By the time they made the circuit around the market and returned to their table, Ariazate had finished her food. After accepting a plum from Lucius, she gestured toward the exit and walked ahead of Lucius and Tigran. They wove their way through the crowd, moving about their day as people returned to their homes or headed to the markets. Once they found a quiet alleyway, Ariazate slipped in and waited out of the way behind a turn in the wall.
“What did she say, Zati?” Tigran asked quietly as soon as he joined her in their sheltered nook.
Looking up at Lucius briefly, she wiped a crumb off the boy’s cheek. “She suggested we play by the bridge. We should be able to make a bit of coin. She suggested a couple taverns that might pay for a night or two of music.”
Cautiously looking around to make sure they weren’t being eavesdropped on, Lucius bent down so he was closer to their height. “Did she give you any kind of indication what’s going on here?”
“She looked a bit nervous. Said to stick to the roads when traveling,” Ariazate replied.
“Bandits?” Lucius asked.
“Maybe, but she implied they might be a bit more heavily armed than common brigands. Told me to keep my nose out of partisan issues if I wanted to stay out of trouble.”
“Partisan?”
Ariazate snorted in annoyance. “Romans or Parthians and those looking to make a name or fortune on either or both.” She made a sign against evil and spat on the ground.
Tigran looked scared. “What are we going to do, Zati?”
“I don’t know, Tigi.” She looked at Lucius with her stern gaze. “What do you want to do, Roman? This is your operation.”
Lucius looked at the faces of the two kids he’d been saddled with on this mission. The boy looked rightfully scared at being mixed up in politics between two warring empires. Ariazate, however, betrayed nothing beyond the general annoyance and stoic calmness that was her everyday expression.
“How old are you two?” Lucius finally asked.
“Twelve,” Tigran replied, standing taller and puffing out his chest. “Zati is sixteen.”
She scowled at her younger brother and shook her head, huffing. Tigran was a child just entering adolescence while Ariazate neared adulthood. She was only a bit younger than he was when he signed his contract with the legions.
Exhaling through his nose while trying to avoid displaying his exasperation, he nodded between the two of them. “Let’s blend in and do what the old lady recommended. You two play by the bridge, then we’ll see about finding a tavern. While you’re playing, where would you like me?”
“Give us a few moments’ head start and then mingle with the crowd and watch.” Ariazate looked him up and down. “Try to slouch some. You look like you’re on parade, Roman.”
Lucius smiled and relaxed into a slouch. “Get going. I’ll be along shortly.”
He watched as they left the alley, counting in his head so he didn’t follow too closely. Without his armor, he felt naked. Although he wore the black tunic of his legion, he looked like nearly anyone else in his trousers and cloak. He didn’t even wear the cingulum militare, missing the belt with its leather and brass dangling from his waist. His caligae were the only thing that marked him as being a legionnaire, or former as the charade dictated, but they were a comfortable boot made for walking, a solid choice for any traveler. Besides, he didn’t have any other footwear with him.
When he’d counted high enough, he left the alley, the hobnails of his caligae clicking on the cobblestones as he entered the roadway and slipped into the flow of foot traffic. Every person bumping into him increased the tension between his shoulder blades, creating an itch he couldn’t reach. Without steel wrapped around his body, a dagger could find its way into his back, and he’d have no protection beyond a few layers of cloth.
As he approached the bridge running over a stream low from the summer’s heat, he heard the reedy sounds of the siblings’ tsiranapoghs as they warmed up. They’d set up in a nook next to the bridge out of the way of the traffic but easily accessible so people could drop coins on the cloth they’d set in front of them. The rich and practiced tones of the players had already enticed a small crowd.
Once they’d determined they were ready, Ariazate signaled to her brother, lifted her tsiranapogh, and played the opening notes of the first song. When she touched back around to the melody, Tigran joined, accompanying her with a drone. The upbeat song had the audience tapping their feet and humming along. After they finished, a few people threw coins on the cloth and continued on their way, though the crowd didn’t suffer from their departure as far more had stopped to listen to the talented youths. After a few moments, they launched into another song. This time, Tigran started, playing a simple melody, but instead of joining with the drone, Ariazate added a complex counter melody that soared like a hawk riding the wind.
