In fact, I didn’t need to think up an excuse to take me to Eburacum. The legate left for the fortress next morning, taking his men and the fourth dragon with him, but before he set out he sent me a letter asking me to visit him early in January to discuss plans about the horses “and some other matters that have come up.”
I was pleased at the invitation, though slightly apprehensive about the “other matters.” I resolved to visit River End Farm as soon as possible, to give Pervica plenty of time to decide her response to the stud farm idea.
By this time, it was the middle of December, approaching the solstice, which we Sarmatians celebrate as Sada, the feast of the winter fire. The Romans celebrate a festival at about the same time, the Saturnalia in honor of the god Saturn, and we’d agreed at Cilurnum to celebrate the holy days together. I was busy making arrangements for this feast-all the officers were-but as soon as I’d recovered fully from the aftereffects of drowning, I decided to take a day out to ride over to see Pervica.
“I’ll come along,” said Longus, when I announced this to my fellows.
I looked at him suspiciously. “That is not necessary.”
“But you might want someone to advise you about the farm! I have a farm in the area myself; I know how many horses they can support. And you might want someone to translate for you-Lucius isn’t the only one who speaks British, you know.” When I still looked at him silently, he raised his eyebrows and said, “You’re bringing half your bodyguard anyway: you’re hardly expecting a cozy chat with the lady.”
I was bringing half the bodyguard only because I’d taken what Eukairios had told me in Corstopitum seriously and involved myself in a lot of exasperating precautions against murder. I’d told the men of my dragon that we must be on guard against intruders into our camp, who might be relatives of the Pictish dead, seeking vengeance: this was a perfectly sensible move in its own right, and it meant that no Britons crossed the palisade unquestioned. I was very careful of what I ate and drank-which had meant finding excuses not to share the food of my Roman colleagues. (I trusted them, on the whole, though with unhappy doubts about Comittus-but I didn’t know or trust all their servants.) I’d also made a will. And finally, I’d forced myself to accept that I must not go anywhere alone, certainly not when others knew where I was going. In spite of all this, I had hoped that I’d be able to talk with Pervica quietly and in some reasonable degree of privacy. I had been wondering whether what I thought I’d seen in her wasn’t a product of my own mind, confused from the touch of death, stunned and overjoyed to find itself still alive. Whether I loved her or not, though, I was certainly indebted to her for my life and bound to do what I could to repay her. I’d chosen a gift for her, and I hoped to be able to discuss the plan for the stud farm sensibly and thoroughly. In none of these things was it likely that Longus would help.
“Why do you want to come?” I asked him bluntly.
He gave one of his doleful grins. “Pure curiosity. But I think you ought to have a Roman officer with you. Have you thought of the effect on the inhabitants of a medium-sized British farm of the sight of sixteen armed Sarmatian horsemen galloping into their chicken run?”
I hadn’t. “The chicken run is at the back of the house,” I said. “We would have no cause to gallop into it. But come if you wish.”
In the end, there were twenty of us who set out: myself, with Leimanos and fifteen of the bodyguard; Eukairios, whom I wanted along to take notes; Longus; and Flavius Facilis-who, however, was not going to River End, but to Corstopitum about some supplies for the festival, and who only joined us for the ride. We were all armed. I would have preferred to leave the armor behind, but (exasperating precaution) thought I’d do better to wear it. Comittus stayed behind to mind the fort.
It was a chill, overcast day, but not actually raining or snowing, and we rode along companionably, discussing the preparations for the festival until we were close enough to Corstopitum to begin looking for the farm. I was glad of Longus, in the end, since I had never actually ridden to River End Farm and hadn’t been paying proper attention when I rode from it: we needed to ask directions, and none of the people we found to ask spoke Latin. Facilis abandoned us to our search and turned toward Corstopitum, saying that he would meet us on our way back if he could.
We found the farm shortly before midday: my heart rose when we saw the colonnaded wings of the courtyard before us, enclosed in a valley that the melting of the snow had left a deep green. I hadn’t noticed before, but you could see the river shining in the distance as you rode down the mud track to the farm gate. Sheep dotted the hills to our left, and I wondered if Cluim was with them.
There was a shout as we reached the gate, and when we rode up to the courtyard, the redheaded servant Elen held the front door open for a man I hadn’t seen before. He was a tall, solid man with iron gray hair, well dressed for a Briton, having a gold collar as well as a checked cloak with a fine pin. He stood in the middle of the porch with his legs apart and his arms crossed, glaring at us.
