Island of Ghosts

XV

I dreamed I was riding across a wide meadow in the sunshine, riding a strange horse, a beautiful white stallion that stepped as lightly as snow falling. It was early summer and the grass was purple with vetch, red with poppies, and scented with meadowsweet. I rode over a hill and saw my own wagons below me beside a stream, and my own horses grazing beyond them. Tirgatao was sitting beside the campfire, with Artanisca beside her and a baby on her lap. I gave a shout of joy and galloped down to them. She stood as I approached, but when I dismounted, she waved me back with her hand, laughing. Artanisca jumped up and down, shouting, “Daddy! Daddy!”-but he did not clutch my leg.

“Look!” said Tirgatao, and she held up the baby. It was fair-haired and blue-eyed, and smiled into my face. I smiled back, reaching out my finger for it to grab-and then I remembered that it had died before it was born, and I drew back.

“It’s all right,” said Tirgatao, understanding. “I wanted you to see her.”

“You were burned,” I said, in a whisper. “My dearest light, they burned you.”

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” she replied, smiling at me as though I’d made a joke.

“I was going to marry again, if I lived,” I told her, awkward and ashamed.

At that she laughed out loud. “I know. Oh, my darling, don’t look at me like that! The dead don’t marry, and it would be a waste for you to stay alone, when you can love so well and there are so many living who can only hate. I met Marha in the fire, and I asked him for your life. Tell Pervica that now I give it to her.”

I looked at her in astonishment, and she laughed again. “I love your face when you’re surprised,” she said tenderly. “All that serious princely dignity looking silly: you were made to be teased. Tell Pervica she must tease you. Yes, my golden hero, I met Marha, I myself, and he didn’t harm me. Eukairios was right: it’s what we are alive that counts, not what happens to us when we’re dead. Fire can only purify the good, not destroy them.”

“How do you know Eukairios?” I asked.

“I don’t,” she replied, still smiling. “You do. Look, your mount wants attention.”

I looked, and saw that the white stallion had become a dragon, golden, fire-eyed, bright-winged; it spread its wings and roared, its long tail cracking like a whip. It was still harnessed with my own saddle and bridle. I accepted it unquestioningly, as one does in dreams, and caught the bridle. The dragon tugged impatiently at the reins, just as a horse does when it wants to go home. I turned back to Tirgatao-but she was gone, and the children and the wagons with her; the stream bank was empty. I cried out and vaulted onto the dragon’s back. Its wings cracked as it galloped into the air. The meadow swung away beneath me, empty, all empty, and everything had gone still and pale, and the only sound was the muffled rush of the wind in my ears. Then we were flying higher still, and around us the stars were singing while the wind stung my face. I was cold. From a great height I looked down, and I saw for a moment clearly, as though it were a still spot in a rushing stream, a clearing in a wood, a charcoal burner’s hut with an ash heap beside it, and a gilded, red-crested helmet on a stake thrust into the ground. Then my eyes burned with the cold and I closed them.

I groaned and woke up. I was lying on my bunk in my own wagon, still cold; I’d thrown off the blankets in my sleep. I sat up and rubbed my hands through my hair, drugged with the dream, trying to make sense of it. After a moment, I went to the door.

The morning fires were burning under a bright winter sun, and it was late to be just rising. Facilis, Eukairios, and Flavinus Longus were sitting in front of the wagon under the awning, together with Banadaspos and Leimanos; they were all drinking something and talking to each other. I looked at them for a moment, and suddenly everything seemed to fall into place, and I was happy. Tirgatao, dead, suffered no more; I stood living in the sunlight, watching my friends eat breakfast peacefully together. One moment, ordered, ordinary, and without hatred: my life was worthwhile.

I sat down to put my boots on, the wagon creaked, and they all looked round and greeted me. In another minute I had my coat over my shoulders, a cup of milk in my hands, and was sitting beside them. It was a relief not to have to put the armor on, for a change.