Lucius shook himself out of the musical trance and focused his attention on watching the crowd to ensure the safety of his charges. He didn’t recognize anyone that looked Parthian, though he doubted they’d be standing about in full armor with a banner flying above their heads. And after the long association between Armenia and Parthia and the intermarriage of their nobles, the differences were slight between the two peoples, far too slight for Lucius to distinguish.
The anxiety from earlier returned as he realized how out of his depth he was as a spy. After rising quickly through the ranks of the legions to make centurion by the time he turned thirty-one, he didn’t like the feeling of not having the needed skills and competence to carry out the mission, nor did he like relying on two children with unknown loyalties and goals. He’d have to trust his instincts.
FIVE
The old woman’s plan had worked. Ariazate and Tigran had earned a respectable pile of coins by the time they called it quits, although Lucius didn’t see anyone who looked particularly martial. The big victory, though, was a tavern owner offering them a job playing later that night. If the crowd responded well, there was a possibility of more.
When the listeners dissipated, the siblings rejoined Lucius, and together they looked for a place to stay for the evening. Ariazate asked around and found them a quiet, reasonably priced inn, though they’d have to share a room.
Once they had their lodging secured, they proceeded to the tavern to get some dinner before the siblings would be called on to play. The first night went smoothly, though they didn’t pick up much that they didn’t know already. The locals worried about the transition of power amid rumors the Romans would be pulling out. Some whispered about Parthian agents filtering into the countryside, even this far west. A few even mentioned sightings of larger forces. All this was translated by Ariazate or Tigran as they listened to the talk in between songs or when they moved through the room, chatting for tips. Since things went so well, they took the offer from the tavern’s owner to return the next night.
Fortunately for Lucius and his stomach, the tavern served good food. Along with vegetable soup and a hearty loaf, diners could order a chunk of fresh venison which Lucius did, wanting to keep his strength up for the coming march into the mountains. He’d need the extra fat stores when things got tight on the trail.
They showed up on time the second night started with dinner. Once their empty bowls were cleared, the siblings set up in the corner, taking out their instruments, and warmed up. Soon they broke into a few simple but lively melodies that seemed to draw people in off the streets, or maybe it was just time for the evening crowd to roll in for their drinks and food.
Lucius found a quiet corner where he could nurse his wine and monitor the crowd. Every few songs, Tigran would work his way through the crowd with his hat out to collect tips. The longer the patrons drank, the more generous they became.
After a long set, the Ariazate and Tigran took a break, rejoining Lucius at his table. The innkeeper brought over a bit of watered-down wine. When they returned to the corner that had been set aside as their stage, a quartet of armed men stepped into the tavern.
In a moment, Lucius identified them as fighting men. These weren’t farmers with old swords, but sharp-eyed lean warriors assessing any dangers in the crowd with a quick glance. They didn’t wear anything that announced who they fought for other than a few pieces of equipment that marked them as not Roman, though it was possible they could be an auxilia unit from the eastern part of the empire. They sat at a table near the entrance.
Lucius tried to relax and look casual, but he struggled to keep his eyes on the performance and not on the four men. Every time one of them shifted, his eyes flicked over to their table and lingered longer than was wise. He adjusted his seat to make it harder to stare their way. He must have been too aggressive and not casual enough; all four gazes drifted toward him after a whispered comment from one of them. The leader stood and moved through the small tavern to sit across from Lucius at his small table.
“Is there a problem here, Roman soldier?” the man asked in halting Latin.
“No, problem. Just curious.” Lucius kept his surprise contained at the man’s accurate identification and opted to reply in Hellene because it had been spoken widely throughout the region since Alexander the Great.
“This tongue is better than your Latin,” the man replied in Hellene. “Curiosity can be dangerous.”
Lucius shrugged. “I’m not looking for trouble. I’m retired. Took a Parthian arrow in the arm.” He lifted his left hand from under the table and set it on the table, letting his hand flop uselessly onto the wooden surface.
The man looked smugly at the pink scar on both sides of Lucius’s left forearm where the arrow had pierced it while fighting across a bridge on the Tigris River for his imperator.
