Caesar ascending pandya, p.16
Caesar Ascending-Pandya, page 16
Teispes reacted immediately, and even over the sudden assault on his senses with the thundering sound of hooves and shrill cries of their riders, Caesar clearly heard Teispes shout, “Tokharoi! Run!”
That was the last coherent moment Caesar and the other two men would experience for some time to come, yet none of them hesitated, slapping their mounts viciously to get them to the gallop immediately. Caesar pointed his horse’s head at the hindquarters of Teispes’ mount, counting on the Parthian to guide them, and very quickly the roaring of the wind as his horse went to the full gallop almost drowned out the noise created by a party of horsemen, of whose numbers Caesar had no idea other than there were well more than three. Nevertheless, the high-pitched, undulating sound that he supposed was the Tokharoi war cry was audible over the shrieking wind, and it helped the fleeing men locate their pursuers, but even an experienced rider like Caesar couldn’t dare risk a glance towards his left rear quarter from where the noise was coming. Everything became a blur, his eyes watering from the wind of his motion and dust churned up by Teispes’ mount, requiring Caesar to ride by feel as much or more than by his sight, as well as relying on his horse and its superior night vision to avoid the holes, rocks, and anything else that could end their ride, and his life, in the span of a heartbeat by sending its rider flying. When he suddenly sensed a presence drawing closer, and on his left, Caesar risked keeping his reins with just one hand as the other reached down for the spatha, but he learned there was no need when he heard Gundomir shout his name.
“They are getting closer, but they will come from this side! I will protect you by drawing them off!”
As Gundomir knew he would, Caesar instantly understood that the German was offering his life to buy Caesar precious heartbeats of time, but this time, Caesar wasn’t a general; he was a man unwilling to allow someone else to sacrifice themselves for him. However, before Caesar could respond one way or another, his attention was drawn by an alarmed shout from Teispes, looking back just in time to see the Parthian suddenly veer to the right, in a manner that reminded Caesar of times when his horse had been spooked by something in its path. Usually, it was a serpent or some other creature that crawled on the ground, but in this case, what Caesar saw was another mass of dark shapes that had seemingly materialized from the ground, just like their pursuers. They drove us into a trap; this was the thought that flashed through Caesar’s mind, although the rush of despair was almost instantly washed away by the rage. Well, he thought, even as he guided his horse to follow Teispes, I’ll show these savages that it’s going to take a lot of them to strike Caesar down.
Lepidus was well on his way to being drunk, reclining on the pillows arranged on the floor in the Parthian fashion, which he had initially refused to do, but as his relationship with Dotarzes had developed, he had, albeit grudgingly, acceded to the custom. Now, he would admit this only to himself, he actually preferred this to lying on a couch, especially when the entertainment provided by his host was so…supple. He chuckled to himself as he allowed the woman to demonstrate an amazing level of flexibility, but as he had learned in the past, it wouldn’t do to be hasty in his choice.
Dotarzes, seated across from him and reclining in a similar fashion, smiled at his dinner guest, correctly guessing, “You have learned your lesson, I see, Marcus Aemilius. It never pays to make a hasty decision!”
It had taken the Parthian merchant some time to determine that what Lepidus thought of as his smile was a simple baring of the teeth, which the Praetor did now, but it was his tone that was always more instructive than his expressions.
“You taught me well, Dotarzes,” Lepidus acknowledged, showing those teeth as he did so. Suddenly, he shifted slightly, and Dotarzes heard the interest, despite how casual the Roman tried to sound when he asked, “Is she here tonight, by any chance? What was her name?”
“Ah,” Dotarzes chuckled again, “if you are referring to Ying, I am afraid she had other…obligations.”
“That’s disappointing.” Lepidus tried to sound as if it didn’t bother him, but he had been considering for the last several days demanding the girl as a sign of good faith in their relationship. Still, he did try to sound cheerful as he bared his teeth again and said, “I suppose you need to bring some others out to entertain us to take my mind off her.”
Dotarzes obliged instantly, clapping his hands sharply two times, and the response was as immediate, the girl turning and hurrying out of the room, but while the Parthian merchant wanted to be a thoughtful host, he hadn’t summoned Lepidus to his home for the purposes of satisfying the Roman’s fleshly needs.
“While we wait, Marcus Aemilius,” Dotarzes spoke casually, leaning over to pick up a date from one of the bowls arranged in front of him, “perhaps we should discuss what comes next, now that you have met with Kujula.” Suddenly, his hand holding the date froze, and there was a subtle but unmistakable shift in his tone as he said, “Provided that the talks went as you say they did.”
Rather than be offended, Lepidus actually chuckled again, assuring the Parthian expansively, “Dotarzes, as I said, my agreement with Kujula means that you will become the most powerful man in Merv.” He paused for just a heartbeat, then added, “Except for myself, of course.”