“My sister tells me you’ve installed the lady Pervica with her again-with three servants this time,” Longus remarked. “She said to tell you that she likes having Pervica, but that the posting inn is actually down the road, next to the fort. She thought maybe you didn’t know that.”

“Thank your sister for me again,” I replied. “It was late when we arrived last night, and there was no time to arrange other accommodation. I will try to rent a house today.”

“Oh, don’t! Flavina would be most offended if you did,” said Longus. “The posting inn was a joke; she does like Pervica. So do we all. I’m glad you persuaded her to come to the fort: I didn’t like to think of her out there alone, after that tablet they found at Corstopitum.”

Facilis grunted agreement. I almost asked him what kind of accommodation he’d found for Vilbia-the girl was not in my wagon, and Kasagos had told me that she’d been found a refuge somewhere-but I remembered that Longus knew nothing about her and probably shouldn’t be told. So I simply nodded instead. For my part I had no intention of telling the Romans about Arshak, knowing they would certainly try to prevent the duel if I did. Even Eukairios would, I thought, struggle with his conscience and then tell Facilis: he understood a little what honor meant to me, but he would not believe an insult worth dying for. I’d warned Banadaspos and the rest not to discuss the matter in front of any Roman and made Pervica promise to keep quiet about it as well.

“I’ve been telling Gaius what happened in Eburacum,” Facilis growled, shattering the peace of the morning.

Longus snorted. “Gods and goddesses! I should have realized, Ariantes-but you should have said something. Why won’t you tell the legate who’s trying to kill you, if you know?”

I glanced at Facilis quickly; he shook his head: no, he had not told Longus more than I had told Priscus.

“Without evidence, it would only cause trouble,” I answered, making a quick decision. “But I can tell you a little more than I told him. Banadaspos, Leimanos-”

They both looked up, then stood, looking suspicious. “You don’t mean to send us off?” asked Banadaspos.

“My dear brothers, there are some things I must say which concern the honor of a colleague. I believe he’s innocent of wrongdoing, but he will have to be questioned. I would not subject you to such questioning before your men, and you should not witness this, though the Romans must.”

I could see that Banadaspos had told Leimanos about Comittus: they both understood instantly who I meant. They looked still more suspicious. Longus watched blankly, not understanding the conversation, which was held in Sarmatian.

“It does not concern my safety-unless he’s guilty,” I told my men. “And I will tell you the outcome.”

They sighed, bowed, and walked resignedly off. It would console them, I thought, when I sent one of them with a message to Arshak to arrange the meeting and it was the Romans’ turn to be excluded from a secret.

“Shall I go as well?” asked Eukairios. He did understand Sarmatian, enough to follow most of what had been said.

I nodded. “But fetch that document you drew up in Eburacum, and bring it to headquarters later. We should have some witnesses for it there.”

That cheered him up: he walked off almost jauntily. I turned back to Longus and told him what I knew of the druids and the plot to establish a Brigantian kingdom by the help of the Picts and my own people. He was horrified and profoundly shaken. But when I finished by telling him of the list, and the fact that it contained Comittus’ name, I was amazed to find that it didn’t surprise him in the least.

“Oh, Lucius isn’t one of your extreme sect! He’s very much of the main school of druidism, and pretty junior in that,” he exclaimed, as though this were the most ordinary thing in the world to say. “And he’s been in an absolute stew over the whole business ever since that tablet was found. He told me all about it after the Saturnalia-though he was a bit surprised to find out I knew it already.”

“You knew he was a druid?” asked Facilis in bewilderment.

Longus shrugged. “People are, you know. Some of my squadron always slip off from the Saturnalian celebrations at night to go to the temple of Mithras over at Brocolitia, which is legal-and some slip off to celebrate the midwinter solstice at the sacred grove down by Blackwater Stream, which isn’t. I don’t ask for details about either, but I know about it. When I saw Lucius riding back into camp with a few others in the middle of the morning of the solstice, with the edge of a white robe sticking out from the corner of his saddlebags and a sprig of mistletoe in his cloak pin, it didn’t take much guessing. There’s a lot of druidism about-it is the old religion, after all, and people who’re allowed to worship the gods unhindered don’t see any point to banning the priests. Nor do I, for that matter. In my view, they ought to legalize it and set up a proper druidical priesthood like they have in Gaul. Then all this murder-in-the-dark business would shrivel away.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Facilis shouted, going red in the face.

