“‘Commander of the army in the field,’” theThracian said in flawless, though slightly accented Greek, his tonesuggesting a sardonic amusement. “Is that a polite way of sayingyou are second in command?”
Normally, I would have bristled at theinsolence of his words, given his position, but there was somethingin his manner that I found disarming, so I took no offense.
Much to my surprise, I felt a grin on myface, replying cheerfully in Greek, “Exactly right. But, right now,I am the best you’re going to get.”
A look of surprise flitted across his face,and I was not sure. but I thought I saw him flush.
“Forgive me, Prefect, I did not realize thatyou understood Greek,” he said apologetically, taking a tentativestep out from the cover of the wagon, his men visibly tensing,watching us for any sign of treachery.
Ah, I thought, here is the barbarian,thinking I’m a barbarian. I had to chuckle at the irony of it,waving to him to step forward.
“Didn’t expect someone looking like me to beeducated, is that it?”
He did not reply, but I saw that my wordshad struck true.
“That’s all right,” I assured him. “You’renot the first to make that mistake. Who exactly am I addressing, ifI may ask?”
The Thracian drew himself up, his prideradiating from him as he answered, “My name is Cleitos, son ofLeonatas, king of the Medi, of the people you call Thracian. I amthe crown prince of my tribe.”
“Well, well.” I raised my eyebrows. “A royalpersonage. I am honored, Your Highness.” I gave a mock bow, makinghim flush even more deeply, but he said nothing.“And what is itthat I can do for you?” I asked pleasantly, like the matter we werediscussing was not his life.
“The question is what we can do for eachother, Prefect.”
Oh, he was as cool as the summer breeze thatsweeps through Alexandria in the evening, I would give him that. Iwill also admit that I was intrigued.
“Other than a vast sum of money in exchangefor your life, I don’t see what else you have to bargain with.”
“Isn’t a vast sum of money always somethingthat Rome is interested in?”
“Usually,” I admitted. “But it also dependson your definition of ‘vast,’ I suppose. What might seem vast toCleitos, crown prince of the Medi, might be no more than the costof a banquet to an Augustus.”
I had not meant it as an insult, but themoment the words came out, I realized he would take it that way.Nonetheless, I really did not care all that much. As interesting adiversion as I found this conversation, I did not think he couldoffer anything worth his life.
“I see Roman arrogance filters down to eventhe lowest classes,” Cleitos snapped, losing his composure for thefirst time. I shrugged his insult off.
“I suppose it comes from holding the swordover our conquered foe’s heads all the time,” I replied, my tonecasual, but my words serving to remind him of the true nature ofthis exchange. They had the desired effect, the anger seeming todrain out of him immediately, his shoulders slumping. Closing hiseyes, he took a breath to compose himself.
“Forgive me, Prefect,” he said in a lowvoice. “I suppose I am still a bit worked up from all theexcitement.”
“Yes, it has been an exciting day,” Iagreed. It was at that moment that things fell into place. Decidingto offer the tiniest of olive branches so we could resume whatevernegotiation he had in mind, I told him, “And I want to commend you,Cleitos, on your leadership of that cavalry foray into our lines.It was very brave.”
“But it was a failure,” he said bitterly,his mouth twisting in his disappointment.
“True,” I granted. “But I wasn’t referringto the attack. I was referring to the decision to withdraw. Ittakes a wise commander to keep his head and read the situationcorrectly. You saw that you had nothing to gain and everything tolose, so you withdrew, which was the correct thing to do.”
Cleitos cautiously nodded his head ingratitude, sure that there was a barb in the compliment somewhere,but there was none. I had been impressed with his clarity ofthinking; in fact had wondered if I would have done the same thingif it had been me, and the truth was, I didn’t know. Turning myattention back to the matter at hand, wanting to finish theconversation before Marcus Primus happened along to wreckeverything, I pressed on.
“So what else besides this vast sum of moneydo you have to offer, Cleitos?”
“The gratitude of the Medi, to beginwith.”
I waited, sure that there was more. Cleitoshesitated, then did a puzzling thing, looking over his shoulder,back at the waiting Thracians, then taking several steps fartheraway from the safety of the wagons. Whether he had decided I couldbe trusted, or he was worried enough about being overheard by hisfellow Thracians to take the risk, I could not tell.
“With that gratitude,” he said in a lowervoice, his tone urgent, “would come some promises, from me.”
“From you?” I asked in some surprise. “Howso?”
“My father is old, and I am his only heir,”he said quietly. “And he has been in poor health. Very poor health.In fact, I am sure that if word of my execution were to reach him,the shock would kill him.”
I did not understand him, my face obviouslyshowing my confusion, because he tried vainly to conceal hisimpatience.
“How is executing you going to help you andyour people? Especially if what you say is true? The last thing weneed is a bloody power struggle within your tribe, and the othertribes around you taking advantage of it.”
Cleitos gave an impatient wave, his eyesgoing back to the wagons before he replied.
“I didn’t say that I should, or would beexecuted. What I said was if my father were to believe I was dead,it would be enough to kill him. Then, I would be king of the Medi,and Rome would have a loyal vassal. Willing to join with your armyin whatever it is you’re trying to do here in
