Princes 15 - Scipio's Spy
Part 8 (Conclusion)
Remind me again, General Gaius Rutullus Lepidus said in a gruff undertone, why Im not having this man court martialed, flogged, and hung? And not necessarily in that order?
Beside him, Major Scaurus shrugged and idly stroked one of his drooping moustaches with one finger.
Less paperwork, sir, the Major said quietly, and fewer, ah,
inconvenient questions raised back home.
He disobeyed an order, Lepidus growled.
Strictly speaking, sir, and begging your pardon, he didnt, Scaurus responded, causing his General to suddenly turn and bestow a baleful glare upon him. Scaurus didnt even flinch; he was used to the Generals moods. You never expressly forbade him from attempting a rescue. I was there, if you recall. Sir.
Lepidus saw the corners of the Majors lips twitch upwards, just for a moment. And you would have testified as much at his trial, I suppose, he said acidly.
Id be honour-bound, as an officer and a gentleman, to tell the truth, sir! Major Scaurus said with no small amount of feigned innocence.
He didnt say, of course, that he was quite capable of lying convincingly when it suited his or the Generals purposes, and had done so too many times in the past to keep count. He didnt have to. Nor did he have to say the unspoken message he was sending his General:
This man may be useful; lets keep him around, shall we?
General Lepidus made a noise that sounded like a resigned grunt, then gave a curt nod. Lets get this damned nonsense over with, then, he said.
Major Scaurus nodded to a tall Sergeant-Major standing nearby; the man nodded back and looked out across the Roman troops who were assembled and standing at parade rest on the makeshift assembly field just outside of Mycenians city walls. A few hundred yards away to the north, the breach in those walls that the Romans cannon had opened was plainly visible. Rubble still littered the glacis at the base of the wall, but the dead bodies and body parts of Mongolians and Romans alike had been removed. Blood stains were still visible on the stone and the trampled ground, but a rain last night had shown that those would eventually be washed away. The memories would take longer to fade.
Ten-SHUN! the Sergeant-Major shouted, and the distinct sound of several hundred men moving their feet in unison echoed off of the high stone wall.
Major Scaurus then turned his head slightly and nodded at the tall, sandy-haired rifleman standing at attention a few feet in front of himself and the General. Scipio looked quite splendid, as he well should, Scaurus thought, since he and his other adventurers had all been issued new uniforms. The old ones
Scaurus couldnt help shuddering at the thought. Hed made the mistake of ordering Scipio and his men report to the General as soon as they reappeared. Some unlucky privates, whod been caught sleeping while on picket duty, were, at this very moment, scrubbing away at the hardwood floor in the Generals office to try to remove the stench.
Scipio marched forward and came to stand at attention directly in front of the General. He respectfully did not make eye contact, instead staring at an indiscriminate stone in the city wall behind and above Lepidus head.
Lieutenant Marcus Scipio, General Lepidus said, not bothering to disguise his distaste, for outstanding gallantry and
initiative in enemy territory, and for inflicting debilitating wounds upon the enemy, the Senate and the People of Rome hereby award you the
hasta pura.
The
hasta pura had, in ancient times, taken the form of a ceremonial spear, made out of silver. Now it took the form of a small silver shield, a stylized version of the rectangular convex ones that the Legions used to carry, with two crossed spears in front of it, hanging from a purple and gold ribbona medal to be worn on the chest of its recipients dress uniform.
You still reek of the sewer, Scipio, Lepidus muttered pointedly as he pinned the medal upon Scipios uniform, directly above his heart.
Thats the gutter, sir, Scipio replied. I was born there. No amount of washing will get rid of it.
General Lepidus glanced at Scipios impassive face, then made a noise that Scipio generously supposed was an amused grunt. The commander of Romes army in Mongolia then took a step back and saluted; a heartbeat later, as custom dictated, Scipio followed suit. Normally the lower-ranking man saluted first, but Roman tradition held that the recipient of a military decoration received, just this once, the additional honour of having his commanding officer salute him first.
Dismissed, the General said, and the order was passed along.
A few moments later, most of the soldiers were heading back to their barracks or assigned posts. Many paused to give Scipio their congratulations, though not without the odd pointed remark about how hed won his decoration; the story of his escape through the sewers was becoming legendary, and as a result, the usual scatological humour of soldiers everywhere was on full display.
First they made you an officer, now theyre pinning medals on your chestand for what? Crawling through a sewer! What is this army coming to, sir? Sergeant Necalli remarked as he walked alongside Scipio, heading back into Mycenian and their billet.
Damned if I know, Scipio said with a shrug. I could have sworn the lot of us were going to be up on charges.
They were heading back to pack their kits; word had come down, they were on the march tomorrow. Officially, it was a secret, but one of the worst-kept ones in the history of the Roman army. The Mongolian city of New Serai was already being bombarded by Roman frigates. The army would march the few hundred miles that separated the city from Mycenian and tear the place open like a rotten piece of fruit.
