Marching With Caesar-Final Campaign, page 49
Diocles had brought me some refreshment, and while I appreciated it, I felt even more useless than I already did, reminded of Marcus Primus when he sat in the shade watching us slaughter the remnants of the three Thracian tribes that had taken umbrage at our incursion into their lands. What would make it complete was a bucket of snow brought down from the mountain by a slave, I mused ruefully, but I will admit that my leg did hurt, and the wine was a good vintage. Sipping from the cup, I suppose I must have lost myself somehow, because I do not recall seeing anyone approach, yet I almost jumped out of my skin at the sound of someone clearing his throat. I looked down to see Tribune Lucullus, but he was not alone. Standing beside him, with a bowed head so that his hair hung down in front of his face, was one of the prisoners, who had already received his new set of chains, and in one of those odd little moments, I noticed that he was twisting his wrists, as if the manacles were chafing him. He better get used to those, I thought. They will be a part of his life for however long it lasts.
"Prefect, this prisoner requested to speak to you," Lucullus said, his words startling me almost as much as his approach, I must admit.
"Oh? You mean he asked to speak to the commander of the army?"
My assumption was that this was one highborn man trying to appeal to another, perhaps to offer to pay a ransom for his freedom, which was certainly not unheard of.
"No, he asked for you by name," Lucullus said, then gave the man a hard shove.
When he lifted his head to gaze up at me, it took me a moment to recognize him, between the poor light of early morning, his hair and the dirt and what looked like blood caked on his face. Squinting, I finally realized that it was Charax and, despite myself, I felt a stab of sympathy for the man.
"Ah, Charax," I said, wondering if I sounded as awkward as I felt. "What can I do for you?"
"Prefect Pullus, I have come to make a request of you," he began, but I cut him off, since I was sure that I knew what he was going to say.
"The answer is yes, I will accept a ransom payment for your freedom. And," I added this, and I suppose I was prompted by a particularly heart-rending and shrill scream of a child, "your family, of course. But," I finished, hardening my tone, "only for your immediate family. No cousins or nephews or any nonsense like that."
The look Charax gave me was one that has been a feature in many of my dreams, the kind of dreams like that of the recurring one when we exterminated the Usipetes and Tencteri tribes. If it had been of pure hatred, I would have understood, but his expression was one of such sorrow, loss, bitterness, and... something else that I could not identify, and I still cannot, that I felt my breath catch in my throat.
"No, Prefect, that is not what I am requesting of you." Charax turned his head to stare back at the barely visible shapes of his people taking either their first step into a life of slavery, or their last journey in Charon's Boat before he faced me again.
"It is too late for my family," he said simply. "And the request I make is that you allow me to join them, in the afterlife."
I stared at him for a moment, not sure I had heard correctly. This was very unusual, to say the least. Over the previous forty years, I had either participated or been witness to scenes like this more times than I could count, but never before had a prisoner made this request, at least in my hearing. As much as men say, usually as they are sitting at a table in a tavern, or around a fire, holding a cup of wine, that they would choose death over slavery, without hesitation, my experience has been the exact opposite. I know I have mentioned it before; when I was younger, I was one of those men, and all I can say in my defense is that I believed myself when I uttered the words. And we Romans in particular are very adamant in this belief, and most men I know have nothing but contempt for those men who choose life, even with the the prospect of slavery that comes with it. But these old eyes, as weak and failing as they are now, have seen much of the known world, and I have faced a number of races and nations, and I know that courage is not an exclusively Roman virtue. I have witnessed bravery in my enemies of such magnitude that any Roman would be proud to claim it as their own act, so I have learned to be cautious when throwing such claims about. While I would like to think that the prospect of living in bondage to another man is so abhorrent that I would instantly seek my death, I am not so sure when the moment arrived whether or not I would allow the chains to be draped around my own wrists. It was these thoughts that created in me an air of surprise when I heard Charax actually utter aloud those words that we Romans throw about so casually, in a meaningful way.
"Are you sure?" I asked him quietly, but his gaze did not waver.
Nor did he answer, which told me what I needed to know.
"Very well," I said gravely. "I grant your request. And if you will tell me your burial rites, I will make sure that you are interred with all honor."
He clearly was not expecting that because a sudden glint appeared in his eyes, and I looked away, not wishing to shame a man who was showing true courage. I was about to tell Lucullus to take him away when he spoke up, and I was in for yet another surprise.
"In light of your...generosity," Charax started, and while I could not be sure, I thought I saw a glimmer of a smile as he spoke of my charity, "I do have one more request to make."
My mind immediately made the assumption that he be allowed to have his family interred, or cremated with him, and I was already trying to determine how we could manage to extract his loved ones from the corpses that were no doubt littering the streets and houses of Naissus. But that was not what he was about.
