doryphoros, a spear-carrier. The muscles of his left arm were tensed as he held a shield away from his body, those of his right more relaxed as he loosely held a spear close to his side. Most of his weight came down through his right leg, the left being slightly advanced, the knee bent. Nestling below the iliac crest, the ridge which marked the junction of midriff and thighs, the penis and testicles were small and neat enough to speak to a Greek of an admirable, civilized self-control. In several ways the statue veered from the canon laid down by the great sculptor Polykleitos. The figure was more heavily muscled; it stood more solidly on the ground.
Demetrius wrote, 'Gold statue in middle of agora, portrait of Ballista, in pose of spear-carrier, not totally Polykleitan.'
Demetrius lay still for a few minutes, turning the dream over in his mind, weighing up the positive and negative omens. But it was best not to prejudge things: so often the interpretations of professional dream-diviners confounded expectation. Not today, but as soon as he could, he would find one in the agora of Arete.
'Good morning, Dux Ripae,' said Acilius Glabrio. The young patrician's vowels made it sound as if it were a title to be found among one of the remoter tribes of the Hyperboreans.
'Good morning, Tribunus Laticlavius.' 'I'm afraid we are a little early.' Ballista and his party had set out early. They had walked slowly through the town but had deliberately arrived at the parade ground ahead of time. 'If your men are not ready…'
The young tribune did not falter. Indeed, he smiled. 'We will do what is ordered, and at every command we will be ready.' He waved Ballista and his party towards the reviewing stand with a proprietorial air.
They walked the 150 or so yards in silence. Ballista took his rightful place in the centre at the front on the raised tribunal, Acilius Glabrio and Mamurra theirs, to the right and left respectively. Maximus stood behind Ballista's left shoulder, Demetrius his right. Ballista had also brought the senior haruspex, both heralds, three scribes and four messengers, as well as five of his equites singulares, and Romulus, as ever bearing the white draco, which stirred in the light breeze.
There were four soldiers in attendance on Acilius Glabrio. While one was sent off to give the men the order to begin their display, Ballista studied the tribune out of the corner of his eye. The young patrician wore his hair long. Swept back from his brow, it was teased into artful curls which fell either side of his ear and down to the nape of his neck. His beard was trimmed short, except for a pronounced ruff at its lowest extremity. Ballista much admired the younger emperor Gallienus – but not those who almost slavishly copied the imperial hairstyle and beard.
A blast of a trumpet, and the two cohorts that made up the Arete detachment of Legio IIII Scythica marched in step on to the parade ground. Each entered separately from the right in a long column 4 men wide and 120 deep. They halted, turned smartly towards the tribunal, saluted and called out as one: 'We will do what is ordered, and at every command we will be ready.'
Ballista's first impression was one of confident and understated proficiency. A quick calculation indicated that the detachment was up to its full strength of 960 men. As far as he could see, all the legionaries were fully equipped: metal helmet or the like, mail body armour, oval shield, heavy wooden practice javelins and swords. All the shields had protective leather covers; no fancy crests bobbed above the helmets. No martinet had tried to impose complete uniformity on the men – helmets differed slightly in style, some favouring a mail coif instead. This was a unit dressed for war not for an imperial palace.
As soon as the new Dux Ripae had returned the salute, both cohorts moved into a more open order. The nearer unit turned away and, at a command, the two marched through each other. Then, each cohort pivoting on a centurion, they reconfigured themselves from two lines facing the tribunal into two lines stretching away. It was all most handsomely done.
Acilius Glabrio leant forward on the wooden rail and yelled, 'Are you ready for war!' Almost before he had finished nearly a thousand men roared back: 'Ready!' Three times the call and the response then, nearly without waiting for the signal, the centuries of the left-hand cohort re-formed themselves into testudo formation; six close-packed tortoises of eighty men, shields held to front, flanks and rear, and close as roof tiles overhead. The shields slammed together not a moment too soon. The front rank of the right-hand cohort ran forward and hurled a volley of untipped javelins. As their javelins were still arcing through the air, the second rank ran past them to hurl their weapons in another neat volley. Again, and again. There was a deafening rolling noise as volley after volley of javelins thumped into the heavy leather-covered shields. A trumpet blast, and the roles were reversed. Another faultless display.
