A Mixture of Madness, Book II of The Bow of Heaven (39 page)

Soft hands flew to mouths, repressing mirth. I am generally opposed to romantic displays in front of an audience, mine or anyone else’s, but these two simple innocents, so pure of heart, made me
want to drop to my knees and embrace them. This I resisted, but they did pry a smile from the old stork. They were irrepressibly, infectiously happy.

“Gentlemen,” I said to the legionaries. “What are your orders?”

“To guard the
medicus
,” said the non-winking soldier.

“Do either of you have any
problem taking amended orders from me?”

“We know who you are,” said the winker.

“Good. You will also protect
all
the occupants of this tent, whether inside or out, to the best of your ability. You will follow the
medicus’
orders as if they were my own. You will also remain with Nebta and Khety while the
medicus
is under my protection. You will pass these instructions on to your relief. Understood? Thank you.”

“You are a kind man, Alexandros of Elateia,” said Khety, handing the mended tunic up to the legionary on my right. He touched his hand to his helmet and handed her a coin. She reached behind her into the tent and pulled out two beautiful woven cloaks of black, yellow and green. “Take these. It will be cold on the plain.”

Nebta handed the patched piece of underwear up to the winker. “With respect, sir,” he said, snatching the
subligaculum
from her and stuffing it away while gesturing at my knives (which, since we were outside the
pomerium
, I wore belted and visible), “are you really expecting those teeth cleaners to get you out of trouble better than this here.” He patted his
gladius
. The underwear peeking out from his belt stole more than a little of his masculine swagger.

“No, legionary, I am expecting these teeth cleaners to have the good manners, when the time comes, to look the other way.” Finally, a grunt of laughter from the silent soldier. “Now then, doctor,” I continued, “shall we walk? It’s not too far. Still, we might raise a thirst.” I
hoisted the wine skin like a trophy, then felt relief pour through me as Livia slipped her hand in mine. Could there be a man more proud in all of Macedonia?

“Why the extra cloak?” I asked as we turned to go. “Your friend was kind enough to loan us these. You don’t need to conceal anything now.”

“It rained yesterday,” Livia answered. “The ground may be damp.” Nebta and Khety’s African/Greek chorus of titters continued till we were beyond hearing.

•••

The army’s camp was surrounded by farmland; it was not easy to find seclusion. When we arrived at a wooded depression split by a small stream, we were not surprised to discover we would not have the place to ourselves. I wanted to leave, but Livia spread her cloak beside a legionary-free cypress and pulled me down beside her. Truth to tell, no one seemed interested in us at all. And when Livia kissed me, my disinterest in anything not Livia became flawless.

There is lovemaking that is gentle, leisurely, laced with amorous whispers and the romance of long, slow kisses. But there is another kind, serving another purpose. Ours, on the day I discovered that Livia had survived the Adriatic crossing, when we held each other in a foreign land on our way to a foreign war, was to rail against our plight with our bodies, and for a few precious moments to reclaim our destiny with our passion. Our need for each other was ardent, urgent and swift.

I am ancient now far beyond my fair share of years. I need only look at the blue rivers pushing ever higher against the weather-beaten surface of my crooked hands to see the proof. But this skinny old stork is not me. Alexandros is not this old man; he is hiding
inside
this wreck of a body. Can you understand this? Let me explain. There comes a time, somewhere between adulthood and the deathbed, when we become the people we are intended to be. Given time, we continue to learn, we continue to grow, but we are shaped, and that shape is fixed, for good or for bad. When does this happen? Only the gods know, for no man lives so completely in the present to be able to recognize the moment it occurs. But from that instant ever onwards, if he is lucky, while his bones grow brittle, his heart will remain supple; as his eyes grow dim, the world will still lay clearly before him. For me, I am fairly certain that the day I lay with Livia beneath the spear of a Macedonian cypress was the day that I stopped aging.

•••

Afterwards, we lay on our backs, breathless. A light breeze blew; we pulled Khety’s colorful handiwork about us and let time and the world right themselves once again. After a while, when we had drifted back into our own bodies and our own separate thoughts, I said, “Tell me how you came by those marks.”

“I feel wonderful, don’t you?”

“Fine. Tell me, then, about your new friends.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Livia said, kissing the tips of my fingers. “They’re whores, I love them, and they saved me from getting raped. Oh yes! Let me tell you about Musclena.”

“They’re prostitutes?!”

“What did you think they were?”

“Seamstresses. Tailors, menders.”

“Well, they do that, too, of course. They’re quite resourceful.”

“I can see that. I’m sorry, did you say ‘rape?’”

“It was nothing. No one touched me. I’m perfectly fine.” I stared at her. “I swear by our favorite statue of Apollo in the garden of our master.”

“Certainly, then, by all means, do tell me about Musclena.”

“You remember, of course,” Livia said, sitting up to throw her tunic over her head, “he’s my superior, chief
medicus
for the army.” She reached behind her with both hands to withdraw her hair from the inside of her tunic and bind it as she spoke. “He’s a fine surgeon, by all accounts, but the type that knows what he knows and anything outside of that is ignorance. So of course we got off on the wrong foot. Which is quite funny, when you think about it.”

“
Was I expected to understand that reference, or wait a bit?”

“
Wait, my sweet
pelargós
. I caught up with the healers two days after we left Dyrrachium. Dario Musclena is willful and stubborn. How do I know this? He was walking beside one of the medical supply carts when he should have been riding in it. He had a pronounced limp. I hopped up into the cart, grabbed one of the walking sticks and jumped down to offer it to him. He refused it! I tossed it back up where it was no use to anyone and walked beside him, which I think pained him as much as his foot.

