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Chapter Fourteen
The Men in Black
The
conversation of religion died down completely after the optio’s short speech, not
because of his words, but because of the Bedouins appearing suddenly in our
path. A thin line of darkly clad
nomads sat on each side of the highway, a lone rider, perhaps the leader,
positioned in the middle of the road.
They just sat there on their mounts, blocking our passage—still shadows
in the sunlight, waiting for our next move. After reining in our mounts, we studied the dark shapes,
whispering fearfully back and forth.
They were horseman, not camel riders. Unlike the previous nomads atop their beasts, these Bedouins
had the advantage of speed and agility we had. Decimus and Aulus had thought we might reach Raphana late
tomorrow, but our recent battle on the dune made that impossible. We would, Decimus believed, arrive at
another oasis soon. Unfortunately,
for the past hour, there had been none in sight. Here we were again in the middle of nowhere. Before we reached an oasis to prepare
for a possible attack, we were caught once again out in the open. While we sat pondering our fate, the new
band of Bedouins began galloping our way.
As if we didn’t already know, Decimus bellowed,
“These are different foes. They’re
mounted warriors, fortunately a smaller band than the first. Like the last bunch, they want our
horses and mules. Our best bet is
ride up the nearest hill, so we can position ourselves. Those of you with bows move quickly
ahead of us to give us as much cover as you can.”
The five men
with bows—Ibrim, Abzug, Aulus, Rufus, and Fronto (who handed me his spear)
galloped ahead as Caesarius and I led the slower moving mules by their reins up
the slope. I had strapped a lance
to my saddle after the last battle, hoping I would not have to use this weapon. Now, thanks to the big Thracian, I had
two of them.
“What am I suppose to do with this?” I turned
wide-eyed and terrified to Caesarius. “I can scarcely manage the one I have!”
“Here,” he said, reaching out as we detoured off the
road, “gimme one.”
“Maybe they want to parley,” Geta cried out
hopefully.
“We’ll soon find out!” shouted Decimus. “You there
Thaddeus and Caesarius,” he barked, “take the pack animals down the other side
of the hill. Some of them will
yell and scream in order to distract us, as others swoop in and first try to steal
our mules. I’ve seen this tactic
before. The remainder of you,
Apollo, Ajax, Geta, and Langullus, must engage these fellows. They’re not on camels. I’m sorry. We won’t be able to flank them this time. We’ll have to fight them face-to-face.”
“We’re dead men,” Geta groaned.
“You die only once, my friend,” Langullus seemed
filled with a strange calm. “The faint-hearted die thousand deaths waiting for
the end.… I will kill as many of those jackals as possible before I die.”
Caesarius and I barely had enough time to find cover
on the other side of the hill before the Bedouins fell upon us. As I fumbled with the lance strapped to
my mule, Caesarius handed me the reins that had been tied together and charged
ahead with his lance. After a short
soul-searching moment I realized that Langullus was right. We could only die once. Stealing myself with the Psalmist’s
words, I tied the reigns to a sun-bleached acacia bush, retrieved my spear,
pulled out my gladius with my free hand, and ran screaming up the hill,
“Aaaaaaaaah! Eeeeeeeeh!”
At a sweeping glance, almost exactly as Decimus had
promised, I saw more than half of the nomads attacking the mounted Romans,
veterans, and auxilia, while a smaller number galloped over the hill in hopes
of snatching away Vesto and Enrod’s horses and the pack mules. Expertly, as before, Abzug brought down
the first warrior with an arrow in the chest, and Ibrim placed an arrow in the
second Arab’s throat. These shots,
done on horseback, were impressive feats, but the most stunning exploit was
accomplished by our leader Decimus.
At a great disadvantage with his small stabbing sword and compact
shield, he raced toward one of the nomads who, swinging his curved sword, was
ready to lop off Langullus’ exposed head.
The old veteran was barely able to manage his sword, shield, and mount,
as he galloped into the fray.
Decimus, who was able to manage this feat, charged the back of the
nomad, ran him threw, and ordered Langullus to leave the hill. Langullus, however, seeing a spear on
the ground, tossed his shield and gladius aside, climbed off his mule (a
foolish act) and brandished it at an advancing Bedouin, who, knocking the lance
aside, reached down and ran him through.
