The following day I received three messages.
The first, which arrived at about midday, was a very short letter from Facilis, who had gone druid-hunting in Corstopitum.
“Marcus Flavius Facilis to Lord Ariantes and to his freedman Eukairios sends greetings,” it said. “I found Cunedda. He was killed trying to escape. Farewell.”
My first reaction was one of relief: now the druid could inform on no one. My second was of shame: that had almost certainly been Facilis’ intention. The centurion had undoubtedly known how to do it: the few words in the ears of the Asturians he brought along to guard the prisoner (“Look, lads, you know what this fellow is. He’ll talk about some of your comrades if the law gets him”)-and then the offered opportunity, the guards apparently asleep or inattentive, the waiting horse, the struggle and the sprint and the spear in the back. Killed trying to escape. A minor disgrace to Facilis (“I caught him, sir, but there was no chance to question him”). For Bodica in Eburacum, anger and relief: she lost her chief adviser, but she was spared exposure. Release to Comittus and perhaps to some other moderate druids in the region-and to Eukairios, salvation. I wondered if the centurion had guessed what Eukairios was, and if that was the reason the letter had been addressed to both of us. It seemed very likely.
My scribe was certainly very shaken by the letter, understanding it as I had. I gave him the rest of the day off.
The second message, which Leimanos delivered to me about the middle of the afternoon, was from Arshak.
“He made no problems about the safe conduct,” my captain reported, “and he treated me honorably. He was pleased with your message, and said to tell you this: ‘Son of Arifarnes, I am glad to see that you haven’t Romanized away your courage. My blood is royal, and I will meet you as what I am. Meet me as what you were, and I will drink to my victory from your skull.’ ” Leimanos gave a snort of anger and contempt, then continued, “The Romans in Condercum, I’m certain, suspect nothing-though they’re unhappy with him, because his men quarrel with theirs and he does nothing to stop them. Half the dragon was confined to barracks when I arrived, and a man had been executed for dueling. When Arshak went to River End he’d slipped out without permission, and now they have the Dalmatian troops from Vindovala guarding all the gates. It was hard to breathe in that fort, my lord, the air was so thick with anger: I thanked the immortal gods for Cilurnum. The Romans were pleased to think that Arshak would go hunting with you. They’d heard that we manage things better here, and they hope you’ll convince him to behave less arrogantly. Arshak is perfectly happy to take precautions against his liaison officer discovering anything and has no argument with a delay to arrange things. He suggests twelve days, in fact, rather than ten, and we tentatively scheduled the meeting for the twenty-third of the month.”
I frowned at this. This patient caution was not like the Arshak I knew. I wondered if his allies had another scheme under way. Aurelia Bodica must feel threatened by the proposed druidical convocation and the investigations now being carried out in Eburacum and Corstopitum. She would certainly try to move quickly if she could.
“I would prefer ten days to twelve,” I told Leimanos. “Shall we say, eleven? I will send to suggest it to him-let Banadaspos take the message this time. Did you find a place for the meeting?”
“Not yet. We’ve agreed to look between Hunnum and Vindovala, about ten miles away from both of us, and to send a messenger when we’ve found somewhere suitable.”
“I hope he understands to send his messenger care fully The Romans here are less ignorant than the ones in Condercum. Facilis in particular is hard to fool. If he discovers that I’ve had any dealings with Arshak at all, he’ll suspect.”
“Arshak does know we have to be cautious, my lord. And he is very eager to fight you.” Leimanos looked me over anxiously, appraising my strength for the meeting. He was unhappy with what he saw. “I hope that your leg…” he began.
“If I have to use my leg, I am a dead man. I will rely on Farna’s.”
He didn’t like it, and I could see him remembering what I’d been like on our raids, comparing it with my crippled present. He sighed. “Yes, my lord.”
The third message arrived at night. I had just gone to bed when Eukairios came and knocked on the side of my wagon, and I got up to find him standing outside in the frost. It was the dark of the moon, and the campfire had died to embers: I recognized Eukairios only by his voice. With him was another man whom he introduced as Protus, his friend from Corstopitum, a scribe in the office of the municipal archivist.
