An Emperor for the Legion by Harry Turtledove Read Free Book Online

I’d hardly call the troops he had with him a ‘miserable little band’—he got clear in pretty fair order.”
    “Thorisin Gavras?” Evghenios Kananos stared at the centurion in surprise and a little suspicion. “Didn’t say a word about Thorisin Gavras. I was talking about the Emperor—the Emperor Ortaias. Far as I know, there ain’t no other.”

II
    “Y OUR HONOR, YOU’RE A RARE STUBBORN MAN, ” V IRIDOVIX told Scaurus the day after Kananos’ shattering news, “but you can march the legs off the lot of us, and we’ll still never catch up to that omadhaun of a Sphrantzes.”
    Weary and frustrated, the tribune halted. His outrage over Ortaias’ gall in assuming the imperial title had made him fling his small army north to drag the usurper to earth. But Viridovix was right. When looked at rationally and not through the red haze of anger, the Romans had no chance to overtake him. Sphrantzes was mounted, had no women and wounded to encumber him, and had a day’s lead. Moreover, the further north Scaurus led his men, the more Yezda they met, and the more hostile the nomads were.
    The legionaries clearly saw the futility of pursuit. Roman discipline kept them pushing toward Pityos, but their hearts were not in it. They were harder to get moving after every halt, and slower on the march. And only the fear that leaving would be worse kept the men they had added since Maragha with them. Everyone despised Ortaias Sphrantzes, but they all knew they could not catch him.
    Laon Pakhymer sensed this stop was different from the ones before. He rode back to Marcus, asking, “Finally had enough?” His voice held sympathy—he had no more use than the Romans for Sphrantzes—but also a certain hardness, warning that he, too, was running out of patience with this useless hunt.
    Marcus looked from him to the Gaul, then, as a last hope, to Gaius Philippus, whose contempt for the would-be Emperorknew no bounds. “Are you asking what I think?” the senior centurion said.
    Marcus nodded.
    “All right, then. There’s not a prayer of catching up with the worthless son of a sow. In your heart you must know that as well as I do.”
    “I suppose so,” the tribune sighed. “But if that’s what you think, why didn’t you say so when we set out?” Roman discipline or no, Scaurus rarely had doubts about Gaius Philippus’ opinion.
    “Simple enough—whether or not we nailed Sphrantzes, I thought Pityos a good place to head for. If Ortaias could sail back to Videssos the city, so could we, and save ourselves having to fight across the westlands. But from the look of things, there are too bloody many Yezda between us and the port to let us get there unmangled.”
    “I fear you’re right. I wish we knew how Thorisin stands.”
    “So do I—or
if
he stands. Too many Yezda westward, though, to swing back and find out.”
    “I know.” Marcus clenched his fist. Now more than ever, he wished for any word of the slain emperor’s brother, but the choice he was forced to only made getting that word more unlikely. “We have to turn east, away from them.”
    They had spoken Latin; when the tribune saw Pakhymer’s blank look, he quickly translated his decision into Videssian. “Sensible,” the Khatrisher said. He cocked his head at the Romans in a gesture his people often used. “Do any of you know where you’re headed? ‘East’ covers a lot of ground, and you’re not from these parts, you know.” In spite of his gloom, Marcus had to smile at the understatement.
    Gaius Philippus said, “The Yezda can’t have run everyone off the land. There’s bound to be a soul or two willing to show us the way—if for no better reason than to keep us out of his own valley.”
    Laon Pakhymer chuckled and spread his hands in defeat. “There you have me.
I
wouldn’t want this ragtag mob of ruffians camped near me any longer than I could help it.”
    The senior centurion grunted. He might have been pleased at gaining the Khatrisher’s