Following this tragic event, was a close call for Aulus, whose arm was
nearly hacked off by one of the blades.
Almost unmanned by the saber swinging horseman, Aulus regained his
courage and retreating to a safe distance, pulled out his bow, set an arrow in
place, aimed, shot and missed the nomad, an action that slowed the man down
enough for Apollo to come alongside of him, with a captured sword, and strike
him down. Sheathing his gladius
and pulling the saber out of the man’s hand before he fell off his horse,
Decimus charged one of the horsemen who were swinging his curved sword
menacingly at Geta, catching him squarely on the head. Barely escaping death, Geta drew back
his reins in horror as the attacker fell mortally wounded onto the ground. By now it was evident to me as I
watched this contest that using the large, curved blade was difficult even for
the Bedouin while in the saddle and, conversely, using the Roman gladius proved
to be almost suicidal against such a sword. Decimus was only able to hit his target from behind, and
Geta’s effort to use shield and short sword almost cost him his life.
At this point, I watched Rufus ride suddenly into
the fray. I don’t know where he
had been up until now. He had been
acting strangely since his brothers’ death. Now, bereft of his senses, he fired his bow as Aulus had
from his mount with little more success.
After one arrow, then another flew over a Bedouin’s head, he threw down
his bow, climbed off his horse, and, following Fronto’s example, ran ahead
waving one of the dead nomad’s swords.
Bringing the mighty saber down upon a unhorsed nomad’s head, he split
his skull almost in two then confronted a horseman with a spear found lying on
the ground, who immediately galloped away. Of all the soldiers on the hill, the Thracian giant was the
most fierce-looking warrior. A
fourth and fifth nomad, who saw him racing toward them to protect Rufus’ back,
also fled. Meanwhile, the
remaining ten Arabs circled Decimus, Aulus, Ajax, Apollo, and Geta, thrusting
their spears menacingly at the men. Though the spear points were deflected by
their shields, this action was wearing down their quarry. Abzug and Ibrim continued to fire off
arrows at the Arabs, rarely hitting the moving targets. Soon, at this rate, our archers would
be out of missiles. While Abzug
emptied his quiver, Ibrim boldly ran around retrieving arrows spent in the
sand. Completely vulnerable on the
ground, Ibrim climbed back on his mount and rode away a safe distance to
Abzug’s firing line. Rufus
and Fronto remounted, brandishing lances and swords in each hand.
Until then Caesarius, like me, had been a
bystander. Since it had been
demonstrated that a Roman gladius and shield was no match for the Arab’s
slashing sword, Caesarius began doing what Rufus, Fronto, Ajax, and Apollo were
doing and rode around the engaged fighters nipping at their backs, staying just
out of range of the deadly swords.
This action turned several of the lancers away from the encircled
men. One of the Arabs had a wound
on the cheek but managed to escape.
Because of the inequality in weaponry, Geta was nearly a casualty himself
during the antics of the Arabs, until, jumping off his horse and stumbling on
the ground, he picked up discarded spear and, without a second thought, tossed
it at one of the attackers. To my
surprise, the normally cowardly veteran’s aim was true. The target, rode away, with the lance
protruding on each side of his arm.
Ajax finished off another rider unhorsed by Ibrim’s arrow, with a
stabbing thrust. I expected the
huge Thracian and most of the others to comport themselves well, but I could
scarcely believe how Fronto tossed his spear, picked up the dead man’s fallen
weapon and, still on foot, went to engage a mounted Arab, who reared up his
horse, that kicked threateningly at his face, then galloped away. Three of the Bedouins who appeared to
flee earlier now rode back waving their deadly blades. Geta, dazed and weaponless, clipped by
a slashing saber, staggered away to collapse on the ground. Geta, like Langullus and Enrod earlier,
had not been up to such a mêlée.