“Greetings,” I said, stopping Farna in front of him. “Is the Lady Pervica at home?”
“Are you that Sarmatian she saved?” he demanded.
“I am. Are you one of her servants?”
His face reddened and he glared harder. “I am Quintilius son of Celatus, owner of Two Oaks Farm, and a friend and associate of Pervica. I was here doing some business with her and advising her.”
I looked at him a moment. It was to be expected that an attractive young widow with a good farm had “friends and associates.” I would have to discover how friendly and how close the association was. “Greetings, Quintilius,” I said, politely. “May I ask that you tell the lady that Ariantes son of Arifarnes, commander of the Sixth Numerus of Sarmatian Horse, is here to speak with her about the stallion, as he promised?”
At this moment Pervica herself came to the door. She stopped, framed in it, and stood still, staring at me around the side of her “friend and associate.” The moment I saw her I knew that what I had felt before was not mere fancy. I smiled at her and she smiled back. I dismounted and pulled off my helmet, holding it carefully so that the long red crest wouldn’t sweep the mud, and bowed my head to her. “Many greetings, Lady Pervica,” I said.
“Many greetings, Lord Ariantes,” she replied, stepping around Quintilius and coming forward. “Did I hear you say you’d come about the horse?”
“Yes, Lady-and about another matter to do with horses, if you have time to discuss it.”
“Of course. But I rather doubt that all of you will fit into my house.”
I glanced back at my men, sitting on their steaming horses in their armor and grinning. “No,” I agreed. “But if you will permit them to build a fire in back, they will make themselves comfortable while we are talking.”
“I’ll see if we can find them some beer and bread,” she said. “Elen!”
“Pervica, no!” protested Quintilius. “I’ve told you, you should have nothing more to do with any of these barbarians! The gods know what the savages might take it into their heads to do-you’ve heard the stories about them! How can you-”
Longus burst out laughing. “Oh, tell me the stories about them, please!” he said, jumping off his horse and elbowing his way to the front. “I’m sure you don’t know half of it, but tell me anyway.” He bowed sweepingly to Pervica. “The name’s Longus, by the way, most esteemed lady, Gaius Flavinus Longus, senior decurion of the Second Asturian Horse of Cilurnum. I’m sure my friend Ariantes would have introduced me in another minute. I hope there’s room for me indoors. Unlike the Sarmatians, I prefer to rest indoors when it’s cold.”
The presence of a Roman officer silenced Quintilius, though he still looked deeply dissatisfied. Pervica smiled warmly at Longus, then turned to Elen and began giving orders about bread and beer. I turned back to my men and told them to go into the back and make themselves comfortable near the barn, but first to unload the present for Pervica from the packhorse and bring it into the house. Longus held the door for Pervica and followed her in; Quintilius, scowling, shoved in front of me. Leimanos followed me with the present, and after him came Eukairios with his tablets.
I clinked my way to the dining room, where I found a charcoal brazier lit for warmth and the rosewood tabletop covered with papers and a strongbox. Pervica stared when Leimanos appeared with the present. I’d rolled it in a carpet to keep it safe. “What’s this?” she asked.
“A gift, Lady,” I answered. “A small thing in token of my gratitude to you.”
“It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed, staring at the carpet, which Leimanos set down on the floor.
It was a good one, red wool patterned with galloping black horses and, in the center, a golden sun. I’d intended for her to keep it. But I smiled and knelt to unfold it. “This is the covering,” I told her, undoing the knots that secured the carpet. I lifted the top fold away. “This is the present. You said you disliked the painting in this room; I thought you might prefer this one.”
The painting was of a battle between the Greeks and the Amazons. I’d seen it in a villa I’d looted in Pannonia, and taken it home because one of the Amazons looked a bit like Tirgatao. She’d pretended not to like it for exactly that reason, so it hadn’t been in the wagons when they were looted. I’d brought it with me thinking it might be useful to bribe a Roman with, but hadn’t wanted to part with it, until now.
“Jupiter Optimus Maximus!” exclaimed Longus, staring at the painting, which was on a plank of wood about four feet long by two feet high. An Amazon astride a leaping white horse dominated its center, leaning down to slash at the fallen Greek below her, who’d caught her wrist and was pulling her off. Behind them horses danced, armor gleamed, cloaks flapped brightly, and beautiful men and women struggled with each other. The struggle did not seem terribly serious, and the battle was more of a festival frolic than a warlike contest. The whole painting bubbled with color and exuberance. The Amazon who looked like Tirgatao was in the upper lefthand corner, drawing a bow threateningly on a Greek in a gold helmet. You could see from the look on her face that she meant to hit him, but she’d probably kiss him afterward.
