Videssos Cycle, Volume 1 Read Online Free Page B

of the color of the dome of light we were in, I think I ought to cast it into the flames instead.”
    Lucilius nodded, impressed by the tribune’s reasoning. “Here, sir.” He handed Scaurus the effigy, falling in behind him to make the beginning of a procession. More men joined it as Scaurus walked slowly and ceremoniously toward one of the campfires.
    He paused in front of it so more of the legionaries could gather. Others looked up from their tasks to watch. Then he raised the crude rush-puppet high over his head, proclaiming loudly, “Whatsoever god or goddess is responsible for the wonder that has overtaken us, by whatever name or names you wish to be called, accept this offering in propitiation!” He hurled the image into the fire.
    The flames leaped as they burned the effigy. “See how the god receives the sacrifice!” Lucilius cried. Marcus hid a smile; it was as if the legionary himself had thought of substituting the puppet for the man.
    Yet the tribune wondered for a moment if Lucilius saw something he was missing. An effigy of damp rushes should have burned slowly instead of being consumed like so much tinder.
    Marcus scowled, suppressing his superstitious maunderings. One miracle in an evening, he told himself firmly, is enough. He turned his back on the fire and went over to see how Gorgidas was doing with the wounded.
    “How does it look like I’m doing?” Gorgidas snarled at him.
    “Not well,” Scaurus admitted. Gorgidas was rushing from one injured man to the next, bandaging here, suturing there, tossing his head in despair at a head wound he had no hope of treating. The tribune asked, “What help can I give you?”
    The Greek looked up, as if just realizing Marcus was there. “Hmm? Let me think.… If you order a couple of troopers to work with me, thatmight help a little. They’d be clumsy, but better than nothing—and sometimes, whether he wants to or not, a man writhes so much he needs to be held.”
    “I’ll take care of it,” the tribune said. “What happened to Attilius and Publius Curtianus?”
    “My assistants? What do you suppose happened to them?”
    His face hot, Marcus beat a hasty retreat. He almost forgot to send the legionaries over to Gorgidas.
    Gaius Philippus and Viridovix were still arguing, away from most of the men. The senior centurion drew his sword. Scaurus dashed over to break up the fight. He found none to break up; Gaius Philippus was showing the Gaul the thrusting-stroke.
    “All well and good, Roman dear,” Viridovix said, “but why then are you spoiling it by using so short a blade?”
    The veteran shrugged. “Most of us aren’t big enough to handle the kind of pigsticker you swing. Besides, a thrust, even with a
gladius
, leaves a man farther from his foe than a cut from a longsword.”
    The two lifelong warriors might have been a couple of bakers talking about how to make bread rise highest. Marcus smiled at the way a common passion could make even deadly foes forget their enmity.
    One of the junior centurions, a slim youngster named Quintus Glabrio, came up to him and said, “Begging your pardon, sir, could you tell me where this is so I can pass the word along to the men and quiet them down? The talk is getting wild.”
    “I’m not sure, precisely. From the terrain and the trees, one of the scouts thinks this may be Cilicia or Greece. Come morning we’ll send out a detail, track down some peasants, and find out what we need to know.”
    Glabrio gaped at him. Even in the starlight Marcus could see the fear on his face, fear intense enough to make him forget the pain of a slashed forearm. “Cilicia, sir? Greece? Have you—?” Words failed him. He pointed to the sky.
    Puzzled, Marcus looked up. It was a fine, clear night. Let’s see, he thought, scanning the heavens, north should be … where? Cold fingers walked his spine as he stared at the meaningless patterns the stars scrawled across the sky. Where was the Great Bear that pointed to