“I didn’t know it was significant!” Longus snapped back. “Not until that tablet was found, and you and Ariantes nipped off to Eburacum pretty shortly after that. I tried to talk to Ariantes about it, but all I got was the I-didn’t-hear-you look and a change of subject. Lucius tried as well and got the same treatment.”

“I am sorry,” I said. “I was concerned for Pervica.” I was suddenly amused. Pervica had been right: foreigners like Facilis and myself obviously understood nothing about druidism. Even Eukairios, a Gaul, hadn’t understood its commonplace nature in its own country. He’d seen only its dark, secret and illegal side.

Longus snorted. “Well, as I said, I’m pleased you persuaded her to come back to Cilurnum. The murder-in-the-dark business isn’t something it’s safe to be the wrong side of. I suppose you told me this, and sent the others off, because you wanted me to be a witness when you talk to poor Lucius.”

I nodded, finished my cup of milk, set it down, and got to my feet. “I thought we might discuss it with him now.”

“I think I should do the talking,” growled Facilis. “I was appointed to investigate, after all.”

“Poor Lucius,” Longus repeated, now very unhappy. “Gods!”

Comittus was in the dining room of his house, reading. I noticed again at the door how pleasant the room was-its mosaic paving of birds and animals, the good glass windows that made it light but not cold, its decorated plaster walls. The floor was deliciously warm underfoot, heated by the hypocaust without smoke. For the first time I wondered if I might live in such a house-one day in the future, still distant but no longer out of sight.

Comittus noticed us standing silently in the door, and stopped reading in midsentence. He smiled widely and jumped up, rolling up his book.

“Welcome back!” he exclaimed, putting the book down, and he came over to shake hands.

Facilis ignored the outstretched hand, and Comittus took a step back, the smile fading from his face. He looked at Longus in alarm: Longus shook his head sadly.

“I have some questions to ask you, Lucius Javolenus,” said Facilis. “I think we’d better sit down.”

When Facilis charged him with being a druid, Comittus admitted it, and wept. He turned to me and sobbed, “I’m sorry, Ariantes!” But it soon emerged that he had not actually done anything he needed to be sorry for. He was a druid because he wanted to worship his people’s gods in the way they had always been worshipped, and he was, as Longus had said, still very junior, studying the sacred teachings of his religion at a very basic level and assisting another priest. He’d known nothing about the killing in the grove near Corstopitum until the news had reached the whole fort after the Saturnalia-and then, again as Longus had said, he’d got into “a stew” about the whole business. The killing, and the fact that it had been done to injure me, his colleague and a man he knew had never committed any sin against druidism, had shaken his faith in everything he’d been taught. And he had instantly associated it with the Pictish invasion and seen that his friends were guilty of rebellion against Rome. Roman and British, a legionary tribune and a student of druidism, a nobleman of the Coritani and a member of the equestrian order-all his life he had stood with one foot on each side of a gaping crevice. Now it had torn apart beneath him and left him plunged in confusion, racked by contradictory loyalties. He almost welcomed Facilis’ accusations, though he assumed that he was about to be arrested and carted off to disgrace, ruin, and possible death. Facilis bullied him cruelly, trying to find out more about how many druids there were in the region, how they were organized, and who was behind the murder. But Comittus knew little more than the Christians in Eburacum had, and was reluctant-honorably, in my opinion-to name any names. He did not mention Aurelia Bodica. He admitted that “some friends” had asked him about me, and that he’d answered them freely, but only until the raid. Then he’d become suspicious. After the curse, he’d refused to see those friends at all, though one of them had sent him a message asking for a meeting. He said passionately that druids weren’t all like that, that some druids were opposing the extreme sect, that there was going to be a convocation to consider whether the human sacrifice had been blasphemous…

“Consider?” demanded Facilis. “Your gods are the sort, then, who leave such matters open to question?”