I jumped down from the wagon, pulling on my coat. “I believe I am much indebted to you,” I told Protus, shaking his hand. “You sent Eukairios a letter, did you not, when Gatalas mutinied?”
“You’re not indebted to me for that,” he told me. “I’ve never been so glad of anything I’ve done in my life as I was of sending that letter. God must have helped me write it. If you and your men hadn’t arrived so quickly, the barbarians would’ve sacked Corstopitum. I’ve brought you another letter tonight, Lord Ariantes. I borrowed a horse and rode over with it when I’d finished my work, because the person who gave it to me said it was urgent. It came from Eburacum.” He set it in my hands. The wax seals were stamped with a curving pattern my fingers recognized as a dragon cloak pin. Siyavak.
I thanked Protus and asked him if he needed food (he did, and I had one of the bodyguard search out some bread and leftover stew for him) and a place to sleep (he said he must ride back to Corstopitum that same night, as he was expected at work in the morning). While he was eating the stew by the rebuilt fire, I lit an oil lamp and took Eukairios into my wagon to read me the letter.
It was everything I could have asked for. Arshak and Bodica had accepted Siyavak as theirs, and he knew names and places and points of assembly enough to damn them both. He set it out in a few lines, short, sharp, and deadly. The letter concluded,
Recent events have alarmed her. There is opposi tion to her plans among the druids, and talk of a convocation which she fears may condemn her. She has decided to risk moving at once, before it can meet. Arshak has been asked to mutiny on the twenty-fourth of January, and there is to be an inva sion of the Selgovae and Votadini at the same time. She wants my dragon to mutiny on the same day; she has allies within the legion [and he gave names] who will mutiny with us, and let us out of the fortress if things go badly. There are also to be uprisings in [and he gave more names and places]. I have sent this in haste. If you act quickly, Prince, they are in your hands, but if you delay, we are ru ined. I will not mutiny, but if I speak defiance to her openly, my life is ended. For the love of honor, act at once! She is a witch and a servant of the Lie and I am afraid of her. I was glad, the god knows it, of the letter you left with me, and the man who writes this letter has spoken comfort to me, but the night is dark. I await your answer.
He had dated the letter the sixth of January, which was the day I’d left Eburacum; it was now the eleventh. The triumph was like a blaze of lightning. We could strike in force.
I dictated a reply on the spot:
Ariantes to Siyavak lord of the fourth dragon sends greetings. Lord, by your courage and loyalty, Gata las is avenged. Have no fear of me or my love for honor. I will act at once, and our enemies will be destroyed. For your part, continue your pretense and allow yourself to be arrested with the conspira tors, for thus you will be safe from their vengeance. As soon as they are secure, you will be released and honored for your loyalty in revenging your lord’s death. This I swear on fire.
I signed the letter, sealed it, and brought it out of the wagon. I was so stiff with excitement and joy that I wanted to shout. Protus was just finishing his stew. (The firelight revealed him as a round-faced man a bit younger than Eukairios, plainly dressed and with identically ink-stained hands.) Leimanos and Banadaspos had both appeared, tousled and sleepy, from their own wagons, which were, of course, nearby. They were convinced that something was up and determined not to miss it, and they sat watching Protus sullenly: another of their lord’s foreign allies, involved in plans from which they had been excluded.
“I am indebted to you,” I told Protus. “You said you had borrowed a horse: may I give you one?”
He gaped. “I… I couldn’t keep a horse, Lord Ariantes! I don’t have the money or the place to put it. And I can barely ride.”
I went back into the wagon and fetched my last gold drinking cup-the others had all gone in bribes-and went to the supply of silver I’d put under the bed to keep handy. I filled the cup with silver and brought it out to Protus. “Take that, then, in token of my gratitude to you for riding over tonight,” I told him. “Another man might have left it until the morning. When do you ride back?”