There are two things in this world that will drive a man insane if he attempts to figure out their logic: the army, and women, Necalli said. He stopped walking to look to his right, over Scipios shoulder. Speaking of the latter
Scipio glanced curiously at his Sergeant, then turned to follow his gaze. There, standing just inside the city gate, was Larentia. She looked much improved, Scipio was pleased to note, from when hed seen her last. Her black eye was healing, as was her split lip. Her raven-black hair was cleaned and combed, framing her face. She wore a long blue woollen dress, belted at the waist, with a white shirt beneath it, a plain, traditional Mongolian ensemble that nevertheless looked good on her slender frame.
Ill
Scipio began to say.
Catch up with me at our billet? Necalli said with a knowing grin. The big Aztec gave his commanding officer a friendly pat on the back and marched off.
Hello, Larentia, Scipio said as he approached her. Roman soldiers and Mongolians continued to walk past them, out of and in through the city gate.
She shook her head. My name is Nara, she told him. Larentia is a Greek name. Part of the code, she said with a shrug.
Nara, Scipio said. Its pretty, he told her, speaking softly so only she could hear.
I didnt thank you properly, she said in a matter-of-fact tone. For rescuing me.
Scipio shrugged and then grinned. It wasnt much of a rescue, he said. You said so yourself.
Naras grin reflected his own. True. But here I am. So, thank you.
Scipio nodded. It was my pleasure, lass.
Nara frowned then, and regarded him intently. I also wanted to ask you
why? You risked so much. Why did you do it?
Scipio returned her gaze and his mind whirled with thoughts and memories. He thought of his mother, struggling to raise him without a husband to help, taking any odd job she could while trying to instil some sense of right and wrong in the young hellion who was her only child. He thought of the first neighbourhood girl hed loved, a small, frail creature whod taken her own life rather than continue to suffer the perverse attentions forced upon her by her own father.
And he remembered the girl who had worked at the tavern, a place so small and dingy it didnt even rate a name, but shed made the place worth visiting, with her hair that was gold like summer barley and her eyes as blue as cornflowers. She worked there because shed married the taverns owner, a surly man whod inherited the tavern from his father but thought he deserved better in life. He took his frustrations out on her; every time Scipio came in, she was sporting a new bruise somewhere. So hed confronted the man, whod told him to mind his own business, and things went downhill from there. It all ended with a knife being drawn and a man dead and the girl with the gold hair and the blue eyes screaming because even if hed been a brutal thug, the dead man had been her husband.
The magistrate had given Scipio a choice: hang or sign up with the army, to fight and probably die for Rome half a world away. Scipio had decided to take his chances with the Mongolians rather than the hangman.
He thought about all these things, but he did not speak of them, because he never did. Life in the stews of Rome had taught him that one lesson better than all the others: never, ever show vulnerability. Not to anyone.
So instead, he shrugged again, and simply said, I dont know. He shook his head. Nara was still watching him expectantly. Scipio sighed. I dont
I dont like to see women suffer, is all. Lifes hard enough, isnt it?
Nara watched him silently a moment longer, then nodded. Yes, she said. Yes, it is.
An awkward but nevertheless enjoyable silence settled over them, just for a moment.
Im leaving tonight, Nara said abruptly, then said nothing more.
Where are you going? Scipio asked when she did not elaborate.
A pitying smile appeared on Naras lips. You know I cant tell you that, she said.
Scipios jaw clenched, and his lips pressed together into a grim line. Her answer spoke volumes. So she was heading off, deeper into Mongolia and into danger, spying for Rome again. They were at war, after all, and that took precedence over everything.
Right, so this is goodbye, then, Scipio said evenly. Take care of yourself, will you, lass?
You too, Nara said.
Scipio favoured her with a grim smile and a curt nod. He turned to go, but then stopped when he felt her hand upon his arm.
Scipio, she said.
Marcus, he corrected her.
She nodded. Youre a good man, Marcus, she told him, then went up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. It was the first time Scipio had seen her do anything that resembled a girlish gesture, and it shocked him to silence. Promise me something? she said.
Anything, Scipio replied, and he meant it.
When this is all over, Nara said, come and find me, will you?
Scipio smiled. I just might do that, he said. If Im still alive, he added with a soldiers typically dismissive fatalism.
You will be, Nara told him with a smile. Youre a survivor.
Am I now? Scipio said, still smiling.
It takes one to know one, Nara said. She was grinning at him, and despite her cut lip and her swollen right eye, Scipio thought hed never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.
She reached out and caressed his arm by lightly running her fingertips down his sleeve, then she squeezed his hand for the briefest of moments, far too brief for Scipios liking, but hed resigned himself, long ago, to taking what he could get. Then she released his hand and turned away. Without a look back, she walked off into the crowd. He watched her go until she vanished into the multitude, then watched where hed last seen her a moment longer. And he promised himself that he
would survive, and that he
would find her again, one day when her homeland was at peace, even if was an enforced peace beneath a Roman flag. It would not happen for some time, and he had a long way to march and many battles to fight before then, but he made himself the promise nonetheless. Because hed rescued her, hed given her life back to her, and she was his.
She was Scipios spy.
Now, I just hope that Sisiutil, if he publishes more stories, has one of my descendants in there as one of the protagonists (it is funny to see that I have been, AFAIK, the only person to get into this story). 
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