Chapter XX

 

 

 

Upon the conduct of each depends the fate of all.  – Alexander the Great

 

Malorix remembers some of the ascent. Mostly his feeble effort to avoid being bled and battered by the jagged rock face. Balera’s limp body rises after him, a dead weight on the rope Malorix somehow managed to tie under his arms. At the top, they work on Balera for a long time before he coughs and vomits his way back to life. One, however, does not emerge. One man had not waited for ropes, had taken his chances with the hand and footholds carved into the face of the shaft. And so Kaeso fell to his death.

The next day the deep shaft mine is closed as the gas continues to vent unabated. Until it ceases, the shaft crews will be shifted to other parts of the mine. A good day. As far as Malorix is concerned, any day that he does not have to go down into that shaft is a good day.

At this day’s end they hand in their tools as usual and receive the barley gruel and scraps that pass for food. The men lay, as always, in the open air, like carcasses strewn about a butcher’s floor. But today Malorix notices a change. He is no longer invisible, no longer ignored. It is nothing they do, rather it is the host of things they don’t do. The iron glances, the curled lips, the extra effort to avoid him, have ceased.

Malorix eats, exhausted by another day in the open pit. He hardly notices when Quirinus and Balera approach, the latter’s complexion turned a ghastly grey. Quirinus kneels next to where Malorix is sprawled on a pile of gravel. "How's the gruel?"

As he forces another handful into his mouth, Malorix observes the epithet of slaver has vanished, "Crap. As usual."

"You saw the face of Hades, yesterday."

"Yes." Malorix agrees, eyeing them warily.

"Thanks." Balera says, standing unsteadily. His voice is rough and halting, his body covered in scratches.

"Thank yourself. I fell apart down there."

"You did well enough. My presence here is proof of that. Anyway, you did better than Kaeso."

"Beyond pain now," Quirinus observes quietly.

Malorix finds himself drawn unwillingly to the memory of the ordeal. "Before the gas came, Kaeso spoke of seeing the Reaper."

The two soldiers exchange glances. "It’s true," says Balera, “He was a marked man. No man of the IX^th has seen the spectre and survived."

"I too saw something down there."

"We often do. The gas plays tricks with the mind."

"No, I saw the Reaper."

Malorix studies their faces. Their fatigue shows through the dirt, and he realizes his earlier sense that Quirinus was little changed is mistaken. There are subtle differences, even from their first encounter in the courtyard at Stravin. His skin is more drawn and pinched, his eyes lacklustre. Sometimes he seems dazed, as though uncertain what to do next. Balera looks strong enough, but there too is resignation in the cast of his expression, and it isn’t from the gas. Like Quirinus, he is tired of the fight. They are running out of time.

"My name is not Beucan," he says. "It’s Malorix. Beucan was a cover name." They accept this without comment. "You must know that this is not the first time I have seen the Reap… not the first time I have seen the spectre of a centurion. En route to this place I visited the site of your battle at Elegia. I encountered a centurion there."

"You saw the Reaper before?"

"I thought so at the time. But what I saw in the mine yesterday … the image was not the same. The armour was ancient, from times long past. At Elegia the centurion’s look was modern, with the banded armour and the transverse crest." They looked at him uncomprehendingly. "Tell me truly," he says slowly. "What happened to Afranius Silo?"

"Silo?"

"Silo is dead, isn’t he?"

Quirinus breaks the silence. "Silo is dead. We saw him die and we buried him."

Malorix leans back onto his elbows studying their faces. Silo is dead, the mission probably failed. “All I know," he says at last, "is that I have seen a spirit twice, and neither time was it the same."

"No one has seen the Reaper even once and lived."

He puts down his bowl. "Tell me about Elegia."

"That was another life. Forget that," Quirinus says.

"If we are to get out of here, I need to know. I have a friend on the outside who will help us."

"I can’t listen to this." Balera turns to leave.

"Stay, Balera!" Quirinus orders. "Who is this friend?"

"His name is Duris."

"An Arab."

"He’s resourceful."

"Sure he is. Can he make fifty fully armed Parthian scumbags disappear? Poof!" Quirinus opens his fingers for emphasis. He stands, his figure a partial silhouette against the early stars. "I heard the old Greek came up with a cask of arkhi. They’ll kick the shit out of us tomorrow." He looks to the heavens and then to Balera. "What can it hurt Balera? We’re dead anyway." He sits close to Malorix. "I was Pilus Posterior, third cohort, of Legion IX Hispana. At Elegia we were ambushed and massacred. That’s what happened."