“I have to go as soon as I’ve finished eating, sir,” Protus stammered, looking from me to the cup and back again. “I don’t dare be away from work in the morning. I’d be beaten for it. I… These are denarii! Lord Ariantes, you can’t mean-”
“I said it was a token of my gratitude. Do you think my gratitude is cheap? Here is an answer to the letter you brought; I ask you to see that it is sent with the same haste as the one you delivered to me. If you are leaving now, we will have your company on the road.” I turned to my captains and switched to Sarmatian. “Leimanos, Banadaspos, our enemies are in our hands, and they will be ruined before the month is out! Tell the bodyguard to arm: we ride tonight.”
They both jumped to their feet, sullenness vanished in triumphant delight.
“Tonight?” Eukairios echoed, in Latin, behind me.
“Tonight, and you as well,” I told him, switching back to that language. “If you can sleep now, I admire your coolness. Facilis is still in Corstopitum, and we will need his help. We might as well ride now as in the morning. Leimanos, I’m leaving you in charge of the dragon.”
“My lord…” began Leimanos, ready to protest.
“There won’t be any fighting,” I promised him, back in Sarmatian again, grinning. “They will die by ink and a few leaves of beechwood. I only want the bodyguard to protect my back. Eukairios, be sure you bring writing supplies. Leimanos, I’ll tell Longus where I’m going as I leave. Don’t bother Comittus about anything to do with this.”
“You said he was innocent!” objected Leimanos.
“And so he is-but he has friends who aren’t, and is it honorable to ask him to assist in their destruction? Do you know if Longus is in his house?”
“He said he was going to Fortunatus’ place.”
“Good. Someone point it out to me, and I’ll say good-bye to him there.” I clapped my hands. “To arms!”
A few minutes later we were galloping out from the camp, thirty-one armed Sarmatians and two rather stunned scribes. It was just over an hour later when we rode into Corstopitum.
We dropped a shaken Protus off by the municipal buildings, and rode up to the gates of the military compound shortly before midnight. The guards were initially alarmed to see us, but relaxed when I asked for Flavius Facilis: they knew he was investigating the druidic murder, and midnight alarms were to be expected in such a case. They admitted us, sent a message to the commandant’s house where Facilis was staying, and allowed us to stable our horses in the military stables. When we arrived at the commandant’s house, it was to find the lamps lit and Facilis and the prefect of the Thracians, Titus Ulpius Silvanus, sitting in the dining room looking anxious and sleepy, waiting for us.
“What the hell are you doing galloping into Corstopitum at this time of night?” was Facilis’ greeting to me.
“I have had some important news,” I told him. “But there is no need for all of us to stay awake for it. Lord Prefect, is there anywhere for my men to rest?”
I managed to send him off to sort out the barracks, and as soon as he was gone, I handed Facilis Siyavak’s letter.
The centurion read it with a look of growing disbelief, and when he’d finished, sat staring at it numbly. “Jupiter Optimus Maximus!” he exclaimed, and looked back up at me.
I ran my forefinger across my forehead and around the side of my head.
“Gods!” he agreed. “This will finish them! The other names you got were good: that Cunedda had kept a ring that belonged to that poor bastard of a carpenter he sacrificed, which pins the murder on him, and now that he’s dead, there’ve been people coming forward to inform. The countryside and most of the druids in the region have turned against his sect. I thought now we could start to put up a fight. But this! This is the Venus toss on the dice, and the other players are out of the game shirtless.”
“There is not much time,” I said. “We should move at once.”
Facilis nodded. “We need to write some letters.”
When Titus Ulpius came back in, yawning, we had the writing leaves out and were sharpening the pens. “What’s happened, then?” he asked.
Facilis looked at him reflectively a moment-then he handed the letter to him. The prefect began to read it in a mumble. He stopped yawning after the first line; after the fourth, he stopped mumbling and read silently. He looked up at Facilis, wide-awake and terrified. “Is this true?” he demanded.
“Yes,” replied Facilis steadily. “But you don’t need to take our word for it. When those bastards are arrested, they’ll find proof of the lot, I’m sure of that. We need to get them all at the same time, so that they can’t warn each other and hide the evidence. Best if it’s done just a day or so before the uprising’s scheduled to begin. You’re prefect of a cohort, Titus, you can help. I don’t have the authority to order what I need to, and nor does Ariantes.”
