Legio IX Hispania (13) (Patreon)

A respected Legatus had the freedom to run his legion more or less however he chose. But despite his successes, despite stabilizing the food supply and cementing the legion's place in new lands—despite freeing almost all of the tribunes from captivity and worse, Marcus did not yet command such control.

Past victories could carry him far—far enough that none of the cohorts had yet to raise any kind of challenge to his position. But technically speaking, Marcus didn't know how much of that came from their personal respect, and how much for lingering respect to the laws of the legion and the dictates of Rome.

They could complain about his office all they liked, but their own appointment would be no less irregular.

But there was another side to that arrangement—it meant sharing far more of his strategy with the legions than Cassius ever had, and allowing all to discuss his decisions in public. It meant a meeting like the one that morning. Each chief centurion was there, packing into all the available space in the command tent.

A few were still confused over the outcome of the “train” battle, or else terrified of the implications of the strange machine that had brought their enemy along metal tracks directly to their fortification.

Those would be difficult enough on their own, but that was far from the strangest part. Rumors of the Legatus talking to horses had spread far enough that three separate centurions asked questions about it. If he let that rumor reach much farther, they might begin to wonder if he had gone mad.

So before discussing the battle, he turned their conversation to other matters.

"Many of you have heard rumors of me," he said. He stood, adjusting the fine gold armor. Importantly, that put him above the leaders of each cohort, and even his newly-rescued tribunes. "I'm going to tell you something very difficult to believe. I wouldn't believe it myself, without very strong evidence. So I'm going to show the evidence as well. We have much to do, and no time to waste."

"That you've taken to talking to animals," said Hecticus. There was the usual hint of derision in his voice, kept at bay only by what respect he had left for the army. "The Equitae have made a number of unusual accommodations for the horses we captured from our enemy."

Marcus nodded absently. "I believe all of you can agree this land is not Gaul, nor is it any province of Rome known to the Senate or the Emperor. We dwell in the land of heroes now, of legends and myth. Or would you like to argue the fact that we have captured minotaurs as our prisoners? I believe they're digging a ditch not far from here as we speak."

Digging ditches, and hauling logs, and many other fatigues the army required. Though each group had to be kept separated and tightly monitored, their remarkable physical strength was too useful to ignore. Even the smaller members of their kind, the children and adolescents, could carry as much as a grown legionnaire with little effort.

So far, his troops had more success with these, since they didn't try to break away and kill anyone.

"No man would say this," Lucius said, before any other could interrupt them. "What have you seen that others have not, Legatus?"

He used the title each time, as though daring any man to question. None did.

"None could say these horses are like our own," Marcus said. "Their colors are natural in their coats, and many are endowed with strange features. The wings of the Pegasus, or the horns of unicorns. Not even in the Emperor's menagerie in Rome could such beasts be found. Some of you have seen them working the fields. They draw the plow without a man to direct them. Likewise, they have constructed... peculiar mechanical devices, that reap and gather and sow. They sort fruit, mend fences, and care for their wounded."

"This and more," said Rusticus, one of the tribunes. Despite their captivity, all had returned to service now. All except for Cato Caelius, who had apparently escaped on horseback before they could recapture the city. "We saw them take complex instructions from the minotaurs—even give information when requested. To my ears they were animals, but we heard them. That's how Tribune Caelius escaped. He persuaded one of the horses to carry him."

"And yet he has not returned," Quintus snapped. "We cannot deny what is before us, however strange. Whatever god carried us away, or whatever mistakes of navigation—we cannot deny or refuse what we see. This does nothing to assuage the rumors we have heard of your behavior, Legatus."

He gestured to one side, waving to Sorio. The old man hurried back out the tent door, to where servants waited for this moment.

"What I have not told any of you is that I have been... visited by a goddess of this land. She wished to grant it to us in conquest, to uphold the victory of Rome, so long as we gave one single respect in compensation."

He didn't stop now—couldn't stop, or else allow the officers frothing over with energy and anger to speak over him and prevent him from finishing the story. "I did not believe the goddess when she spoke to me. But she gave me information—of this settlement, and how we might find it. Of the land we now inhabit, and how we might find victory. I know much that I have not shared until now. I hesitated to reveal it to you, for I know many of you to be practical men—men of loyalty to our gods on the appointed days, but not overly trusting of their blessings on the battlefield. Is it not so?"

Several nodded. Others muttered to each other, but didn't dare object.

"None would question your, uh... honor, Legatus," said another officer. "You have your own career of distinguished service..." Yet even that, the officer spoke with some hesitation. The Equitae were an indispensable part of any legion, it was true. But no centurion would ever consider them the equals of their fighting men. "Accepting the truth of your account, we are all of us left with a question of some import."

