Pisakar had started the process of turning the borrowed cohorts into real soldiers. Like many of the men stationed on the border under Diocletian and his successors, they’d been ignored as the men who called themselves “Dominus” concentrated their forces behind their borders under their new policy of being able to send them to the border where needed. In reality, the men had been used in their internal struggles while the borders were neglected.
More oft than not, Lucius and the Black had been holding back raiders more than hunting vampires as others fought for the power. Pisakar had done a good job selecting units to integrate into Lucius’s forces. His centurions and the optios were doing quick work getting them in shape, refreshing their training and turning them into a reliable fighting force that could hold the line when called to. They were using the quiet before the storm to get their borrowed cohorts into shape. They needed to rely on these men for their lives in the coming weeks; they were going to use every moment to gather the last of their supplies and train their men before the rest of Marpesia’s people arrived.
Lucius had been watching one of his optios run his new men through some drills, engaging with some of the more promising swordsmen. The man the optio was currently working with had caught the optio flatfooted and was driving him back.
“Fuck, halt!” the optio cried after the trainee shoved the optio’s shield back and into his face.
Making sure the trainee had halted, he propped his scutum against his leg and reached up and felt his nose, drawing it back covered in blood.
Lucius did his best to hold his laughter. “Looks like he got ya there, Optio. Go see the medic. I’ll keep running them through their drills.”
“Aye, Centurio,” the optio said, sounding muffled with his hand holding his nose.
Lucius took the wooden training rudis from the optio so he could take his scutum with him. “Martininius?”
“Centurio?”
“Mind taking my cloak?” Lucius asked. He unclasped the black cloak, handing it to his secretary, and turned to the trainee who’d gotten the better of his optio. “What’s your name, miles?”
“Decanus Naram, Centurio.”
“My apologies, Decanus. That was excellent work. Can you repeat the series of moves that caught my optio off guard?”
“Aye, Centurio.”
Lucius twirled the rudis and rotated his shoulder, warming up his muscles before stepping in to work with his new men when he saw Marpesia and Aella approaching.
Lucius held his hand up to signal a brief halt and stepped toward the two Roxolani women. He nodded respectfully, giving a half bow. “How may I serve you today?”
Aella translated for Marpesia, waited for her answer, and turned to Lucius. “She only wishes to watch the mighty Centurio Immortalis train his warriors. Please, continue.”
Lucius nodded and turned back to the patient Decanus, taking an en garde position. “Ready? Begin.”
Lucius countered the decanus’s moves with the standard options, wanting to see where his optio had tripped up. It wasn’t until after the first several moves that the decanus started modifying things. “Interesting,” Lucius thought. The decanus had come up with some ideas that tweaked the standard moves and caused the counters to fail.
His optio had been working through the standards to ensure everyone had a proper base and had grown complacent. He’d have to inform his junior officer how he’d been bested. When the decanus launched the victorious move, Lucius easily countered it, turning the move back on the decanus. The decanus’s wooden sword flew into the air, and Lucius paused with his blade against the neck of the soldier. Like his optio who’d expected the standard moves, the decanus had grown used to beating his compatriots with it.
“Excellent move. If you’ll fetch your rudis, I’ll show you how I turned it.”
The decanus nodded respectfully and fetched his implement as his comrades snickered, apparently happy to see his tricks turned against him. Once the decanus recovered, Lucius ran him through his paces, showing him several ways to recover and use his skills and how a Goth might counter his moves. By the time he was done, Lucius held every eye as they dissected the lessons.
As Lucius taught his clinic on sword fighting, he’d gathered a crowd of Sarmatians and some of his upper officers, including Pisakar, who was standing next to Aella and Marpesia.
“My mistress would like to know if the Centurio always works with his common soldiers,” Aella asked.
“Quite regularly. He’s the finest hand with a sword I’ve ever fought beside,” Pisakar replied, his deep voice carrying.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lucius checked out the scene. Aella was busy conversing with Pisakar, occasionally translating a sentence or two from Marpesia. And although Marpesia engaged with Pisakar through her translator, she wasn’t moving her eyes off Lucius.
He waved over one of his officers. “Baranis, mind running these men through some more drills?”
“Of course, Centurio.”
Lucius nodded and walked toward Pisakar and his Roxolani guests, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow.
“Ah, Centurio. Our guests were wondering why you still train with your men.”
Aella nodded at Pisakar.
Marpesia’s eyes challenged him, her face an inscrutable mask. He addressed her, letting Aella carry his words to her.
