The sun dipped beyond the western hills. A chilly twilight descended on the forum, bringing a curious sense of calm. Even the shrill ululations from the temples seemed oddly comforting.
Torches were lit and passed among the troops. I understood now why Pompey waited for nightfall to make his exit. In the darkness, the barricades and pitfalls in the streets would be doubly dangerous. While the besiegers backtracked and stumbled over each other, Pompey's men, drilled in the escape route, would be able to circumvent the hazards and quickly reach the ships.
The centurion returned.
'Soscarides-?' I said.
'Still with Pompey.'
'No message for me?'
'Not yet.'
There was a clanging of brazen doors and a commotion at the top of the steps. I got to my feet. A large group of officers poured out of the building and onto the porch. The centurion and his soldiers sprang to attention.
Pompey walked at the head of the group, dressed in full armor plated with gold. The precious metal glistened and shimmered, reflecting the light of the torches in the square below. Under his arm he carried a gold-plated helmet with a yellow horsehair plume. Below the neck, thanks to the muscular torso molded upon his breastplate, he appeared to have the physique of a young gladiator. The illusion was belied by a pair of spindly legs which gold- plated greaves could not disguise.
I looked for Tiro in the retinue, but didn't see him. Nor did I see Davus.
'Great One!' I shouted, hoping to get his attention. I reacted as any citizen in the forum might, petitioning a magistrate. But this was not Rome, and the man before me was not Pompey the politician, obliged to ingratiate himself with every Marcus who could vote; this was Pompey the Great, Imperator of the Spanish Legions, the man who believed in carrying swords, not quoting laws.
'Quiet!' snapped the centurion. He remained at attention. His glaring eyes demanded the same of me.
Pompey halted at the top of the steps. The officers fanned out behind him. A trumpeter blew a fanfare for attention. I was no more than twenty feet away. Pompey looked tired and haggard. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot. But the soldiers in the square below must have seen a very different Pompey, a powerfully built, golden- sheathed, almost godlike figure, a statue of Mars come to life.
'Soldiers of Rome! Defenders of the Senate and the people! Tonight you will carry out the exercise for which you've been drilled over the last few days. Each of you has a role to play. You all know what to do. Act quickly and efficiently, obey the orders of your centurions, and there will be no problems.'
'The enemy has been frustrated at every turn. A handful of veteran archers and slingers have successfully kept him away from the city walls. He has no ships. His efforts to block the harbor have proven futile. Typically, his ambition oversteps his ability. In the long run, he shall be sorry for it.'
There was a murmur of laughter among the troops in the square. I had always been blind to whatever charm Pompey possessed, but these men seemed to appreciate it. Perhaps one had to be a military man.
'We are about to leave Italy and cross over the sea,' Pompey continued. 'Some of you may feel misgivings about this. Do not. We are moving forward, not falling back. Rome lies across the water now. We go to join her. A city is made of men, not buildings. We go to where the true heart of Rome resides, with the duly elected consuls. Let the enemy take over empty buildings if he wishes, and invest himself with whatever empty titles his imagination can devise. I think perhaps he has dwelled for too long north of the Rubicon, among primitive barbarians who worship kings. Having conquered those petty monarchs, he thinks he should become one himself. He should remember instead the fate of every despot who ever raised arms against the Senate and the people of Rome.'
A murmur among the troops swelled into a cheer. Pompey cut it short by raising his hands. 'Soldiers! Remember the first order of the day:
He gave a gesture to the officers behind him, like a circus master signaling the commencement of a race. As they moved forward, Pompey stepped back, withdrawing from the sight of the troops in the square like a golden deus ex machina disappearing at the theater.
The ranks of his retinue were thinned by the dispatch of the cohort commanders, and I was now able to spot Tiro, who walked to Pompey's side. The Great One's personal bodyguards closed around him. Among them I saw a lumbering hulk with a familiar gait. Even before he turned to show the profile of his boyish face, I knew it was Davus.
I tried to catch Tiro's eye, but he was busily conferring with Pompey. Suddenly I saw him gesture in my direction. Pompey nodded and turned. He looked straight at me, then stepped past his bodyguards and walked directly to me. The centurion beside me snapped to attention.
'I heard you shout at me earlier, Finder.' Pompey sounded tired and irritable.
'Did you, Great One? You gave no sign.'
'A trained orator lets nothing distract him. Tiro says you have news for me.'
'Yes, Great One.'
'Good. Centurion, don't you have evacuation orders?'
'Yes, Imperator.'
'Then off with you!'
'Imperator, I should tell you that this man is armed. He's carrying a dagger. Shall I disarm him?'
Pompey managed a weary smile. 'Worried about an assassination attempt, centurion? Killing people is hardly Gordianus's style. Is it, Finder?'
He didn't wait for me to answer, but dismissed the centurion and his men with a curt wave. 'Come along, Finder. I suppose you'll want to say hello to that son-in-law of yours, since you dragged yourself across half of Italy to find him. I can't imagine why. I never met a fellow so thick. Hard to imagine that I once paid good silver for him.'
I drew a deep breath. 'And my report, Great One?'
He made a face. 'Not here. Not now. Can't you see there's a fire at my feet? Save your report until we're safely on the water!'
XXI
'I can't believe it! I just can't believe it!'
'Davus, not so hard- you're squeezing the life out of me…'
'Sorry.' Davus released me and stepped back. I reached up to rub my cheek, where the links of his mail shirt had pressed a tattoo into the soft flesh. Outfitted all in leather and steel, the sight of him was as overpowering as the hug he had just given me. Yet the broad grin across his face made him look as harmless as a child.
'I just can't believe it,' he said again, laughing. 'You came all this way, over the mountains and everything. How on earth did you get inside the city?'
'It's a long story, Davus. I'll tell you another time.'
One of Pompey's officers gave a shout. He raised his arm and pointed at a tall building across the square. Up on the rooftop, someone was running back and forth, waving a torch.
Pompey squinted. 'By Hades, you were right, Tiro. Damn these townspeople! That's a clear signal to Caesar to commence his attack. Scribonius, order an archer to shoot that man down.'
The officer who had pointed stepped forward. 'He's out of range, Imperator.'
'Then send someone up there.'
'The way to the roof will almost surely be blockaded, Imperator. Is it really worth our time-'
'Then send some archers onto a neighboring rooftop and shoot at him from there!'
'Imperator, the evacuation has begun. By the time our archers-'
'I don't care! Look at that ape, waving his torch, laughing at us. The men in the square can see. The brave soldiers manning the wall can see! Terrible for morale. I want that man's head. And bring me his hand, as well,