“This is really superb!” Longus observed, picking up the painting and setting it on the table, braced upright against the strongbox. “Where did you get it?”
“I had it in my wagon,” I answered misleadingly. “I have been told it was painted by Timomachos of Byzantium and is quite valuable.”
Eukairios made a strangled noise and dropped his tablets. “It’s not genuine!” he said.
“Of course it is genuine,” said Leimanos, offended for me. “The man we took it from wept, and said it was worth more than forty thousand denarii.”
So much for my restraint.
“You stole it?” asked Quintilius, as though this confirmed his worst suspicions.
“My lord took it on a raid,” Leimanos corrected proudly. “His planning and our strength had carried us almost to Segedunum, and we found the house of a former governor of Asia, a palace fit for a king. Ten alae of cavalry they had searching for us, and half a legion: we looted the house, drove off the cattle, ate, drank, and set out again. We met one ala and destroyed it, and went home safe to our own wagons.”
“Leimanos,” I said in Sarmatian, “these are Roman subjects. Telling them how we looted Roman subjects will not impress them.”
“If it’s that valuable, I don’t think I should keep it,” said Pervica quickly.
“It is less precious to me than my life,” I said. “If it pleases you, it would please me if you kept it, Lady.”
She shook her head. “I’ve told you already, you owe me nothing. I could hardly have let you die. No, it’s a lovely painting, a beautiful painting, and thank you-but I’d never feel comfortable with something worth forty thousand denarii hanging in my dining room.” She didn’t add that she didn’t want stolen property, either, but that was plainly the case.
I sighed. “If that is what you wish, Lady.” I gave Leimanos an angry glance, and he looked away, embarrassed and ashamed. He’d boasted to impress them with my importance, forgetting that Romans boast of different things.
“Anyway,” Pervica went on, trying to soften her refusal, “you’ve already done me a great kindness, Lord Ariantes. Thanks to you, my husband’s debts are all paid off.”
I looked at her in surprise, and she smiled. “I suppose I hadn’t told you directly. My husband had left me with debts totaling some eighteen hundred denarii-mostly to Cinhil here.” (I noticed that she called him by a British version of his name, and suspected that he only used “Quintilius” when he was trying to impress someone.) “I’d resigned myself to paying it off little by little for years to come. But with all the things your men gave Cluim, we paid everything. Cluim refused to touch any of it until we’d paid the debt. I was just collecting the note of the final discharge from Cinhil when you arrived. And Cluim still has nearly nine hundred denarii to spare!” There was such gladness in her voice that it shocked me: I realized how much the debt, which I had not been aware of, must have burdened her before.
“I am pleased, Lady,” I returned. “But that was the debt my bodyguard paid to Cluim. I have given you nothing.”
“Except thanks?” she asked, with the gentle ironic smile I remembered.
“Except those,” I agreed. “Leimanos.” I switched back to Sarmatian. “Take the picture out and see that it’s wrapped in straw to keep it safe on the way back; let her keep the carpet, anyway. And don’t come back in unless you can remember who you’re talking to.”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” he said miserably, picking up the picture. “I thought…”
“I know, I know. You’ve learned Latin faster than you’ve learned Roman customs. Well, she might have refused it anyway, and it seems you and the bodyguard have already given her a thing she really wanted.”
Leimanos went out, carrying the painting under his arm. The dark servant girl, Cluim’s sister, bustled in from the back of the house, carrying a pitcher of hot spiced beer and a dish of nuts. While the girl poured the drinks, Pervica asked us to sit down. The couch only had places for three, and Quintilius plonked himself firmly in the center of it. Longus sat down beside him, but I preferred the carpet, and sat down on it with my bad leg bent and my good one crossed under it; I set my helmet down beside me. Pervica did not recline on the couch, but found herself a stool at the end of the table. In the end Eukairios took the other place on the couch.
“I also wished to speak with you,” I told Pervica, as the girl handed me my drink, “about a different plan for your horse that might interest you.” And I told her about the plan for the stud farms.
She listened intently, and her first question was, “What would the set price for the foals be?”
“That would have to be settled,” I replied. “My scribe here, Eukairios, is very good with money. I have brought him to help you determine how much you should charge if you do decide that you are interested.”
“You’re not considering this plan?” asked Quintilius in a stern, masterful tone.