This time, he didn’t offer his version of a smile, and Dotarzes was far too experienced in handling men like this Roman to do anything but offer a grave bow of his head as he replied, “Thank you for your assurance, Marcus Aemilius, and I thank you for your generosity. It never occurred to me to think otherwise, and I have no doubt that you will elevate our humble city to levels of greatness that the world has never seen before.”
His ego stroked sufficiently, Lepidus decided a bit of magnanimity was in order, telling the merchant, “And that will only be possible because of such steadfast and able friends like yourself, Dotarzes. Now,” he looked towards the entryway leading from another part of Dotarzes’ large house and from where the women who were the sole entertainment for the evening had been emerging, “while I liked that last one, I know you,” he wagged a finger at the Parthian, “I know you have someone even better.”
“As always, it is impossible to outwit you.” Dotarzes heaved a sigh that was so overdone that he struggled to maintain this air of sincerity. Suddenly, he frowned, “Actually, I must apologize, Marcus Aemilius. I signaled for the next girl before we had our conversation.” He struggled to his feet; Dotarzes wasn’t obese, but he was certainly stout, and he assured Lepidus, “Let me go see why there is a delay. Perhaps,” Dotarzes gave a leering grin, “she is having trouble getting into the costume I selected for her.”
Lepidus actually laughed at this, making a dismissive gesture that, if he had been paying attention, he would have seen caused a ripple of anger to cross the Parthian’s face, although he covered it so quickly that even if Lepidus had spotted it, he would have thought it was probably his imagination. Dotarzes disappeared through the doorway, closing but not latching the door, while Lepidus leaned back on his pillows and took another long drink of wine, feeling happier than he had in some time. Everything was coming together nicely, and he was so close to success that he could almost taste it. Not, he acknowledged to himself as he stared up at the ceiling, that there wasn’t cause for concern; he had been quite disappointed that he could only turn three Pili Priores of the Crassoi, and of the three, only one seemed to doing it for reasons other than the exorbitant sum he had offered for their loyalty. The cavalry had been easier, but he had always known he would need help from an outside force, and the few satraps of this region of Parthia who hadn’t ridden to the banner of the King of Kings and were the only survivors had proven to be sufficiently cowed by Caesar’s reputation to spurn his advances. Caesar! The very name made his stomach twist, and his good mood evaporated in the span of time it took for the image of the Dictator for Life to enter his mind, causing him to sit up, his face twisted with the rage and hatred he felt. He thinks I’m a fool, he thought savagely; he thinks that he’s the only Roman who can accomplish great things. Well, he’s about to learn a hard lesson that he’s not, and this thought actually cheered Lepidus back up as he daydreamed about how Caesar would react when he learned that the most prosperous city in Parthia was no longer under his control. And that was just the beginning; he was still relatively young, and he had already begun thinking about what came next. This Kujula might speak Greek, but he was a savage, and there wasn’t a savage born who could outwit a Roman with his bloodlines.
He was so deep in this train of thought that he didn’t notice the sounds emanating from the other room; it was only when the door was kicked open that it yanked him from his pleasant reverie, and with a yelp of fear that was completely unbecoming a Roman Praetor, he scrambled to his feet, eyes wide in shock. Dotarzes was in the doorway, but it was the fact that he had one hand clutched to his face that Lepidus noticed first; the blood streaming from his nose was the second, and the fact that there was a figure behind the merchant was the third. However, even when the man behind Dotarzes shoved him into the room by applying a foot to the Parthian’s backside, sending him reeling with such force that he lost his balance and hit the mosaiced floor with a thud that Lepidus actually felt through his feet, the Roman was still mystified. Between the shock and the wine, it took him a heartbeat for him to recognize the one-eyed Parthian, which only deepened his confusion. What, he thought, is Teispes doing here? Even as he was struggling with this, the Parthian had entered the room, enabling Lepidus to see that immediately behind the Parthian was the German commander of Caesar’s bodyguard, Gundomir, who stepped in and took up a position like Teispes, with his back to the wall but on the opposite side of the door from his counterpart. Only then did Lepidus feel the first stirring of something other than bewilderment, when the third figure entered the room, followed immediately by another, and these two faces did belong here.
“Pedius! Pompilius!” Lepidus tried to sound severe. “There better be a good explanation for this intrusion! I,” he pointed at Pedius, “gave strict instructions that I wasn’t to be disturbed tonight unless it was an emergency! I’ve been working very hard the last few days, and I deserve a peaceful evening!”
The Quintus Pedius who replied to his Praetor was at once familiar, yet completely unknown to Marcus Lepidus, starting with the smile the Tribune offered him, because there was a quality to it that he’d never seen before. However, it was the complete lack of respect in his voice that both baffled and enraged Lepidus.
