A Mixture of Madness, Book II of The Bow - By Levkoff, Andrew Page 0,141
the tragedy was real, the family was not my own.”
“How do you mean?”
“The retelling, Governor Crassus, would be as tiresome for you as the reliving of it would be painful for me. To make quick work of it, there were people who wanted something of mine that I did not want them to have. Regrettably, lives were lost.”
“More than one?” Crassus asked.
“A few.”
“Indeed! And you are here under the good king’s protection presumably because you left more of them alive than you slew.”
“More than a few.”
“And now they search you out. You see the price of not being thorough. Your people could learn a thing or two from Marius or Sulla.”
“Unfortunately, great general, my enemies are rarely gathered in one place, out in the open, all at the same time.”
Crassus laughed. “I like this man. And also that such a cunning warrior rides beside me unarmed. You are unarmed, are you not?” At these words, Cassius jerked his reins and interposed himself between Crassus and Abgarus. In an instant, three more mounted legionaries had crowded round Melyaket, their swords drawn.
“Jupiter’s knees, Longinus,” Crassus exclaimed. “I was in jest. Leave the fellow be.”
Cassius replied, “With respect, general, I cannot afford your sense of humor. A perfect and ironic time for treachery to strike—just as we are about to enter the city.”
“Nonsense. If you want to rise as a politician, Cassius, and what young officer does not, you’ve got to think like a chef. Look at this fellow. He simply does not have the right ingredients for the meal you suggest. Combine cleverness, youth and a quick wit and try as you might you will never prepare a dish of suicide. You don’t want to kill yourself, do you, Melyaket? There, you see, Cassius? Trust me, I’ve been mixing recipes of men in the senate for thirty years.” Dominus ordered the guards back into rank and the march continued. “Tell me this, son. How did you dispatch these enemies?”
“As quickly as I could,” the young man answered. “I apologize, general, I know what you are asking…”
“I understand. Let others boast on your behalf. Otherwise the glory is diminished. What are your weapons of choice?”
“I am trained in many, but some have said I have a gift with the bow.”
“I will require a demonstration.”
King Abgarus asked, “If I may, general, what weapon do you prefer?”
Crassus took no more than a moment to answer. “Overwhelming odds.” He glanced back at the column that disappeared in a haze beyond the last bend in the road. He turned back to Melyaket and added, “I think you will enjoy meeting my son when he arrives.”
“I look forward to meeting the renowned Publius Crassus.”
Dominus furrowed his brow but made no comment. “Well, Melyaket puhr Karach,” he said, “I hope your cause was just.”
“If it were not,” said King Abgarus, “he would not be riding at my side.”
Cassius said to the king, “Regrettably, majesty, I am unable to risk the life of my general upon the word of a…new friend.” The quaestor shifted to face Melyaket. “Tell me, my clever, funny friend, exactly where is this place from which you found it necessary to flee?”
“My village rests at the base of the southern flank of the Jebel Sinjar, my lord.”
“Sinjar? That’s Parthian territory, is it not.”
Abgarus shrugged, “Parthian, Armenian, Mygdonian. Even Osrhoene has at one time raised its banners in that barren dirt. There is nothing there worth owning, I promise you. Apologies, Melyaket, but you know I speak truth.”
“Noble king,” Melyaket said with a wink, “you will never see the riches hidden there, for unlike me, you have never called Sinjar ‘home.’”
Cassius used a tone of voice which made those who heard it cower and those at whom it was directed blurt truth from fear. “To which nation do you swear allegiance, boy?”
Melyaket neither cowered nor blurted, though his eyebrows creased in thought before he spoke. “There is a brook that tumbles down the mountain above our village. Its spring is a sacred place. The women beat our clothes against the flat rocks of the stream’s banks. As the water passes beneath an overhang of rock shaped like the palm of a hand, there is a deep pool where the water rests, cold and clear, before refreshed, it continues its rush down the hill. If the day is sunny and warm and the echoes of laughter and splashing cannot be heard from this place, we know a child must be in trouble. Before it reaches the village, this