“Of course I am!” replied Pervica. “If the price was good, it would… it would make this farm everything poor Saenus always dreamed it would be! You know it would!”
“It’s nonsense!” snapped Quintilius. “There probably isn’t any serious plan to breed horses. This barbarian just wants some excuse to come here so he can try your virtue!”
The room went very quiet. Longus lost all his irony and looked alarmed. I was glad that Leimanos had gone. “You are unwise to say that,” I said, looking at Quintilius levelly, “if you mean by it that I would ever do anything to harm a lady to whom I owe my life.”
“What’s unwise in suspecting an acknowledged thief of dishonesty?” Quintilius replied. “It’d be a fool who’d trust you!”
“Oh, Hercules!” groaned Longus.
I looked at Pervica. “Lady, is this man your friend?”
“He is an old friend of my husband’s,” she said earnestly, “and he’s been very worried ever since he heard about you. I told you that there have been various stories about your people which have frightened many people. Please excuse him.”
“I excuse him, then, for your sake,” I said. “But, Quintilius, I would ask you to remember that we are both guests of this lady. You should not insult her guests in her house, out of respect for her, if you have none for them or yourself.”
“If I’d had any say in it, she’d never have allowed you into the house in the first place.” The masterful tone had become a bellow.
“But you had no say in it, and I am here. It seems to me that the lady is quite capable of managing her own affairs.”
Longus leaned back, shaking his head in amazement. Pervica gave me a look I couldn’t interpret, and began discussing the set price with Eukairios-hurriedly, before Quintilius could begin again. It didn’t take them long to work one out.
“So,” I said, when they’d finished, “I may tell the legate that you agree to the scheme, provided you get at least this much?”
“Yes,” she said firmly.
“No,” said Eukairios. “You’ll have to tell him she wants at least ten denarii more. He’ll expect to beat her down, my lord.”
Pervica and I looked at each other. I spread open my hands. “Trust Eukairios.”
“I believe I would,” she told me, smiling. “Now, how many horses do you think the farm could take? You’ll have to tell him that as well, and I’ve no experience in horse-rearing.”
“Pervica, you must not accept this scheme!” exclaimed Quintilius. “As your husband’s oldest associate and your closest adviser, I forbid it!”
Pervica got to her feet. “Cinhil,” she said evenly, “I’ve been grateful for your help, over the years, and for your patience about the money. I’ve heard your advice and I respect it. But I’m quite certain that we have nothing to fear from Ariantes-and for that matter, he’s proposing a scheme that would be administered by the office of the legate of the Sixth Legion, not himself. I can see absolutely no reason to reject it untried.”
Quintilius was on his feet as well, towering over her. “Pervica,” he began, “out of respect for Saenus…”-then stopped. For a moment he looked not so much angry as confused and betrayed. It was clear from the lady’s calm resolution that she wouldn’t obey his order, and he couldn’t enforce it. Then the anger came back, hotter and wilder, and he turned to me. “No!” he exclaimed angrily. “You’ve fooled the lady into thinking you’re harmless, but she’s not without friends. I forbid you to come here. Take your men and get out!”
I stayed where I was. “Lady,” I said, to Pervica, “does he speak with your authority?”
“No,” she answered, but she’d gone pale and looked distressed. “No. Cinhil, please…”
I got to my feet. I was taller than Quintilius, which was satisfying. “Do you wish to fight me, then?” I asked him.
At that he went pale as well, but he was resolute. “Yes,” he declared, “if it’s man to man, and you’ll take those gilded fish scales off.”
I took off my coat and began undoing the buckles on my armor.
“Please!” said Pervica. “Please don’t! Ariantes, he isn’t a soldier, you mustn’t fight him!”
“Ariantes,” said Longus, “look, I know he wants to-we can all swear to that-but if you kill him, they’ll still have to at least formally charge you with murder, and I don’t like to think what your men would do if we tried to arrest you. In the name of all the gods, leave him be!”
“Do not be anxious,” I told them. “I will try not to harm him.” I unfastened my baldric, set the sword on the table, and pulled off the scale armor cuirass. The woollen shirt and trousers I wore underneath the armor were only light ones; it would be a cold fight. “Do you have your arms with you?” I asked Quintilius.
He licked his lips. “N-no.”
“You may borrow my sword, then.” I unfastened the belt of the armored trousers and began taking them off as well.
