He was turning to go when the quiet, naggingthought that had been worming its way through my head this wholetime caused me to burst out, “Why are you doing this?”
Cleitos stopped, looking back at me with alook of surprise. His men stopped as well, but he motioned to themto continue into the woods, still leading their mounts.
“To be king, of course.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” Isaid quietly. “Why are you turning your back on the other tribes tojoin us?”
The Thracian prince stood still, notspeaking for quite some time.
Finally, he replied, “I suppose I could tellyou that it’s because that is the bargain I made with you, and Ialways honor my bargains. But you wouldn’t believe that, wouldyou?”
“No.”
He took a deep breath, not looking at me,but at some place I could not see.
“I am siding with Rome because you will win.Rome always wins in the long run.”
For the briefest moment, Cleitos’ maskslipped, whether by accident or design, I do not know, thebitterness twisting his features, his face suffused with the kindof impotent anger that I have seen on the faces of so manyconquered people. It must be the worst kind of anger andfrustration imaginable to know that something is as inevitable asthe rising of the sun when you long to continue living in thedarkness. The best I can say is that I am glad that I have neverhad that bitter taste in my mouth, and never will. For Cleitos wasright; we would prevail, and I saw that while he accepted thatfact, he did not like it. Nor did I expect him to, but I did expecthim to do as he swore, and I reminded him of that before he slippedinto the woods. He gave a look back, nodded, then was gone.
I do not wish to discuss the details of whathappened to the survivors who had sheltered within the Thracianbaggage train, thinking that Cleitos, crown prince of the Medi hadstruck a bargain that would spare their lives. Suffice it to saythat this part of Marcus Primus’ orders were carried out, alongwith the “execution” of a man who both Masala and I swore onJupiter’s black stone was the crown prince himself, bringing hishead back to the Praetor. I will say that unlike men like Antonius,Primus did not relish holding the head, or doing all manner ofthings to it as some sort of grisly jest. Shuddering at the sightof it still dripping gore when I held it up for him to examine, hewaved his hands in a shooing fashion.
“All right, all right. I see. Now take itaway. I don’t want to see it again.”
He actually looked like he was going tovomit, and for perhaps the thousandth time, I wondered inastonishment how this man had managed to wheedle or trick Octavianinto appointing him as not just a governor, but with the powers ofa Legate. With that task taken care of, we moved onto the nexttopic, which Masala had informed me he would handle and do all thetalking.
“And the rest of the Thracians aredead?”
“No,” Masala answered.
Primus sat upright from where he had beenlounging. We were in the Praetorium, camp was beingconstructed at the top of the hill we had stopped at, the moans ofthe wounded continuing to carry to us from the nearby hospitaltent, which I had ordered erected immediately after thePraetorium.
“No?” Primus repeated, looking from his aideto me, his eyes narrowed.
“I presume you have some sort of reason thatyou have disobeyed my orders yet again, Prefect?”
“It wasn’t the Prefect; it was me,” Masalainterrupted. Primus gave a surprised squawk, then flopped back onthe couch.
“You? And why, pray tell, dear Masala, wasit you who thought it permissible to disobey me? You, who shouldknow better?”
“Simply put, for one word,” Masala said,pausing for a moment, building the suspense and leaning forwardtowards Masala in an oddly, and uncomfortable for me, intimategesture.
“Gladiators.”
“Gladiators?” Primus did not seem tounderstand, shooting me a confused look, but I was doing my bestdumb Legionary act, staring at a spot far above his head.
Masala nodded vigorously.
“Praetor, you know how much in demand goodThracians are for the games,” he continued, smiling down at thePraetor. “Well, I have found twenty good specimens, all warriors.All highly born! They will be perfect for your triumphalgames!”
And like a snapping, greedy fish, Primustook the bait. For this was the idea Masala had come up with, and Ihad to admit it was an inspired one. Primus’ eyes took on a farawaylook, his fat face folding in on itself with a smile as heenvisioned the spectacle.
“Yes,” he mouthed, slowly warming up to theidea. “Yes, yes indeed. That, my boy, is a very, very good idea. Infact, it is one of the best ideas you have ever had. Of course! AndI should have thought of it. What better sight for my triumphalgames than having these Thracians fighting in the arena? Blood inthe sand! Oh, it will be marvelous!”
Thoroughly saturated with the idea, Primusbegan rubbing his hands together, chuckling as he saw in his mind’seye the sight of men fighting and dying for his pleasure. Suddenlysnapping out of his reverie, he said, “Of course, I must inspectthem myself.”
“Of course,” Masala agreed with a bow. Thiswas the second part of the idea, for which we had been forced torely on Cleitos, and I was not as comfortable about. He had warnedthese men about their role, and they had agreed readily enough, yetwhen the moment came, there was really no way of knowing whether ornot any of them would open his mouth to ruin the whole plan. Itwas, by this point, well past sunset, the men working in the dark.This is not as much of a hardship as it may seem, since the men hadperformed the task of building a camp so often that they did notneed much light. I was weaving on my feet like I had been drinking,despite there still being much to be done. Therefore, as quickly asI could, I excused myself from Primus and Masala, the former
