Lucius stood and clasped hands with the pater. After the old man left, Lucius gathered his charges and inspected the food the pater had brought. Ariazate looked at, looking a bit green, and rolled up in her blanket instead. Lucius and Tigran dug into the food, then crawled into their blankets. The last thing he did before lying down was pull his gladius so he could sleep next to the naked blade in case they were discovered.
SIX
Footfalls scraping on stone startled Lucius awake. He lunged for his sword, pointing it toward the sound.
A man squeaked and backed away. “Easy, Perses.”
The voice sounded familiar. Once he’d rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he recognized the pater. Forcing his fingers to unwind from his sword, he sat up, then sheathed the blade.
“Sorry. Just a little jumpy,” Lucius said before yawning.
The pater chuckled nervously. “Understandable, Perses. Nervous times.”
Lucius reached over and gently shook Ariazate. “It’s time to wake up.”
The young woman sighed and sat up, wiping her eyes. While the pater directed Lucius to a chamber pot, Ariazate woke her brother. He returned to a small meal the pater provided to break their fast. As soon as they’d finished their quick meal, the pater gave them new clothes to aid in their surreptitious escape from Tigranocerta, then led them out of the building the Mithraeum was hidden under. They blended into the early morning flow of people.
A few people nodded or greeted the pater as they passed. He replied casually, but Lucius could see the man’s underlying anxiety. He’d spent fourteen years learning to read men going into action—understanding how his comrades would react to battle and how to best mold them into reliable soldiers who could face any challenge.
Wrapping his cloak tightly around him, the crisp mountain morning aiding the ruse, he longed to put his hand on his gladius and feel the familiar and comforting texture of the bone grip. He resisted the urge, not wanting to draw attention to himself or to their little party as they worked their way toward the wealthier part of town. Every eye that lingered on Lucius could have been a Parthian, up early to hunt down the man who’d killed several of their comrades only a few hours ago in the alleys of the small city.
When the pater finally waved them into a walled estate and toward the stables near the back, Lucius kept his guard up, ready for either betrayal or discovery. As they approached the stables, the pater stopped and called out in Armenian. A response came immediately; he smiled and stepped into the stable.
“These are my people. They’ll escort us out of town,” he said to Lucius. Turning to the men inside the stables, he asked, “Are the horses ready?”
“Aye, Pater. We’ve got the Roman’s horses and their belongings from the inn. They’ve been fed, watered, and saddled,” the man in the lead replied.
“Excellent. We’ll walk them out, then mount up once we clear the gate.” The pater shook hands with the leader of his men.
Three men brought out Lucius’s horse and the two the cohort had lent to Ariazate and Tigran. The packhorse Lucius kept his gear on was tethered to his saddle. Lucius rubbed the cheek of his short war pony. It was several hands shorter than the horses the pater and his men favored, but the Roman pony was bred and trained for war. Its small size made it an efficient mount—it required less food and water than a taller horse—but it could still eat up the miles. Before they left the stable, Lucius pulled his lorica from a bag on the packhorse and slipped it on. He put on his black cloak, then layered on the ratty gray one the pater had loaned him for their disguise. The steel was well enough concealed, but he’d rather risk the bulk than not have it when needed. He left the rest of his gear stowed, since it was harder to conceal and would be a dead giveaway he was a Roman.
Lucius longed to put his back to Tigranocerta and return to his cohort, where he’d have the strength of the elite unit to protect his back and help him watch over his young charges. They were his guides, putting their lives in danger to earn the freedom Trajan had dangled over their heads. Lucius meant to see that they actually lived to enjoy it.
Once they cleared the gate after the pater spoke to the guards, they mounted up at a signal from the small man. Lucius fought the urge to nudge the horse’s speed up beyond the gentle trot the pater and his men set. The pater took the central position, his men surrounding him.
“Zati, I want you and your brother to move up next to the pater. You’re out of place,” Lucius said just loud enough for the girl to hear.
She nodded and caught her brother’s attention, directing him to follow her. Once they were safely in the inner circle, Lucius drifted back to join the men in the rear, his eyes sweeping around them looking for any threats. He tried to keep from turning in his saddle to look back at the city too many times. Once they’d passed beyond the sight line to the city, Lucius didn’t relax, keeping his surveillance up.