Quintilius picked up the sword, which was very like a Roman spatha, the long slashing sword of the cavalryman. The hilt was gold, with a dragon’s head set with rubies forming a ring-clip on the end. He put his hand around it tentatively and drew it from the sheath; the blade gleamed with the serpent pattern of fine steel. He looked at it as though it might bite him.
“Is it too long?” I asked, setting the armored trousers beside the cuirass.
“I… I said I’d fight you. It will do.”
“I am sorry if you prefer the short sword. I have none. Do you prefer to fight on horseback or on foot?”
“On foot,” he whispered.
“Please!” repeated Pervica. “Please, this is pointless! Pointless! Cinhil, in the name of all the gods, apologize!”
“I’m going to fight the bastard here and now!” shouted Quintilius, abruptly going red again.
“I won’t have men killing each other on my property!”
Quintilius simply ignored that. He pushed his way out, through the door that led into the kitchen and the back of the house.
“Would you prefer it if we went up to the road?” I asked Pervica.
“No! I’d prefer it if you didn’t fight at all!”
“We must fight now. There is a code in such matters, and I at least could not back out without disgrace.”
“And what about the disgrace to me?”
“Lady, I swear on fire there will be no disgrace to you. I have been insulted and I will defend my honor, but the responsibility for that is not yours, but his. I must go before he says something stupid to my men as well.”
I hurried out, through the kitchen and into the backyard. My men had made themselves a shelter against the wind with some straw moved from the barn, built a fire in a sandy corner, and the cups and bowls of beer testified that they’d been relaxing comfortably. But they were all on their feet now and glaring at Quintilius, who was standing in front of the door clutching my sword nervously in both hands.
“Wait one minute,” I told him. “I will make them swear not to harm you if you should win.”
I pushed past him, went over to my men, and explained the situation to them. They were pleased-he had offended their sense of my dignity-and they grinned at each other and offered me their swords. I made them stretch their hands over the fire and swear that they would not harm my opponent or do any damage to his cattle, family, or property, in the event of my losing the contest. This done, I went back to the door. Quintilius had been joined by the others. Longus just looked resigned now, but Pervica and Eukairios were distressed.
“If you wish, we will go off your land and fight alone,” I offered Pervica.
“Not knowing what was happening would be even worse,” she answered wretchedly. “Please…”
Quintilius slashed the air with my sword, still holding it two-handed. The hilt was really too short for this, and he had to overlap his hands to manage it, but I supposed he was used to holding some weapon like that. “You haven’t borrowed another sword,” he said, harshly.
“No,” I answered. “Do you require any other arms?”
“Come on! Let’s get it over with! Go borrow a sword!”
I went back to my men and asked for a dagger. Their faces lit up, and they ran to fetch a coil of rope as well.
“Just a dagger,” I said, and the glee ebbed away. There was a moment of horrified silence as they realized I meant it.
“Take a coil of rope as well, my lord, please!” said Leimanos. “That at least!”
“He isn’t a warrior,” I told them. “A lasso and a dagger against a sword is almost even odds, and where would the glory be in that? Give me the dagger, and remember what you swore.”
“My lord,” said Leimanos. “Please… your leg might fail you..”
“Leimanos, I don’t correct you in matters that concern your own honor. Don’t correct me in matters that concern mine.”
They handed over a dagger reluctantly, and I walked back to Quintilius. He stared.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“You are unaccustomed to my sword,” I said, “and, if you will forgive my mention of it, you are somewhat older than I. Please allow me to even the balance.” I felt suddenly and overwhelmingly happy, light-headed with the old wild thrill: my life in my hands, death before me, and glory either way. It was an intoxication I hadn’t expected to feel ever again.
Quintilius almost refused the advantage-but couldn’t bring himself to, and the fact that he couldn’t enraged him. He gave a sudden howl of fury and leapt forward, swinging the sword into the air.
I could have stabbed him as he jumped, but I didn’t want to kill him and I was wary of his unorthodox method of fighting. I leapt sideways-to my right, so as to land on my good leg-and stepped back quickly. The sword came down, then heaved up again, and he ran after me, waving it wildly above his head. I jumped to the right again, then, since he was almost on top of me, hurled myself forward. He spun about; again I might have slipped under the sword, which he was holding insanely high, but I didn’t want to strike to cause serious harm. I jumped right, nearly crashed into the house wall, and jumped forward and to the left. I had to land on my bad leg this time, and it gave for a moment; I pushed myself up desperately-and saw that Quintilius had brought my sword down on the ground where I’d been, and buried it edgewise in the earth. I was astonished, and somewhat concerned for the blade. He heaved it out, bellowed, and ran at me, swinging it sideways this time. I dropped flat on the ground, and it whistled over my head; Quintilius tripped over me and fell. I rolled and got to my knees; he managed to sit up and swung the sword back at me, one-handed now. I caught it on the dagger and pushed. The knife slid up the sword-blade, over the guard, and sliced the backs of his fingers. He yelled and dropped the sword, then, to my amazement, balled his bleeding hand into a fist and slammed it into my face.
