Bandua laid his hand on Syphax’s head for a moment, then stalked off to see to their disposition for the evening and to lay down the necessary plans. A few minutes later, a medic showed up with the tea of poppy and helped Syphax take it. Once the poppy kicked in, Syphax relaxed some.
“Lucius, you’ve been a good friend. I’m proud of the officer you’ve become.” His voice was barely audible. “May the gods watch over…”
Syphax’s eyes drifted closed and his breathing slowed. No longer able to squat, Lucius slumped onto the ground next to Syphax’s pallet. He didn’t know how long he sat there holding Syphax’s hand after his last rattling breath, but eventually a medic helped him up and ushered him out, needing the space.
When he stumbled back to his tent, Ariazate and Tigran had warm water ready for him to clean up with. After he finished, they returned with warm food he woodenly scooped into his mouth while they played. The mournful sound of the music settled into his heart as he silently grieved the death of his friend, hoping he found his way to the eternal lands of his people.
TEN
Lucius forced himself to keep his eyes forward, planted on the back of Tiridat as the pater and two of his men led them deeper into the mountains on a narrow trail that probably saw more deer and bears than people. But with a second Parthian force sweeping in on their position from the rear, their only hope of completing their mission meant Lucius had been ordered to flee with a small band of men. The thought of abandoning his friends and comrades behind left a bitter taste in this mouth. They’d trained and fought together for eight years.
The barely audible grumbles and heads turning to look back toward the camp dwindling in the background indicated his men felt the same. Soon the Parthians would throw both of their forces at the fort, choking the narrow mountain road that led from the western reaches of Armenia into the river valley of the Araxes River. There was little hope the remaining cohorts could defeat the massive force of Parthians arrayed against them. Lucius had to keep telling himself that their hundred men would do little to aid the cause other than add more bodies to the carnage.
As they wound their way up the side of the mountain, the rain turned to snow. Looking up at the gray sky, he shook his head, clenching his jaw. The cohort he had helped Syphax raise was the finest in the entire empire, trained to levels far exceeding any other unit, even that of the Praetorians. Now, they were about to spill their lives on a mountainside in Armenia, a territory the empire couldn’t hold and didn’t entirely want, for a mission he didn’t fully understand. And he was ordered to take a century’s worth of men and abandon his comrades and friends in the name of completing that mission.
A horse drawing too near coaxed him out of his brooding. When he turned to see who it was, Ariazate held his gaze, sympathy in her eyes. Leaning in her saddle, she reached out and patted his arm just below the elbow.
“I’m sorry you had to leave your friends behind,” she said before moving her horse so it wasn’t as close.
Not sure what to say and not wanting to say something angrily, he nodded, acknowledging the sentiment. Twisting around in his saddle, he found Tigran riding behind him, his face pointed toward the sky, his tongue out, trying to catch snowflakes on it. Lucius had been a boy that age and probably had spent a snowy day trying to do the same. The memory brought a small smile to his face as his thoughts drifted from snow to his meadow covered in bluebells where he’d spent so much of his youth lying on his back, gathering wool, and watching clouds fly by. Sighing, he longed for those days of innocence when all he had to do was avoid the chores his parents assigned, and his only worries were small, boyish nothings. With every mile further from Belgica he traveled, and with each passing year, that boy faded into a memory that felt like it was a different life and not the one he was living.
Now, he led a hundred men into the mountains and had to get them out alive, if he could, all while moving through increasingly hostile territory with only two Armenian children and and an old man to guide their path. He tried to sit straighter in his saddle, but the weight of it all pushed him back into a slouch. When the faint echoes of horns drifted up to them, he slumped further.
“It has begun,” he said quietly to no one.
Six days later, they descended out of the hills south of Artashat. Looking down into the valley of the Araxes River, Lucius raised his hand, signaling a stop.
“Mylitos, fetch Pater Tiridat, please,” Lucius ordered.
“Aye, Centurio.” Mylitos pulled the reins of his horse and spun around. A couple minutes later, the legionnaire returned with the small man who looked out of place next to the bulk and size of the soldiers surrounding him.
“Do you recognize where we are, Pater?” Lucius stared out over the valley below him.
“We’re not far from the temple now, a good day’s ride.”
“Will the river be a problem?”
“No. It doesn’t look like it’s picked up much water yet from the rain and snow. There are several places where we can ford it. There’s a bridge nearby as well.” He looked along the river. “I think just there.”
“Is it guarded?” Lucius asked.
“Normally, it’s not, but I don’t know anymore. I don’t even know who’s in charge now.” He sounded frustrated to Lucius’s ear.
“Thank you, Pater.”
Optio Venextos, who’d been listening nearby, nudged his mount closer. “What’s the plan, Centurio? Do we risk the bridge?”
“We may have to. I don’t know how far behind the Parthians are or if they’re sweeping up the valley. I don’t want to be caught ass deep in a river if they come up on us.” He sat in silence, looking up and down the river. “Let’s get the men back into the hills and set up camp. The horses could use the rest if we’re going to press them hard tomorrow. I want to get out of the open as quickly as possible.”
“The men could use the rest too. I’ll find us a place to bed down out of the way.” The optio turned and barked out orders.
They set a quick camp tucked into a narrow ravine, dousing the cook fires long before twilight set in. After he ensured the watch was set, he made his way to his tent, finding Ariazate and Tigran sitting on the ground quietly playing their instruments outside. Stepping inside, he pulled his armor off and put his cloak back on, then grabbed his blanket and threw it around his shoulders. He grabbed his leather folding camp chair and set it outside so he could listen to the siblings and settle his mind before they made their final run to the temple.
The sad, pensive songs matched his mood, settling deep in his soul. So far, they’d made it through the mountains with only a few minor injuries. None of the scouts he’d sent back along their trail had seen hide nor hair of the Parthians. He almost preferred a distant sighting if for no other reason than to have something to fix his worry on, something he could calculate and plan for. As it was, he had no idea if they’d crushed his friends or if they’d even found the path he’d escaped on. They could be waiting in the valley, anticipating their descent. The not knowing was the hardest part.
The lack of music drew him from his worries. Tigran was gone, and Ariazate stared at Lucius.
“I sent Tigi to check on his horse before we bed down,” Ariazate explained.
Lucius nodded.
“What’s eating at you, Roman?” she asked.
He sighed. “Nothing. Everything. We’re leaving the safety of the mountains and heading into a more populated area. I don’t know what’s waiting for us or what’s chasing us. So far, we’ve evaded our pursuers, but tomorrow, that could change.”
Nodding, she looked down at the ground between them. “That’s a lot to have on your shoulders.”
“It is, but it’s what I accepted when I took the promotion. I shouldn’t be complaining.” He avoided making eye contact with the young woman.
“Facts aren’t complaining, Roman. You’re a good man, and you’ll do right by everyone. That’s all we can do, really, try our best and hope it works out.” She stood up and patted his shoulder. “You should get some sleep. We’re all going to need it for tomorrow.”
“Yeah. I should while I can.” He stood up and folded his camp chair as Tigran jogged up, cheeks rosy from the cold.
“It’s bedtime, Tigi. Morning for us will come before it does for Mihr.” Ariazate held open the flap to Lucius’s tent and ushered her brother in. He’d moved them there to save space and ensure their safety.
