The Tortoise in Asia (6 page)

Even if the sentences are light our careers will be over. We all know how seriously the army takes moral character and relations with the public. The only thing we can do is offer her money. And it has to be a lot.”

The others agreed and pooled their resources. Next day Marcus appeared at the cobbler's shop, this time with Owl's Head hidden in his tunic. Fortunately, the fire had been put out before it destroyed the building. The door was locked. He knocked loudly and called out Lucia's name.

After several anxious minutes, he heard the scraping of a key. The door opened tentatively. Lucia recognised him and scowled, starting to close the door. Quickly he stepped in to keep it open.

“Lucia, I'm very sorry for what happened last night. We're not bad men; we just got carried away with the wine. I know we can't rewind the threads, but I'm here to offer compensation and our apologies.”

“Why didn't Quintus come? Why did they send you?” she said with a sour look.

“I don't know exactly. He sends his apologies too and says if you aren't too angry with him, he'll come by later.”

This wasn't true but he said it anyway, a little red-faced.

“In the meantime I'm to offer you this bag of denarii. I hope you'll not complain to the authorities.”

She gasped at the amount, half the bonus Pompey awarded for the campaign and enough to set her up for life. Sullenly she accepted the heavy bag of coins, adding that she wanted him and the others to realize the deep hurt she felt, particularly for the callousness of Quintus, and the lack of respect all three had displayed. Marcus acknowledged it, his head lowered. He knew of course that she could go to the authorities anyway. But if she did, her acceptance of the compensation would most probably ensure they would take no action.

He left the tenement building with the sort of relief one experiences after falling into a well and being thrown a rope. He felt a rush of gratitude to Lucia, even affection. She could have ruined the careers of three men and didn't. The others felt the same way when he told them of their escape.

It's an experience Marcus never wants to go through again.

As he drains his earthenware cup, Gaius says, “This wine tastes like sandal sweat – only good for getting drunk. Shit, we might as well do that. Life's getting pretty boring out here. All we do is march or wait around while Crassus adds up how much these people own. At least we could be doing field exercises.”

“What do you think of him, Marcus?” Quintus says. “You must know him pretty well by now.”

“Oh, he's all right, maybe not the most brilliant general. He's bright though, a logical thinker – pleasant to deal with. Never loses his temper. He'll listen to advice; even though he doesn't always take it. The big problem is he's spent most of his time in business and politics. He's confident though he can make the switch. To be fair, he should get there. Anyway, the good thing is he's greedy enough to collect lots of treasure, better at it than the career army types. We could get rich on it. Who'd object to that?”

“I'd rather have a good commander,” says Gaius.

“I know that's ideal. But we can do with less. Our army's far better than anything the Parthians have. That'll more than compensate. After all, he's got good officers. They'll advise him”.

He's made his decision, gone through all the pros and cons. However there's still a tugging doubt that it's a gamble, a toss of the dice. Maybe it adds too much to the normal risks of war. The thought is superfluous; what's done is done and cannot be undone. Besides, doubts belong to the night; in the day preponderance of evidence should overwhelm them.

“I hope the stupid donkey listens to them”, Gaius says with a grunt and drains his cup, bringing it down in a thud with a hand like a boulder.

“So what if he doesn't; how could our army ever be beaten by a bunch of barbarians who fight in a mob? “

“I hope you're right Marcus. I'm just sick of waiting around while that greedy bastard grabs money. We should be out there thrashing those dung worms. Anyhow, shit, we haven't seen anything come our way yet.”

“I know, but there's plenty of time. Everyone knows the best's in Parthia. It'll make what he's got now look like a pile of trash. He'll have to hand out our share. I'm confident, even though he'll keep more for himself than he should. He's on the stingy side, except where he wants to impress.”

He's reluctant to talk too much about his Commander in Chief; it would be a bit unseemly. He has to admit that he's slipping under the influence of the plutocrat's financial success and alluring personality. He's not the richest man in Rome for nothing; he has technique. The almost friendly manner towards people as he filches their property is impressive. What disarming cleverness! He uses his patrician bearing to convince them that he's saving them from the crude avarice of the army's lower class officers who couldn't be expected to show the same consideration. He always leaves them with something, never takes it all.

Within the confines of the army, the sleek and round Crassus can be charming in an avuncular sort of way, always courteous and solicitous about the wellbeing of his officers. Prone to the enjoyment of praise himself, he offers it freely to others. Like Marcus but more learned, the Commander in Chief is schooled in Aristotelian thought, much admired in Rome. It helps him make rhetorical points in the Senate. The conversations in the evening Marcus has been having with him are enjoyable, and instructive. When enveloped in the wisdom of the great philosopher, Crassus shows a goodness of nature at variance with his reputation for avarice.

Feeling a wine-inspired generosity, Marcus invites the two black-bearded men at the next table over for a drink. They can speak struggle Latin.

“Where're you from?”

“From Zeugma; we Syrians. Just returned from trip across Parthia on Caravan Road. Three months.”

“We know the Caravan Road. We've been on it through Syria. What's it like out in Parthia?”

“It's all right, mostly routine. Long rides with donkeys and camels. We stay at inns like this, but usually not as good. It's safe in Parthia because of army. They have to protect us. Whole economy depends on trade. King collects taxes from us.”

“How does it all work?”

The merchant smiles, a little flattered at these feared overlords showing ignorance about such an important matter. Do they do nothing but march around and collect taxes?

