Gnaius bowed, said, “Thank you, sir,” and left.
“Would you like some wine, Ariazate? It’s watered.” Syphax gestured toward a jug.
Ariazate nodded. Lucius fetched a cup and poured a splash into it, handing it to her as she sat in the other chair.
“What do you know about the town ahead of us? Tigranocerta?” Syphax asked.
“Not much, sir. I haven’t spent much time in this part of Armenia, not since I was small.” The young woman wore her road clothes—a black tunic and a pair of green trousers—and had her thick, black hair gathered at her nape.
Syphax pursed his lips. “Damn. Please, call me Syphax when we’re here. I was hoping you might know what we’re riding into.”
“Are you going into Tigranocerta tomorrow?” she asked.
“I’d planned to have a chat with the local officials,” Syphax replied.
“Can you give me a couple days? March around Tigranocerta and set up to the northeast?” Ariazate took a small sip, making a face that said the flavor wasn’t to her taste.
Syphax leaned forward, resting his elbows on his camp desk. “What do you have in mind?”
“Let me and my brother slip into town. As musicians, we can go unnoticed, play on the street, earn a meal at a tavern. We can find out if the wind blows east or west.”
Syphax rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “What do you think, Lucius?”
“She’s probably right. If we march into town, I’m sure we’ll be welcomed and hear nothing but meaningless apologies. We can wait a few days for the local potentate to kiss your ass before he passes on information about us to whoever’s paying or pulling the strings.”
Tenting his hands in front of his face, Syphax stared into the space between Lucius and Ariazate, eventually nodding lightly. “Since you agree with our young friend here, you’ll go in with them to keep them safe.”
“I don’t know the local language,” Lucius replied. “Not sure I’ll be of much use.”
“They’ll speak the Hellenic tongue well enough, and probably a few will know enough Latin for you to get by,” Syphax said, a smirk spreading over his face.
“It’s probably better that we pose as your slaves. You won’t be able to go in with full armor though, you’ll be too conspicuous.” Ariazate sized him up, her eyes seizing on the arrow scar through his left forearm. “You can be a wounded soldier mustering out, trying to sell your slaves to someone who can profit off a couple Armenian tsiranapogh players before retiring to your homeland far to the west.”
“It’s a plausible story.” Syphax’s eyes dropped to the scar on Lucius’s forearm. “You’ll have to fake a weak hand for the ploy to work, but you’re a resourceful fellow. With our black tunics and cloaks, you won’t look too official since no other legion uses the color. Pull a pair of trousers from the winter stores, and you’ll look a right proper barbarian discharged from the legions.”
Lucius pursed his lips. “If you insist…” He turned to Ariazate. “When do you want to depart?”
“After your cohort marches out. We can hide in one of these groves and then make our way later in the afternoon.” She took another sip of her wine before setting it down and pushing it away.
Syphax chuckled silently before settling his gaze on Lucius. “What do you think, Centurio?”
He took a drink of his wine, thinking about the girl’s plan while enjoying the fine vintage Syphax kept around no matter where they were. He always managed to find the best merchant and lay in a stock of premium wine. It always made time with Syphax more enjoyable, though he liked his commanding officer and considered him a close friend. The wine was just a tasty bonus.
Lucius was a front-line soldier. He’d been responsible for solo missions, but never in espionage. Looking over at the girl, he sized her up. She seemed confident enough, and her plan was solid. But none of his previous missions had put him in charge of children, though he wasn’t sure Ariazate fit that description, hovering on the line between childhood and adulthood. If she was positive she could play her part, Lucius could do his.
“It’s workable—better than going in blind and getting nothing useful,” Lucius said.
Nodding, Syphax dismissed Ariazate, refilling his cup and adding some to Lucius’s. “She's a bold one for a slave.”
“Not everyone is born a slave, and she won’t be when we’re done with this mission,” Lucius replied.
“And we’ll just turn her and her brother loose into a power vacuum? No one to look out for them?”
Lucius, brows furrowing, looked down and sighed.
“Not so straight forward, is it? But then, that’s a problem for a later date and ultimately, for the young lady and her brother, if they get their wish.”
They sat in silence for a while, enjoying their wine. He didn’t know what Ariazate and Tigran would do once they received their freedman caps and their papers, but at least they had a generous stipend from the imperator. Since he’d be spending some time with them, he’d be able to get to know them, find out if they had people to go to or a family to return to. Other than their names and their musical talent, he knew little about them. Though they’d stayed near him and Syphax on the march from Antiochia, they hadn’t spoken much, and Lucius had focused on keeping the march moving. He yawned, shaking his head.
“Why don’t you go to bed? We’ll have another early morning. You’ve got to keep some kids out of trouble and see what we’re up against. Should be an easy job,” Syphax teased.
Lucius tossed back the last of his wine and stood up. “Goodnight, Syphax.”
“Sleep well, Lucius.”
Lucius, Ariazate, and Tigran rode through the gates of Tigranocerta late the next afternoon, the youngsters in the lead and a packhorse hiding Lucius’s gear bringing up the rear. Even though his armor was close at hand, he felt naked without its steely protection. After Ariazate stopped a few people, peppering them with questions, they headed toward the market district to find something to eat. It would also give Ariazate a chance to nose around, find out what was going on in this part of Armenia, and maybe find a tavern looking for music.
While Lucius and the boy dove into their bowls of spiced rice and chicken with chucks of a delightful tangy fruit, Ariazate chatted up the old woman who’d sold them their bowls. The boy scooped the food into his mouth like he was afraid it might run away if he set his bowl down. Lucius chuckled and shook his head. After a month of eating legion rations and however long they’d been in Trajan’s service before that, the food of his homeland probably tasted like the best thing he’d had in ages. He wasn’t wrong. The bowl of spiced rice and chicken was the best thing Lucius’d eaten since leaving Antiochia.
When the boy’s spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl forlornly, Lucius caught the eye of the old woman and nodded to his young companion. She smiled warmly at the boy and refilled his bowl. When Ariazate finished questioning the old lady, she brought her bowl over to the table and scooped some into her mouth, the bite bringing a small, contented smile to her serious face.
While she ate, Lucius followed Tigran around the food stalls, picking up a couple sweets the boy kept eyeing and a few of the fabled Armenia plums for himself. Biting into the small, golden fuzzy fruit, Lucius savored the tangy sweetness.
“That’s the same fruit that was in our bowl,” Lucius said.
“Mhm,” Tigran mumbled around a mouthful of the pastry Lucius had bought him. “You can get them everywhere in Armenia. Our tsiranapogh are made from their wood. That tree is part of who we are as Armenians.”
