Cold Steel

When I applied to the general he shook his head. “I’ll escort you back to Red Mount myself, once we have settled this matter of the Romans. Two of the legions have dug themselves in for the night. If they prove recalcitrant, I shall need you to slip into their camp and kill their commanders.”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

“Cat? Is this too much for you?” He bent his head, examining me. “While you slept, I received word that a number of mages escaped into Lutetia. You know I want your husband’s cooperation. Help me now, and I will help you find him. Furthermore, I’ve heard no word of James, which as you may imagine concerns me.”

“I think he’s decided he doesn’t need you anymore,” I said, goading him.

Rather than reply he withdrew a pipe from his coat, considered its damp bowl, and tucked it back into the pocket. A messenger rode up with a dispatch, pulling his attention away from me. At length, as we rode about a mile south, the icy rain slackened and ceased. We came up to one of the Iberian infantry divisions, which had boxed in the two battered legions against the river.

At the general’s arrival a cheer rose. Captain Tira marched up with a squadron of Amazons. Dirty, bloodied, exhausted, they danced forward to the pound of drums and the singing of their sisters. Luce her very own self presented a Roman eagle to the general. Her pride blazed. She had a bloodied nose, a cut on her left shoulder, and mud smeared in her short cropped hair as if she had wrestled an enemy onto the ground. I could scarcely recognize the girl who had befriended me with a cheerful grin at Aunty’s boardinghouse. Then she saw me, and she laughed to see me and Rory still alive, but she did not break ranks to come to us. She had chosen her path. It no longer marched alongside ours.

The general made his way through the troops, greeting men, giving a private word to the worst-wounded. I trailed behind him, trying to wipe flakes of dried blood and the cling of weariness from my eyes. Because I was not paying attention, I scarcely noticed when Camjiata rode out onto the vacant ground between the two armies.

The two legions had anchored their defense on an old fortified estate very like that of Red Mount. This compound backed up against the Sicauna River. The walls and buildings had taken damage from artillery fire, but the legionnaires were tough, experienced men who had set up an effective perimeter. The general rode right into range and then closer yet. I was so astounded by his audacity that I followed, together with a pair of aides in braided uniforms and tricorn hats.

The general surveyed the night-shadowed Romans and a lit lamp. “Brothers! I salute you! You have fought nobly this day for the honor of the empire that gave birth to you. That empire gave birth to me as well, for my mother was born into the Aemilius clan. By the courage and valor with which you have fought I am brought to wonder what incompetent commanders have led you to this pass. For it is certain that now, shed of them, you find yourselves driven into a corner not of your making. Have your consuls done well by you? Were you not abandoned by the best of your legates, Amadou Barry? Let me tell you what you do not know. The emperor envied and feared Amadou Barry, so he rid himself of the man. He will deny it! But you will never find Amadou Barry’s body.”

Camjiata was no djeli, but he was doing a cursed beguiling job weaving a story that tugged at hearts and loins and drew the world in fresh colors for men worn out by battle.

“How do you know what happened to Amadou Barry?” I demanded in a low voice.

“I have never managed to insinuate a spy into a mage House, but getting informers into the household of Lord Marius was not difficult. Every word I spoke is true. The emperor sent Amadou Barry to Adurnam because he feared the young legate’s popularity in Rome.”

Noble Ba’al! That put a different smell on the rose!

The legate whose wine I had poured walked boldly out to confront the general. I pulled just enough shadow around me that he couldn’t be bothered to notice me any more than the general’s aides. “What do you want, General Keita? Our surrender? The Invictus do not surrender. Nor do our Ironclad brothers. Our honor forbids it.”

Every word Camjiata spoke was pitched to carry as far as possible. “Of course I don’t want your surrender. Your soldier’s honor shines as brightly as ever. Yet Rome’s honor has been tarnished in recent generations. You know it.”

Soldiers murmured. They did know it.

“Selfish patricians long ago repudiated the ideals of the old republic. In recent years they have likewise turned hostile backs to the new river of change that beckons. I will restore Rome to the glory and influence that she deserves.”