I spend the morning frozen in the supply tent.
I understand Command’s predicament. I understand its solution. The phony report will be sent home to Macedon; it will be accepted without hesitation. Headquarters will publish it here throughout the army. No one who has signed it can then call it false. The Bactrians and Sogdians will be enrolled in the corps; they will bring in their cousins and brothers. It’s sound strategy. If I were a staff officer, I’d contrive it too.
But I still won’t sign.
One of the guards set over me is an Arcadian mercenary. Pole-mon is his name, a good fellow; I know him from the city-building at Kandahar. He sneaks me some stew and half a jar of wine. “What’s the bone?” he asks. Why am I being so stubborn?
I tell him about Lucas, how the truth meant everything to him.
“Mate, you don’t know how deep you’re in it. These fuckers aren’t dogging around.”
Yes, I say. “I’m sure they’ve got a story made up about me too.”
“Damn right they have. And I’ll sign it. We all will.”
Exhaustion has shattered me, but I can’t sleep. In my mind I see Lucas’s eyes. I can’t let him down. I steel myself for the worst that can be thrown at me. I will not prove false to my friend.
By midmorning the camp is boiling with action. Spitamenes’ trail has been picked up. Orders are being issued. Alexander’s brigades will push off by noon. Our company will rejoin its division. Everyone but me.
This is the keenest torture yet. I cannot be left behind!
I am kicked out of the supply tent, so its contents can be broken down into mule-loads for the march out. Back in the first tent, I can hear my mates outside, rigging up. I can’t stand it. New guards are posted over me. I’m supposed to sit and say nothing, but my jailers let up when Flag and Stephanos, mounted to move out, rein outside.
“Sign,” says Flag, with a look that communicates, “It’s all rubbish anyway.” Stephanos taps his skull, meaning don’t be such a hardhead.
I am taken away again. This time to the king’s precinct. Another tent, bigger, with compartments. I stew through midday. Where is my horse? Has she been taken care of? The portal opens; the captain from yesterday enters. This time he has a staff colonel with him. The colonel says he’s through pissing around. He slaps the document down and commands me to sign it.
I will not.
“Hell take you!” The colonel pounds the table. “Do you want to make me a murderer?”
I hold at attention.
“You are a disgrace! You discredit the Corps!” And he stalks out.
The captain still hasn’t spoken. He motions me to sit. He does too. He pours a cup for me from a pitcher. “It’s only water.”
I take it. The captain smiles. “Your brother Philip is somewhere out on the steppe. Otherwise we’d have him here, too, to reason with you.” He regards me. “But you wouldn’t listen to him either, would you?”
He takes a different document from a case and slides it toward me. “This is your rag sheet.” The record of my debts. The captain gives me a moment to scan it. It’s every tick I owe the army, for my horse, advances, allowances. The roll must run forty lines. “We’ll tear it up.” Next: my enlistment contract. “I’ll knock twelve months off.”
The captain meets my eye with a look that says, “Let’s cut through the crap.”
“You’re promoted to sergeant. You’ve earned a Bronze Lion; I see no reason not to make it a Silver. The award comes with two years’ pay. Bonuses on top, plus your oikos allowance. We’ll get your girl up to Nautaca. Make the winter a little warmer.”
He indicates the original report.
“You don’t have to sign. Just give me your word you won’t contradict its contents, verbally or in written communication.”
He’s very good. But each word renders me more furious. In my mind I see Lucas’s charred remains, being dragged in the dirt behind some Bactrian yaboo.
“You might as well kill me, sir, and get it over with.”
The colonel sighs. “By Zeus, you’re a hard knot.”
He stands. I’m waiting for the guards to come in and seize me. The portal rustles. I hear a step from the adjacent chamber. Light enters. A man follows.
It is Alexander.