Comittus shook his head, lower lip trembling like a child’s. “We’ve been persecuted for a long time, Marcus,” he protested wretchedly. “When people have hurt you, it’s natural to hate them. I haven’t suffered myself, so I can’t condemn… that is, I don’t say it’s right, but… but can’t you understand?”

I was sure Facilis understood perfectly, but he showed no sign of it. He cursed Comittus for a traitor and a hypocrite. Then he whipped out the writing leaf with the list of suspected ringleaders. The evidence of how much we knew shook Comittus so badly I thought for a moment he would faint, but still he did not want to speak, though he eventually confirmed two of the names in a voice thick with distress. One name was Cunedda’s.

Facilis pounced. “The archdruid,” he said contemptuously. “The Brigantian poisoner who dreams of dragons fighting, the man the person at the head of all this chose as chief adviser. Yes, of course we know who the leader of this conspiracy is! We know where that person is; where is this Cunedda?”

Comittus began to cry again.

“You know,” said Facilis mercilessly. “He’s one of the friends who asked you questions about Ariantes, isn’t he? And he’s the one who sent you a message after the curse, trying to arrange a meeting, isn’t he?”

Comittus nodded.

“You know what he wanted then, don’t you? His curse wasn’t working, so he wanted you to help him murder the prince. Just think of that! If you’d gone along with that, you could have painted this fort with blood. Gods and goddesses! He’s a murderer, Lucius, and by your own reckoning he’s a blasphemer as well. Why are you protecting him? You say you think he’s wrong. Who’s going to believe that when you try so hard to shield him? You’re in trouble anyway: why should you make your own sufferings worse to protect him? Come on! If he proposed a meeting, he must have told you where you could reach him. Where was it?”

Choking, almost unintelligible with grief, Comittus named a place, then covered his face and doubled over sobbing.

It was enough, and I finally put a stop to his misery. “Comittus,” I said, “the authorities do not know your name and we will not betray it to them.”

Comittus uncovered his face and stared, first at me, then at Facilis.

Facilis gave me a look of intense annoyance, then sighed and nodded. “I’ve been given the responsibility for investigating that sacrificial murder,” he said, “and the only people I want punished for it are the guilty ones. You and these convocation-calling friends of yours weren’t there and I’m not going to bother you.”

At this Comittus wept again and thanked us, clutching all our hands. We left him in his house to calm down and went across to headquarters to discuss what to do next.

Eukairios was waiting in the commander’s office, his three sheets of parchment sitting on the desk, rolled neatly and tied with a cord. “The mysterious document!” observed Longus, but the usual facetious words were spoken in a voice uncharacteristically tired and unhappy. “I hope it’s not another nasty surprise, Ariantes.”

I shook my head. “It’s Eukairios’ manumission. How many witnesses do we have here at headquarters?”

Facilis gave a bark of laughter. “I should have guessed it. Eukairios could have invested in a red hat months ago.”

“A red hat?” I asked, puzzled.

“A freedman’s hat,” explained Longus. “He puts it on and everyone knows to congratulate him. A red hat with a peak. Like yours, but a little floppier and without the earflaps.”

“Like mine?” I demanded, horrified: had I been wearing a hat that marked me as a freed slave?

Longus and Facilis both began laughing. “Oh gods, Ariantes, didn’t you know?” said Longus, forgetting his unhappiness. “No, I suppose not! Nobody dared say anything.”

I took my hat off. They both laughed again.

“Ariantes, nobody in their right mind ever mistook you for a freedman,” Longus told me. “Nobody. The thought of you as a slave-it’s like that play where the god Apollo gets made the slave of some Thracian as a penance, and his master runs around fetching things for him. And that hat isn’t really the right shape-it’s just that it’s red.”

I shook my head. I would have to buy a hat of some other color. “Do you need a red hat?” I asked Eukairios.