“But the legate…”
“We tell the legate.”
I made a gesture of caution, and the centurion turned on me. “You said you’d tell him when you had evidence, and by all the gods and goddesses, you’ve got it now. Nobody’s going to arrest you here, with your own men at hand, and once he’s arrested this lot, it will confirm everything. We tell the legate: you can dictate the letter yourself. But we tell the others, as well-the officers of all the forts involved-just in case he doesn’t, or can’t. And we write the governor down in Londinium.” He turned back to Titus Ulpius. “Do you have a license to use the post? Then we send a fast courier off first thing in the morning, to Eburacum first, and then to Londinium. We give him strict instructions that the letter to the legate is on no account to be given to him if his wife is present. Come on! Let’s get started!”
Letters. “Ariantes, commander of the Sixth Numerus of Sarmatian Horse, Titus Ulpius Silvanus, prefect of the First Thracian Cohort, and Marcus Flavius Facilis, centurion of the first order, hastatus of the Thirteenth Gemina, to Quintus Antistius Adventus, legatus Augusti pro prae tore, governor of Britain…” “Ariantes… to Julius Priscus, legate of the Sixth Victrix, many greetings. My lord, when we spoke in Eburacum I swore that when I had evidence, I would give it to you. I have been informed that…” And letters as well to the prefects of half a dozen forts scattered around Brigantia, to the grain commissary, which was responsible for all intelligence operations, and to Marcus Vibullus Severus, Arshak’s “liaison officer” at Condercum. Eukairios and Facilis wrote; I dictated; Ulpius, subdued and frightened, signed.
At four o’ clock in the morning the letters lay in neat stacks on the prefect’s desk, carefully sealed, the names of their addressees written neatly across the back. I looked at them, and thought how strange it was to fight a battle that way, boxing an absent enemy into a death cell by words scarcely whispered aloud. And even as I thought it, I realized that my part in the battle was over already. The letters would be sent. They would reach their destinations. All over northern Britain, men would be put under surveillance and houses would be searched, and a few days later, an uprising would be strangled the day before it could begin. The elation I had felt vanished suddenly and absolutely in a tide of grief. I was glad I was fighting Arshak, and would never see him arrested. I wished I’d agreed to fight him at once.
“Arshak won’t be imprisoned,” Facilis told me. He had written that letter. After a moment, he added, very gently, “I think that most likely he’ll die resisting arrest.” I looked up and saw him looking at me with almost as much tenderness in his heavy face as he’d had when he looked at Vilbia and her baby. “You were grieved for him,” he said.
“Yes,” I replied. “I am grieved.”
“Go to bed,” he told me. “Nothing’s going to happen for days, and there’s nothing more for you to do when it does.”
But when I returned to Cilurnum the following afternoon, I found that Arshak had sent a messenger to arrange the location for the duel.
THE NEXT NINE days seemed unreal. The real war that I had launched had flown like an arrow from the string, and I saw nothing more of it. Arshak agreed to my suggestion of eleven days from the time I sent Leimanos, and the meeting was set for noon on the twenty-second of January. The business of the camp continued as peacefully as sleep. I drilled myself with the spear and the sword until my arms ached, and worked Farna until she’d obey a breath. Leimanos rode out to inspect the meeting place, and returned to say that it was acceptable. I waited in silence for something to happen, but nothing did.
On the evening of the twenty-first I summoned all the captains and told them what I was going to do. They had heard, from the bodyguard, what Arshak had done, and they would have been horrified and ashamed if I hadn’t agreed to fight: they approved my announcement with a shout. They were less happy when I made them promise to say nothing about the duel until it was over, forswear revenge, and promise obedience to the Roman authorities, but they did as I required. I rose early next morning and sacrificed to Marha as the sun rose, praying for his protection. The fields were white with frost, and glittered pink in the early light; the bare branches of the trees burst with transient flowers of ice. It was good weather for fighting, clear and dry, and I judged that the frost would vanish as the sun rose. I armed myself and saddled Farna with her blanket of armor, but didn’t mount her: there was no point in tiring her on the journey to the meeting place. I wanted her to be fresh for the combat, and I mounted Wildfire instead. I rode through the fort with my bodyguard behind me, as though we were going out for a gallop to exercise our horses. But I turned aside into the village and stopped at Flavina’s house.
