aware of a certain distance. The young nobleman made no hurry to rise and greet his superior officer.
'Dux Ripae, I give you joy of your victory,' he said when eventually he was on his feet. 'A wondrous result, especially given all the things against you.'
'Thank you, Tribunus Laticlavius.' Ballista ignored the ambiguous implications the other had opened up. 'A lion's share of the victory must go to you and your legionaries of Legio IIII Scythica.' The northerner's words brought a cheer from the legionaries present. Acilius Glabrio did not look pleased. He took another long drink of wine.
'Some idiot of a messenger came here. The fool claimed to come from you. I knew it was nonsense. He said you had ordered the sentries doubled tonight. I told him in no uncertain terms that our Dux would not have issued such a ridiculous order. I sent him on his way.' Acilius Glabrio took another long drink. He looked flushed.
'I am afraid there has been a misunderstanding' – Ballista tried to keep his voice neutral – 'the messenger was from me. I have ordered the sentries doubled for tonight.'
'But why?' Acilius Glabrio laughed. 'The battle is done and over. We have won. They have lost. It is over.' He looked round for moral support from his legionaries. Some nodded. More avoided his eye. They looked down at the ground, unwilling to be drawn into the escalating tension between these two senior officers.
'Yes, we have won today. But there are huge numbers of Sassanid warriors still out there. Shapur will now be desperate. He will know that we will celebrate hard. It would be an ideal time for him to strike, when we have let our guard down because we think we are safe.' Ballista could hear the anger creeping into his own voice. He was thinking angry thoughts: You may be a good officer, but do not push me too far, you perfumed and crimped little fucker.
'Pshhah.' Acilius Glabrio made a noise of dismissal and gestured with his wine cup. Some of the wine slopped over the edge. 'There is nothing whatsoever to fear. Shapur could never force them to attack again tonight.' Acilius Glabrio was swaying slightly. 'I see no reason to stop my boys having a good time.' He smiled round at his men. A few smiled back. Noticing that he was not receiving unanimous support, the young nobleman scowled.
'Tribunus Laticlavius, you will order your men to double the sentries tonight.' No one could now mistake the anger in the big northerner's voice.
'I will not.' Acilius Glabrio glared defiance.
'You are disobeying the direct order of your superior officer.'
'No,' Acilius Glabrio spat, 'I am ignoring the ludicrous whim of a jumped-up hairy barbarian who should have stayed in the squalor of his native hut somewhere in the woods.'
There was a deep silence on the fighting platform. From beyond the tower came the sounds of revelry.
'Acilius Glabrio, you are removed from command. You will disarm yourself. Go to your home and place yourself under house arrest. You will report to the palace of the Dux Ripae tomorrow at the fourth hour of daylight to face court-martial.'
Ballista sought out a centurion. 'Seleucus, you will inform the Senior Centurion Antoninus Prior that he is to assume command of the detachment of Legio IIII here in Arete. He is to ensure that enough of his men remain sober to double the sentries tonight. And tell him that I want a blue lantern prepared on every tower. They are to be lit at the first sign of any enemy activity.'
'We will do what is ordered, and at every command we will be ready.' There was no emotion in the centurion's words.
Acilius Glabrio looked round. No one caught his eye. Realizing that what he had said was irrevocable, he raised his chin and assumed a pose of nobility wrongly arraigned. He put down the wine cup, undid his sword belt, pulled the cross belt over his head and let it fall to the floor. Looking neither right nor left, he walked to the stairs. After a moment's indecision his two slave boys scampered after him.
XVII
'Nobody knows what the late evening may have in store,' Bathshiba said. She was laughing. Her eyes were very black.
How the hell did you get in here? Ballista was thinking. Obviously Demetrius was not near by. The young Greek disliked Bathshiba. He would have done all that he could to keep her away from his kyrios.But Maximus and Calgacus were definitely in the living quarters, through which she would have had to pass to reach the terrace of the palace. Ballista had no doubts about what had been in their minds when they let her through.
She walked across the terrace towards him. She was dressed as one of her father's mercenaries, but the tunic and trousers, the boots, the sword on her hip, did little to conceal that she was a woman. Ballista found himself watching the movement of her breasts, the roll of her hips. She stopped in front of him, just out of reach. Ballista felt a hollowness in his chest.
'Does your father know you are here?' As he spoke the words sounded ridiculous to Ballista.
Bathshiba laughed. 'He is part of the reason that I am here. But no, he does not know that I am here.'
'You did not cross town alone?' Ballista thought of what he had seen as he walked to the palace. By now, hours later, the whole town would resemble a wild Dionysian orgy. The celebrating soldiers would have no more trouble than Ballista in seeing through Bathshiba's disguise. Many among them would have fewer qualms than the northerner in stripping that disguise from her. Ballista did not doubt that she could use the sword on her hip, but against a gang it would do her little good. Her resistance, the edge of danger, would only increase their pleasure in taking her.
'No. I'm not a fool. There are two well-armed men waiting in the great courtyard. By now they will be drinking in the guardroom.'
'And is one of them again your father's faithful captain Haddudad with his sharp sword?'
She smiled. 'No, I thought it better to bring others this time. Men whose discretion I think I can trust.'
Ballista stared at her. He could think of nothing to say.
Bathshiba took off her cap. As she shook out her long, tumbling black hair, her breasts swayed, heavy, full, inviting. 'Are you not going to offer a girl who is risking her reputation so much as a drink?'
'I am sorry. Of course. I will get Calgacus to bring some more wine.'
'Is that necessary?' She stepped round Ballista, just out of arm's reach, and picked up his cup from the wall. 'Do you mind?' She lifted the cup to her lips and drank.
'Why are you here?' He knew that his behaviour was awkward, even unwelcoming. He was unsure what he wanted, what he would do.
'As I said, in part because of my father. He did not go to the walls today. He stayed in the house, locked in his private rooms. I think he was praying. He has not been himself for some time. In part I am here to apologize.' She took another drink.
'There is no need. One more man would never have made a difference. He left his men in the hands of Haddudad. He is capable.'
She poured what remained in the jug and handed the cup to Ballista. He took it and drank. She was closer now. He could smell her perfume, her skin. Her long hair curled black round the olive skin of her neck, down over her tunic, over the swell of her breasts. 'Your soldiers know how to celebrate a victory. Do you?' She looked up at him. Her eyes were very black, knowing, full of promise. He said nothing. He did not move. 'Tell me, do you think that Shapur and his nobles would have restrained themselves had they taken the town?'
'I doubt it.' His voice was thick.
'Should the saviour of a town enjoy the same rights as a conqueror?'
Allfather, Ballista thought, if ever a woman has offered herself to me this is it. He was breathing hard. Her scent was strong in his nostrils. He could feel himself starting to get an erection. He wanted her. He wanted to rip the neck of that tunic, to expose her breasts. He wanted to pull down those trousers, lift her up on to the low wall, spread her legs and enter her. He wanted to take her there and then, her bottom on the wall, him standing in front of her, thrusting into her.
He did not move. Something stopped him. The fierce, smothering morality of his northern upbringing, the thought of his wife, the superstition that had grown in him about infidelity and battle – he did not know what, but something stopped him. He did not move.
