  “Just outside, sir.” The centurion glanced behind him before returning to look at Karus. “I thought you might like to see her straightaway, though she doesn’t seem to speak any Latin.”

  “Very well,” Karus said, resisting the urge to frown in disappointment, “bring her in.”

  The centurion turned on his heel and began walking toward the far end of the hall. Karus moved up to Felix and Dio. He glanced at both of them before taking a few more eager steps toward the door, curious about the prisoner. He stopped just before the mosaic and waited.

  “An entire city abandoned,” Dio said, coming up next to him on his right, “and we only find a single prisoner?”

  “I wonder why she alone was left behind,” Felix asked. “And why bother to leave her with any food?”

  “To suffer a slow death,” Karus said, “I would think.”

  A section of legionaries entered the hall. Amongst the chink of armor, there was the heavy clinking of metal chain. Surrounded, the prisoner shuffled awkwardly forward. Not only were her hands manacled, but so too were her ankles.

  Karus carefully studied the prisoner as she approached. It was clear on first glance that this was no slave or petty criminal. Her white dress which had once been well-cut from fine material was now ripped, torn, ragged, and badly stained. She was covered in grime. Karus could not be sure, but her skin under the filth appeared to be an olive color. Her long hair was matted and greasy. He could not see her eyes, which she shielded with a hand that was heavily manacled at the wrist; the other, supported just below it by the chain, hung limply. It was apparent she had not seen sunlight or, for that matter, any type of light for some time.

  One of Crix’s men supported her about the waist. The way he leaned his head away as he helped her along one struggling step at a time communicated how he did not think such close proximity a pleasant experience.

  Despite her wretched appearance, Karus found he was intrigued. Though he could not put his finger on it, there was something about this young woman. It was a gut feeling, and Karus had learned to trust his instincts. She was important. He was sure of it.

  Led by Crix, the section stopped before Karus, Felix, and Dio. The legionaries in front of the prisoner stepped to the side, yet remained within easy arm’s reach, their attention fixed upon their charge. The man supporting her hastily took the opportunity to also step aside. Startled by the move and suddenly without his support, she almost collapsed. Karus resisted the urge to move forward to assist her, but in the end, she managed to maintain her feet, swaying slightly from the effort. Chains clinking dully, she slowly lowered her hand. Blinking several times before squinting, her gaze settled upon Karus.

  He was immediately struck by her dark eyes. There was an intensity to them, which, after a moment, wavered as she glanced first at Dio and Felix and then at the legionaries who had become her guards. It was almost as if she was sizing them up.

  “Do you understand me?” Karus asked, hoping Crix had been wrong.

  Her gaze slowly returned to him. Karus could read what he took to be a deep sadness within her bearing. Yet despite her condition, the gaze she locked upon Karus was strong. Prisoner or not, he sensed that there was strength to this woman who stiffened her spine before him. There were veterans who had difficulty meeting his eyes. He had the feeling that if she cleaned up, she would look quite fine, regal even.

  “Do you understand me?” Karus repeated, putting emphasis on his questioning tone.

  She looked him over, eyes traveling from his feet to his head. After a moment, she shook her head, though he thought there was recognition in her eyes, which widened slightly as she studied his face.

  Karus switched to Greek and again she shook her head.

  He stepped up to her, looking her up and down, studying the woman before him. She smelled horrid. Karus resisted the impulse to pinch his nose. Raw sores and cruel bruises were visible where the manacles contacted her skin. Without a doubt, he was sure she was infested with pests. Such was the way of things with prisoners.

  She spoke, and it came out in a croak, almost a whisper. She closed her eyes, swallowed, and spoke again, this time stronger, in a tone that cracked with a dry throat unaccustomed to speaking. Karus did not recognize the language, but to his ear it sounded a little rough, almost like one of the harsh Germanic languages. He looked to Dio.

  “Don’t look at me, I only speak Latin, and bad Latin.”

  Karus shifted his gaze to Felix.

  “That’s no tongue I know,” Felix said.

  Karus’s eyes flickered downward. She and Crix’s section were standing upon the mosaic. A thought occurred to him, and he turned to Crix.

  “In the headquarters with my clerks, there is some fresh bread. Kindly go and get some. Bring some water as well.”

  “Yes, sir,” Crix said, promptly spun on his heel, and began moving briskly down the length of the hall, hobnails cracking loudly on the stone.

  She watched the officer leave, clearly wondering where he was going.

  Karus drew away from her and motioned Felix and Dio closer.

  “What do you think?” He kept his tone low in the event she understood Latin.

  “With those manacles, she must be dangerous,” Dio said, voice just as quiet.

  “I don’t know.” Felix glanced over at her. “She does not appear to be too strong. I doubt she could best any man here.”

  “A murderess then?” Dio postulated.

  “No,” Felix said firmly, “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?” Karus asked. Though he privately agreed with Felix, he wanted to hear the other’s reasoning.

  “Look at her bearing,” Felix said and waved a hand in her direction. “She stands like a patrician, not a beaten-down plebian from the slums of Rome. Despite the filth, I would say that long hair was once well cared for. Her hands are too refined to have toiled at cooking and cleaning. No, she is not some common criminal or murderess. She is something else.”