"Balera," Malorix says quietly, "were you with the IX^th, or the Italian Cohort?"

"And how would you know about that?" Menace in his voice.

"I am Frumentarii."

"If, as you say, you are Frumentarii, why not ask Rome?" Quirinus’ voice takes on a venomous tone. "Start with your Praetorian friends"

"The Praetorians are nothing to me."

"Words." Balera again.

"We think the transfer of the Italian cohort was about Silo. Somebody wanted him out of the way. I want to know who, and why."

"Why Silo?"

"Silo was Frumentarii." That stops them. A mark of Silo’s attention to detail that they had not divined his role in the secret service. "Which was it?" he repeats.

"I’m from the IX^th. Balera is from the Italians."

"So Balera knew Silo?"

"I was his optio for whatever that may be worth.” He laughs bitterly. “I won’t make centurion."

"He’s dead. You’re certain?"

"Who’s next after Kaeso?" A high-pitched voice breaks in from the obscurity of the pit. "All it wants is vengeance." Thetis.

"Bah," Balera growls. "Keep out of it, you mad Cilician."

"Mark me, optio. The dead don’t rise for no good purpose. The Reaper means to take us all. Kaeso is dog meat. All from the IX^th will follow. All will follow ..."

"You'll be next!"

"If the Reaper is here in this land of living death, it’s for one reason only. He means to take us with him. Come to fetch us." Somewhere in the obscurity, Thetis' cackling sounds more surreal than ever.

"Shut it, you cretinous villain, or I'll feed you to the dogs myself!"

"Shut it will I, Balera? You saw Silo die. You saw how he died. Not the noble sword, like Severianus. Not the Roman way! He died spitting blood and pestilence."

"Shut your mouth you stupid, half-breed, Cretan, dog-shit, son-of-bitch!" Malorix hears a scuffle and the rattle of stones as Balera sends Thetis tumbling off into the night.

"You don't like it, soldier boy, but that don't make it any less true." The cackling trails off.

"What does he mean, pestilence?”

Balera disappears. They hear a cry of pain and a curse. The optio returns and sits, still looking for Thetis. “That fucking loon,” he says resignedly. “I’d kill him if it wasn’t for these.” He holds up his manacled hands. “Look, the 1^st cohort was mustered and told to pack our kit for a long march. Something about troubles on the coast at Odessus, but we never saw the place. South of the city a detachment of Praetorians escorted us to a squadron of biremes and transports. New orders. March to Cappadocia, join IX^th Hispana. We sailed to Pontus."

"Why Praetorians?"

"Reinforcements, or so they said." He snorts. "More like jailers. From the coast of Pontus we never stopped in a city, a town, or a village. Never saw or spoke to a living soul until we reached Zimara. Two days later we marched to Elegia."

"The Praetorians went with you?"

"Escorted us out of Zimara and buggered off."

"Severianus had orders to stay put," Malorix says pointedly.

"Towards the end, Severianus went a bit strange,” Quirinus says. “Met with only a select few of the staff officers, and I wasn’t part of the inner circle. I can tell you it was sudden.

"A couple of months before the battle Severianus travelled to the north, a temple on the Bithynian coast. It was hush hush. According to the staffers, when he returned, he wasn’t himself. He left Caesarea and took up residence with the IX^th at Zimara. He rarely left the Praetorium, and when he did he locked himself in the Principia reading reports.

"Nobody knew what he was up to. My First Spear told me he gave a lot of conflicting orders, and started delivering rambling dialogues about destiny, and the god’s will. We got ready to march three times, only to be stood down with no explanation. When the Italians showed up, we marched.

"When the 1^st arrived, Severianus called the officers together and gave us orders to prepare," Balera continues the story. "Silo came back from that meeting pretty unhappy. He never said anything to me, but he had eyes. The IX^th weren’t ready for combat. Our single cohort could have licked ’em."

"Says you."

"You know it’s true, Quirinus! Silo advised against the march. Overruled. Anyway, we threw out a cavalry screen, and marched. The cavalry were local auxiliaries and Cantabrian spearman, a few hundred wasters. The Parthians were waiting. They took out the cavalry and we were sitting ducks. On low ground and the Parthian horse archers high on our flanks before the cavalry even picked them up. We deployed in battle lines in a hail of arrows, but how long can you stand around in the heat holding a shield over your head?

"By the end of the second day we were finished and everyone knew it. Miracle we held out that long.

"Towards the end, Severianus gathered the officers and they slaughtered each other one by one. Men wailed watching it happen." Malorix can sense rather than see the curl of his lip with darkness fallen. "The noble Romans left us there to die. Assholes."