Pervica came to the door; she must have heard us jingling down the street, and rushed from dressing, because her hair was still loose over her shoulders, and she was in her stockinged feet. I dismounted, came over to her, and kissed her.
“It’s today, is it,” she said, in a flat voice.
I nodded. I took one of her hands and kissed that as well.
She closed her eyes. “I pray to all the gods you come back!”
“So do I,” I said. “The omens are good.”
She opened her eyes again, and linked both hands behind my head. Her face was so lovely it made me want to weep. “I haven’t told anyone,” she said. “And oh gods! I’ve wanted to.”
I kissed her again. “I trusted you would not.”
“I’m never going to be able to tease you, you know,” she said, as though this were the thing that mattered.
I smiled. “Not everyone is the sort that does. Besides, everyone else laughs at me here: better not to receive it from my wife as well. Good fortune, Pervica.”
“The only good fortune I want is for you to come back! Come home!”
I kissed her hand again, touched it to my forehead, and got back on my horse. I did not dare look back as we rode out of the village.
It was a white, shining morning of clean bright air and radiant skies, and as we rode along the military way I was light-headed with joy at the beauty of it. The golden stone of the Wall running up and down the crags, the green of the grass, the sheep grazing, the blue hills falling away to our right, a small brown bird pecking at a delicate sheaf of orange berries-everything seemed full, bursting with a splendor that took it out of itself and filled it with glory. I repeated to myself, tempting my own delight, all the things I would never do if I died before the evening. I would never ride Wildfire into a city or greet my brother Cotys when he arrived in Britain. I would never learn to write, never own a house, never see my schemes to breed horses come to fruition in a field of healthy foals. I would never marry Pervica, never sleep with her, never see our children. I would never reach the Jade Gate.
I laughed. Leimanos edged his horse beside Wildfire and looked at me questioningly.
“We never saw any griffins,” I told him. He had come along on that journey.
He looked puzzled.
“When we rode east,” I explained.
“Oh! No, my lord.” He was still puzzled. After a moment, he added, “We saw plenty of other strange things, though. Do you remember the tiger?”
“Yes,” I agreed, contentedly. “It’s a lucky man who leaves his life complete.”
“My prince,” he said firmly, “I trust Marha that you will not leave your life today.”
“It’s in the hands of God,” I replied. “I’m not afraid.”
We rode through the infantry fort of Hunnum just past the middle of the morning, and it was still before midday when we turned off the road. Leimanos, who had inspected the location, led us across two fields, over a stream, and into a patch of woodland. In the middle of the wood was a large clearing, with a charcoal burner’s hut surrounded by ash heaps; it, and the woodland, were empty. I realized that I’d seen it before, in a dream. It was another good omen, but I could not tell Leimanos, though I knew it would reassure him. What I felt that morning was a joy so private that I could not speak of it at all.
I had dismounted to inspect the ground, and my men were building a fire to warm themselves, when Arshak and his party arrived. He left his followers beside mine, by the hut, and rode over to greet me. His armor gleamed golden as he rode out of the shadows of the trees into the sunlight at the center of the clearing, and I stood holding Wildfire’s bridle and smiling as he approached.
“Greetings,” he said, stopping in front of me. “Is the ground acceptable?”
“Greetings,” I replied. “I have no quarrel with it.” I remounted Wildfire and gathered up the reins. “Shall we take the oaths from our men? Or do you wish to rest your horse first?”
“It was a short ride,” he said, smiling back at me. “We’ll take the oaths now.”
We rode back to the hut, where my men had started the fire, and first one party, then the other, stretched out their hands above the freshly smouldering heap of charcoal, and swore that the contest would end with the death of one or both contestants, and that no revenge would be taken.
