Mists of the Miskatonic (Mist of the Miskatonic Book 1) (2 page)

The rest of the loaves were divided and the gruel finished. The slaves huddled together, and talked to the auxiliaries in hushed, harsh syllables. Lucius observed that usually the two groups were separate, but the news of why the Triarri and its support marched had drawn them together.

Later that night, Lucius walked through the rows of tents lit from inside. The flames flickered eerily. He rounded a corner to overhear a heated argument between the scout and the Primus. The two switched angrily between Egyptian and Latin. Normally, the scout would have been subservient, compliant as his stipend came from the Romans. Tonight, that seemed the furthest thing from his mind.

Lucius stood quietly and listened. He could only understand bits of phrases as the two argued. “Voices of the dead,” and “Crocodile men,” were two of the phrases he understood in Egyptian. The conversation finally ended when the Primus threatened to have the scout flogged if he agitated his fellows with his fanciful rants. The two parted, neither satisfied with the outcome of the conversation. Lucius crept through the sand back to his tent.

“Wandering about camp has entertained as much as it can, has it?” Augustinus said. He polished his gladius with coarse cloth in a circle of lamplight. Then he shook it out before he applied it again to the iron blade. “Sand permeates my very being this night, and every bit of equipment. It would not surprise if on the morrow a stream of sand emanates from prick instead of morning piss.”

“Shield as pillow again tonight, Augustinus,” Lucius said as he rolled out his blanket. He avoided the other legionnaires as they slept. They used their scutums as pillows. He looked around the tent to make sure his comrades would not overhear. “Primus was in a heated argument with that Egyptian scout. Disagreement about our march, it seems, and the disposition of these ancient creatures that built said lost outpost. The man is superstitious at best, defiant at worst. ”

Augustinus sheathed his gladius and pulled out his pugio. He polished the blade of the dagger.

“Most likely, the scout was attempting to renegotiate his stipend. He does not know his place. Egyptians are a curt and scurrilous lot. I have little trust of the slaves or the auxiliaries who will fight beside us if the need arises,” Augustinus said.

Lucius pulled off the cloth he had tied around his head, wiped his brow with it, then scratched his short, black hair. “No, it was some other concern that had brought about the agitation. It is this place we are marching to.”

“I think the Primus has had a belly full of sarcastic wit and repartee. On the morrow, you best hide your humor. Rest your tongue and spare your energy for marching.” Augustinus replaced the pugio in its sheath. “We should all be mindful of duty.”

The sand still radiated heat from the long day, and Lucius lay back using his shield as a pillow. Several of the other soldiers snored loudly.

“Mindful of coming conflict is more accurate,” Lucius whispered as he closed his eyes.

“What besides scorpion or beetle could survive in this oven?” Augustinus chortled quietly.

In the morning, Lucius woke to the sound of some argument outside the tent. He stuck his head out of the tent flap. The other legionnaires already moved about and packed their gear. The sun was not yet visible over the sea of sand: the predawn light lifted the darkness and erased the stars. The Primus and the scout argued again, as heated as the night before. Augustinus came around the corner and ducked into the tent, then pulled Lucius in by the arm.

“Best not get caught spying on Vitus today, or making humorous quips. During the night, half-dozen slaves and an equal number of auxiliaries vanished in the dark. Tracks lead east, back towards the Nile valley: no doubt they will be executed if found,” Augustinus said.

The two packed in silence, and listened to the sound of Vitus’s rage. “Hope their cocks fall off and bake in the desert,” was a phrase Lucius understood. Finally, Vitus and the scout parted ways and the legionnaires left their tent. Fires were stoked and jentaculum, the first meal of the day, was served just as the sun peeked onto the dunes. It warmed the vast Libyan Desert.

Flat, heavy wheat pancakes drizzled with honey were served with dates. Several ampules of watered wine were also consumed quickly, and the soldiers discussed the day’s march.