"Silo?"

"After the blood-letting, Silo makes a speech, praising the bravery of the officers. That was horseshit. We begged him not to follow them. Begged mind. So he says he’ll stick it out, swears to stand by us. Swears it! That was Silo—thick and thin, you know? He wasn’t going to fall on his sword for the sake of Roman honour.”

“At dawn on the third day they charged us from all sides,” Quirinus says, taking up the narrative. “In the end we were so closely packed together we couldn’t even raise our arms to thrust a gladius. Silo right there in the middle. We surrendered." He pauses. "Well, not really. We were so jammed-in we couldn’t fight. They just stopped killing us."

"Then what?"

"Forced to bow to their commanders. Quite a few brave souls refused to do it. Archers shot them where they stood. To our eternal shame, the rest of us bowed. Then we marched for about three weeks. We went through towns, we kept having to bow down in front of their commander—name of Chosrhoes. We were paraded around in chains or in cages. Then we were handed into the tender care of Vasiges and brought here."

"How many?"

"A few hundred survived the battle. Of the senior officers, only two survived. Me and Silo."

"What happened to Silo and the rest?"

"Most of ’em died here,” says Balera. “A dozen or so died enroute. Some were sold. Two were executed."

"What of Silo?"

"Silo is dead. That much I can tell you," says Quirinus.

"How?"

"Tell him, Balera. I … I can't."

Balera is close enough now for Malorix to see his face. He seems to age physically in the moment. "The Parthians decided to execute two legionaries accused of being thieves," he begins. "Said they stole some wheat. Silo was the obvious leader, so they made an example of him. They did it in a town square so everyone could watch."

"What did they do?"

"They cut off his right arm. Just here." Balera grasps him by the forearm and Malorix feels the moist fall of the optio's tears as he makes the cutting gesture. "Just below the elbow."

Malorix’ memory races back to the apparition on the field at Elegia. "Targitai forefend! They were not the same!" The horrifying image fills his imagination. "His right forearm was missing."

"Whose?"

"At Elegia I saw the spirit of a centurion in great pain. That spirit had no forearm."

Balera grabs him roughly, "Don’t make shit up! You should not speak so!"

"Targitai strike me down on this spot if I speak falsely now!"

Balera releases his grip. They fall silent a while, until the optio resumes his story. "Silo didn’t die right away." His voice falls. "He lasted a couple more weeks, and he suffered. He suffered a lot. Gangrene got him, and he died."

"Where?"

"North of here. They let us bury him at an overnight camp. Maybe four or five days ride."

"What did he tell you?"

"Said Rome would leave us high and dry. Ordered me to make sure when Rapax came that all the men were ransomed before I give Rome what it wants. I didn’t know what he meant by Rapax."

"I’m Rapax. Where is this thing? Is it buried with Silo?"

"Probably. He gave nothing to us." Malorix can feel Balera’s eyes boring in on him. "How did he know it would be you?"

"He guessed." Silo knew all right. He knew who Claudius would send before Claudius did.

The light of torches appears from below. Voices can be heard, louder than usual. Guards, making their way to the cave for lock-up. "We'd better move," Balera suggests. "They’re liquored up."

"Silo knew the reasons why all this happened. Or he suspected them," Malorix continues as they walk. "I need to know what he knew."

"You don’t get to Silo without us. Whether his spirit walks the night or not. We all go." Balera’s voice is strong again. "Understand? Every last dishonoured one of us."

"I understand."

"But how can we be sure about this spirit? What does it want?" Quirinus says. "Maybe Thetis here is right. It’s always been the Reaper."

Thetis’ voice comes again, low and quiet, following them from the fringes of the darkness. "It wants the company of its old mates. The dead ain’t got no souls. They don’t know why they do it …"

"I’ll fucking kill him!"

"Relax, Balera! He's crazy," Quirinus says.

"Like a Siren on the rock, Silo is gonna lure us all to death. But it ain’t Silo, it only looks like Silo. You know what it is, Quirinus. You’re from the IX^th!"

"Shut up!" It is Quirinus this time. "Or I’ll send you to join Silo this instant!"

Thetis scurries into the cave ahead of them. Balera curses under his breath. "Silo should have told me he was Frumentarii." He stops at the door to look Malorix in the eyes. "I was his optio."

"He could not."

"Yeah, I suppose not." He shrugs his way into the cave.

"For what it's worth though, Thetis is wrong."

Balera turns again to face him. "How is that?"

"There are two. I’m certain of it."