Tears streaming down his face, Demetrius embraced the other two. He stopped at the curtain, looking back.
'Go now.'
Demetrius left.
'What now?' Maximus asked.
'Now who is the strange one?' said Ballista. 'All these girls. Pick a couple for yourselves, more if you want, and take the rest out to the troops.'
Maximus, using his best Persian, ordered the terrified concubines to get moving.
'Wait,' said Ballista. He also spoke in Persian to the girls. 'Which of you is the favourite of the King of Kings?'
None of them answered, but several pairs of eyes slid to one tall, statuesque girl.
'You stay. The rest out.' Ballista turned to Maximus and Calgacus. 'And do not come back until I call you.' Back in the tent, Maximus was looking at the girl. No one else was. Ragonius Clarus, Rutilus and Calgacus were all looking at Ballista, and he was looking at the drink in his hand.
The girl, huddled on the floor by the throne, was crying, painful, dry sobs. Gods below, she is a concubine. What had the fucker done to her? Unpleasant thoughts crept up on Maximus. So much for Ballista's ridiculous superstition of fidelity — fuck another woman and get a theta after his name on the military roll next time in combat. Julia was dead. But it was not that. The fool was putting up one finger to the gods. It was the same as putting out the fire on the altar — fuck you, come and get me.
'Dominus,' Calgacus was using his courtly voice, 'the Legatus et Vir Clarissimus, Gaius Ragonius Clarus, accompanied by the Praefectus et Vir Egregius, Marcus Aurelius Rutilus.'
Ballista looked up with no evident interest.
Unfortunately for Ragonius Clarus, he had just caught sight of the two slaughtered eunuchs at the rear of the room. He stared open-mouthed, horrified, like Demetrius after the killing.
Maximus hoped the young Greek would be on his way by now. It would all be fine. The trierarch Priscus of the Concordia had been promoted to that position five years ago by Ballista. The ship's home port was Ravenna. Its crew were westerners. They would be glad to go home.
So Demetrius's journey should be fine, but his arrival was another matter. How exactly would the emperor Gallienus respond to what the pretty-boy Greek had to say to him? Dominus, I am the accensus to the traitor Ballista, and thus privy to all his secrets. He is very sorry he left your father to rot in Persia and that he is now leading the armies of your sworn enemies. He was forced into it. Now his family are dead, he has no intention of returning to the fold but intends to kill Persians until he is dropped by a stray arrow.
And then there was the Maximinus Thrax problem. Most of, if not all, the other twelve conspirators were dead. They had all had good reason to keep quiet. Ballista had told only four people of his role in killing that emperor. There was Maximus himself and Calgacus; the other two, Julia and Turpio, were dead. Recently, in his ravings, Ballista had spoken of it twice in front of Demetrius. Unlike the others, the boy had not been sworn to secrecy. He would not want to tell, but he was not tough. Even his pleasures were womanish. Under pressure, he would talk. It was not that Gallienus was likely to have any fondness for the memory of the long-dead tyrant, but a track record of killing emperors was unlikely to endear anyone to the man on the throne of the Caesars. It would seem a nasty precedent.
'You wanted to see me.' Ballista spoke conversationally, apparently unaware of the oddity of the scene: a northern barbarian in a stained tunic sitting on the throne of the King of Kings, bits of armour scattered around, a sobbing, half-naked girl, and two dead eunuchs in a pool of blood.
'Indeed.' Clarus tried to rally himself. 'Yes, indeed.' He cleared his throat, as if about to address the senate or recite a poem.
Well, well, thought Maximus, you are scared of my boy. And so you fucking should be, especially as he is now.
Clarus produced an ivory and gold codicil. He glanced at Rutilus for reassurance. The big red-headed officer nodded.
Shame, thought Maximus, I rather liked you, Ginger. But you are obviously a cunt like the rest of Macrianus's boys.
'Marcus Clodius Ballista,' intoned Clarus, 'I give you joy of your victory.'
Ballista took a drink.
'In recognition of your success,' Clarus ploughed on, 'our noble emperors show you the great honour of appointing you joint Praetorian Prefect with Maeonius Astyanax. Henceforth your status is raised from Vir Perfectissimus to that of Vir Eminentissimus.'
Ballista raised his glass almost mockingly.
'With your new dignitas come new mandata.' Clarus seemed about to pass the codicil to Ballista then thought better of it. 'Some three thousand of the Sassanids have fled west towards Sebaste. You are to take the entire fleet and a thousand infantry and prevent these reptiles effecting a union with the Sassanid force which we understand is returning via the hills from Selinus in the west.'
Ballista made no comment.
'The emperors have shown me the honour,' Clarus continued, 'of appointing me to your old post of Prefect of Cavalry. I am to assume command of the remaining troops here at Soli. Once joined by five thousand cavalry making their way from Syria, I am to march north after the bulk of Shapur's horde. While the enemy still has some nine thousand horsemen, the gods willing, Demosthenes will hold the Cilician Gates against them, and I will bring them to battle on the plains south of the Taurus mountains.'
Oh fucking great, thought Maximus. Clarus gets an equivalent force to fight Shapur, while we get just a thousand men and a few marines to take on three thousand reptiles at Sebaste, maybe six thousand if the ones from Selinus join with them before we do. Fucking great. Just as well Ballista has decided he is devotus.
'Soli today, Sebaste next; it is all the same to me,' said Ballista. 'Maybe we should all have a drink. Roxanne?'
As the girl, sniffing once or twice, got up and busied herself, Maximus looked at the luxury all around in the inner sanctum of the King of Kings. It took him a while to realize why it bothered him. The only man he knew that had seen it before was old Turpio. And look how it had ended for him. Defying the fates, Maximus picked up a discarded necklace and hung it around his neck.
The headland of Sebaste was low but solid in the dark night. The little boat rode the gentle swell. Ballista had commandeered the fishing smack from Soli. They had sailed down to Sebaste at last light and started their fishing. Ballista worked it with the old fisherman. They used a dragnet with floats here. The boat was square-rigged, nothing too different from the fishing boats of Ballista's childhood.
Maximus, Calgacus and two marines huddled in the bottom of the boat. Sounds can carry a long way over water at night, so they did not complain.
Ballista had watched the Great Bear circle and pale. It had been a long night, but soon it would be over. He yawned, stretched and gazed up at the eastern sky. No sign of it lightening yet.
It was the old man who first saw the signal. Tapping Ballista's arm, he pointed to the shore. There it was. A solitary beacon to the east of Sebaste, on the road from Soli. The first part of Ballista's plan had worked. The land forces, even though only an inadequate thousand men, were in position.
Ballista unshuttered and hoisted the lantern. As the old man hurriedly pulled in his nets, Ballista scanned the dark sea to the south. Nothing. No sign that the second, crucial element of his plan was in place. He could not wait. There was no time.
With the old man at the steering oar, Ballista brought the sail round. It was far too early for the morning breeze from the sea, but the hint of the prevailing westerly should bring them in to the beach west of Sebaste.
As the low headland slid past to their right, the old man talked inaudibly to himself. Mastering an urge to look south, Ballista stared at the sky. Now there was a faint but definite pink tinge above the black outline of the town. Maximus started to get up. With a hand on his friend's arm, Ballista indicated it was too soon.
Sudden and clear a trumpet rang out from the town. Before its echo had faded, it was answered by others. Torches flared along the wall. Some of them were moving. One or two shouts floated across the water. The Sassanids were aware of the Roman troops to the east. So far so good — providing the dark-painted ships of the