Seriously wounded now, he tried rising to his feet and was finished off
by a horseman’s lance. Looking
back numbly as I sat on my mule, I watched another trio of mounted nomads
struggling to untie the reins I tied to the bush. Little did they know, Jesus had taught my brothers and I how
to tie Gordian knots, which were almost impossible to unfasten. It was difficult for the nomads’ large,
unwieldy weapons to slash the knot fastened to the branches. To help facilitate their efforts, they
climbed off their horses and tackled the job in earnest.
After playing the coward this hour, I saw my
chance. There was no time to
dally. The pack animals must not
be taken. I must stop them before
they steal our precious mules.
Hefting my spear, raising it up carefully, and throwing it with all my
strength, I watched it pierce a nomad’s back, emerging halfway through the
other side. After this it was a
blur of motion. I had only a
gladius in my hand afterwards, and yet I caught the second man squarely in the
skull dropping him at once. The
first and second members of the trio had fallen dead, but I was forced now to
fight an dismounted warrior face to face, my small weapon against his great
sword. Waving it wildly in the air
as I clutched my shield, I prayed and swore several oaths, frantically dodging
the slicing blade. I was almost
certain that I would be struck down, but remembered Langullus words, “you can
only die once,” so I made my stand.
When, after receiving a glancing blow on my shield and nearly being
unhorsed, I rode up and down the hill to avoid a deathblow, feeling that
strange calm I had experience back on the dune. “Lord God, protect me!” I cried out. What brought down the rider, however,
was the arrival and quick thinking action of Decimus, one of my human
protectors, who with a captured sword engaged the warrior in a spectacular
duel.
By now the battle on the hill was over. The surviving Bedouins escaped to fight
another day. The remnant of our
band sat on their mounts watching the action on the slope. They hadn’t seen me throw my spear and
hit the first horse thief nor did they see my crack the second man’s
skull. All they saw as they
galloped down the hill was the optio’s coming to my rescue, but the aftermath
must have appeared obvious to them.
There were two dead men lying in the immediate vicinity, as Decimus
dueled the third man. I gathered
my wits, reached down to cut the branch holding the reins, and, gripping the
Gordian knot holding the reins together, led the mules and two horses a safe
distance away. Looking back at the
valiant Roman, I said another prayer.
The two large blades clanked against each other repeatedly until Ibrim
took it upon himself to bring Decimus’ adversary down. Falling off his horse and onto the soft
dirt, he rolled over, the arrow protruding from his stomach, and was given a
deathblow by Decimus’ sword.
Setting the unfamiliar weapon aside, he exchanged it for his gladius,
which he quickly sheathed, then, fastening his helmet to his saddle, wearily
handed over to me the reins to his horse.
The Romans, like the auxilia, in fact, followed his example, dismounted,
and walked around stabbing and hacking with lances and swords the Arabs lying
on the hill to make sure they were dead, but also to vent their anger for their
fallen friends. Fronto, Abzug and
Ibrim were just angry that the two veterans had fallen and kicked, poked, and
stabbed a few, but the Egyptian, Greek, and Gaul went about the task with
malicious glee. Disgusted with
this anticlimax after such brave action by the men, Decimus and Aulus demanded
that they stop defiling the dead.
“Ah, Decimus,” cried Apollo, “you fought fight like
the Reaper!”
Raising up a decapitated head, he threw it down with
a thud, and then, as if it was a ball, kicked it across the ground. Not to be outdone, Rufus, still enraged
by his brother’s death, tossed the head he had cut off high into the air,
swatting it playfully with his sword as it fell to earth. This excess sickened the Romans and me. Noting the others actions, Fronto and
Ibrim withdrew their weapons sheepishly and returned them to their sheathes. While the Egyptian and Gaul stood by
the road with bloody swords, Ajax raised, not one, but two bloody trophies up
by their hair, exclaiming dementedly, “Look at these two rogues—they don’t look
so fierce now.”
“Yes, well done—all of us,” Apollo cried. “Decimus, you split his head almost in
two. I prefer cutting off the
blackhearts’ heads.” “Phitt-phitt,” he cackled madly, waving the Bedouin blade
in the air, “they cut clean and quickly.
They make fine swords!”
Rufus threw up another severed head and kicked it
this time in mid-flight.
“You men stop this at once!” barked Aulus. “Now we
have to clean up another mess.”