"I would like for you to send me to the afterlife, by your hand. Using your sword."
One day, perhaps soon, I plan on asking Charax when I meet him in the afterlife, if he was trying to salute me in a way, or insult me. I am afraid I know the answer, but it is just one more of the unanswered questions I plan on bringing with me across the river. Rather than either a compliment or a slur, I think Charax was putting a curse on me, because as I said, his face is burned into my memory. I granted his request, mainly because I did not know how to say no without appearing to be either squeamish or needlessly cruel. Naturally, I required assistance, not for the act itself, but to hobble over to him, while Lucullus and the two Legionaries that had come along to guard Charax looked on with a combination of interest and unease. As I hopped over to face him, he stood, head high, eyes unblinking as I looked into them, and I was struck by the thought that Charax was fortunate in one respect, that it was not Marcus Primus from whom he asked this favor. I had to lay the crutches down on the ground, and I gingerly tested my leg; most of the power from a good sword thrust comes from below the waist. One thing I did not want to do was make this man suffer. The truth is, I had nothing against him, and I suspect under different circumstances, there was much about Charax that I would have admired based on the example he was setting now. Realizing that there was no way to avoid putting weight on my leg, I told myself that it was the least I could suffer for bringing this destruction to his town and people. Although he had no way of knowing it, the actions of Aderbal were ultimately inconsequential; Naissus was going to fall no matter what had happened. For a brief moment, I considered actually telling Charax this, my initial thought being that it might ease his anguish to know that there was nothing he could have done to stop my men from taking Naissus. I decided not to, because I was not sure that it would bring him any comfort at all. Once I was as steady on my feet as I was going to get, I drew the Gallic blade that I had carried for more than thirty years.
"That is a fine blade." Charax's voice was hoarse, but was clearly understandable.
"I paid a small fortune for it," I admitted. "And I've had it a long time."
"So it's seen the deaths of many of Rome's enemies." For the first time, his gaze tore away from my face as he looked down at the dull sheen of the blade.
"Yes, it has," I agreed. "But I will admit, never quite like this. But then," I do not know exactly why I added this, "I don't consider you an enemy of Rome."
Charax actually laughed at this, and still had the presence of mind to quip, "Then I do not even want to think about what would have happened if we had been."
"I know none of this is your doing," I told him. "That this is all because of Aderbal's actions."
"Aderbal," Charax spat into the dirt after speaking the name. "He was always a fool. I've had pigs that were smarter than he was. But I at least have the consolation of knowing that he's dead."
That interested me, and I felt compelled to ask, "Really? How do you know? Did you see it happen?"
He nodded, and replied, "It was when your men first came through the breach of our wall. He was in the front rank. It's true he was a fool, but he was a brave fool, and you could always count on Aderbal to lead from the front. That's why so many men followed him."
"That will do it," I agreed, and it was almost as if we were having a quiet chat over a cup of wine, what was about to happen temporarily forgotten as two warriors talked over a battle.
"So when your men came charging out of the smoke, Aderbal immediately went for the Centurion leading the charge."
It felt like the blood in my body froze, and I stared hard at Charax as he continued, obviously oblivious to the fact he was discussing the fate of my own family.
"For a moment, I thought Aderbal had him. Your Centurion slipped and fell, but before Aderbal could finish him, one of your other men threw himself over your Centurion's body and took the blow meant for him."
Without thinking, I grabbed his shoulder with my free hand, squeezing it hard, and he looked at me with surprise and a little pain.
"What happened then?" I demanded. "What happened to the Centurion?"
"I know that you Romans prize your Centurions," Charax replied. "But you have many of them in a Legion." His eyes narrowed, and he searched my face. "Why is this one special to you?"
In that moment, my first instinct was to lie, because I was sure that if I told Charax the truth, then he would tell me something that he thought would hurt me, as his last revenge. After all, I remember thinking, what better way to strike back at an enemy against whom you are otherwise helpless than by telling him something that will wound his heart? But I did not, and I am not sure why I did not, other than for the simple reason that I respected, and trusted, Charax, a man who was supposed to be my enemy.
"He's my nephew," I finally broke the long silence.
Charax's eyes opened wide, clearly surprised by this, but then he nodded.
"I see. Now I understand, and I can see the resemblance, at least in his height. He is almost as tall as you are, although he is not as heavily built." He paused for a moment, as if he was considering something, then continued, "And I assume that you personally trained him to use a sword?"
"Yes," I said tersely. Then, "Over many, many watches."
