Felix nodded to the two Praetorians guarding the door and gestured that Syphax and Lucius should step inside. Lucius followed Syphax, stepping aside and taking up a post out of the way but present. After the dark corridors, the airy room felt fresh and lively, the breeze gently waving the diaphanous white curtains. Lucius could just make out the western side of Antiochia and the sea in the far distance through the thin curtains. A dozen more Praetorians were spread about the room, standing at attention near the walls.
Trajan lay on a well-cushioned couch with a nearby slave pulling a rope that led up to a series of cloth panels that swung back and forth over the imperator, moving the air around to cool him. Every once in a while, his hand would dip into a bowl on a low stand next to his side and pull out a date which he’d pop into his mouth.
Two youths sat on cushions in the middle of the room, each playing a small wooden flute-like instrument that looked like it had a reed at the end they blew into. The boy looked twelve or thirteen and was playing a series of droning notes while the older girl sitting next to him carried the melody.
The boy wore a simple green tunic belted at the waist by a band of bronze medallions, his hair shorn short in the current Roman fashion. The girl, who was maybe sixteen, wore her long black hair in braids wound around her head, intermingling with a series of chains and bronze baubles dangling onto her forehead from a diadem. Her traditional Armenian dress shone bright red against the fluttering curtains, delicate patterns of blues and gold interwoven through the red. Their light brown skin bore the olive cast of the people of the region.
The boy’s drone kept a steady note for the girl’s melody as she at times soared high or settled into a low note, its resonance settling deep in Lucius’s heart and filling it with the sorrow of the player and her people. Armenia had once been a mighty empire in the region for a brief time under Tigranes the Great, stretching from Mare Caspium to the Caucasii Montes to the Internum Mare, encompassing Damascus, Antiochia, and Tarsus. Now, it was a border region and pawn in the ongoing power struggle between Roma and the Parthian Empire. For the moment, Armenia was ruled by Trajan and Roma, but Lucius knew that wouldn’t last much longer with Trajan reducing the number of legions in the east.
Felix ordered cushioned seats for Syphax and Lucius, then brought them delicate cakes and wine watered with fruit juice, honey, and spice while they waited for the imperator to address his soldiers. The food and drink far surpassed the humble soldiers’ rations Lucius was used to, even as a leading officer in the special cohort the imperator had ordered formed. He savored the repast and the music, letting the sea-laden breeze soothe the heat of the day. The honeyed cakes melted in his mouth as he let the transcendent music carry him away from the oppressive heat of Antiochia.
As the music enveloped him, Lucius’s eyes drifted nearly shut. The drone of the boy’s instrument lulling him, while the girl’s delicate notes entwined his senses as he stared into the distance through his eyelashes. He fully relaxed for the first time in ages, not letting the anxiety of waiting for Trajan surface. He knew moments like this were few and far between, so he savored them while he could.
At first, his mind drifted to the cool and shady forest near the home he’d grown up in with his mother and then later his father. He’s spent nearly half his life away from the land of his birth, but it was still the place that called to him, the place he thought of as home, especially after three years in the deserts of Mesopotamia. Even if his parents’ house had lost that feeling, he still yearned for Belgica. After the comfort of home sank into his soul, the sad sound of the reeded flute brought him back to the mountains of Armenia.
The image of the stark beauty of the rugged mountains and the cool air of the lower passes they’d marched through rose in Lucius’s mind. While the mountains they’d crossed when they entered Armenia with Trajan were taller than anything Lucius had seen in Belgica, he could see they were only foothills compared to the rugged mountains of the main Caucasus. After marching through the arid lands skirting the Syrian desert, climbing up into the Armenian plateau had felt like a refreshing cool breeze.
Apparently, the imperator was in no hurry to deal with the men he’d sent for, requesting several more songs. A younger Lucius would have been politely impatient at the delay, keeping his annoyance tightly bottled inside, but eight years serving under the sardonic Syphax with his dry wit had loosened up Lucius, helping him mature into a patient and steady officer. Since he wasn’t that naïve younger man, he ate more cakes when they showed up next to his chair and enjoyed the fine wine the imperator offered. He listened intently to the beautifully haunting music that took images of his home and the mountains of Armenia and merged them into a place both familiar and new, enticing Lucius to ignore the heat of Syria and allow the coolness of forest and mountain to sooth him inside and out.