"What did she want as 'compensation'?" Quintus demanded. "Rome has offered payment and compromise with barbarians before. Many of those lands supplied the fine auxiliaries that fight beside us. But those were oaths struck with men, who ask as men do. Payment in treasure or grain, cities to spare, puppet kings. What does a goddess demand? Your elevation as our new emperor, no doubt."

Marcus ground his teeth together. "For the Emperor I would die," he said, without hesitation. "For Rome's victory I would die. My loyalty is theirs forever. And yours as well, I hope."

"Of course," he answered, a little too quickly. "So would we all."

"The strange horses," Marcus continued. "That was the nature of her demand."

"In sacrifice?" Lucius asked. "So many good beasts?" The wealth they represented was quite significant—a single riding animal of fine birth and good training would fetch a higher price than the annual pay of a legionnaire. They now held hundreds.

"No. The goddess demands the opposite." As he said it, he heard more footsteps coming in, mixed with the heavy fall of hooves on wood. Even the command tent seemed small with a horse walking through it. This brought more stares, officers turning to watch as a single stable-boy led the animal inside.

Marcus continued, raising his voice to keep their attention. The pony watched too, with a comprehension they never showed around other people. "The goddess demands respect be given to her property. They may be employed in various duties, so long as we treat them always as the property of a god. If she ever appears before us, she expects to find them in good condition."

"None would waste a good beast," said another officer, dismissive. "Not all of these are such. Look at this specimen..."

They all did, and didn't have much choice. This animal was not fully grown—a filly with colors that were almost natural. This one had obviously been worked hard, and not fed well. Two weeks since the liberation of Appleloosa was long enough to bring some light back to her eyes, and fill out some of that sagging skin. She would grow slightly stunted when she matured, but she would live.

"Why have you brought this animal?" Quintus demanded. "Into your tent? Your servants do enough work without forcing them to sweep manure as well."

"When I spoke with the goddess, she granted me the gift of tongues. I am now as Asclepius, able to discern the minds of beasts and be understood in turn. The goddess granted me this gift that I might speak with these—that they might share their magic with us. In turn, we will show them dignity as we have never done to any animal."

"It's true what Braeburn said,'' the horse whispered. "The one with fancy armor can talk to ponies."

His officers reacted to her words with the same comprehension they might show to any other animal sound.

"I do not expect you to take this on faith," he said. "It is a strange claim I make, with stranger demands. This legion is alone in this land, without hope of reinforcement. I must have your trust before we begin our campaign. Thus I brought you here for a demonstration. You will see this power for yourself. When I give the order to break camp and march, you will know the legion fights in a divine cause, not the madness of one man."

"I would very much... appreciate such a demonstration," Lucius said. "I know I speak for many. Without the Emperor to send us a new man, you are the best Legatus this legion could hope for. But I would sleep easier with confirmation you have not indulged in too much sweet wine."

Several nodded their agreement—everyone who mattered. Those men who believed him without question had little of value to offer anyway. Even Quintus served an important purpose in the legion.

"Pony... I need your help for something." He spoke plainly, as much for the horse as the watching men. Both would understand him, though he still did not know how.

What happened next was more or less the same test he had used with Varius. He left, ponies watched, and he asked them what they'd seen. But this test included far more watching men, so more demands for evidence.

He answered all of them. He allowed horses to be taken away and shown things, or others to be brought back and interviewed about what the men in their company had done. Some of what he did was give them instructions, which they followed better than horse dexterity suggested.

It took hours, exhausting for every man and beast he brought. But in the end, even Quintus was out of objections and forced to admit the truth.

"I do not know how broad this blessing is," Marcus finally said, when they had finished. "But it has granted me insight I would not have otherwise. The time I spent with our prisoners—I was not going mad, but gathering information. I know the field before us now, and where we will advance."

He gestured, and another scribe deposited a stack of sheets on the table in front of them. "The legion will prepare to march. I leave the 7th cohort behind, along with many slaves and volunteers. You will build up this land as a fortress, to which we may withdraw if the need arises. The rest of you will prepare your cohorts to march."

Officers took their orders one by one, rose, then saluted. A few had more questions to ask, or pressed for changes in the marching order.

In the end, only the first horse remained, the little yellow one with an unnaturally red mane. "Mr... soldier guy..." she said, pawing nervously at the wood. "What about us? I got family in Ponyville—you gonna set them free too?"

He nodded to her. "For the glory of Rome. Your labor here will keep my army fed and ensure our victory. Don't worry about your treatment—you will not be subjected to the evil those minotaurs inflicted again."

The filly bobbed up and down in place, as though fighting with the urge to say something. Far more like a young woman than a misbehaving animal. If her words came to him through a wall, would he even know the difference? "Some of us wanna help. Fight, I mean. But we'd be better at it with our magic. Tirek took it all a long time ago—but if you could get it back, we'd be mighty grateful."

"Our goal is the same," he said. "Victory. For your freedom, and for the glory of Rome."

"Yeah," she said, laughing nervously. "Whatever Rome is."