“There’s nothing common about my soldiers. They’re the finest fighting men anywhere. I work with them to ensure that stays true and to hone my own abilities. The skills I’ve developed and refined keep me alive when I’m fighting my true enemy. The blood drinkers are fast and strong, and every one I’ve crossed has met its end at my hand.” He waited for Aella to translate his words.
Marpesia’s reply was much shorter. “Finest fighting men? Would you care to test that supposition?”
“How?” Lucius asked, cocking his head to the side, his eyebrow quirking up.
“My mistress would offer a challenge to Roma’s greatest warrior,” Aella translated.
Marpesia stripped off her cloak, revealing her ornate, bronze-edged steel scale mail.
Lucius turned to Aella. “Excuse me. I don’t understand.”
“My mistress wishes to challenge you to a friendly contest. She says you may have the finest men, but you’ve left out half of the world’s people.”
Lucius looked at his friend. Pisakar was doing his best to hide his grin and to keep from laughing. He gave Lucius a smirk and a nod. Flipping the rudis so he held the dull blade in his hand, Lucius offered the handle to Marpesia. She looked at it and sneered.
“My mistress says she does not play with children’s toys.”
Marpesia reached to her back and pulled free her pointed battle axe. Lucius had fought against the weapon many times in his two centuries of war, although he doubted he’d seen one as fine as Marpesia’s. The crescent blade had a stylized antelope leaping, his round belly at the center of the blade, its exaggerated legs leaping out into the top and bottom corner. The head tilted back at the perfect angle so its impossibly long antlers formed a pointed spike on the opposite end of the blade.
Lucius nodded, handing the rudis off to an empty hand. He didn’t see who, his gaze captured by the challenge in her mesmerisingly gray eyes. They sparkled mischievously, a question in them Lucius couldn’t figure out.
“Very well. Helmet and shield.”
She nodded.
“Martininius? If you’d be so good as to fetch my scutum and my helmet.”
“Yes, Centurio.”
Marpesia called to one of her warriors, sending him off to fetch a helmet and a shield. He’d learned enough of her tongue to know that much. As he jogged off, she turned her gaze back to Lucius, eyeing him up and down and saying something to Aella he couldn’t translate.
“My mistress says you’re big for a Roman.”
“I’m not a Latin Roman. I’m a barbarian from Belgica in Gaul, from the Nervii tribe. There aren’t a lot of Romans from Italia in the Black. Pisakar?”
“Barbarian from Napata in Kush.”
Lucius looked at the grizzled Centurio of the I Cohort. “Zyraxes?”
“Thracian, Centurio.”
Martininius came jogging back, Lucius’s Scutum in one hand and his helmet in the other.
“Martininius, tell the Roxolani emissary what variety of barbarian you are.”
“Barbarian, Centurio? I’m of Hellene and Roman descent from Massilia, sir.”
Lucius chuckled, knowing the serious young man would answer stiffly at being called a barbarian. “We’re all children of Roma’s conquests. Except Pisakar—no one has managed to conquer the Kushites yet, Egyptian, Hellene, or Roman.” Lucius took his helmet with its transverse crest made of long black horse hair. While the standard centurion’s crest was short and spiky, and stuck straight up, his was long and swept down the back of his helmet and over his shoulders. He let Martininius hold his scutum, the surface painted black to match the legion’s official color save for Selene’s moon painted in white at its center. He waited for Marpesia’s warrior to return with her gear.
A few moments later, he returned carrying a wicker shield and a bronze and steel helmet. Marpesia handed her axe to Aella and grabbed a knit cap out of the helmet and tucked her hair up, arranging it into a pile on top of her head. Grabbing her helmet by the cheek guards hinged onto the crown in a similar manner as Lucius’s Gallic helm, she pulled it over her head, tightening the straps. It had a smaller neck guard than Lucius’s wide, deep plunging neck guard. Unlike Lucius’s helmet, hers had a nose guard jutting down from the rim. A long tail of golden horsehair was attached to the top, sticking up before arching back and falling down behind her. On each side of her helmet, bronze decorations featured the stylized wolf—her clan’s symbol.
She took her crescent-shaped wicker shield then her axe and ran through a few slow movements to warm up her body. Lucius took his scutum, watching Marpesia’s fluid movements, admiring her economy of motion while Pisakar backed everyone into a broad circle to give the combatants plenty of space. As word spread throughout the camp, the crowd grew. Lucius suspected a large amount of betting was already under way.