  “A political prisoner then?” Karus said. “Someone who was meant to suffer from isolation and then a slow death from starvation?”

  “That sounds plausible,” Felix said. “She may have been someone’s wife who was put to death.”

  “Those chains say otherwise,” Dio countered. “Why bother to chain a prisoner after you have dumped her in a perfectly good dungeon?”

  The sound of Crix returning drew Karus’s attention. The centurion was carrying a hunk of bread. He also held a ceramic cup. Karus motioned him forward and took the bread. The prisoner eyed the bread hungrily.

  “All of you,” Karus ordered, looking at the guard detail, “step back and off the mosaic.”

  The legionaries did as bid. The woman looked about nervously before fixing her gaze squarely upon Karus, her eyes darting hungrily to the bread.

  “You,” Karus said, pointing at her, and then down at the mosaic, “show me where we are.”

  She looked at him and then down at her feet. She looked back up again, her face full of confusion. She tilted her head to the side slightly, and it was clear she did not understand what Karus was asking of her. Karus pointed once again at the mosaic. She looked down and then back up at him. He held his free arm out in question and then pointed back down.

  “Where are we?”

  Karus
took his sandal and touched the mark that he assumed was a city and then another and held his hands out wide in question. She looked down again and up. Her brow furrowed. She bit her lip as she contemplated him with those strikingly dark eyes.

  Karus pointed at the bread he held, and then down at the map. He gestured his arms wide and then once again at the map. Her eyebrows rose in sudden understanding. She looked down at her feet and shuffled around, moving to the side a little. With her left foot, she touched the representation of a city nearly in the center of the map that was marked with a strange script. Karus stepped closer to her. Once again, he resisted the impulse to hold his nose against her stench. She looked over at him, pointed downward, and spoke a single word.

  “Carthum.”

  Karus pointed with the hunk of bread and then gestured about him and repeated what she had said. She nodded enthusiastically and then gestured toward the bread. Karus handed it over. He stepped away from her, more to distance himself from the reek than anything else. She tore hungrily into the bread, jamming it into her mouth and chewing voraciously. As she ate, she watched him like a starving dog.

  “Well,” Dio said, looking down at the map. “We now know where we are, but wherever that is in relation to Rome is beyond me.”

  Karus felt himself frown as he looked over at his friend. He glanced back at the young woman devouring the hunk of bread. He wondered why she’d been incarcerated. Was she a political prisoner, as Felix had postulated? The heavy manacles seem to indicate otherwise, as Dio had suggested. Looking her over, despite the grime and her distressed nature, he decided she certainly did not look dangerous. The more he studied her, the more confident he was that, cleaned up, she would be quite beautiful.

  Karus tore his gaze away from her and brought it down to the map, studying the terrain around the city she had identified as Carthum. He could see a shaded green area that was most likely the forest. Judging by the distance from the forest to the city, Karus could now extrapolate distances from Carthum to other cities and points on the map. Knowledge was power, and he now knew where to better to direct Valens’s scouts. They were in a strange land, and even though he now knew where he was to some degree, the legion was still lost.

  Karus looked back up at the woman. He needed information that she had and this woman . Dangerous or not, there was an opportunity here, and Karus would be damned if he passed it up. He would either learn her language or she would learn his, but regardless, he would communicate with her and discover what she knew.

  Karus moved closer. Still hungrily devouring the bread, her eyes fixed on him and she froze in mid-chew.

  “Karus,” he said, and tapped his chest. “I am Karus.”

  He pointed toward her ample chest and then held his arms out in question, palms up. She chewed the last of the bread in her mouth and swallowed. Tilting her head to the side slightly, her eyes narrowed, and she pointed back at him with her free hand, manacles clinking solidly.

  “Karus,” she said, as if testing the name out.

  “Yes,” Karus said, pleased, and nodded, before tapping his chest again. “I am Karus.”

  He then pointed at her and held his arms out in question again, palms upward.

  “Amarra,” she said, and touched her breast. “Amarra.”

  “Amarra,” Karus repeated, to which she nodded, her eyes guarded.

  Karus reached out and took the cup of water from Crix. He handed it over to her. Amarra gulped greedily, water spilling from around her mouth and down onto her soiled dress and the floor. Finished, she said something in her own language that sounded like a thank you and handed the cup back.

  “Crix.” Karus gave the cup back to the centurion. “See that she gets cleaned up, fed, and watered. Have those manacles removed too.”

  “Are you sure, sir?” There was doubt on the junior centurion’s face, not to mention his tone was heavily laced with skepticism.

  “Very,” Karus said. “I believe she has intelligence that we need. We will treat her with respect until she proves otherwise. She is to remain under close guard at all times. Also, have the surgeon examine her and treat those sores.”

  “Do you want my men to clean her up?”

  “No,” Karus said firmly. “In no way is she to come to harm. We need to earn her trust, not her enmity. Choose a suitable woman from the followers to attend her.”

  “Yes, sir,” Crix said. “Where do you want her held?”

  “Pick a room in the palace that is secure, where she cannot easily escape, preferably one with no windows. I want her close, so that I can question her when needed. Speak to the tribune to arrange a more permanent guard detail.”

