'Kyrios,' Demetrius interrupted, 'Ragonius Clarus wishes to see you. He says it is most urgent — for the good of the Res Publica. He has been waiting for hours, since the Persians ran.'
Ballista did not look round. 'Let him wait.'
No one was quite sure why the Persians had run. Despite their disarray, everyone had expected them to canter out of range, rally and charge again. Centurions and optiones had shouted themselves hoarse getting the legionaries back to the standards, getting the reinforcements into position. When the line was re-set — this time eight deep and with a comforting barrier of dead and injured horses in front — they had been surprised that the Persians were a distant smudge of dust. The only easterners left were dead or too maimed to hobble to safety. The latter were soon dead as well.
Panic can spread through an army in seconds. Certainly some credit had to go to an opportune sally into the Persian rear from the town. This had been led by the eirenarch of Soli — a man called Perilaus. Demetrius thought, if ever in the history of mankind, let alone of the imperium, there was a case of a brigand turned estate guard, it was Perilaus. He had to be either a close ally of Trebellianus or, more likely, one of his deadliest enemies.
Yet Demetrius knew Perilaus was not the real reason for the Persian rout. Demetrius had been there. He had stood in the battle line. True, that was all he had done — stand in the battle line. When Ballista, Calgacus and the others had run forward, Demetrius had taken just a couple of steps after them. He had his sword out. His intentions were good. But there had seemed no way into the maelstrom of horses and men. Everywhere flailing, falling horses, terrible, sharp weapons. Demetrius had not fought, but he had seen and he had heard everything that mattered: Ballista, miraculously unscathed, sword swinging, screaming from under his helmet — 'Nasu, Nasu.' Demetrius had witnessed the fear of the daemon of death spread through the Sassanid warriors. He had seen Shapur, the proud King of Kings, hustled away.
If ever a man had won a battle single-handed, it was Ballista today. But had Ballista been alone? Demetrius seriously thought that his beloved kyrios had been possessed — Nasu, the daemon of death.
Demetrius followed the others into the cool, purple shade of the royal tent. A long corridor later, they emerged into a cavernous room. Wherever they looked were bowls, pitchers, tubs and caskets, all exquisitely worked. The chamber itself breathed a marvellous scent of incense and spices. Couches and tables were laid for a banquet. At the far end was an ornate throne. Before it was a low altar on which burned a sacred Zoroastrian flame.
Ballista spoke, to no one in particular. 'This, it seems, is what it is to be a king.'
The northerner, his face still largely hidden under the blood-spattered helmet, looked around. He picked up a big pitcher of wine, took a drink. Then he carried it to the altar. Slowly he poured the wine over it. A cloud of steam rose as the sacred fire hissed and died.
This was too much for Demetrius. 'When a man who takes a city includes in the general destruction temples of the high gods…'
A laugh came from under Ballista's grim helmet. He finished the quotation from Euripides: 'He is a fool; his destruction follows him close.' Ballista laughed again, strangely carefree. 'I know it all too well, boy.'
At the sacrilege, two eunuchs, who had been hovering quietly behind the throne, started wailing.
Ballista went over to them. His hand went to his sword. It was not there. He had left it embedded in the corpse of Garshasp. Ballista drew Isangrim's miniature sword from his other hip. He killed both the eunuchs.
'Never cared for their sort in the north.'
From behind the hangings at the rear of the room came a terrible high keening.
Rutilus smiled. If, like Demetrius, he had been shocked by the killing, he had recovered quickly. 'To the victor the spoils.' He whisked back the curtain. The wailing redoubled.
'Heaven on earth,' said Maximus. 'Sure, a man could die happy.'
Wherever they looked now were girls. Tall, short; thin, rounded; dark and blond. All beautiful.
'The concubines of the King of Kings,' said Rutilus, having to raise his voice. 'About four hundred of them. At least one for every day of the year.'
Calgacus joined Maximus, crowding behind Rutilus and Ballista. Demetrius hung back. All five men were silent.
The noise dropped to some stifled sobs. The girls got down and performed proskynesis to the tall, red-haired man.
Rutilus laughed and pointed to Ballista. Hurriedly, the girls realigned themselves.
'It makes no difference,' said Ballista. 'Give them to the troops. Then kill them.'
Some must have understood Greek. The wailing redoubled.
'Kyrios' — Demetrius had to shout — 'this is not you. This is wrong.'
Ballista did not respond.
'Kyrios' — Demetrius pushed in front of him — 'you cannot kill defenceless women. They are slaves. They did not kill the kyria or your boys.'
'No,' said Ballista, 'I killed my sons. I took an oath. Like Jason, I broke it. Like Jason, the gods took the lives of the oath-breaker's darling sons. Soon they will take mine.'
'Kyrios,' said Demetrius, 'your mind is wandering, confused by grief. Medea lied. Jason took no oath. Your oath was taken under duress. It has no meaning.'
Ballista took off his helmet. His hair was matted, his face streaked with dirt and dried blood. He gazed far away, lost in thought.
'When Medea accused Jason of perjury, he did not deny it. In my case there is no woman, no lie. I took the oath. Of my own free will.' Again he seemed far away. 'Free will,' he murmured.
Suddenly Ballista snapped out of it. 'Rutilus, go and tell Ragonius Clarus I will see him soon. Wait for my order.'
If Rutilus was surprised, he hid it. He saluted and left.
When he had gone, Ballista started to talk fast. 'I am perjured three times over. I broke the sacramentum I took to Maximinus Thrax, and the one to Valerian. I broke the terrible oath to Shapur. One more broken oath makes no difference. I never really intended to keep the one to Macrianus's sons — value their safety above everything, indeed.' Ballista's voice had something of its old tone. 'Demetrius, pass me your writing things.'
Busily, Ballista dashed off a few lines. He handed the stylus and block back to Demetrius. He pulled the ring with his seal off his finger and gave that to Demetrius as well.
Confused, the young Greek gazed at the seal — Cupid winding a siege engine.
'Go to the ships, find the Concordia; her trierarch Priscus owes me a favour from long ago — you may remember him. That is an order for him to transport you to the west. Go to Gallienus. The ring should get you an audience. Tell him how things stand in the east. Tell him I would never have served the pretenders if their father had not held my family hostage.'
Ballista swung round to Maximus and Calgacus. 'You two, find a sack or something. Fill it with gold for the boy.'
As the other two rummaged around, Demetrius tried to find words. 'Kyrios, if I can go, so can you. We all can.'
Ballista shook his head.
'Kyrios, as your family are… now they are gone, Macrianus has no hold over you.'
Ballista smiled ruefully. 'I am what the Romans call devotus, dedicated to the infernal powers, to death. I will stay here — take what vengeance I can on the Sassanids, before the gods strike me down.'
Demetrius was crying. 'Kyrios — Calgacus, Maximus, you love these men. Let them come with me.'
Ballista looked at Calgacus.
The old Caledonian stopped stuffing precious trinkets into a pillowcase. 'I swore an oath to your father, the northern oath. If you fall on a battlefield, I will not leave it. I did outside Edessa, to protect your boys. I will not do so again. Fuck that.'
'Maximus?'
'I take it you have forgotten you saved my life in Africa all those years ago and me somehow never getting round to returning the favour.' The Hibernian grinned. 'And sure, you are a strange man — trying to tear me from all these lovely girls.'
Ballista took the bundle of booty from Calgacus and gave it to Demetrius. He hugged the boy, kissed him on the forehead. 'Go now. And do not worry, the men must have the girls, but they will not be killed.'