He began laughing as well, but stopped himself. “Yes, my lord. I hadn’t bought one, in case it brought me bad luck.”

I handed him mine. “Let us sign the document, and then you can put it on.”

He unrolled the document and read it out, and I signed it, in triplicate (“You make your mark there, my lord, and I write ‘Unlettered’ here ”), and after me Facilis, Longus, four Asturians who were working in the headquarters as clerical staff, and Leimanos, who’d come down to see if I’d finished with Comittus. Then Eukairios put on the hat, looking pink as a girl who’s just been kissed, and everyone shook his hand and congratulated him. When it was my turn to shake his hand, he clutched my hand in both of his-then dropped it, flung his arms around me, and hugged me like a long-lost brother. “Thank you,” he shouted, “Patron!” He was shaking with joy.

I had no heart then to discuss druids with Facilis, or mislead Longus about what I knew. I told Eukairios to go buy himself a drink, then told the others that I was going to visit Pervica. I wanted to tell her my dream. Leimanos left headquarters with me.

When we had collected our horses and were riding down the Via Decumana to the south gate, I remembered the other piece of important business I had to conduct that day. “Leimanos,” I said, “has Banadaspos told you everything that happened in Eburacum, and at River End Farm?”

He stiffened, and his horse laid back its ears. “Yes, my lord,” he answered quietly. “I’m sorry we didn’t defend you better.”

“I have no complaint against you in anything. I spoke because I want to send a messenger to Condercum.”

He looked into my face and smiled, but I could see his knuckles whitening on the reins. An insult to his commander, even given through the commander’s betrothed, was an insult to him. He’d had enough of Romanizing and restraint, of secrets and conspiracies: he wanted battle, and his honor avenged. But he knew that Arshak was a dangerous opponent, and he was afraid for me. “My prince,” he said, very softly and humbly, “may I ask you to send me?”

He was taking a position of danger himself, offering to ride into Condercum and speak defiance to Arshak. Arshak’s men might resent what he said even if their commander didn’t. But it was also the position of honor, and I’d known that he would ask for it. I reached out and touched his hand. “Who else would I send, kinsman?” I asked him, and he smiled again.

I settled to the details. “Take the first ten of the bodyguard with you, and make sure you get guarantees of safe conduct before you enter the fort. I don’t think Arshak would injure you, but I don’t know now, he’s not what he was before. Don’t tell the Romans anything. None of the Roman officers in Condercum even realize we’ve quarreled, and it’s better to keep it that way: speak in front of them as though you were bringing Arshak a friendly invitation to go hunting.”

He nodded. “And to Arshak I should say?”

“Say to him, ‘Son of Sauromates, when I met you on the road, I told you I would meet you whenever you wished. You had no cause to ride to Corstopitum to hurl a few cheap and ridiculous words at a noble lady you had never met, as though I would be timid unless I were provoked. Stop behaving like a herdsman, leave off your attempts to murder me through the hands of your lying and treacherous allies, and come meet me like a prince.’ ”

Leimanos’ eyes glowed, and he tapped out the signal for the charge on his saddle. “That’s the way to speak, my lord!” He repeated the message twice to make sure he had it, elaborating it slightly each time, and grinned.

“Though when we come to the arrangements,” I confessed, “he cannot possibly meet me like a prince. The Romans would arrest us both if they knew we meant to fight. Make it clear to him that it’s going to take ten days or so to set things up, and that if we’re indiscreet, we’ll lose our chance. I’m not in too great a hurry. I expect to be able to move against his allies soon, and it will be much the best if I fight him with their ruin hanging over him, whatever the outcome of our meeting. Then even his triumph would be clouded and short-lived.”

Leimanos grinned even wider. “It’s good to see you like this, my lord. Almost like the old days. You remember the message you sent Rhusciporis when we got back from Segedunum?”