The pater firmly kept his eyes forward but twitched every time a noise intruded on his consciousness. The pater’s skittishness rippled out to his men. Or Lucius’s nervousness was the source of their anxiety. Either way, the constantly shifting bodies and swiveling heads spoke louder than any words that they were hiding something.
Not even stopping for a midday meal, they only dismounted long enough to walk and keep their mounts fresh. As they got closer to the spot on the map Syphax had designated as their rendezvous, Lucius moved to the front of their little band, letting his armor shine in the sun so any of their patrols would know it was one of theirs coming in. As jumpy as he was, the rest of the cohort had to be nearly as anxious as they sat unmoving in what was clearly becoming hostile territory.
When they neared a section of road running through a thick grove, Lucius ordered the rest of the group to hold up as he rode in alone, sword drawn but held low against his horse’s damp shoulder. As he breached the shadows, he let his eyes adjust for a moment before proceeding. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t place his finger on what it was until he realized it wasn’t an issue of what it was but what it was lacking—sound.
The grove should have been alive with the sound of birds singing and small animals scurrying about, but all that greeted him was the eerie silence of a forest with its breath held. Why, Lucius couldn’t guess.
His only warning was the snapping of a branch and a grunt that sounded vaguely like a curse. In an instant, he’d kicked his horse into action and raised his sword, ready for whatever might emerge. When he saw two riders burst out of the trees, he aimed for the nearest, angling so he’d put that rider between himself and the other one. Just as he was about to bring his slash down, he recognized the color of the cloaks and the gear and diverted his swing, finishing with his sword pointed at the neck of the rider.
Lucius recognized the face of one of his legionnaires. Sighing, he took a moment to get control of his body as adrenaline pumped through it before giving the pass code he’d setup with Syphax and getting the proper response, then lowered his sword. “Damn, Mylitos, I nearly took your head off.”
“I noticed that, Centurio.” Mylitos breathed heavily, his eyes wide and darting erratically.
Lucius nodded at the other legionnaire, a newer man, unable to place his name at the moment. “Come with me. We need to gather up the rest of our group.”
He turned his horse and rode back. Trying to calm himself after the near brush with fatal action, he breathed deeply and steadily, matching the rhythmic stride of his gelding. By the time they made it back to the Armenians, he’d reasserted his control and combined his two parties, turning over the lead to Mylitos, who’d take them into the camp.
Lucius had never been happier to see the wooden walls of their fort. If the cohort had been allowed the full time of Lucius’s planned absence, they’d have dug in more trenches and made it even more formidable. As it was, it was a sight for sore eyes.
After Mylitos gave the day’s password to the guards holding the gate, Lucius ordered Mylitos to take care of the pater’s attendants, waving the young Armenians and the pater to follow him. He walked down the central lane into the center of the camp to Syphax’s tent. Before Lucius had even opened his mouth, one of the men standing guard out front poked his head in and announced that Centurio Ferrata had returned. Lucius turned and asked the three Armenians to wait outside a few tents down, then stepped toward Syphax’s tent.
The two guards held the flaps open for him as Lucius stepped in and saluted. “Tribunus Quietus.”
“Lucius, you’re back early.” Syphax stood up and reached across the camp desk to shake Lucius’s hand.
“We ran into a bit of trouble and had to move up our schedule,” Lucius replied.
Syphax handed Lucius a cup of water. Lucius drank it down in a single gulp, exhaling happily after the cool water slid down his parched throat.
“You look tired and sweaty, my friend.” Syphax sat back down.
“Then I look how I feel.” Lucius refilled the cup and took another swig. “We slipped in easily enough and found a tavern for Ariazate and Tigran to play. Seemed like the pickings were good as they worked the crowd for information, but everyone got really quiet when a quartet of poorly disguised Parthian soldiers walked in and found a table. They saw I was a former legionnaire and tried to start something with me. We slipped out of the tavern, but the streets were swarming with patrols. Eventually we ran into trouble, and I had to act.”
Syphax raised a sardonic eyebrow. “How many did you take out?”
“Seven.” Lucius left out that one of them had been finished off by Ariazate, not wanting to reveal that the young Armenian slave had a sting. He also didn’t want to subject her to Syphax’s questioning and force her to relive the incident.