He strolled across the circle, tuning out the noise of those who’d showed up to watch. The only warning he got was the slight scrape of Marpesia’s soft-soled boot on a hard patch in the dirt as he turned around. A smear of silver arced toward his head.
He raised his scutum hastily, shoving the cut to the left. He pivoted, swinging an awkward slash toward her midsection, but she’d already danced back out of the way, sliding around his slash and knocking it around with her shield. Knowing the axe would be coming in toward his right shoulder, Lucius stepped into his failed slash and yanked his scutum around as he spun, catching the axe.
He pivoted, trying to reach a place where he wasn’t desperately responding to the lightning-quick and graceful arcs of Marpesia’s axe. Back pedaling to open enough space to get set, he moved around looking for an opening. When his heel caught on something, tripping him slightly, Marpesia darted in with a low cut aimed at his legs. He turned it aside with the flat of his blade, but she was already changing direction, catching the edge of his scutum with the long spike on the back of her axe. Her axe’s momentum pulled Lucius off balance, allowing her to finish pushing his shield out of the way with hers, exposing his side. Pivoting around, she caught the back of his knee with her foot and scooped the leg forward, darting out of the way as Lucius crashed onto his ass.
Wind wheezed from his lungs as he rolled to the side so he could shove himself up. He yanked his scutum upward, positioning it between him and where he thought Marpesia was. Once the blood rushing through his ears calmed some, he could hear the laughter filling the circle. He’d never hear the end of it from his men.
Marpesia seemed content to let him set himself, having made her point. He unwound his body and stood up, tipping his head to one side, then the other to stretch his neck after the crash. She quirked an eyebrow. Lucius nodded, ready.
As she lifted her axe back into position, Lucius twirled his gladius around in his hand and launched a stab toward her stomach. She directed it out of the way with her shield, using the momentum to spin and strike out toward his head with a backhanded slash. Lucius caught the blade and moved it aside as she completed her spin, shoving into his shield with hers, trying to force him back. He was prepared and met her shield, pushing back with his. Instead of knocking him back, she adjusted and used the combined force of their shields to leap back, nimble as a gazelle.
She was bold and innovative as a warrior. Her moves, if deployed by a less-skilled person, would likely get them killed. She used the lightness of her wicker shield to her advantage, keeping herself quick and mobile. She couldn’t get into a hacking contest with Lucius and his scutum. It could likely take more damage, although an axe on wood was nothing to sneer at.
He kept trying to catch her off guard, off balance, to finesse his sword inside her guard and land a blow, yet he couldn’t find an opening as she either deftly danced away or blocked and countered. She was fast, although not as fast as Lucius if he pushed himself to full speed, aided by his godly powers and those he drained from the di inferi. But she could practically feel his movements, predicting his next move as he launched it.
Dancing back and forth, all sound blocked from his ears, a smile spread across his face. Lucius was enjoying the fight. She was the finest fighter he’d crossed blades with in ages, perhaps ever. Marpesia’s eyes squinted, wrinkling the corners as she took in every movement of his body preparing her next move. Beyond the first attack when she’d tripped him to the ground, she’d not pressed the advantage, either willing to wait or unable to find the right opening to turn the engagement.
Curious, he gave her an opening, letting a slash carry just enough too far to open an opportunity to counter. She took it. Pressing him back, she rained blows toward his shield and body with both blade and spike, using her shield to block or attack where opportune. It was an impressive display, and it nearly put Lucius on his back for a second time until he halted her momentum, returning to the previous status quo.
Without the opening he’d given her or the element of surprise, she couldn’t get past his attack and defense. Deciding to see how hard he could press her, he turned up his speed and power, tapping into the well gained from draining the fanged demons.
His focus sharpened, the smile falling off his face as he pushed forward, stabbing out or delivering slashes faster than he’d shown her so far. Her eyes widened as each block she made became a little more desperate and almost too late.
Lucius had her firmly on her heel when he saw his opening. He caught her axe on his scutum and launched the shield up, knocking her back, her axe tumbling out of her hand and through the air to land behind her. Bringing his scutum back in, he shoved forward, catching her in the side with the shield and knocking her to the ground.
He backed up and relaxed, although he didn’t lower his scutum or gladius entirely. He stood up straight, taking deep breaths, sweat dripping down his face.
Marpesia lay on the ground, her scale armor rising and falling heavily as she worked to catch her breath. Balling up her first and lifting a boot clad foot, she punched the ground with the heel of her fist, stomping the sole of her boot into the ground at the same time.
“Fuck!” she yelled in Sarmatian.