“Buy goods here in Roman Empire like wool and linen textiles, bronze vessels, lamps, glassware. Gold, silver bullion most valuable. We carry to Margiana in East. Sell to other merchants. Buy Eastern goods. Carry back to Zeugma and sell in markets here. Those people take to Rome. We go on one section of Road only. No one goes all the way. Too long. Not know what it's like past great desert. We just know little bit from stories of Eastern traders.”

“What stories?”

“Past Margiana country wild, no army protection. Weather bad – winter very cold, summer very hot; sand everywhere. Dune monsters come out of desert, carry people off track. Never seen again. Shapes come in shadows, go in flashes of light. Peer into your eyes, make you confess secrets – all you know, all you ought to know. Other spirits seem good, sing soft songs, melody beautiful as if it comes from heaven, make you happy; but lead you off to die in wilderness. Can never tell what will happen. Magic there. Caravan Road sends monsters and spirits; controls destiny. It the master.

“Dune pirates come out of desert haze on flying horses like storm. Wear fur clothes, like animals, have slanting eyes, fierce beards. Take cargo, leave no one alive, only bloody corpses with throats cut. Bodies disappear into sand after vultures eat. Risky out there. But profits big if you make it. Anyway, better business in Parthia -safer. Let others bring from Far East”.

He has seen them in the Forum, extraordinary things – boxes with strange designs impregnated in their shiny coating, lapis lazuli as blue as pieces of open sky, fancy mirrors, and much else. No one seems to know where they come from or what kind of people make them. They fetch a high price though.

As the shadows of the afternoon lengthen, he gulps down his wine and abruptly interrupts the merchant.

“We have to go now. Good bye and thanks for the information. You're worthy subjects of Rome.”

The merchants are surprised at the suddenness. Their culture allows more time for politeness. They mumble something to each other as the Romans walk off.

On the way back, Gaius says, “They seemed friendly enough.”

“Sure, but they're still barbarians. Barbarians begin at the Hellespont. They're not up to much. I've never seen any I admire. Have you? They're born to be ruled by Rome.

We bring them
pax Romana
. I don't believe Parthia is as peaceful as that merchant claims. It'd be far better off under us.

And we get a quid quo pro – as we should. Listening to that merchant makes me realize how much better to get rich by force than trade. It's much nobler. There's nothing noble about bargaining and lugging goods all over the place and all the other things they do.

I say this advisedly, Gaius, as I admire our Commander in Chief who got his wealth, I know, from non military ways, even dubious ones. They say he seduced the chief Vestal Virgin to get her land, ha ha ha”.

Gaius has heard his friend go on like this before and smiles. He often does it when he has a lot to drink. It's not that he's callous, only patriotic.

“Come on Marcus. Give us a lecture from those books you read.”

Quintus chimes in, “I'm keen to hear it too Marcus. Ha ha ha”.

“All right you two, you asked for it. Human progress is founded on military strength. Advances have always been on the shoulders of conquest. Look at Egypt, Persia, and Greece. Every one of them started with a military culture. Once they became strong enough civilization took root. But only then. They eventually declined because they failed to maintain their strength.

“Look at the spread of culture; it always follows power. When foreigners copy our way of life it's not because they really admire it. It's the power behind they want to be part of – even vicariously.

“We're lucky to be Romans. I've got no sympathy for Socrates' claim of being a citizen of the world. What's the point of that if we're superior? Anyway, how does that sit with patriotism, which the controversial fellow seemed to lack?”

“All right, all right” says Gaius. “Let's change the subject. How's Aurelia? Have you heard from her?”

“I've just got a letter. Haven't had a chance to read it yet. I'm amazed how good the postal system is, even here. The last one said she's well, still with her parents. Do you remember when she rescued that little dog hit by a chariot?

“Yes I do. You told me about it. Made a big impression on you.”

“Well she mentioned it in the last letter. It's in good health now, living with her. We miss each other a lot. I haven't asked her to marry me yet but I might. I think she's willing to wait for me. But can't be sure. You know the temptations of pretty girls when their boyfriends are away.”

“Sure. You'll be lucky if she hasn't found someone else by the time you get back”.

“Thanks for the confidence my friend.”

They laugh and clap each other on the back.

“We'd better speed up. We've been away a long time. It'll be time for the crossing.”

❧

The finishing touches are being put on the bridge as they arrive. Hundreds of hammers driving in the last nails at different pitch break the silence of the place, sounding like frogs in a mating frenzy. At the river's edge a different sound joins the staccato, of flood water rushing past all obstacles in its way, over them, around them, under them – never to be frustrated for long.

Soon the order's given to commence the passage. Marcus and his men tread carefully over the pontoons. They're being jostled by the impetuous current, making it difficult to keep balance. Men stagger, grabbing hold of each other, some dropping their shields. The bridge is stout though; a tree trunk pulled out of its roots heads downstream and crashes up against a pontoon. Failing to do any damage, it turns around slowly and dashes off down stream.

The troops are in full armour. It's a sunny June afternoon; fragrance of new leaves on a gentle breeze melds with the soporific hum of bees working endlessly in the flowers. Normally it would inspire a sense of well being, of comfort and security, but not today. Thoughts of battle blot it out. Marcus says to his optio nearby,

“It's a good time to give those barbarians a lesson in the art of war.”

Just as he's almost at the other side, light vanishes completely. It's like being in a tent when a surprise wind blows through the entrance and snuffs out the lamps. He looks up in alarm. Rain clouds coming from nowhere have arrived while he wasn't looking and are rushing about like black chariots. Suddenly a bolt of lightning rips the darkness in a savage splash of beauty and screaming winds begin to assault the bridge like harpies.