“All of you,” Decimus called hoarsely, “catch your
breath, drink, eat a handful of dates to gain your strength, then dig a long
trench beside the hill, as you did before, to bury these men. We must be on the
road and settled at our next stop soon!”
“Aulus,” I heard the optio mutter discreetly, “those
men may or may not be back with reinforcements, but there could be others
ahead. We have to hurry. Out of no sense of reverence, we must,
as we did before, bury these bodies to hide the evidence, especially those
headless men, but if it looks like its going to take too long, we’ll have to
stop and get back on the road.”
On foot now, while I was left to watch their horses
along with the mules, they pulled their shovels from their saddles and, after
Decimus used a lance to probe for the softest soil, the difficult task began at
a likely spot. I stood there in
the sunlight, sweating, weary to the marrow of my bones, wondering how I had
managed to kill those two men. It
must have been the will of God that spared my life and lessened the mortality
of our men. It had to be Him, I
thought, looking up at the sky. So
it must be true as Jesus said: I have a mission. Could it be that Jesus believed my decision to join the
legion and become a scribe was God’s plan? However strange that was, the Lord was with me. Because of me, though we lost Vesto,
Enrod, Langullus, and Geta, it still seemed like a miracle. Once again, against fierce desert
nomads, we hadn’t been massacred.
While everyone else was digging the trench, they
cast Apollo and Ajax looks of disdain and contempt. Rufus, who was not himself, had only our pity. Fronto and Ibrim frowned at me, too, as
I seemed to dawdle, concerned that I wasn’t doing my share.
“Someone
had to watch the animals,” the optio clipped. “He’s done enough.” “That’s right
men,” he called out, “like the last time—just enough depth for a row of
bodies. We’ll pile rocks on it
afterwards like before. We’ll bury
Geta and Langullus when we stop for the night.”
“Where were you Thaddeus?” Ajax asked me accusingly
as I stood wrapped in my thoughts, “you weren’t on the hill. Why didn’t you
help us out?”
“I did,” I said in a small voice.
“Oh, how so?” Ibrim frowned
“He guarded our mules. That was his job,” Caesarius announced in my defense.
“But he was sitting on his horse,” Apollo observed.
“I saw him ride away. We needed
his sword!”
“No,” Aulus shook his head, “he didn’t run; he did
as he was told.”
“He did more than that,” Decimus said, raising his
fist to his chest. “Before you men caught sight of it, it was over. I salute him. He killed two of these black robed fiends while guarding the
mules, one with a lance, the other with his sword. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Thaddeus, you rascal,” Fronto cried, “was it the
spear I gave you?”
“I’m not sure,” I answered, scratching my head, “it
all happened so fast.”
The men murmured with awe and disbelief amongst
themselves. The Greek and Egyptian
stood in the background, as Caesarius, Fronto, Abzug, Ibrim, and Rufus dropped
their shovels, rushed forward, patted my shoulder, gripped my forearm, and
rustled my hair. Decimus and Aulus
stood back, with arms folded, smiling at me with satisfaction. Indeed, with my new name and the skills
taught me by my protectors, they had helped keep me alive. Though he was an eyewitness, the optio
could scarcely believe I had killed two more men. Aulus laughed heartily as the big Thracian lifted me up into
the air. Eventually, not to look
small-minded amongst the group, Ajax and Apollo congratulated me, the Egyptian
complimenting me on my mastery of the lance.
It appeared on the surface, at least, that I had won them all. In good humor, Decimus asked the men to finish the trench and bury the Bedouins. After we climbed aboard our mounts, we resumed our journey in search of the next oasis, keeping a wary eye in all directions for the men in black. Concerned about our safety but also about our thirsty horses and mules, Decimus rode up and down the procession, urging us to make haste to our next stop. Perhaps because they were as exhausted as me or were worried about being ambushed by more nomads, no one spoke until we reached our next stop. It was the first time our group had been so quiet. I was almost convinced of my feeling that God was watching over me. I had, with His guidance, helped save the men at Ecdippa, and here in the Syrian Desert I saved our mules and horses from being stolen and killed two more men. God must have a purpose for me, but I was still not sure what it was.
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