“I need you to question these men, Achaemenes,” Pullus began, which the Parthian had guessed, and he nodded as he turned to address them.

  Barhinder was fascinated, and since Pullus was unaware of his presence, he stood listening intently as Achaemenes began speaking to the group of men. Who, Barhinder could see, were only slightly less frightened of the tall Parthian who was at least of a darker hue, but within a matter of a few words, he understood that there was a problem.

  “Primus Pilus, one of these men is saying that there are many war elephants in Honnavar,” Achaemenes informed Pullus, understandably excited.

  And, naturally, Pullus turned to call Caesar, but with his heart pounding, before he thought about it, Barhinder blurted out, “That is not what he said.”

  This stopped Pullus, who spun back to look at Barhinder, clearly surprised at seeing the youngster, which prompted him to ask more sharply than he intended, “And how do you know that?”

  “Because these people use the Tamil tongue,” Barhinder explained. “And what the people of Bharuch speak is Sanskrit, which is similar, but there are also many differences.” Encouraged when Pullus simply nodded at him to continue, the Bharuch youth felt his confidence growing as he continued, “So the word we use for elephants who are trained for war and those trained to work are different, but there is no distinction in Tamil.”

  Pullus considered, but it was Achaemenes who, not particularly caring for the manner in which this youngster was exposing his deficiency, shot back, “That does not necessarily mean that they are not talking about war elephants, if they use the same term.”

  “Yes it does,” Barhinder countered, not argumentatively but with a quiet confidence, and before either Achaemenes or Pullus could say more, he turned and asked the farmer who had spoken. A brief exchange took place, then with a smile, Barhinder turned back to explain, “You see, they do not call war elephants ‘elephants,’ they use another word for them that means…” He faltered for a moment as he tried to think of the proper term in Greek, “… ‘creature.’ That is how you can tell whether the animals they are referring to are made for war or not. And,” he finished confidently, “while there are thirty such animals in the town, they are not war elephants.”

  It may have been grudging, but Achaemenes thanked Barhinder, because he was grateful to have learned this distinction, even if it was not in the most flattering way possible, and when he resumed speaking to the farmer, he didn’t mind all that much that Barhinder was next to him. Fortunately, there wasn’t much more the farmers had to add, and in accordance with Caesar’s orders, they were released, for the simple reason that, as Pullus and his men had learned during their first foray into the countryside, the range of the peasants of India was restricted by how far they could walk, making it unlikely that they would go racing away to summon reinforcements from whatever place that they probably had never visited before. As they went trotting away, Barhinder retrieved the sack, handing that and the jug to Pullus, who grunted in what the youth had learned was the Roman’s way of thanking him, but he was totally unprepared for the moment when, once Pullus had taken a long swallow from the jug, he thrust it at Barhinder.

  “Translating must be thirsty work,” Pullus said this in Latin, recalling how Diocles had praised Barhinder’s progress, and he was rewarded with a cheerful grin as Barhinder accepted it.

  “Yes, it is,” he answered, in Latin that, while heavily accented with an inflection that Pullus realized would take some getting used to, was still understandable.

  On an impulse, Pullus said suddenly, “Come with me.”

  And, as was his habit, he didn’t wait, expecting to be obeyed, which Barhinder did, but only after exchanging a glance with Achaemenes, who could only offer a shrug, which, as it turned out, seemed to be the one universal gesture understood by everyone. This forced Barhinder to sprint to catch up with Pullus before the Centurion turned around, so he was slightly out of breath already when, realizing where Pullus was taking him, he was suddenly certain that he would faint.

  Caesar, seeing them coming, received Pullus’ salute, whereupon the Primus Pilus related what they had just learned from the Pandyan farmers.

  Then, he gestured at Barhinder, who had unconsciously stopped so that he was behind Pullus and hidden by the Roman’s bulk, which caused Pullus to growl, “Get over here where we can see you, boy.” Turning back to Caesar, Pullus said, “Sir, I think young Gotra here may be of some use to us.”

