50. The Visitor

The wind rose, riffling the trees; grass undulated like lapping waves. 

A shadow approached from the darkness across the field, and into the torchlight appeared Commander Publius. 

"Who goes there?" a guard yelled from atop the parapet. With a pause, his voice panicked. "Lord Commander!" Caligae clapped the stone slabs as all the guards clomped down the stairs and saluted Publius. 

Publius acknowledged it with a bob of his head. "What're you still doing here?"

"Sentry duty, m'lord," one answered, his voice baffled. 

"I know!" Publius shot him daggers. "What I mean is, why're you here while everyone is at the arsenal, drilling for the war?" 

Another mumbled a few words Xeator didn't catch. 

"Go!" Publius bellowed.

The guards regarded each other with wide eyes. 

"I said go!"

Flustered, they edged away into the darkness. 

"Are you ladies waiting for a palanquin to give you a ride?" Publius scorned, cocking his head. "Then hurry the fuck up!" 

The guards bounded away; their shadows splintered, blown to the wind. 

Xeator proceeded out from the tenebrous woods. "Thank you, Commander."

"No need," Publius smiled, his taut cheeks plowing. "I can only hold out for half a candlestick though."

"That's plenty." He sketched a bow. "I'd be much obliged if you could keep it between us."

"Sure," said Publius, scowling as he continued. "But may I ask why? It's by the orders of the Praetor himself that you interrogate the man. You can pull him out here at any time. Why keep it a secret?"

Xeator essayed a grin. "The man tried to frame me while I knocked on the door of Kish. Hanging him would be too easy. I want my own justice that befits the lesser man he is. Does it answer your question, Commander?" 

Publius chuckled. Leaning out an arm at the iron gate that led to a drafty corridor, he said, "The chamber at the end."

With a brief nod, Xeator dipped into the dark tunnel, his footsteps echoing off the damp bricks. He lifted the drop rod and pulled. The door clunked asunder. Through the dormer stabbed blades of moonlight, circling a man who sat manacled upon a stone stump with his back to the door. He rotated his head, clanging the iron that chained him to a sooty wall as dark as the dead of night. 

Xeator shut the door and plopped down on the rammed earth floor scrawled with straws. 

"Why?" 

Drawing a knee to his chest, he picked up a straw from the floor and dangled it between his lips.

The tedious clanging went on, unrelenting. 

Chewing on the straw, Xeator chuckled. "Don't flatter yourself thinking I actually need to learn it from you. It's just," he paused, leaning against a wall as he glanced up at the dormer. "I never thought you'd act on it." 

The clanging stopped, followed by a manic laugh. "Of course you wouldn't," Anthony said, choking on his own laughter. "Guys like me never acted on our own. We take orders! Never question! And when we die, it'd be like we have never lived!"

"Do you think you've lived now, waiting for your death?"

"Yes! I've never felt so alive in the last few months without you!" Clinking the chain, he jolted around, his downturned eyes swollen but glaring. "For once, I was fucking important! I had a whole gang to do what I asked! Who'd remember me when all these turn to dust!" Stranded with gore and sweat, his unkempt hair straggled about his dirt-streaked face even more skeletal than Xeator had remembered.

Rolling to the side as he slapped the rammed earth, Xeator broke into a laugh. "All your boys are dead! Executed before they're trialed! If you had done according to the plan, starting the riot in the name of the Praetor, none of them would have died, you dumb shit! And let's say they remember you. So what? So the fuck what now you're bound to die!"

"So I get to live for as long as those who remember still draw their breath! I'll throb in the collective memory of all as the one who has voiced their grievance! I was that close to reassigning my birthright! I would have become more important than you ever will! And admit it! I almost beat you!"

Slowly rising to his feet, Xeator padded to his friend, his brother, his confidant. He leaned close to his face, drilling with his one eye. Memories flashed before him and scorched. He wanted to scream and break things, anything, a skull, some ribs, be they his own or others'. "No one," he pronounced, his voice deliberately soft, "gets to beat me."

Anthony snarled, launching at Xeator, his breath plagued with bile. The chain around his neck rattled. 

"But because of that, and because you were a brother to me," Xeator straightened his back and turned away. "Letting you die would have been tantamount to conceding defeat on my part. So, I'll not let you die in the hands of my enemies. I'll keep you alive. I want you to live and see for yourself how you'll soon fade out of this collective memory of your inane belief."

"Fuck you!" Anthony spat. "At least I get to see, you blind piece of shit! And go fuck yourself about being brothers! What'd you know about brothers? You were gonna use the karambit on the boy you killed anyway! If you didn't carry the amulet that day, you wouldn't have lost that bloody eye! You reap what you sow!"

A sudden rage rushed up his head, mingling with guilt. Many times he had dwelled on the what if. But there was never such an alternative for him. He growled, swooping back to Anthony. Gripping his neck, he shoved and slammed him to the sooty wall. "I've never planned to use it, you scum! It never would have been used had it not been for you!" He shuddered; his fingers dug deep. "Do you take everything at face value, huh? I told Publius that I want a moment alone with you to sever your manhood so I can keep his suspicion at bay, but do you see me do it, huh?"

Anthony purpled and gagged, rolling his eyes to the back of his head. 

Xeator recoiled. He let the other man crumple to the floor while he lurched to the door. "Lorenzo suspected me," he crooned, his hands shaking. "Taking the amulet was an easy way to convince him that I'd win no matter what, so I did." Swiping a hand down his cheeks, he snuffed up the moldy air. "I had it all worked out, and no one would have died, you know?" He chuckled, turning to his shoulder as he took one last glimpse of the man on the floor. "Of all the fucking things that could have gone awry, and of all the fucking people, why must it be you?" 

He locked the door behind him. 

Elbowing his way out, he staggered before slowly steadying his gait. 

"All done?" asked Publius when he stepped out. 

"There was never much there to cut."

Publius threw back his head and guffawed. 

Behind them, long wails fathomed the depth of darkness. 

***

The next morning, Xeator went to see Lorenzo at his residence. 

"Are you sure you want to postpone the interrogation?" asked the lord sitting behind his desk, his gaze inquisitive. 

Xeator nodded. "It can wait. The prisoners aren't going anywhere. But the longer we hold out here, the stronger Julius' men grow. The first northern legion has always been the most disciplined, with more battle experience given their long years in outposts. Besides, soldiers of the midland and southern legions aren't accustomed to the cold, and winter is upon us. The longer we wait, the smaller the chance at winning."

Lorenzo clasped his hands under his chin. "Get the men ready. We march north on the morrow. I'll leave you to it."

Clutching the hilt of the sword girded to his flank, Xeator bowed. "Yes, my lord." He whirled and left. 

Outside the Legidus' courtyard awaited a black destrier under the wavering gray of the sky. He took the reins and mounted, riding at a canter down a slope through a corinthian arch door. Along the cambered road clustered men and women, by trestle stalls that peddled a variety of fabrics, and in the shadows of forlorn friezes atop many sooty walls. Glances were traded at the sight of Xeator; so were words, overlapped with the incantations for victory washing out through between the granite columns of the temple on a ten-step podium centering a pebbled square. 

Xeator rode ahead. 

No pain, pride, or care, not a tad of sentiment, he felt nothing. Nothing was on his mind now but the roadmap to the north.