  “Yes, sir,” Crix said and snapped an order to his men.

  Once again, the section of men fell in around her. Supported by the legionary who had helped her in, the prisoner was led toward the doors, both armor and manacles chinking and clinking as the small party made their way from the hall. Bread in hand, and still chewing, she glanced once back in his direction, and then she was gone. The doors closed with a screech and bang that echoed around the hall.

  “Are you sure about this, Karus?” Dio asked. “Someone put her in that dungeon for a reason. You don’t usually end up in those places without good cause.”

  “Yes, I know.” Karus expelled a heavy breath. “She could be dangerous, but at all times she will be under guard. As I said, she has information and intelligence locked up in her head. I aim to get it.”

  “Well,” Felix said with a sudden amused grin, “I knew you occasionally enjoyed the intimate company of women, but I never thought I would see you so emotionally taken with one. Before we know it, you’ll be wanting to raise a family.”

  Karus glared over at Felix with a sour expression, then chuckled. “Feel free to have some children for me with Keeli.”

  “Oh, I plan to,” Felix said, grin becoming even wider. He then leaned forward conspiratorially. “You know, Karus, the best thing about having kids is the practicing at making them.”

  “Well,” Karus said, amused, “it’s good to know you can still get it up. I thought you might be too old for that sort of thing.”

  “Better watch who’s calling who old,” Felix said.

  Dio barked out a laugh, clapped Karus on the shoulder, and started walking from the room. “I have things to do. I will report back later this evening on my progress.”

  Chuckling, Felix joined Dio, leaving Karus alone in the throne room. Karus thought about Amarra. He could still smell her foul stench on the air. Everything in this land was a mystery to him. With each piece of the puzzle he uncovered, it seemingly became more confused. He glanced down at the city indicated on the map.

  “Carthum,” he said quietly to himself. It was a strong name for a city. A worthy name for this great city, he decided.

  “Carthum,” he said again, rolling the name across his tongue, and then left the throne room, intent upon returning to his headquarters. Like Dio had said, there were things to do.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “And how exactly do these tools differ from the ones you are accustomed to working with?” Karus turned his gaze from the toolbox to the blacksmith, a middle-aged Gaul name Harikas.

  The air inside the smithy was uncomfortably warm, the byproduct of an active forge. Karus had only stepped inside a few moments before, but already he felt the first beads of perspiration dot his forehead. Despite the shutters and doors having been left open, the smell of smoke hung heavily on the air, along with the acrid smell of sweaty bodies.

  The blacksmith was a tall, imposing middle-aged man. He wore a heavily stained tunic over a growing paunch that spoke of a fondness for beer. His arms were thick with muscle but showed the first signs of flab. Even for a Gaul, Harikas was exceptionally hairy. He was known affectionately as the Bear amongst the legionaries, most likely from the hair on his arms, which grew thick like fur. Streaked with gray, his beard climbed higher than most, partially concealing a heavily pockmarked face.
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br />   Karus had known the man for years. Despite the forbidding exterior, Harikas was a kind man, a veritable gentle giant. Amongst the rank and file, the smith had a reputation for fairness, in that he did not overcharge.

  Behind the smith, one of his assistants hammered away in spurts at a glowing piece of metal. The smith had four assistants, all young boys from the followers. They were hard at work, busy around the dingy and disorganized shop. One, using a set of long prongs, plunged a glowing piece of metal into a bucket of water, where it hissed menacingly and threw up a cloud of steam. Karus was well pleased with what he was seeing.

  “These four beauties … ” The blacksmith’s voice was deep, drawing Karus’s attention back to the matter at hand. He spoke good but heavily accented Latin. Reaching into the tool box, Harikas removed and laid out the tools on a battered table, one after another. “I’ve never seen them before.” He pointed to another set of tools that he had left in the box. “These others are similar enough to those I’ve worked with.” He picked up a miniature hammer and hefted it. “A hammer is a hammer.”

  Karus studied the tools on the table as the smith tossed the hammer back into the box, where it landed with a clatter. They were each around ten inches long. Two appeared to have ends that made them look like large screws, the only difference being the size of the grooves on each. The handles were well-worn. The other two had the appearance of being oversized keys; the teeth of each, varying in magnitude, were shaped into a hammer’s head.

  “Do you have any thoughts on their purpose?” Karus asked with mild curiosity. He had seen Harikas do his work, but he did not pretend to understand the man’s craft.

  “I have my ideas.” The smith touched the two key-like tools with a callused and scarred hand. “These seem to be made to help better temper and shape iron. The other two have me a bit stumped. They could be for drilling, but with the size of each, I am at a loss for the practicality of their purpose. When I get some time, I plan to experiment.”

  The hammering of the smith’s assistant paused before resuming once again, this time with a measured beat. The sound drew Karus’s attention. The hammering continued. Karus moved closer to observe. The assistant was working a piece of heated metal that shone a bright orange-yellow. He held it in place against a black anvil with a pair of medium-sized tongs. Using a small hammer, he painstakingly shaped it one hard blow at a time. Sparks flew with each strike.