“Oh,” the Tribune said, sounding almost cheerful, “I think that you’ll agree this qualifies as an emergency, Lepidus.”
“Lepidus? Have you lost your wits? How dare you speak…”
“Shut your mouth. Now.”
As much as the words, it was the voice that arrested the torrent of abuse Lepidus was about to aim at the Tribune, because it didn’t belong to Pedius. It was a voice he recognized immediately, and for a horrible instant, Marcus Lepidus was certain that he would soil himself as, in utter disbelief, he watched Gaius Julius Caesar step into the room.
It wasn’t a dream; nightmare would have been more accurate, and Lepidus’ eyes hadn’t deceived. Somehow, in some way that Lepidus couldn’t even fathom, Caesar was here, in Merv. However, it was a very different Caesar than the last time the two men had been in the same room. This Caesar had lost weight to the point that his already spare frame looked emaciated, but more than anything, it was the shaggy hair, full beard, and the filth that coated his clothing and skin that Lepidus found both confusing and disturbing. One look into his eyes confirmed that it was the real Caesar and not some previously unknown twin conjured up from somewhere, and it was the look in those eyes that informed Marcus Lepidus about his fate more than anything the Dictator could say.
“You,” Caesar at least sounded like Caesar; cool, dispassionate, and implacable, “have been conspiring with the Tokharoi chieftain known as Kujula to seize control of the city of Merv, and to sit on its throne as some petty king. That,” for the first time, his voice showed some emotion, “is treason, and I know that I don’t have to remind you of the penalty for that. Although,” he did offer a slight smile, “we don’t have the Gemonian Steps here, I’m certain we can find a suitable alternative.”
Marcus Lepidus wasn’t as intelligent as he thought; in fact, he wasn’t intelligent in any sense of the word, but he was smart enough to understand that his one and only chance to live past the next few watches, or days at most, was to appear as composed and under control as possible.
“Dictator,” he thought using Caesar’s title was a nice touch, “I’m not sure where you are getting your information, but I can assure you that you have been misinformed.”
“He’s lying.”
Lepidus turned and gave Quintus Pedius a furious stare, but for the first time in his memory, the Tribune didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by his Praetor, yet somehow, Lepidus managed to keep his head, not that it would help much.
“How dare you?” Lepidus hissed, his anger only partially feigned. Pointing a finger at the Tribune, he saw that it was shaking, which he thought added to his show of outrage. “By what right do you accuse your superior, Tribune? And,” before he could stop himself, he was shouting, “who do you think you are, you…pleb, to accuse someone who is of the Aemilii and whose father was Consul? Who in your bloodline has earned that kind of distinction?” The instant the words flew out of his mouth, Lepidus knew that he had committed a blunder, but it was Pedius’ reaction, turning to gaze directly at Caesar without saying a word that, to the rest of the men present save Dotarzes, was eloquent in itself.
Caesar took the cue by taking a step closer to Lepidus, who had to fight the urge to take a step backward, and he worried that the others could see his knees shaking.
When Caesar spoke, it was in an almost conversational tone, “Marcus, I’ve always known that you were a fool.” Lepidus felt the rush of blood to his face as Caesar went on, “But you were a useful fool. More than that, though, Marcus, you were always reliably loyal to me. And,” it was difficult for Lepidus to read the emotions on this bearded, shaggy version of Caesar, but he clearly heard the anger, “I needed that loyalty four years ago, when men I trusted turned on me. They,” Caesar’s voice rose, “were fools as well.” He paused for a heartbeat, then continued, “And all but one of them is dead, and he can’t show his face anywhere near Rome for the rest of his days. Now,” he folded his arms, “I need to know exactly what you offered this Kujula, and what the next step in this…plan,” there was no missing the lacerating scorn when Caesar mouthed the word, “of yours is, and when it’s supposed to happen.”
There was certainly a part of Lepidus who was screaming at the rest of him to end it now, to admit everything, but this was a moment where Marcus Lepidus’ mortal enemy took control, in the form of a man who had spent most of his life lying to himself about his abilities.
“I’m afraid I still don’t know what you’re talking about, Caesar.” Even as he said the words, he heard the tremor there, but he couldn’t help it. “I’ve made no such plans, with anyone.”
He expected this to anger Caesar; instead, the Dictator simply turned to Teispes and gave a nod in the direction of the Parthian merchant, who had pulled himself up to a sitting position, using the sleeve of his expensive gown to stanch the blood. Lepidus spun to face Dotarzes, his mind racing as he wondered how he could signal the Parthian that both of their lives depended on the man’s ability to withstand whatever it was Caesar had in mind. Certainly, Lepidus thought, with the kind of hopeful desperation that’s unique to the condemned, he knows that he can’t talk. Yes, he assured himself, Dotarzes is no fool, and he’ll hold out as long as it takes because he knows the stakes.