The world went red and black for a moment, and I heard behind me the angry roar of my men. Disbelievingly, I put my hand to my nose. Quintilius staggered to his feet. I covered my head just in time to keep the next bare-fisted blow out of my eyes. My left arm went numb. I struck upward with the dagger, blindly, and at the same time shoved toward him. Both the dagger and my shoulder hit something. He grunted; I dropped my arm, saw that the dagger had only sliced his sleeve but that the shoulder had caught him in the stomach.
This was no sword-fight. I grabbed the arm nearest to me in a wrestling hold and rose, throwing him over and onto his back with a thud, then turned, dropped to my knees on his chest, and put the dagger against his throat.
For a moment I thought he was going to try to rise anyway, but he didn’t. He lay still, gasping, and looked at me without expression. I wiped my nose with the back of my numb hand, and saw that it was streaming with blood. “What sort of fighting was that?” I asked.
“Shut up and get it over with!” he returned.
I took the dagger away from his throat and got up. “You did not even know how to hold a sword!” I said, still hardly able to credit it. I looked around for my sword, limped over to it, and picked it up. It was covered with dirt.
Quintilius sat up slowly, clutching his stomach, still gasping for breath.
“Look what you have done to my sword!” I told him, wiping my nose again.
Longus started to laugh. I felt a fool.
“Don’t you laugh at me!” Quintilius shouted-and gasped again. “Damn you!” He rubbed his stomach.
Longus offered him a hand to help him up. “I wasn’t laughing at you. You’re a brave man indeed, to fight Ariantes when you don’t even know how to hold a sword. He’s killed more men than you’ve got teeth in your head-ask his followers about it sometime. I wouldn’t fight him, and I’m a decurion. But I hope now you’ll admit that the lady has the right to say who is and who isn’t allowed in her own house. If you make him fight you again, he’ll probably insist on doing it blindfolded.” He pulled Quintilius to his feet and looked around for something to bandage the cut hand with.
Leimanos came over and took the sword away from me. He rubbed some of the dirt off and began examining it carefully for chips in the blade. Another of the bodyguard collected a handful of wool to mop up the nose-bleed. Then Pervica came over with a woollen rag instead. “You had better come into the house,” she said quietly. “It’s too cold to stand about in your shirt, and you should lie down with your head back.” I nodded and, pressing the rag to my nose and feeling a complete idiot, went back into the house.
A few minutes later I was lying on the carpet I’d brought, with my head back, and Quintilius was recovering on the couch while the rest of them stood about the dining table. Leimanos had found another use for the handful of wool, and was cleaning my sword. “People who cannot hold a sword have no right to expect a scepter-holder to fight them,” he said. He did not direct his comment to Quintilius, but he was careful to speak in Latin. “Herdsmen who cannot fight should keep silent before noblemen.”
“He is not a herdsman,” I said, through the rag. “He is a farmer. He owns land. Probably he has herdsmen working for him.”
“He fights with his hands, like an animal. I do not believe he even owns a sword.”
I shrugged, as well as I could lying down. “He owns a house, and probably he spends any surplus on it, instead of on swords. He owns a farm, and he spends his time working on it, and has no time to learn war, and expects other people to do any fighting that is needed. He is a Roman, Leimanos.
“ ‘Beyond the stars will stretch his lands
Beyond the paths of the sun and years
Where heaven-bearing Atlas stands
Turning the earth between his hands
On its axis of stars that burn so clear.’
“Or so say the Romans.”
There was a moment of silence. “Where the hell did you learn to quote Vergil?” asked Longus.
I didn’t answer. I felt foolish and depressed. My grand heroic gesture had ended in a fistfight, and I was realizing yet again the terrible gulf between the world we had inhabited before and the world we lived in now.
Pervica came and knelt beside my head. “Thank you,” she said. “You could have killed Cinhil and you took terrible risks to make sure you wouldn’t.”
“I would have been very ashamed to have killed a man who cannot even hold a sword,” I replied.
Quintilius made an inarticulate noise of anger and resentment.