“What shall we do about the body?” asked Arshak, when that was finished.
“I believe you had a plan for a drinking cup, if the gods favor you,” I replied.
He smiled. “True-but your friends the Romans might disapprove.”
“You don’t care about that, do you?” I asked. I could have added, “You are assuming that you only need to hide the body for two days anyway”-but I didn’t. The exaltation I felt would only be cheapened by triumphing over him, and I might endanger the lives of his colleagues at Condercum if I spoiled their preparations. “The corpse can be buried here,” I said instead. “But the Romans are likely to find out and arrest the survivor anyway. You’re not afraid of them, are you?”
He smiled again, then suddenly extended his hand to me. “I’m glad it ends like this, Ariantes,” he said. “For what my allies tried to do, I am sorry.”
I shook his hand. “Spoken like a prince, Arshak. I’m glad to settle with you.”
We turned back, each to our own party, and made the final preparations. I tightened the girths on Farna’s saddle, checked the buckles of the armor, and unfastened my bow case, handing it to Banadaspos. I took off my coat and passed it to Leimanos, and mounted. My men spread out down one side of the clearing from the fire; Arshak’s down the other. I looked at Arshak, now sitting high in the saddle of his white Parthian mare. “You are a king’s nephew,” I told him. “I yield the honor of first choice of position to you.”
He bowed his head and, without another word, rode into the center of the clearing; he made the mare rear up, gleaming, and turned her, lifting his spear. I nodded. He understood as well as I did that my hope was in the training of my horse, and he would make me come to him. I turned Farna and cantered her round to the west end of the clearing. The sun was high and would not get in his eyes much, but it might yet help. I raised my hand in salute to it, and saw Arshak answer with the same gesture. I was perfectly content when I lowered my spear and touched Farna into a gallop toward him.
He did not move from his place, only braced himself in the saddle, holding his spear ready. I watched his face as I approached rather than that bright edge: I knew he could move it quicker than I could see. When his eyes flickered, I dropped from the saddle sideways and touched Farna to make her veer off; the tip of the lance whispered through the air above my head, and I heard a shout from the onlookers. I stabbed toward him with my own spear as I passed, but he had already kicked his mare and made her bolt out of the way. I slithered back upright, spun Farna about on her hindquarters, and started her back. His horse was a shade slower than mine and was still turning; he had twisted and was looking at me over his shoulder, grinning with excitement. My chance. I braced myself for the impact, aiming the tip of my lance at his chest.
He kicked his feet out of the stirrups, spun in the saddle, and swept his lance across sideways. It caught me on the left side; my spear was swept out of line, and I almost fell. I pressed my face against Farna’s armored side, trying not to clutch at the saddle in case I dropped my spear. I was slow to pull myself back up; my left knee ached, and would not obey my command to lift me, and I’d almost lost my right stirrup. Over the shouts I could hear the hoofbeats of Arshak’s mount following me.
“Go, sweet one,” I told Farna, nudging her with my elbow since my feet and hands were busy. She flicked her ears and lengthened her stride, staying ahead of the other. I managed to get my right foot back fully in the stirrup and push myself upright. Arshak slowed his mount, straightening his spear. I galloped round the ring once, the onlookers merely a blur of metal, collecting myself again. Arshak followed on the inside, then turned his mount and rode in the opposite direction, speeding up again. Again I watched his face as he galloped toward me.
There was no flicker of the eyes this time: they were fixed and merciless, impossibly blue. I veered Farna sharply left, turned her almost on top of the onlookers, and galloped in the opposite direction, with Arshak galloping after me and his men jeering. “Run, darling,” I whispered to her, and she heard and galloped with all her brave heart, gaining lengths. When I had space, I turned her again, into the center this time, and tried to cut in beside my opponent. But he dragged his mount to a halt and waited for me with his spear braced. I veered off again and circled round once more. Arshak again galloped in the opposite direction, bearing down to meet me. I veered left, right, left again; the spear point followed me unerringly. I brought Farna rearing to a halt, spear level, bracing myself for the impact.