  Caesar, knowing that Pullus wouldn’t be wasting his time, indicated for him to continue, and the Centurion offered a brief explanation about Barhinder, his circumstances, and most importantly, why Barhinder was valuable to the Roman cause. Naturally, the youth was intensely interested, although they were speaking Latin, and with the rapidity that one would expect of native speakers. However, while he didn’t catch every word, Barhinder caught enough to be relatively certain about one thing, that Pullus made no mention of how Barhinder found himself attached to the Centurion.

  Once Pullus finished, Caesar didn’t hesitate, saying, “Have him attached to my staff immediately.”

  Pullus’ initial reaction was to stifle a groan as he cursed himself; of course that would be Caesar’s first response, but this wasn’t what Pullus had in mind.

  Aloud, he said, “Actually, Caesar, the reason I brought him here was to make a suggestion.”

  “Oh? And what that might be?”

  “There are others scattered through the army like Barhinder here. Although,” he allowed, “I know that, according to Diocles, he’s very bright and has picked things up quickly. What I would suggest is that we start out by finding the men who can at least speak Greek along with…” He turned to Barhinder to ask, “What did you call it? The tongue your people speak and what they speak here?”

  “Sanskrit,” Barhinder replied, staring at the ground so that he didn’t glance up and meet Caesar’s eyes; it was common knowledge with the others like Barhinder that the Roman general could kill men with a single look if he so chose, and while he felt reasonably certain that, given the matter at hand, Caesar wouldn’t do that to him, he was still unwilling to take the risk. “My people speak Sanskrit. The Pandya speak Tamil.”

  “Right,” Pullus turned back to Caesar, “that’s it. Sanskrit and Tamil. If we can find a dozen men out of them who can communicate with the natives, they can each be attached to a Legion, which would leave Achaemenes free for your own use.”

  Caesar’s first reaction was to argue, thinking that it was natural for Pullus to try and keep this youth, who he was amused to see refused to look anywhere near him. However, even as he was opening his mouth to tell Pullus to carry out his order, he thought it through and realized, with some chagrin, that Pullus was correct. He already had Achaemenes, and he had seen firsthand how worn down the young Parthian was when he had returned to Bharuch, forced to go out with every sortie out into the countryside. It had only been through the intervention of the gods that Achaemenes had been out scouting, or his corpse would be wherever those of Atartinus, Mus, and their men were moldering. Of all the challenges posed by this campaign, while the climate had proven to be the most difficult factor outside of actual combat, the strangeness of this land, which as Caesar and his army were learning seemed to increase with every mile farther away from the Greek and Macedonian influences, was proving to be as challenging in its own way as the environment. When he returned to his flagship, Caesar wasted no time in issuing orders to begin the process of combing through the small army of noncombatants for men like Barhinder. Only after this did he turn his attention to finalizing the plan for the assault of Honnavar, although it didn’t take long, and the sun was setting when the Primi Pili were summoned. To the surprise of none of them, hanging over the larger map that was their guide on this voyage was a smaller sketch of the town and its immediate surroundings, and they all saw the dark lines outside the outline of the town.

  “Does that mean what I think it means?” Pullus whispered to Spurius.

  “If you think that…”

  Before Spurius could finish, Caesar began and immediately answered Pullus’ question by announcing, “I have decided that it will only take one Legion to assault this town, and that it won’t require a protracted siege. And,” he turned and indicated one of them, “Primus Pilus Crispus has asked for the task of assaulting the town.”

  When the others turned their attention on him, Crispus simply shrugged and said, “My boys got stuck in Susa while you lot had all the fun in Pattala and Bharuch. They’re itching for a chance to get stuck in.”

  There wasn’t any comment, nor was there much surprise that a town the size of Honnavar didn’t require more than a Legion.

  “I will be diverting some artillery for the use of Crispus and his Legion,” Caesar said, “but I’ve already ordered the transfer to begin.”

  “Who’s going to be losing artillery?”