“I… I have something that we found on the riverbank, that we thought was probably yours,” Pervica said, after a moment. “I think the water’s spoiled it, but I was meaning to give it to you. I’ll go fetch it.”
She left, and Longus took her place. “Can I just make sure that the nose isn’t broken?” he asked.
I lifted the rag and he inspected it. “No lasting damage,” he announced cheerfully. “You ought to wash your face: your beard’s full of blood.”
The bleeding seemed to have stopped, so I sat up and looked for something to wash my face with. Leimanos brought the bowl of water he’d been using to wipe the mud off my sword.
Pervica came back into the room carrying my bow case. “Is it yours?” she asked, holding it out to me.
I took it; as my hands touched it, I remembered Aurelia Bodica saying, I’ve given you the bow because they’ll think you were hunting- and her giggle as she pushed me toward the water. I sat still, staring at the water-stained red leather.
“What’s the matter?” asked Pervica.
“I remember drowning now,” I answered. I unlatched the case, opened it, and took the bow out to examine it.
“I’m afraid the water has spoiled it,” Pervica repeated.
“No. The case has an oilskin lining, see? It is quite dry inside. It must have floated downstream and washed ashore.”
“But the bow’s bent backward.”
I looked up and smiled. I’d forgotten that the Britons were unfamiliar with the recurved bow, with its layers of horn and sinew. There were no other units of eastern archers on this end of the Wall, and the native bows were weak and made entirely of wood. “They are always like that when they’re unstrung,” I explained. I slipped a string into the bottom nock, twisted the bow backward against my leg, and strung it. The string gave its sharp, buzzing hum as the bow pulled into its living shape.
“I thought you were hunting,” said Longus, puzzled.
“And?”
“So why was your bow in its case, unstrung?”
I looked up at him, then looked down at the bow. I bent it and unstrung it again, without answering. I put it back in its case. “Thank you,” I told Pervica. “They do not know how to make these here. My men can make them, but I think probably we could not get the best kind of glue here.”
“I’m glad it’s not broken,” Pervica said, smiling. Then she sat back on her heels and rubbed the top of the bow case with her thumb. “About the horse,” she said, watching her nail against the leather.
“Ah. I thought perhaps you might wish, after all, to keep him. He would be a valuable asset to the stud.”
“No,” she said, looking up and smiling at me again, “no, I can’t manage him. I’d like to give him to you.”
“If you kept him, you would have help with him. If you do not want to keep him, I must pay for him. I am far too deeply indebted to you to accept a gift.”
“You’re not in debt to me. That’s why I want to give him to you.”
“That is a woman’s reasoning. I do not understand it.”
“That’s a man’s arrogance. It’s perfectly clear. I’m out of debt, thanks to you, and I have a chance at real and honest prosperity. I won’t take anything more from you because of some imaginary blood debt. You gave me gifts today; I want to give one back.”
“You refused the gift I gave you.”
“You gave me the respect due a householder, Cinhil’s life-and a carpet. I didn’t refuse any of those.”
I smiled at her. “I am glad of anything I have done that pleases you.”
“Then take the horse.”
I wanted to laugh. “I will take the horse and train it for you, but you must keep it and the stud fees when the time comes to breed it.”
She did laugh. “Take it now, and we’ll talk about that when the time comes!”
When we left an hour later, it was with the stallion Wildfire tied beside the packhorse. To my delight, we also had Pervica’s agreement to visit Cilurnum for the forthcoming festival. Longus, to my great surprise, came up with a widowed mother and married sister in the fort village, and offered Pervica hospitality on their behalf. It seemed that the sister was planning to drive to Corstopitum to shop two days before the feast, and could meet Pervica there, escort her back to Cilurnum, and host her in complete respectability over the holy days. This guaranteed, Pervica was delighted to come. Quintilius protested, but feebly. I was enormously contented, and took pains to tell Longus that I was grateful for his help, and glad after all that he had come.
We were just leaving the farm track and turning back in to the main road when Facilis hailed us, and we saw him trotting toward us. We stopped and waited for him to join us.
“What happened to your face?” he asked me, as we started together down the road.
“He got into a fight with one of the lady’s friends,” Longus answered for me. “Oh gods and goddesses, it was beautiful!”
“What happened to the friend?” asked Facilis, in alarm.
“Cut hand. Ariantes was never going to kill him. I, and more importantly, the lady, didn’t want him to.”
Facilis grunted. “Stupid to fight at all, then.”