He ducked as his mare took the last few steps, dropping so quickly that my spear hissed through the air above his shoulder, and his own spear twisted down so fast I had no idea where he’d aimed it, until I felt the pain white-hot in my bad leg. Through the shouts and the burning I could hear, small and distinct, the snap as the weak bone broke. Gasping, I whipped my spear about sideways, but he brought his free hand up, and the shaft slapped into his palm. His fingers locked on it, and I was too dizzy with pain to hold on. Somehow I drove my left heel against Farna’s side-and the twist of the bone as I did nearly made me scream-and she leapt sideways. The spear lifted my leg, tugging as it came out, and I could feel the blood gushing warmly down my shin. Farna galloped in the direction I’d sent her. I glanced back, and saw Arshak wave my spear triumphantly before flinging it to the ground.
It would have to end quickly, or I’d faint from the bleeding. I drew my sword, and fumbled with stiff fingers at the buckle of the baldric. It came loose, and I tore off the sword’s sheath and coiled the long leather strap about my hand. Arshak was waiting for me, watching, grinning triumphantly. The edge of his spear was dark now.
I turned Farna round to the right-it had to be to the right, my left leg wasn’t working-and cantered back toward my opponent. “Good girl,” I whispered, leaning forward onto her neck. Sweet, steady, patient Farna: I’d been right to choose her from among the thousands of horses I’d once owned, and take her with me. Holding the sword low against the armored blanket, looking up to watch Arshak’s face, we galloped up for the last time. My only hope was that he thought he’d won already, and might be careless.
He was not actually careless, but he didn’t mind if I veered left or right, and made no attempt to force me left, and that was enough. I saw the flicker in his eyes-he had to aim carefully this time, with me so low on the horse-and veered right. The crest of my helmet slapped against his spear shaft; I pulled Farna left sharply with the reins, and she crashed against his mount, making both horses stagger. I was up in my saddle, slashing down with the sword. But Arshak already had his spear back in line, and my blade chopped into the shaft. I dropped it and flung myself out of the saddle against him, knocking him out and over, reaching for my dagger as we fell. With another part of me, I heard screams and shouting and the clatter of arms; I saw the grass etched in a thousand tiny blades, shining with melted frost-and Arshak landed with a grunt, and I twisted my broken leg as I fell on top of him, and screamed, and found my dagger. Arshak rolled desperately away even as I struck, and the blade slid uselessly across the golden scales of his armor. I pulled myself up onto one knee, bracing myself with the other. My left leg was twisted so that the foot stuck out limply, sideways and almost upside down, and the blood was still streaming. A few more moments, I thought, and I’ll faint. Arshak leapt to his feet and drew his sword.
The long strap of the baldric uncoiled as I lashed out with it. The end caught about his leg, and he fell as I jerked it back again. I half kicked, half dragged myself toward him; he rolled, got to his knees, and swung his sword at me. I caught it in the leather strap and flung it out of his hand, and then I was on top of him, knocking him flat. He had his hand on his own dagger. Lying on top of him, I struck downward at his throat with all my strength; the knife glanced off his jaw and skidded across his armor. He screamed, a scream full of blood, pulling his own knife from its sheath, but too late. I struck again, and this time the knife went home. The blood spurted hot over my hand and into my face, blinding me. I let go of the knife and lay still. I felt his heart pounding beneath my cheek; I felt the instant when it stopped, and I was sick with grief. Around me, the world went gray.
The next thing I remember is someone pulling at my shoulders: my leg twisted and I lurched back into consciousness with a cry of pain. There was a pause, and then I was lifted again and turned over, and someone said, in Latin, “We’ve got to stop the bleeding.” I looked up and saw Facilis standing over me.
“You bastard!” he said vehemently. He was very red in the face. “You slippery bastard!”
I looked away. I knew vaguely that he wasn’t supposed to be there, but I didn’t want to think about it. I felt very faint and sick, and the pain in my leg was terrible.
“Do not stand there!” Facilis shouted, in his villainous Sarmatian. “Your lord is bleeding to death. We must get his armor off and stop it.” I realized he hadn’t been addressing me this time.