I had flaunted a successful raid to a rival at home. But this was something more serious, though I used the same kind of bold language. I nodded and made no comment. “Look out for a good place to meet on your way to and from Condercum. We need somewhere off the road, somewhere we won’t be seen by casual passersby, but it will have to have enough space for the horses. Suggest to Arshak that we each bring our bodyguard to the meeting, but leave the rest of our men behind-too many onlookers and the Romans will come searching for us. All the squadron leaders should be informed beforehand, though, and be made to swear that the contest will end with the death of one or both contenders. There must be no attempts at revenge and nothing that will cause trouble with the Romans.”

Leimanos nodded, but he was frowning now. We had come out the south gate by then, and had reached Flavina’s house; I reined in by the front door.

“What will the Romans do afterward?” he asked, in a low voice.

I shrugged and spread my hands. “I don’t know. If Arshak has been exposed as a traitor already, they may not punish me. They will probably arrest me, though. And Leimanos, I will want you, and the bodyguard, and all who follow me, to bear that quietly. I’ll require oaths from you on that, too.”

He was silent.

“Even Gatalas required that from his men,” I said.

“But not from his bodyguard.”

“He meant to die in battle against the Romans. I don’t.”

He sighed. “I can swear to bear it quietly if they arrest you for killing Arshak, my lord. I cannot swear to stand by and do nothing if they decide to execute you for it.”

“Leimanos, you are my heir. You know what I want.”

He shook his head, and suddenly pressed both hands to his ears, covering them to show that he would not listen. “You want the honor and safety of the dragon. But I’m not you, my lord. You were a scepter-holder, and you had no son or brother to inherit the scepter. If you’d petitioned the king, he would have granted you the right to stay in our own country, granted it freely, and I would have been left to take the dragon to Aquincum in your place. You chose to give the scepter to your sister’s son, instead, and come yourself, because you were our prince and we relied on you. We all know that, and we’ve been glad of it a hundred times over. I will not swear to stand by and watch the Romans execute you.”

I was silent a minute. I had underestimated them all again. No one had ever said to me, “You could have stayed at home,” and I’d thought that that realization had been mine alone. But my motives for coming had not been as pure as Leimanos seemed to think. I reached over and pulled one of his hands away from his ear. “That you relied on me was only one of the reasons,” I told him quietly. “I had others.”

He nodded. “And I know those, too, my lord-no wagon to ride home to, and imagined guilt because our raids helped to start the war. But the fact remains that you might be a prince and scepter-holder still, wealthy and powerful and able to choose a wife from among a kingdom of widows-and instead, you’re here. If you die in combat, I must accept that as the will of God. But I will not accept it otherwise. I swear it on fire.”

I let go and sat staring at him for a moment; he stared angrily back. I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. “Well,” I said. “Well, chances are that either I will die in combat, or that the Romans will agree that Arshak was guilty of treason and do nothing to punish me. So long as you don’t start shooting if they arrest me, I’ll have to be content. And I’ve had a good omen, Leimanos. I met Tirgatao in a dream last night, and she said that she met Marha when she was in the fire, and that she begged my life from him. She said she gave it now to Pervica. I believe it was a true dream and that I will live to marry again.”

His eyes opened, very wide and blue. Then he raised his right hand toward the sun. “I pray it was true, my lord! She’d come whole out of the fire, then, by Marha’s kindness?”

“I met her in a meadow full of flowers, and the children were with her. The baby as well. And there was another thing in it that will please you: she gave me a dragon to carry me back to this earth, and it was our dragon, our standard.”

Leimanos grinned. “I accept the omen!” he cried, raising his hand again.

“It pleased me too,” I said. “I’m going to tell it to Pervica. If I had a kingdom of widows to choose from, Leimanos, I don’t think I could choose better than I’ve chosen here.”

“She is a brave and noble lady,” he agreed, much happier now. “Give her my regards. I must go now and collect the men. We’ll have to set out soon if I’m to reach Condercum today. I can tell Banadaspos what you’ve said?”

“Yes. Go with good fortune then, kinsman.”

He grinned, made his horse dance as he turned it, and galloped back up the road.