“It was the other man’s idea. Oh gods! I’m glad I came! Marcus, it was beautiful. This friend was a big solid landowner, Quintilius son of Celatus by name, and it turned out he’d loaned a lot of money to the lady’s husband and she’d been sweating blood to repay it. Reading between the lines, he hoped he could marry her and collect a tidy little property as well as the pretty widow. She thanked him for his patience about the money, but he wasn’t the sort that lets go easily; he’d taken advantage of the debt to bully her and badger her just as much as he could. When she saved the life of our noble friend here, though, his grateful bodyguard showered her with gifts enough that she paid off the whole debt, with half as much again left over. It was the last thing the landowner wanted. He was there when we arrived, taking the final discharge of the debt, warning her about the lusts and treachery of barbarians, and promising her his matrimonial protection yet again.”
“You do not know this,” I said, taken aback.
“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” asked Longus. “Leimanos, don’t you think it’s true?”
“I had not thought of it,” said Leimanos, frowning. “But yes, it is true.”
“You are inventing it,” I insisted.
“I’m not inventing a word!” exclaimed Longus. And he went on to tell Facilis about the painting and the conversation and the quarrel. “Quintilius was so beside himself with fury and frustration,” he concluded, “that he said yes, he certainly did want to fight-provided our friend shed his armor. Well, he was out of the armor quick as boiling asparagus, out in the yard, swore all the bodyguard to keep hands off the landowner, and loaned the man his sword. It was a nasty moment for me, I can tell you. And it got worse: instead of borrowing another sword for himself, he borrowed a little dagger. A dagger against a long sword! I started imagining five hundred enraged Sarmatians at Cilurnum swearing vengeance, and I was scared sick. But, Marcus-this is the best part-Quintilius had never held a sword in his life! He waved it about in the air like a pruning hook, and when he’d had his hand cut, he abandoned it altogether and punched Ariantes in the nose.”
Longus began laughing again. “You never saw anything like it. None of the Sarmatians could believe it. Leimanos here was purple with indignation and the rest of them were howling. It was an unnatural act. After all, the gods gave us hands to hold swords with, not to hit each other! Well, Ariantes ended it after that: he threw Quintilius down, sat on him, and put the dagger at his throat, just to make it absolutely clear that he could kill the fellow any time he liked-though that had never been in doubt. Then he got up again and picked up the sword, which the poor sod had used to hack the earth, and said, ‘Look what you have done to my sword!’ ” Longus had a wicked knack at imitating, and I imagine his impersonation of me, bewildered, indignantly wiping a nosebleed, was devastatingly accurate.
Facilis started laughing, and Longus joined him. “You were funny!” Longus told me. “Gods, you were!”
Leimanos tried to look offended-prince-commanders of a dragon, especially your own, aren’t supposed to be funny. But after a moment, he began laughing too. Another of the bodyguard rode up and asked him why, and he sobered quickly and said, “Flavinus Longus was saying how that herdsman fought, waving our lord’s sword like a pruning hook.”
At that, the bodyguard laughed too.
“So what did this Quintilius do?” asked Facilis.
“Not much he could do. Leimanos was announcing that commoners who didn’t know how to hold a sword shouldn’t expect the privilege of being chopped up by noblemen. And to tell the truth, I think that Quintilius had realized what a lunatic thing he was doing as soon as he had a look at the sword, and would have backed out then, if he could have: he certainly wasn’t eager for a rematch, particularly when I told him of our friend’s bloody reputation. No, Quintilius just sat and moped the rest of the time we were there.”
“And the lady?”
Longus grinned. “The lady Pervica is exactly what you might expect,” he declared, with great satisfaction. “Top quality from head to toe, a young widow of twenty-five, graceful, soft-spoken, and sharp enough to run a legion. She also, unless I’m much mistaken, has a will of iron. She doesn’t like being bullied and she wouldn’t have married Quintilius if he were governor of Britain. But she’s already made up her mind on a certain subject, and her only hesitation is whether the subject means it, or whether he’s just grateful. She’s had enough of other people relying on her gratitude, and has no intention of playing that game herself. I won’t say more, because the lady’s coming to Cilurnum for the festival; she’ll be staying with my sister, and I’m sure you’ll meet her. I think she may be about for some time to come.” He turned the grin on me. “Has it crossed your mind, Ariantes, that she won’t want to leave a good stone house to come live in a wagon?”
“We can settle that when the time comes,” I said contentedly. I thought privately that I’d sleep well even in a house, if I were sleeping beside Pervica.