I fainted when they took my armored trousers off, and probably screamed as well; I don’t remember. They pulled my leg straight, stitched the big vein in the leg, which had been torn but fortunately not severed, put a compress on the wound to stop the bleeding, splinted the whole, and tied it up: I woke up again during the last part of this, and saw that it was Comittus who was tying the knots. I remembered he had said he knew some field surgery, but I was still too faint to wonder how he’d come there. I was relieved, though, when Leimanos brought a stretcher up: I’d known that he was there.
They moved me next to the fire, covered me with horse blankets, and gave me a drink of wine from a flask. I lay still for a while, listening without understanding to the voices, Latin and Sarmatian, speaking around me. After a time, Facilis appeared overhead again. He knelt down beside me.
“We’ve rigged a horse litter,” he told me, “and we’re going to take you to Corstopitum. Incidentally, you’re under arrest.”
I nodded weakly. “What are you doing here?” I asked him. My voice came out very faint and far away.
He snorted. “I could ask the same question of you, and with much more justification. You bastard! There was no reason for you to fight him. The whole thing was going to be over with tomorrow anyway.”
“Honor,” I said, and smiled.
“Vae me miserum!” he exclaimed in disgust. “Sarmatians!”
“If you are taking me to Corstopitum,” I said, “could someone ride to Cilurnum and tell Pervica and the others that I am still alive?”
“You don’t deserve to be!” he told me. “Lucius!” Comittus appeared again. “He wants someone to ride to Cilurnum to tell the lady Pervica that he’s alive, and the rest of his precious savages as well. You go, and take Leimanos with you to make sure the others know it’s true and behave themselves. Keep the bastards confined to camp.”
Leimanos himself appeared, with Banadaspos, both looking distressed. “Is he going to live?” they asked anxiously.
“Unless the wound takes the rot,” replied Facilis impatiently. “Though if we hadn’t come along, you lot would probably have stood about lamenting his injury and praising his courage while he bled to death. Sarmatians!”
“I will not leave my lord to be imprisoned by you,” Leimanos declared angrily.
“You think he’s going to be imprisoned, in the state he’s in?” asked Facilis. “He’ll be shoved straight into the fort hospital. They’ve got a proper doctor there, not just a couple of orderlies like at Cilurnum. He’ll be fine.”
“I will not leave him,” Leimanos insisted, glaring at Facilis as though he suspected the centurion of plotting to clap me in irons and rack me on the hospital bed.
“You will go back and reassure the men,” I ordered him. “You have sworn me an oath on fire, and you will keep it.” He looked at me in distress, and I added softly, “We will reach the Jade Gate yet.”
He caught my hand, kissed it, and went off. Banadaspos looked at Facilis silently.
“You can come,” the centurion told him. “You and ten of the bodyguard can keep him safe. The rest go back to Cilurnum with Leimanos.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked Comittus.
“Marcus thought you might try to do something like this,” he replied. “He asked Severus at Condercum to tell him if you’d sent any messages to Arshak, and we found out the time of the meeting. We were planning to stop you on the way. But Severus got the day wrong: he thought it was tomorrow, and nobody realized until this morning after you’d left the fort. We came pelting after you with all five squadrons of Asturians, but we missed you on the road, and only arrived in time to see the end. Severus still isn’t here.”
“The day was changed,” I said.
“You slippery bastard,” Facilis grunted. He picked up one end of the stretcher; Leimanos took the other. They carried me over to the horse litter they had rigged, put me down on it, very gently, and strapped me in so that the movement wouldn’t jar my leg. I looked back and saw my helmet sitting on a stake, as it had been in my dream. I guessed that the pack below it contained my armor. I turned my head and saw Arshak’s body lying at the other side of the clearing, still in its golden armor. His face was covered with blood, and his men sat in a circle about him, disarmed, watched by some of the Asturians. Leimanos followed my gaze.
“Do you want me to collect his scalp?” he asked.
“No,” I answered. “The customs are different here.”