Although Lucius was still learning the rudiments of Sarmatian, he’d long known most of the swear words. Lucius shoved his gladius into its scabbard and walked over to her axe, picking it up and transferring it to his left hand so he grasped it with the hand holding his scutum. He stepped closer to her and leaned down, offering his arm.
She squinted, pursing her lips, and hesitate. He gave her a closed-mouth smile, spreading his fingers to reiterate the offer. She reached up, grasping his forearm and planting her feet, ready for Lucius to help her up. On her feet, he returned her axe to her and stepped back, unsure if they were still engaged or done.
She barked an order over her shoulder. Aella stepped out of the crowd, walking toward her mistress, and nodded respectfully to Marpesia before acknowledging Lucius. Marpesia looked at Lucius, a smile on her face. She called off a string of Sarmatian that Lucius couldn’t catch at his early stage of learning.
Aella gave half bow to Lucius. “My mistress congratulates you on a fine display of your martial skills. She is most impressed.”
“I’m likewise impressed with her skills,” he replied to Aella.
He turned his gaze to Marpesia. She’d tossed her shield to one of her warriors and shoved her axe into her belt so she could remove her helmet. Her face glistened with sweat, her reddish-brown curls plastered to her forehead. Her smile broadened as she watched him looking her over. The combination robbed Lucius of his next words as his heart, finally calming, skipped a beat and picked up its pace under her bright eyes.
Addressing her directly, he bowed respectfully before her magnetic gaze drew his eyes back to hers. “You’re one of the finest warriors I’ve ever exchanged blows with. I look forward to fighting by your side.”
She bowed her head, acknowledging his sincere compliment after Aella translated it. Looking toward some of her warriors, Marpesia called out to one of them. “Kumis!”
He tossed her a leather skin. She caught it and pulled the plug from the neck and drank deeply, sighing happily after. She closed the distance to Lucius and offered him the skin.
“She wishes to share a drink to celebrate the excellent fight,” Aella translated.
Not wishing to be rude, and also quite thirsty, Lucius took the skin and tipped it to his lips, drinking deeply. He wasn’t sure why the Sarmatians looked so eager, almost appearing to be holding back laughter. As soon as his mouth filled with the sour, fetid liquid, he got the joke. Thick and tasting of cheese left in the sun, he quickly shoved the skin back to Marpesia as he stepped back, trying to keep from gagging.
Failing, he bent over, shielding himself from view behind his scutum, and heaved up the kumis and everything else in his stomach. Marpesia howled with laughter, breaking the dam as Roman and Sarmatian alike guffawed as the greatest soldier Roma had ever produced unleashed his lunch upon the hard dirt, defeated by the unknown fermented substance. Once he got himself under control, he kicked some dirt over his mess and stepped away from it.
Marpesia, raising her arms to the sky to call everyone to quiet, called out, “And thus have I breached the great Centurio Immortalis’s defenses, defeating him two blows to one!”
Everyone howled with laughter. After a few moments, when Lucius realized what she’d done and said, in only a slightly accented Hellenic, he started laughing too. Catching her gaze, he smiled at her and bowed, acknowledging the defeat.
Marpesia walked back over, smiling broadly and kindly, and offered him the skin again.
“No, thank you.”
“This one is just water. Rinse your mouth out,” she said, offering the skin again.
He took it and did as suggested, spitting the water into the dirt. “Thank you. What is that awful stuff?”
“Kumis? Fermented mare’s milk. It’s the lifeblood of our people. You’ll get used to it, but it’s always a nasty trick to play on southerners when they’ve never tried it before.”
“What if I’d had it before or liked it?”
“Fortunes of war,” she shrugged, chuckling and patting his steel-clad shoulder.
“Your command of the language of the Hellenes is quite good.”
“I speak Latin too, if you please.” She gave Lucius a saucy bow.
“I’m afraid my command of your dialect is much more rudimentary. Why the ruse?”
She tipped her head to the side and shrugged. “Letting Aella play at translator gives me time to think, to formulate answers. It lets me watch the room. It gives me an advantage when I’m only thought of as an uneducated barbarian. Come, let us go drink and speak of matters. I’ll teach you to speak a proper tongue.”
The crowd was dissipating as officers shouted orders, getting men back to work or training after the afternoon’s entertainment. Marpesia turned and strode away. Lucius’s eyes fell to her hypnotically swaying hips under the three-tailed coat of scale armor.
She turned over her shoulder and smirked, knowing she’d scored a third strike with her hips. She gestured for him to follow. “Come.”