There was a pause, the two lines facing one another. Then they began the barritus. Low at first, shield over mouth for reverberation, the roar built to an unearthly sound. The barritus, the war cry of the Germans adopted by the Romans, always brought the sweat to Ballista's palms, made his heart beat faster, always reminded him of the things he had lost with his first home.
As the sound hung in the air, the two cohorts launched into each other. The weapons might be heavy wood, without metal points or edges, but they could still hurt, maim, even kill when wielded with skill and intent.
The signal was given, and the two sides pulled apart. Medical orderlies removed the dozen or so legionaries with cracked ribs, broken limbs or injured heads. Then the cohorts moved smoothly into a close-ordered phalanx sixteen men deep facing the tribunal. One of Ballista's heralds stepped to the rail and shouted at the completely silent ranks: 'Silence! Silence in the ranks for Marcus Clodius Ballista, Vir Egregius, Dux Ripae.' The legionaries remained silent.
Ballista and the legionaries looked at each other. The legionaries held themselves with a shoulders-back, chest-out swagger. They had done well, and they knew it. But Ballista sensed they were curious. He had seen them in action now, while they knew nothing of him beyond rumour. It was quite likely they shared Acilius Glabrio's prejudice against northern barbarians.
'Milites, soldiers' – Ballista had thought of calling them commilitiones, fellow soldiers, but he detested officers who shamelessly courted popularity: 'fellow soldier' was a title that had to be earned on both sides – 'Milites, there are many things against you. There are many excuses for poor drill. It is always difficult for a vexillatio detached from its parent legion. It is away from the example and rivalry of the rest of the cohorts. It is not under the experienced eye of the legion's commander.'
If possible, the ranks of the legionaries were even more silent. To give him his due, Acilius Glabrio's patrician calm did not waver.
'In your case, none of these excuses is necessary. You did everything asked of you in exemplary style. The barritus, in particular, was outstanding. Many do not know the importance of the battle cry, especially when facing unseasoned troops. How many untrained Persian peasants driven into battle by the whips of their masters will stand against your barritus? Well done! I am impressed.
'Raised by that great Roman warrior Mark Antony, Legio IIII Scythica has seen action all over the imperium Romanum. From the frozen north to here in the fiery east, Legio IIII has seen off the enemies of Rome. Parthians, Armenians, Thracians, Dacians, Sarmatians and countless hordes of Scythians have fallen to her swords. The long and proud history of Legio IIII Scythica is safe in your hands. We will see off the reptiles that go by the name of Sassanid Persians.'
Ballista concluded: 'All except essential details, to be determined by your commander, will take a day's leave. Enjoy yourselves – you have earned it!'
The legionaries cheered, moved smoothly into one column of fours and, saluting, marched past the tribunal and out of the campus martius.
It was now almost the third hour. Ballista had ordered that the tribune Gaius Scribonius Mucianus should lead Cohors XX on to the parade ground at that time. Ballista had been dreading this part of the day; he did not know what he would do if his orders were disobeyed. In an attempt to convey an air of unconcern, he studied the campus martius. It was separated from the civilian city behind him by a six-foot wall, more of a barrier to trespassers than a deterrent to an attacker. To his left it was bounded by the inside of the western wall of the city. These were both nice clean lines. The other two were messier. To his right the boundary was a large barracks block, the principia, and a temple to a local deity called Azzanathcona which he knew had been taken over to serve as the headquarters of Cohors XX. But in the far-right corner, Acilius Glabrio's residence, a requisitioned large private house, stuck out into the parade ground. It was not the young patrician's fault that it was there, but somehow it was another reason to dislike him. On its final boundary, the campus martius petered out before it reached Arete's north wall. Here Ballista could see the large temple to the local god Bel, smoke rising from the
