“You’ll steal? What if you’re caught? We’re stranded here, Samuel,” she said with irritation. She was losing her patience with all this mystery and intrigue.
“I have enough currency to see us through for a long period,” he said. “I can draw more from a bank account in Toronto should we need it.”
“So, you knew we were coming here, to this place, and this time,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And you couldn’t share that with me?”
“It was easier to convince you to cooperate closer to events.”
“Bullshit. It was easier to manipulate me,” she said and moved to the hallway door and turned the key in the lock. She removed the key and twirled it on her finger.
“I did what was best for you both and for Dwayne.”
“Fine. Noted and appreciated. But now you’re going to answer some questions, even if it’s only to take my mind off my growling tummy,” she said, taking a seat at the table and gestured for him to do the same.
26
The Testing of Tacitus
The scopes revealed that the column marching south toward them numbered around two hundred men. Two centuries. Using the NODs gear allowed for a digital view that cut through the veil of dust.
The marching men in the front were dressed in belted tunics and wore hobnailed boots. They carried packs suspended from poles held over their shoulders. Most were bareheaded. Some wore broad-brimmed reed hats or sweat-cloths tied about their heads. A marcher in the lead walked with a cloth-covered object cradled in his arms, the aquilifer that identified their unit, commander, and legion number. They were Romans.
Following behind was a more ragged formation of men in long, kaftan type garments belted at the waist. These men wore their hair in long braids and carried what looked like thin curved rods over their shoulders. These were unstrung bows.
“Assyrian archers,” Jimbo said. “Auxiliary troops.”
“They’re coming the wrong way to be our guys,” Lee said.
“A regular patrol? Maybe just a coincidence?”
“Or reinforcements for the fort the Twenty-third is building?” Lee mused, squinting at the approaching force through the scope atop Jimbo’s rifle. They were three-quarters of a mile to the north and coming on at a steady mile-consuming pace.
“Not good news either way.”
“What’s that behind them?” Lee said, handing the rifle back to its owner.
Jimbo fixed his eye to the scope cup. The rectangle of men four across and twenty deep came into sharp focus. He tilted his view and adjusted the range to take in shapes moving behind them. He wiped sweat from his eyes and fixed his eye on the shapes.
“Pack animals. Mules or donkeys,” Jimbo said. “This is no patrol. They’re mobilized. They’re fully tactical for a long deployment.”
“Shit,” Lee hissed. “What are our options?”
“We test Tacitus to see if he was right. Nail a few and see if they turn tail.”
“From our perspective, they’ve all been dead for two thousand years anyway, right?” Jimbo smiled.
Bat joined Jimbo on the ledge and both lay prone with rifles trained downrange at the slowly closing figures there. The rest of the team packed up and were ready to move depending on the initial outcome. Lee stood, aiming binoculars at the dust cloud.
“The aquilifer’s mine,” Jimbo said and swiftly adjusted his scope for the angle and drop.
“Show off,” Bat said and settled in with the butt of her Winnie braced snug to her shoulder. She found a man in the second row of the column and sipped in a lungful of air. She was letting it out slow when Jimbo’s rifle boomed beside her. She squeezed and rode the recoil of her own weapon then brought her scope down to check out the results. Her man was down, and the men directly behind him were halting mid-step. The rest moved around the stalled group like a stream of water around a rock. She saw some of the men look up suddenly, eyes betraying alarm.
The report of Jimbo’s rifle reached them now like thunder from the hills. The men flinched again as the crack of her shot echoed the first. A few were trying to rouse their fallen comrade. Bat swung her aspect to take in a similar drama as men stood about the Pima’s chosen target. One man stood holding up the cloth covered banner while others knelt by the fallen man.
“They’re not stopping,” Jimbo said and jacked a fresh cartridge home.
“Maybe they never read Tacitus,” she said, driving her bolt back in place and sighting through the scope.
“How could they? He hasn’t been born yet.”
“Man, this shit does mess with your head,” Bat said, laying the crosshairs on the head of a marching man. The drop, the descending arc of her bullet as it responded to gravity, would make for a center shot through the chest.
Boom. Jimbo’s rifle.
Bat dropped her man. She jacked a new round and took a survey. The column was at a full stop now with knots of men gathered around the fresh victims sprawled on the road. There was no way to know what they thought was happening, men among them falling under an invisible weapon, the sharp roars reaching them off the surrounding rocks, no enemy in sight.
“They need further encouragement,” Jimbo said and let out his wind to steady his eye. Bat did the same.
Their shots were nearly simultaneous. Two marchers were thrown to the road as if struck by the same hammer blow. That was enough for the rest of the legionnaires. They threw down their poles and packs and ran in a ragged mob back the way they came.
Jimbo stood and watched through the scope as the routed infantry raced back to mix in with the column of pack animals. Mules reared and broke from their handlers to join the retreat. Some of the cargo carried by the animals broke free of the racks and spilled to the ground from leather sheaths. There it was trampled by panicked men and beasts. All was soon lost in a thick pall of rising dust.
“You