“
Did you know, Andros, that you cannot sneer with just your lips; you’ve got to use your nose, too. If you want to practice, I’ll introduce you to Musclena. You know his type:  he looks down at you no matter how tall you are. No question, though, the man’s good looking, if your taste runs to superior intellect in Olympian form—grey curls, blue eyes, thin lips, elegant nose.”

“How fortunate for me your taste in intellect lies elsewhere.”

“How fortunate for me,” Livia said, “it lies right here beside me.”

“Let me have it then, brag away, how did you heal the healer?”

“I haven’t, but I shall. You know how I love to make a nuisance of myself to arrogant men, so looking at his swollen, bandaged foot, I asked him if he’d ever traveled in Africa. He said he didn’t see how that was any of my concern. ‘I’m a healer,’ I said. ‘You’re not
my
healer,’ he told me. ‘One,’ I said to myself. I asked him, lifting the red trim on the sleeve of my tunic if it would be an appropriate time to introduce myself. He said he already knew who I was, and as far as he was concerned, the slave plaque around my neck carried more weight with him than the clothes I was wearing. I could take it as a standing order to stay out of his and every other legitimate healer’s way. I admit, that surprised me.

“I’ll speak to
dominus
.”

“You’ll do no such thing. That will make
matters even worse.”

“You and I are
here, miles away from our son; what could be worse than that?”

“Stop it, Andros. We
are
here, and there’s nothing we can do about it. We’ll get through it, somehow.”

“Of course we will. Go on.”

“That’s it, really. I said to myself, ‘Livia, you made a decent effort.’ Before I walked off ahead of him, whistling as loud as I could, I said to him, ‘By the way, there’s a reason they call it dragon worm.’ I laughed when he called after me, ‘Nonsense.’ And that was two.”

“Don’t you usually count to three?”

“Would you?”

“Perhaps not in this case. You’re not going to help him?”

“In the end, when he starts howling from the pain, he’ll remember me and we’ll become the best of friends.”

“What is his ailment?”

“You don’t want to know. It’s too disgusting.”

I growled, a regrettable outburst only Livia has ever been able to wrench from me, although Melyaket has come close. “Then perhaps
we might return to the first subject over which you were so quick to gloss?”

“I told you, nothing happened.”

“Livia, please do not torture me this way. It is not kind.”

“You’re right. I apologize. First know that I am here, with you, and unhurt.
That other thing was nothing. I’ll tell you about the bruises. The truth is, our ship was caught in a bad storm.”

“Gods!
Dominus
knew better than to set sail after the winter storms set in. He knew! He plays knucklebones with all our lives.”

“The storm was an ill omen. But I am here, safe; is that not also a sign?”

“That was no ill omen, love. It was an ill mind manifest.”

“Andros!”

“Tell me what happened.”

“There was another ship caught in the storm, sailing south from Pistum.”

“Not of our fleet.”

“No, a merchant vessel, trying to reach Dyrrachium like the rest of us.”

“Fools! Those ships have nothing but sails and two paddles for rudders.”

“Our oars were beating, but I don’t think we were going anywhere. I’ve never been so scared, Andros. The waves were like green mountains; they kept moving beneath us, tilting us up till the rain poured straight into our eyes, then sliding away, dropping us into
a trough black as tar. Every time we hit the water there were screams from below and the crack of wood.”

“What of the merchant ship?”

“There were about a dozen of us clinging to the ropes securing the medical supplies. I was one of the lucky ones who’d found a place on the deck where I could wrap my legs around a cleat that held one of the ropes. Some of the others who were standing further along and higher up along the ropes…they were swept away, Andros.”

“
I was wrong to ask. You don’t have to do this, Livia.”

“I think I do. I think I need to get it out of me. The
trierarch
was shouting commands that no one at our end of the ship could hear. A piece of an oar came flying toward us, bounced off of the rope nearest by head and struck a man in the chest. When we crested the next wave, he went sliding away down the deck. The thrum of the oar on that rope—a note plucked by a Titan. I will never forget that sound.

“I
t was still reverberating in my head when a lightning strike blinded me, painting an image on my eyes that would have made me laugh were I not so terrified. A giant swan came swimming toward us on the crest of a wave.”

“Oh gods. Cargo ships are often fitted with such ornaments on their sterns.”

“There was nothing we could do—the ship came over the swell aft-first and carved into us, shearing off our oars with cracks like lightning striking a hundred trees. Their stern crumpled into ours; the swan broke right over our guard rail as though to board us. The impact must have spun us round so that the next wave hit us full-on broadside because the next thing I knew I was in the water; I don’t remember being thrown from the boat, or how I got these.” She displayed her marks. “I swam with my eyes closed, but the pressure in my ears was becoming greater so I turned the other way, hoping that I was heading away from the wreck. My hand hit something hard and I grabbed it. It felt like an oar. You cannot imagine how strong the urge is to cling to something solid in such chaos. I wanted it to float me to safety, but something was wrong. An oar should be shooting to the surface, but this piece of wood was moving too slowly. It must be sinking, not rising. My eyes flew open. The stinging depths showed me nothing, yet I knew something was there, just beyond my sight, and it wanted me. I cursed whatever horrible weight was tugging that oar to the bottom, then thanked it for helping me get to the surface. I grabbed the wood with both hands, it was almost vertical, and pushed hard against it, launching myself like a spear. I kicked as hard as I could, praying that the water above me was clear.

“When I broke t
hrough to air and rain, I was still close enough to the burning wrecks I could hear men shouting and see their faces.”

“Burning?”