The slaves continued to cast furtive glances and move cautiously. The auxiliaries whispered in hushed tones, all men on the emotional edge. They would often fall silent and look at the sand as the legionnaires approached. Both groups avoided eye contact with the soldiers. The Romans seemed not to notice, aside from Lucius and Augustinus who finished their cakes while the slaves packed up the tents and cooking gear.

The column formed up in short order. The sand under foot had already warmed from the chill night and felt rough between Lucius’s sandals and his feet as he walked. His armor and weapons seemed heavier today: maybe the heat of the desert had got to him. Thank Jupiter, his heavy iron scutum was on one of the pack camels. His eyes tracked Vitus as he rode up and down the line. He was careful to control his tongue after Augustinus’ warning. The Primus seemed lost in thought beyond the caravan on the sand.

The legionnaires focused on the march and kept mostly silent. They trudged mindlessly and put one foot in front of the other. All had become aware of the events of the night, as the Primus had mentioned it during jentaculum. Vitus settled his horse and rode in front of Lucius and Augustinus.

“Your tongue is kept harnessed today, Lucius,” the Primus commented and looked ahead. “Is my aggravation that obvious, even creating enough fear that your pugio-sharp wit is afraid to unleash itself?”

Lucius looked ahead, and then wiped his forehead with his focale. “No disrespect is meant by humorous quips, Primus. I would seek to not burden you more than troubled thoughts already have.”

“Our allies are stirred at the revelation of our mission, Legionnaire,” Vitus said. “According to Egyptian legend, long before this desert was as it is now, verdant forests and grasslands abounded. The creatures that built the outpost we seek plied dangerous magics that poisoned the land, according to their Pharaoh. Superstitious, cat-worshipping Egyptians and their God-Kings.”

“Maybe if you meowed like their gods it would bolster their sagging bravery,” Augustinus laughed. “Fighting is best left to Romans, not our weak-willed auxiliaries. It is doubtful a cadre of Gauls would have turned and run at the legend of lurking things. The tales tell that the forests of Gaul are nearly overrun with wicked creatures of ancient legend.”

The legionnaires laughed, and several of them meowed. They then looked over their shoulders at their Egyptian auxiliaries towards the rear of the column. The sarcastic remarks lightened the legionnaires’ mood and the Primus spurred his horse towards the head of the line where he stayed. Midway through the morning, a rock outcrop rose on the horizon. Lucius thought at first it may be mirage, but as they got closer he could see it was real.

The crag thrust through the deep sands: a jagged peak of dark stone that seemed out of place in this hot sea. It was like the fang of some long-dead titan that defied the gods as it sought sunlight. Nestled at the foot of the spike were the ruins of Egyptian constructions. The bricks, dried in the fiery sun hundreds of years ago, were now silent witness to its vanished occupants.

Six broken buildings were huddled together, the tops caved in from the ravages of time. A broken obelisk stuck angled from the sand, knocked from its unseen base. The low, squat structures were in a half circle against the outcrop of sandstone, their small windows dark and empty.

“Base camp is set here. The legendary abandoned outpost is two more hours to the west,” Vitus ordered. “Lucius. Augustinus. Set a watch on top of this crag, eyes towards the horizon for Berbers or other bandits that may approach. I want warning.”

The slaves unloaded several camels and set up tents. Lucius found some handholds carved into the rock, albeit worn from the sand and wind. The two legionnaires climbed the treacherous outcrop, the rock hot from the blazing sun.

“A fall would end this misery,” Augustinus said from below Lucius as they ascended the rough stone ladder. “Fall on me and I will stab you as we tumble to our deaths.”

“The drop will not give sufficient time to draw pugio. Once our bodies break on the rock below, we will travel to the Styx where Charon will float us across together. We are bound in death as in life, comrade,” Lucius snorted.

“Maybe my head will strike the rock first, and I will be done with your incessant joking,” Augustinus said cynically. The two continued their climb until they arrived at a flat area, worked into a lookout for the abandoned village. Lucius propped up his bedroll with his pilum that he had carried, making shade. The two shared a water skin while they watched the camp below.