  If Balbinus’ question irritated Caesar, and was the cause for his answer would never be known, although Pullus had a strong suspicion by the manner in which their general replied, “Yours, to begin with, Balbinus. Although,” he held up a hand, “I am spreading it out. You and the other three Legions will only be giving up one ballista and two scorpions.”

  “What about naphtha?” Crispus asked. “How much will you leave us?”

  “Although you shouldn’t need it,” Caesar answered, then surprised Pullus by turning to indicate the large Primus Pilus, “thanks to a young man from Bharuch who informed us of a significant difference between the languages that turned out to be quite important, because the defenders don’t have war elephants.” Turning back to Crispus, he finished, “But I would suggest you be prepared and have two dozen or more crates near at hand. Also, in the event that somehow the Pandyan army with Abhiraka turns around and heads south, you’ll be in their path, but between the walls and naphtha, you should be fine.”

  With this matter disposed of, Caesar then returned his attention to the larger army, informing them that the fleet would resume with the incoming tide, which was estimated to be shortly after midnight. And, as usual, this meant there wasn’t much time for those Primi Pili, like Balbinus, to ensure that their one ballista and two scorpions were offloaded and rowed to shore. Pullus was just happy that he wasn’t one of them, and he decided to return to his ship, mainly to inform Diocles of the change in Barhinder’s fortunes. Which, he quickly learned, was unnecessary, as he entered his cabin to the youth talking excitedly, in Greek, to Diocles, while Balbus made no attempt to hide his boredom.

  “They’ve been chattering away like this ever since the boy walked in,” Balbus complained. He looked up from his seat accusingly at Pullus. “What did you do that makes him this excited?”

  “He helped the army,” Diocles switched to Latin without effort. “That’s what he did.” Then, switching back to Greek so Barhinder would understand, he said with undisguised pride, “I was just telling Barhinder how proud I am of him, and how blessed by Fortuna he is…”

  “Yes,” Balbus interjected, “he’s lucky that Titus didn’t kill him. Personally,” he sniffed, lifting his cup to hide his version of a smile, “I just think he’s getting soft in his old age.”

  Normally, talk of his near demise, which had been a topic of conversation before, aroused a number of emotions in Barhinder, including a fair amount of anger, because it inevitably led to thoughts of his friend Agathocles, yet this time seemed different somehow, which was why he said, “No, Master Titus is lucky that I tripped.”

  Whether it was his completely unexpected quip or the expression of shock on Pullus’ face, both Diocles and Balbus roared with laughter, although for the span of a heartbeat, Barhinder was certain he had blundered as Pullus’ expression seemed carved from stone.

  Then, Barhinder saw the barest flicker of a smile, but all Pullus said was, “Oh, is that what happened.” Then, his weathered features split into a grin, and he made a deep bow to the boy. “I thank the gods for saving me from you, Barhinder Gotra.”

  Before Barhinder could reply, Pullus reached over and cuffed the youth on the head, but to Barhinder, it was one of the best moments of his life as he finally felt accepted by Titus Pullus, and he smiled shyly up at the Roman, which even more surprisingly, Pullus returned.

  “Now,” Pullus said, “enough of this womanish behavior. I’m hungry!”

  Abhiraka, Ranjeet, and the three remaining senior Pandyan commanders who had at least appeared to accept Abhiraka’s fiction about their king and agreed to allow Abhiraka to continue leading the army approached Bharuch under the cover of darkness, using what by this point had become a regular spot for the army’s scouts to observe. He had tried to prepare himself, but when the sun rose and, for the first time in months, he saw the walls of his city seeming to glow in the illumination from the morning light, he couldn’t stop the tears from coursing down his cheeks and into his beard, which the others wisely ignored.

  “It really doesn’t look that different,” he finally remarked.

  Bolon, who was standing slightly behind his king, looked over at Nahapana who, understanding the signal, spoke up, “Your Highness, we’ve learned quite a bit about how these Romans are doing things inside the city.”