"Ah." Charax's face gave nothing away, and I wanted to shake the words out of him, but somehow I managed to avoid doing so, because he finally concluded, "Well, you trained your nephew well. As soon as he regained his feet, he attacked Aderbal with a ferocity that I have rarely seen before and, like you, I have been in many battles."
As much as I tried, I could not stop my body from sagging in relief.
"Aderbal put up a brave defense," Charax resumed. "But your nephew was relentless, and he struck Aderbal down. Not long after that, I received a blow to the head, and I was stunned. So I am afraid I cannot tell you anything about your nephew after that."
"Thank you," was all I could think to say, and I meant it.
I realized I still had my hand on his shoulder, but I was no longer squeezing it.
Taking a deep breath, I asked Charax softly, "Is there any way for me to change your mind? What if I ordered that you and your family wouldn't be taken as prisoners?"
"As I said, it's too late for my family," Charax reminded me, and there was no missing the bitterness in his voice. "Besides, what would I do, if you freed me? Where would I go?"
"This isn't the only Moesian town," I persisted. "Surely you have kin with other branches of your tribe, even if they are distantly related."
"I do," he conceded. "But I failed the people of Naissus. I could not stop this from happening, so what use am I to anyone else?"
"But nobody can stop us."
In my own admittedly clumsy way, I was actually trying to make Charax feel better about his failure. Only now, looking back, can I acknowledge that being told by a Roman that you are powerless to stop Rome from doing whatever it wills with not just you but your people, is not likely to provide any comfort. But when Charax shook his head impatiently, I learned that was not what he was talking about.
"I'm not talking about with your Legions. I'm talking about with Aderbal. I was unable to stop him from setting that ambush. The gods know I tried, but too many people were still angry over what happened five years ago, so he had a receptive audience when he started talking about how this was the chance to exact revenge."
"He didn't know that even if he did something like he did, that we would force a reckoning?"
I admit that this was something that had puzzled me, no matter how convenient it may have been. The look Charax gave me did not need the full light of day to understand.
"I was always surprised when I saw Aderbal with his boots tied correctly," Charax said contemptuously. "So to answer your question, no, he did not. He thought that he and his three hundred men would be as Leonidas at Thermopylae, and win a great victory."
"He did at least know that Leonidas and every one of his men died, didn't he?" I asked dryly, prompting a snort from the other man.
"I do not think he thought that far ahead. In fact, he was surprised that you reduced our walls so quickly. I suppose he died surprised."
Charax stopped talking then, and turned once more toward the town before facing back.
Heaving a great sigh, he looked back into my eyes, and said, "Forgive me, Prefect, but I grow tired of talking. I am ready, if you are."
I swallowed hard, but I nodded. However, when I gave him a gentle push downward on his shoulder as a sign that I wanted him to kneel, expecting that I would perform the quickest execution by beheading him, he shook his head.
"No," he said firmly. "I want to die on my feet, like a man. Looking you in the eyes."
I will speak no more about this, other than to say that Charax, the Moesian and an elder of the town of Naissus, died as well as any man I have ever seen. I hope to meet him again.
Gaius finally reappeared shortly after sunup, dirty, blood-spattered, and exhausted, but otherwise unharmed. His mental state, however, was another matter. Hollow-eyed, he was unsteady on his feet as he approached my perch, but even from a distance, I saw his agitation. Struggling back up, I hobbled down the steps to greet him standing up, as befitting a triumphant Centurion of Rome. Before I could say anything, however, he took his helmet off and tossed it to the ground, then gave it a kick. Unfortunately, his aim was either very poor, or very good, because the helmet came flying at me and struck me square on my injured thigh. I do not remember anything immediately after that; my next recollection is staring at a sky that was still pink, framing Gaius' bare head as he looked down in clear alarm.
"Uncle, I mean, Prefect, I am so sorry," he gasped, offering his hand to help me up.
Frankly, I was not ready to regain my feet at that moment, as Gaius' head seemed to be rotating around me, the pink clouds that framed his head seeming to follow along.
"Give me a moment," I told him through tightly clenched teeth.
My thigh, which had settled into a dull ache, had resumed its throbbing with an intensity that was only slightly less than immediately after I was wounded. Finally, I felt recovered enough to let him haul me up, which he did with an enormous effort. I knew I should have been angry, but the distress that I had seen so clearly on his face as he walked up to me was even more acute. The truth is that I was just happy to see him sound and whole. Leaning on his shoulder heavily for a moment, I waited until my head cleared somewhat before I began speaking. He seemed content to wait as well, and the silence drew out between us.
"I heard what happened," I told him quietly, at last breaking the quiet.
His eyes widened in surprise and he stared at me intently.
"How? My men are still in town, and we were the first in."
