Clan and Crown

"No." He lowered his voice so that no one but Geminius could hear. "The legion is scattered. Many of our troops have left ranks to loot. Our horses are exhausted, and we would not pursue as an organized force. The cohorts I could send must remain to guard against a fresh attack. I tell you this because there is a chance-a small chance, but a chance-that you may yet be fit to command a legion."

"My thanks-"

Titus Frugi cut him off. "Meantime, stay here. The centurions know what must be done. It is the task of the officers to see that we face no fresh enemies until the legion is whole again. It is also our task to know what not to see."

"Yes, sir-should I then see to getting your tent erected?"

"How? By shouting orders to the headquarters troops? They would ignore you, Tribune, and quite rightly-what could you tell a ten-year veteran optio about caring for his commander?" Frugi chuckled again. "Dismount and relax, Tribune. And invite the star lords to come sit with us, for I see that Junlo has found the wine, and the Wanax Ganton approaches."

A young man who has learned much, Titus Frugi thought as the Wanax rode up with a dozen of his companions. Riders and horses alike showed the fatigue of a day's battle and two charges.

"Hail, Titus Frugi," Ganton called.

"Hail, Majesty. The day has gone well."

"Aye." Ganton dismounted and gestured to Morrone. For the first time since dawn, the golden helmet was removed.

Morrone took it from his wanax with a gesture so graceful that the finest actors in Rome could not have bettered it. The young Wanax shook his head and tried to comb the snarls out of his dark hair with his fingers.

If there were a sculptor worthy of it, I would give him this as- his subject, Frugi thought. He has won over his followers, aye and more than his followers- Julius Sulpicius came up with a dozen other centurions. He saluted Titus Frugi, then turned to Ganton. The First Centurion looked to his fellows. All gri

I should halt this, Titus Frugi thought. But he saw the look that his primus pilus gave the foreign king, and knew it was already too late.

Sulpicius raised his arm in salute. "Aye! Ave Ganton, Imperator!" he shouted. "Hail Imperator!"

The other centurions echoed the cry. After a moment the headquarters troops joined, then the other legionaries within earshot. In moments the cry rang through the Hooey Valley. "Hail, Ganton Imperator!"

I see, Titus Frugi thought. He remembered the first time Roman troops had saluted him thus. Imperator. Worthy to command Romans. It was not a title lightly given, even to Romans. He could not recall when a foreign chief was so honored.

If I join this cry, nothing will convince Publius Caesar that I did not order it. But if I do not-I will lose the trust of my legion.

I was prepared to sacrifice the legion to save the alliance. Now I can save both with words that cost no more than the good will of Publius Caesar-which I probably do not have anyway. And Ganton is worthy of all this day may bring.

Titus Frugi lifted his hand in salute. "Aye! Hail, Ganton Imperator!"

The cry was redoubled now. Drantos and Tamaerthan troops repeated it, not knowing what the ancient words meant, but understanding that this was honor to Wanax Ganton.

All joined in the cry. All but the Lord Mason.

"What's happening?" Mason demanded urgently. "What is this?"

Titus Frugi stared uncomprehendingly for a moment, then understood. "Ah. Imperator is a title,Lord Mason. It can only be given by Roman soldiers to one who has led them in battle. Those hailed as Imperator are recognized as worthy to lead a Roman army."

"It doesn't mean, uh, like Wanax?"

"No. They do not hail him as Caesar. Only as Impefator."

"Yeah? And that's all this means?"

Titus Frugi sighed. "Certainly no one could be offered the purple who had not been hailed as Imperator."

"And if he marries Octavia..

"When, my friend," Titus Frugi said. "As you well know. Nor can I think your Captain General Rick will be much surprised by this event-"

Mason shrugged.

It is hard to tell what the star lord thinks. But since I have no more of Publius's good will to lose this day-and I do know that Marselius Caesar thinks highly of his granddaughter- He turned to his tribunes. "Geminius."

"Sir?"

"When the messengers return to camp to bring up the supplies and the surgeons, you will go with them. Bring back a corona aurea for the Wanax Ganton. We will also need three coronae civicae, one each for the Lords Mason and Caradoc, and one for the Lord Camithon's bier."

"Sir!"

"You are pleased, Tribune?"

"Aye, sir."

And so are Sulpicius and the centurions, Titus Frugi thought. Yet I wonder what will be the end of what we have begun this day…

Mad Bear woke in near-darkness. His head throbbed, and when he tried to lift his hands he found they were bound with cloth strips.

I am a prisoner. This is not the Lodge of the Warrior, nor is there so much pain that I have fallen into the hands of the demons. He sat up, and saw that he was in a dimly lit tent. A tent of the Horse People, not an Ironshirt tent.

At the door sat Arekor, the priest of the Warrior who had been a slave among the Red Rocks until he vanished in a raid on the Green Lands. Now Mad Bear was certain he had not died, for Arekor could never have earned so much honor as to guest with the Warrior "So, Centaur-lover. You have come to take revenge by taunting me?"

Arekor poured water into a cup and held it to Mad Bear's lips.

At first Mad Bear refused; but his thirst betrayed him. He took a sip, then drained the cup. Three times more Arekor held the full cup out. When he had drunk the last, Mad Bear said again, "Why do you taunt me?"

"No, Mad Bear. I have not come to taunt you. I have come from the chief of the Ironshirts, and what I speak you may hear without dishonor."

"I do not believe you."

"You will," Arekor said. "For I will cut you free and give you a warrior's knife, which you may turn on yourself if you believe you have been dishonored. It may even be that an Ironshirt warrior will fight you in a single combat, risking his life to let you end yours with honor. But first you must promise to hear me out, and not to attack me."

"Swear this is true!"

The priest swore such oaths that even Mad Bear was impressed. Not even a Green Lands priest who had submitted himself to slavery among the Red Rocks would use such oaths to strengthen a lie to a warrior of the Horse People-or if he could, then nothing among gods or men was as it had been, and Mad Bear could do what pleased him.

"What I will say can bring good to the Horse People," Arekor said.

"If this could be so- Give me the knife."

"Swear first."

Mad Bear swore by the Father and the Warrior. Arekor drew a short blade of Ironshirt make, and cut Mad Bear's bonds. Then he gave him the knife.

Mad Bear turned it over and over in his hands. The priest had spoken the truth- "Are there women or wizards within hearing of us?"

"I swear there are neither," Arekor said. "Only warriors."

Mad Bear tested the blade with his thumb. It was sharp, of good workmanship, quite good enough. No one would ever take that blade while he lived. "Now I will listen to your dream of bringing good to the Horse People."

The priest began to speak.

Ganton reached for another sausage and felt the corona aurea begin to slip. He pushed it back into place with one hand and grabbed a sausage with the other. He could not remember ever having been so hungry.

The food was simple, but there was plenty of it. Once again he could admire Roman organization. The battle was done, and there were a myriad of details to attent to; but Roman optios saw to all that. For once the commanders could rest, with only the most important decisions brought to the command post.