“Felix? Gods, where is that man?” Trajan mumbled.
“Here, Caesar. How may I serve you?” Felix bowed deeply.
Lucius opened his eyes and straightened up, popping a last piece of the honeyed cake in his mouth. Syphax, like Lucius, sat at attention, waiting to be called before the imperator.
“Clear the room save for Syphax and his man, and send for Drusus Gracchus.”
“Yes, Caesar.” Felix bowed and started to turn.
“Oh, and have the Armenians wait outside until I summon them.” Trajan picked up a cup from the table near his couch, his trembling hand and arm sending a small splash of wine to the floor.
“Of course, Caesar.” Felix sent the servants scurrying to carry out Felix’s orders. Next, he ushered the Armenian children out of the room.
“Syphax, come here,” Trajan ordered.
“Aye, Caesar.” Syphax stood and gestured for Lucius to follow.
Syphax picked a spot where the imperator could easily look at them from his reclined position. The old man waited until only he and the two legionnaires were left in the large room. Even the Praetorians filed out—no doubt waiting outside the door where they could be easily summoned.
“Don’t make me crick my neck up at you, Syphax, my old friend. Bring a chair to sit on and one for your man as well.” The imperator picked up a piece of the cake and placed it into his mouth while Syphax and Lucius returned with the chairs they’d been sitting in earlier. “Good.”
The imperator seemed to doze for a few moments before covering his eyes with his hand. It looked frail and thin, much like the imperator. Trajan was in severe decline. The man who’d been a robust commander of his legions looked years beyond his sixty-three.
“This headache just won’t leave me be. When will the sun go down? Its damned light pierces my eyes,” Trajan complained.
“I can request the servants add more shades to the windows,” Syphax said.
“No, it doesn’t help. Only the darkness does.” Trajan sighed. “We’ll just have to soldier on, won’t we, young Lucius Silvanius Ferrata? We’ve both come a long way from the mountains and forests of Dacia, haven’t we?”
“Aye, Caesar. That was a while ago and far away,” Lucius replied.
Trajan made a weak affirmative sound, closing his eyes again. They sat in silence as the imperator rested his hand over his eyes to block the sun’s light. A slight frown teased at Lucius’s lips. The imperator was twice Lucius’s age. He didn’t want this to be his future, his strength failing him as he withered into a frail old man fighting off the pain of sunlight. Stealing glances at his friend Syphax, Lucius wondered what the older man was thinking. Syphax was closer in age to the imperator than Lucius. Seeing the imperator, a man Syphax had grown to know intimately over the years, brought low by time had to be hard for him.
A knock drew their attention away from their imperator. Felix poked his head in to check on the room before opening the door and ushering Drusus Gracchus in. The man Lucius had met earlier strode in calmly and confidently. Syphax and Lucius stood. When the man joined them near the imperator, he bowed to Trajan.
“Caesar, how may I serve?” the man asked.
“Ah, is that Drusus?” Trajan asked.
“Yes, Caesar,” Drusus Gracchus said.
“Excellent. Drusus, these are the men I mentioned.” The old man tipped his head toward Lucius’s centurion. “Syphax, it’s time for you to detach your cohort from the I Adiutrix and strike out on your own mission. It’s time for you to use all you’ve trained for. You shall be advanced as Tribunus Militum. You’ll need to select your replacement as Primus Pilum.”
“Thank you, Caesar. You honor me,” Syphax said, bowing low.
“You and your family have served me well over the years. It is deserved.” Trajan slumped into his couch, looking even wearier. “I grow tired. Syphax, Drusus will give you the rest of your orders. Treat them as if they come directly from me.”
“Of course, Caesar,” Syphax replied.
“Felix?” Trajan called.
Felix stepped forward. “Yes, Caesar?”
“Do you have the pilei?” Trajan asked.
“Yes, Caesar.” Felix pulled felt hats from within his robes and opened them into cones.
Turning his head toward Syphax, Trajan forced his eyes open. “The Armenians who were playing earlier will be your guides. They know the mountains where you’re going well. When they get you to your destination, they are each to be given a pileus and freed. Felix also has some coin you will give them.”