When I had tethered my horse by the house, I found that Pervica and Flavina both had been watching us through the shutters.

“Wasn’t that your captain Leimanos you were talking to?” asked Flavina, ushering me into the house. “Where’s he off to in such a hurry?”

“I had an errand for him,” I replied. “He sends his regards.” I had no intention of discussing Arshak in front of her, either: she’d be sure to tell her brother.

Pervica remained in the doorway a minute, looking anxiously northward after Leimanos. “You were talking very seriously.”

“Yes,” I said. “I had a dream last night which I have taken as an omen. It was of great concern to you, so I have come to tell it to you.” At this she looked so worried that I smiled and added, “It was a good dream.”

Like me, and like Leimanos, she liked the dream and was cheered by it. Flavina, who remained with us the whole time I was there, to guard Pervica’s reputation, was also impressed by it, particularly Tirgatao’s instructions to Pervica to tease me. “But that’s exactly the sort of thing someone might really say!” she exclaimed. “Did she tease you?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Always. We first met when she beat me in a horse race, and she always said that I married her to get the horse.” I realized as I spoke that it was the first time since she died that I’d been able to think of Tirgatao without being tormented by the image of her burning, to remember her as she was, laughing and alive.

Flavina giggled. Pervica put her hand over her mouth. “What happened to the horse? Did you bring it with you?”

It was an unfortunate question. “Ask the Second Pannonian Cavalry,” I replied bitterly.

“The Sec… What do they have to do with it?”

“It was Tirgatao’s favorite horse, and she had it at our own wagon when she was killed. The Second Pannonians drove it off with the rest of the cattle.”

“Oh!” said Pervica, going white. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t even know… I thought she’d died naturally. You hadn’t said.”

I hadn’t said, to her, and stared a moment in amazement, realizing suddenly how little we knew of each other. I would have to tell her one day how Tirgatao had died. But there was enough death about without darkening the day with that now.

It was Flavina who broke the uncomfortable silence. “It’s hard to remember that you used to be…” she began, then stopped herself. “I was going to say, ‘on the other side of the Wall.’ But it was the other side of the Danube, wasn’t it? Gaius says your men are always boasting of what they did on raids. It just seems very odd to think of you doing that.”

“It seemed the natural thing at the time,” I replied.

“Why?” asked Pervica. She, too, must have realized how little we knew of each other, because she leaned forward a little on the couch, watching me intently. “I can’t imagine raiding seeming natural to you.”

“Things are different on the other side of that river,” I told her. “My reasons for raiding seemed good to me at the time. I needed goods, and there they were across the Danube. Everyone always praised the daring and skill of any commander bold enough to go and take them, and I needed a reputation in war even more than I needed goods.”

“Why did you need goods and a military reputation?” asked Pervica.

“Oh, that is complicated!”

“Go on!” She was smiling now. “Tell me!”

I hesitated, then yielded and spread my hands. “My father, Arifarnes, had an enemy called Rhusciporis, with whom we had a dispute over grazing rights in the summer pastures. The king, of course, does not like his scepter-holders to have disputes with one another, as it weakens the nation, but he does not like to offend any of them that are powerful. He would not adjudicate the matter, and it dragged on and on. Then one day Rhusciporis attacked my father when he was out inspecting the herds of a dependant, and they fought. Rhusciporis triumphed and took my father’s head for a trophy. My father had no brothers to inherit from him and no sons but me-and I was out of the country. With no one to hold the scepter, my family had to agree to accept a blood price for my father’s life, and made a compact of peace with his murderer. They could not even demand the head back: Rhusciporis kept it, and made the skull into a drinking cup, which is a custom of ours with enemies who matter to us. When my mother and sisters had sworn the peace, Rhusciporis took the matter of the grazing rights back to the king, and the king decided in his favor-I was still out of the country, and anyway, I was barely eighteen at the time, so he had no concern about offending me.”

“Where were you?” asked Pervica.

“I was beyond the Caspian Sea when my family’s messenger found me and called me back. I’d been planning to ride with my companions as far as the Jade Gate of the Silk Country.”

