“It’s true, I’m afraid.”
It was all I could think to say.
“Then I do not have much choice, do I?”
I marveled that he had immediately seen thesame thing that Masala had pointed out to me, and I wondered if allnobly born men were endowed with this turn of mind from thecradle.
“No, you don’t,” Masala confirmed, giving aquick look over his shoulder. We were much too far away for Primusto be able to make anything out, but unless we returned soon, hemight be moved to get off his fat ass and come bouncing over towhere we were standing.
“And we don’t have much time. Unfortunately,one of your men must be sacrificed.”
He waved that away as if it wasinconsequential.
“I will take care of that in a moment.”
He turned to indicate the men that I hadassumed to be his bodyguard.
“These twenty men are all well born, and arehighly placed in our tribe. They are going to act as surety that Iwill deliver those hostages that we discussed.”
He took off a large ring off of one finger,handing it to me. I looked at it, impressed at the size andworkmanship. It was his signet ring, engraved with the emblem of awinged horse, Pegasus, I supposed.
“This is the symbol of my house, and belongsto the heir to our throne,” he told me. “This serves as a token ofmy pledge. Whoever holds that ring commands the loyalty of the Meditribe. I will expect it back when I deliver on my promise and wemeet again, with me as king and at the head of my army.”
I was only half-listening, because I hadjust realized there was a huge flaw in our plan.
In the last few moments as we approached thewagons, Masala and I had agreed that we would let Cleitos go, alongwith an escort of no more than four men, having them walk theirhorses from the far side of the baggage train, away from MarcusPrimus, and into the woods. From there, they would be essentiallyon their own, and I supposed their plan was to hide, either inthese woods or elsewhere, to complete the ruse that Cleitos wasindeed dead, then allowing nature to take its course with hisfather. Upon word of his father’s demise, he would rise from thedead to be crowned king. I wondered what kind of tale he wouldconcoct, but that was his business, and in the future. The problemlay not in Cleitos, and not even in the rank and file warriorsenclosed within the baggage train, all of whom Cleitos made clearcould be sacrificed. It was in those twenty hostages that we couldnot kill; they had to be hidden from Marcus Primus. However, when Ibrought it up to Masala after excusing ourselves from Cleitos yetagain, despite his initial reaction being similar to mine, herecovered quickly. In fact, in a moment, he gave a delighted laugh,and when he explained his idea, I joined in. Returning to Cleitos,I let Masala explain what had to be done, and he did not flinchfrom any of it. You cold-blooded bastard, I thought. Is thereanything you wouldn’t do to be king of your paltry tribe? It wasunfair, I know; he was no different from any of the ambitiousRomans I had seen through the years. Cleitos summoned the men whowere to be hostages, explaining what was expected of them, althoughhe promised them it would be for a very short time. They did notlike it, but they submitted, then I had one of Palma’s Centuriescome forward to escort them a short distance away, having my mensurround the Thracian nobles, mainly to screen them from view byPrimus.
“Do you have horses?” I asked Cleitos.
“Yes, we have everything we need,” hereplied, indicating the four men he had selected to go with him.Calling to Palma, I ordered him to take a small group of men toescort Cleitos and his companions around the baggage train to theside facing the woods. Before Cleitos left, I reminded him he hadone more task.
“Ah, yes. That,” he said lightly, as if itwere an afterthought.
Calling one of the remaining men over, hetalked to him quietly for a moment, then embraced the man warmly,kissing him on both cheeks. They were talking quietly, but I wassure I had overheard him use the word “brother” in Greek.
“Go with these men. They have a special jobfor you,” he told the other Thracian, and when the man walkedcloser, I was struck by the similarity between him and theprince.
They were of roughly the same height, withalmost identical build, and he was almost as richly dressed andarmored as Cleitus. Nevertheless, he willingly offered his sword toMasala, who took it. Most striking was the resemblance in the twomen’s facial features, and on an impulse, I decided to join Palmaas he escorted Cleitos. We walked around the wagons of the baggagetrain, Thracian warriors still peering from behind theirbarricades, some even sitting on top. I refused to look theirdirection, feeling badly about what was going to be happening tothem shortly, yet knowing that there was no other choice.
We walked in silence for a few moments, thenI asked Cleitos, “Who was that man you used as a substitute?”
“My brother,” he said casually.
I think I stopped walking, and he lookedback at me, surprised at my reaction.
“Not my full brother,” he amended. “He’s oneof my father’s bastards. His name is Androcles. Not that it makesany difference now.”
I could not help shaking my head. Bastard ornot, it was still the man’s brother, yet it did not seem to disturbCleitos in the least, and I was reminded that Thrace in many wayswas as much part of the East as the West. Reaching the spot nearestthe woods, I turned to look back, making sure that we were blockedfrom view. I suppose it was the natural thing to do; still, I wasquite surprised when Cleitos held out his hand. I recovered,clasping his forearm.
“When we meet