  The very manner in which Nahapana was speaking warned Abhiraka that he was unlikely to like what he was about to hear, but he had learned that it was unjust to punish men for telling him the truth, so he said, “Go ahead, Nahapana, tell me everything.”

  For the next few moments, Nahapana described how, after the initial period of turmoil and unrest, matters seemed to have settled down inside Bharuch to a point where the new conquerors had allowed the merchants of the city to resume their normal activities, albeit in a slow and methodical manner. What surprised Bolon and Nahapana was that what upset Abhiraka wasn’t this but the news about the canal project, and how they had learned that Rome was actually paying the citizens for the work.

  They understood why when Abhiraka said grimly, “I will wager that many of those laborers were men we used for the original project.”

  “Who,” Bolon said almost to himself, “we didn’t pay.”

  “No,” the king agreed, “we did not.”

  “But, Your Highness,” Ranjeet spoke up, “they also knew they were doing that for the defense of the city! They wouldn’t hold it against you for that just because these Roman dogs are paying them!”

  If this exchange had taken place a year earlier, Abhiraka would have agreed; the events of the intervening months had not only shaken him, they had opened his eyes to certain realities, and it was with these in mind that he shook his head and countered, “But we’ve never treated the peasants well, Ranjeet. No,” he held up a hand, “don’t deny it; we both know that we’ve never paid men for work when it came from the royal treasury. I,” he sighed, “didn’t want to spend money when I could just order men to obey me on pain of death.” Pointing at the walls, “Now that my people have gotten a taste of this kind of treatment, are they truly going to be happy when I return?”

  “They’ll do their duty,” Ranjeet snarled, “or I’ll make them pay for it!”

  Abhiraka looked up at his friend, then stood from his kneeling posture and patted Ranjeet on the shoulder, “One thing at a time, Ranjeet. One thing at a time.” Returning his attention to the city, he was silent for a span of heartbeats, visualizing the plan that they had been working on for days. “So we’re going to cross at the ford,” naming the only spot, almost twenty miles upriver to the east, “at night. Then we must remain hidden for the entire day and begin moving just after dark to get into position. As we’re doing that,” now Abhiraka turned to Bolon and Nahapana, “one of you, along with your hand-picked men, will use the secret entrance to get inside the city. According to your man…”

  “Balas, Your Highness,” Bolon supplied, seeing that his king had forgotten the man’s name.

  “Yes, Balas,” Abhiraka said, embarrassed enough to add, “and you must remind me to reward Balas when we retake our kingdom. So Balas is going to be there, along with three men that he trusts, and they’ll take you and three of your men to the buildings that he’s identified as the warehouse for the naphtha along each wall.” He paused, studying each man’s face, but they all nodded, and he continued, “While you’re doing that, the other two men who are going with you, Bolon, are going to make their way to the eastern gate, where Balas will have two other men to meet them, and they’ll wait for the signal to open the gates during the confusion caused by destroying their supplies of the demon fire.” Abhiraka stopped to look at the walls of the city, noticing that the southern gate had been opened and already people were walking down to the docks, where he could see the group of Roman soldiers who were always posted there, day and night in the four watchtowers that lined the dock, two men to a tower. There was also a hut that hadn’t been there that he had been informed served as the command post for the Romans on guard duty. Seeing the soldiers made him angry; seeing his subjects, going about their business, not knowing of the ordeal they would be facing at his hands, hit him with the force of a hammer, and it prompted him to speak in a manner none of them had ever heard from their king. “We are about to inflict a great deal of pain and suffering on our people, no matter whether we’re victorious or not.” He shifted his gaze to look at the other men, one at a time, before he asked, “Do you all understand this?” One by one, they all assured him with the same solemnity he was displaying that they did. Satisfied, Abhiraka returned to the final details by asking Ranjeet, “Are the rafts completed?”

  “They’re supposed to be finished by the end of today, Your Highness,” Ranjeet assured him. “You’ll see for yourself when we return to the army.”