“Why?” she asked, dizzy with the distance. “Why so far?”

I laughed. “This story grows longer with every question. For glory! I was mad for glory when I was young. I wanted to fight a griffin in the mountains of the North and steal its gold; I wanted to ride the horses of the sun, and rescue a princess from a tower of iron. I wanted to do anything great, daring, and splendid. I was impatient with the world, and wanted more than it offered me. And at any rate, I wanted to see more of the world than my own country. We had traveled slowly, taking time to see everything, and my family’s messenger caught up with us without difficulty, but still, it took months to come home.”

“I’ve never been further from Corstopitum than once to Eburacum,” Pervica said, in a low voice.

“It is easier for my people to travel than it is for yours,” I said. “When we set out for the Jade Gate, we brought our wagons, and flocks to support ourselves, and asked grazing rights from the people we journeyed among. It was not very different than moving from spring to summer grazing grounds. And we were among Sarmatian tribes as far as the Caspian Sea, and after that among the Massagetae and Dahae, who understand our language.”

She nodded, then suddenly gave me a radiant smile. “You’ll have to tell me. I want to hear everything about it. The Jade Gate of the Silk Country! It sounds like a song.”

“I never reached it,” I said-and remembered the morning when I turned back, how I stood in the dry scrubland beyond the Caspian and strained my eyes to catch the shadow of the distant mountains of the East, and saw only the sun rising bloodred over an endless plain. I had dreamed of those mountains, and I’d known then that I would never see them. I wept as much for that as for my father’s death-though I’d loved him.

I bowed my head at the memory and went on. “When I returned and received the scepter, I found that the fortunes of my family were staggering. We had lost dependants along with the grazing rights, and many of our people were trickling away to other lords, thinking that the luck of our inheritance had failed. It was clear to me that I needed to obtain honor and a reputation as a leader in war, and that I needed wealth in goods and in flocks, both to encourage the waverers to return to us and to reward those who were still loyal. I could obtain everything I needed if I crossed the Danube. Everyone relied upon me to go. So I did. I wanted glory, anyway.” I was silent, thinking of where I, and other daring raiders like me, had brought us all.

“What happened to Rhusciporis?” asked Flavina, after a minute.

“When I was successful, I got the grazing rights back, or most of them. I made presents to the king from the spoils of my raids, and asked him to adjudicate again, and he decided in my favor, and made Rhusciporis return my father’s skull as well. I taunted Rhusciporis with my successes, and my followers swaggered before his just as they now swagger before the Asturians. But we never fought. We had sworn peace. He died in the war.”

I hesitated. I knew that Pervica was deeply unhappy about the planned duel with Arshak, and I wanted to explain to her why it was necessary. A Sarmatian woman might have been eager for me to revenge the insult to her dignity, but even if she hadn’t been, she would never have questioned the need to do it. But to Pervica the whole duel was unnecessary and senseless, and it hurt me to think how she would feel if I died in it. “You see,” I went on, slowly, “honor is everything to us. It was the fact that we had glory, not the gifts, that made the king decide for us. Here if a man is appointed to command a troop of cavalry because he bribed the legate, and if he is corrupt and cowardly, still he will be obeyed, because the soldiers respect their discipline. You have an altar to discipline in the chapel of the standards and you worship it as though it were a god. But our people know nothing of that. They expect their commander to bring them honor. If he is weak, they will still try to take pride in him, because their honor is bound to his and they wish to be proud-but if he brings them disgrace, they will begin to desert him, though they will grieve very bitterly over it and reproach themselves as disloyal and reproach him for making them so. Our honor is dearer to us than our blood, and to lose it kills us.”

Pervica looked at me and smiled sadly. “I understand,” she said.

I could see that she did. It was a hard thing to ask of a woman who loved me, that she should allow me to die for a cause she considered senseless-but she understood that I had to uphold my honor or be ruined, and she would not oppose me. I smiled at her and touched her hand. I was content.