The Primus barked orders in the middle of the deserted square. Slaves began to excavate a blocked well in the center of the half-circle of edifices. Cool water hid from inquisitive eyes far under the desert floor, if one knew where to look. They dug several hours and moved hundreds of baskets of sand that had plugged the stone shaft. Eventually, the slaves in the pit let loose with shouts of accomplishment as water began to seep into the well.

The two peered down on the commotion as slaves began preparing prandium, the midday meal. It was a simple meal: bread, with chunks of cheese and dried, salted fish. Martinus Marius climbed to the high perch and the other two worked their way carefully down the face of the crag. Once down, they filled their bellies with bread and water fresh from the depths of the desert.

“Drink like Britons reveling in victory, this bounty of cool water,” Vitus ordered. “Piss must run clear before we start marching in an hour. Drink up!”

“You think he will check?” Lucius laughed under his breath. “Some orders tickle me in inappropriate ways.”

“Keep your opinion to yourself lest
you
be assigned piss duty, Lucius,” Augustinus said and glared. He sat with his back against the broken wall, and then shifted his weight to get comfortable. Something just under the sand poked his ass. He rose, and held his cyllestis in his mouth. Then he sieved the sands with his fingers, grasped metal and pulled a gladius from the grit.  

“Primus,” Lucius shouted and pointed at the blade in his comrade’s hand. “Evidence of our missing comrades, I believe.”

Vitus strode to the pair and Augustinus stood. “From whence came the blade?” the Primus said.

“It was buried in the sand, Primus,” Lucius replied.

Vitus took the sheath and pulled the gladius free. Dark brown letters were writ on the blade, roughly painted in Latin. “Living death slumbers eternal beneath the sands,” he read, then held the blade close to his face. “The desert must have addled the poor legionnaire’s brain that carried this blade.”

Augustinus inspected the weapon. “What soldier would leave his gladius, sheathed with this cryptic message in such a forsaken place as this? Odds of finding the weapon were slim at best. Only by Jupiter’s will, could we find such a thing.”

“Or Augustinus’ arse,” Lucius chortled.

“Someone who did not want to carry it any farther, or felt sending random message was more important than what they could accomplish with it,” Vitus said quietly.

Several of the Egyptian slaves looked on, disturbed by the discovery of the blade.  They murmured quietly between clenched teeth while they stared.

“Everyone search the sands for more evidence or hidden signs of our brothers’ whereabouts.”

Lucius took the gladius and stared at the words, then touched it with his tongue. “Blood was used to write this message.”

“This bodes ill as hope of their survival wanes,” Augustinus said. The legionnaires searched the area. Repeatedly they poked and prodded the sand. After the fruitless search, Vitus gathered the legionnaires together. The slaves and auxiliaries looked on, still agitated.

“Ten legionnaires will stay behind with a dozen slaves to maintain camp. The rest of us will march ahead to explore the ruins,” the Primus ordered. “Any man caught deserting will be executed, be him slave or auxiliary. It is doubtful I need to remind Romans of loyal duty.”

The line of soldiers and slaves with their camels moved on, but Lucius and Augustinus were part of the group that stayed behind at the deserted village. As the column traveled west, Vitus mounted his horse and signaled for Lucius and Augustinus to draw closer.

“Yes, Primus,” Augustinus said. He watched the Officer’s dark eyes as they surveyed the line. “Guard the water source. Keep resupplying us at our destination. Prefect Gallus’s orders include the looting items of worth, in addition to finding our lost brothers in arms. He secretly hopes for ancient tombs of gold. These Egyptians conceal all of their worldly worth behind stones set with cryptic curses. He would rather see it in Roman coffers.”

“Yes, Primus,” Lucius said. “We will be wary and support you at the destination.”

Vitus turned away, and then looked askance at the legionnaire. “If slaves are caught deserting, they will not live to see the morrow. Understand? We will not tolerate further insolence on the part of these Egyptian dogs.”

“We will be watchful of deserters,” Augustinus said solemnly. “And kill them if caught.”

“Very good, then,” the Primus said, and spurred his horse towards the center of the column. The two watched the group disappear as the troops were soon obscured by the shimmers.