Island of Ghosts

VII

Julius Priscus arrived in Corstopitum five days later, and summoned Comittus, Facilis, and myself at once. We left Leimanos and Longus in charge of the fort, and rode down with my bodyguard. I also brought Eukairios. The scribe had ridden to the town a couple of times on his own, with letters, and he no longer fell off a horse unless the horse actively wanted to get rid of him. He still disliked being on horseback, but he wanted to visit the town to meet his “correspondent” there. I hadn’t inquired too deeply about this person, since it was easy to guess he was another Christian, and it was better not to know any of the illegal details. I guessed that Eukairios must have been given the name and a password in Londinium, or perhaps in Eburacum. Whoever the man was, I was grateful to him.

When we arrived, we found that the legate had brought half his legion with him, more than enough troops to deal with any trouble, and had summoned Gaius Valerius Victor and another senior Roman from Condercum. He had also brought Arshak, but not Arshak’s men. And he had indeed brought his wife. Aurelia Bodica sat beside her husband while the rest of us stood in the main hall of Corstopitum headquarters, and discussed the question Priscus had come there to resolve-“What should we do about the Sarmatians?” I suppose it was a major concession, which we owed to the Pictish defeat, that Arshak and I were allowed to participate. But it didn’t feel that way at the time. It felt to me as though I were on trial.

“A hundred and twenty-four Roman soldiers dead!” said the legate, much as Facilis had, except he had the exact figure. “And why? Because the bloodthirsty savage who commanded the Fourth Sarmatians had somehow taken it into his head that he was going to be demoted and replaced! Who told him that, eh?” And he glared at me.

“My lord legate,” I said, stunned by the accusation, “if that was true, I had heard nothing of it; and if it was false, I am the last man to spread lies about it.”

“You were in Dubris before the others,” snapped Priscus. “You were the one who said there’d be a mutiny if we went through with our original plans to make your troops regular auxiliaries. And you are the one who has a scribe, and has been deluging my office with letters and bribing my staff.” It was true, I had-mostly in an attempt to improve the pay of my men.

“Yes, sir. But I did not write to Gatalas. He did not have a scribe and could not read.”

“He could have found someone to read him a letter easily enough! You were dissatisfied with your troop’s pay; it seems to me very likely you were complaining to him. I told you before that if I was sure you were making trouble, I’d have you flogged to death. As it is, if your troop hadn’t defeated those tribesmen…”

He let the threat hang. “Sir,” I said, trying to keep my voice level, “if I have been concerned at my men’s pay, it is because I wish at all costs to avoid trouble. At the present level of pay they will get into debt, and if they are in debt, they may act wildly. I said nothing to any Sarmatian about your plan to make us regular auxiliaries under Roman officers: I believed that you had abandoned it, and to spread any rumor of it would only stir resentment.” I glanced quickly at Arshak. The revelation didn’t seem to surprise him. He must have heard it when the trouble first caught fire. He looked well, better than I’d expected. I’d been afraid to find him worn with tension, restless as a caged hawk, but he was sleek and golden and arrogant as ever-though the coat he was wearing was his plain one.

“Ariantes is telling the truth,” Facilis put in, suddenly and unexpectedly. “He’s had no contact whatever with Condercum, and he’s not the man to stir up trouble if he had. He knows perfectly well that his own people would be the losers in any contest with the legions, and he’ll go to any lengths to protect them. Javolenus Comittus and I were both with him when he got the news of the mutiny: he was shocked by it, and his first thought was to calm his own people down. If Gatalas believed he was going to be replaced as commander, it’s probably because he heard some rumor, or misinterpreted something somebody said. Had he had a lot of disputes with you, Tribune?”

Valerius Victor shrugged. “We’d had nothing but disputes. They didn’t want to sleep in barracks; they wanted more fresh meat and milk than they could get; they quarreled incessantly with the original garrison of the fort, and had to be confined to barracks half the time. A couple of the old garrison were killed, and the men responsible had to be executed. No, the air was pretty poisonous. But I never said that I was going to replace Gatalas as commander. I could see for myself I’d be murdered if I suggested any such thing.”

Priscus let out a breath through his nose. “We had some of the same disputes in Eburacum.” He glared at Arshak, who smiled. “Not as bad, though. And you, Lucius-have you been breathing the same poisonous air in Cilurnum?”

“No,” declared Comittus at once. “We’ve got on very well in Cilurnum. We’ve had some quarrels between the Sarmatians and the Asturians, but on the whole, the dragon’s been settling in very well. Hasn’t it, Marcus Flavius?”

“Yes,”said Facilis shortly.

“In fact,” declared Comittus, gathering himself up, “I have complete confidence in the men and officers of the Sixth Numerus of Sarmatian Horse, and I believe they are, and will remain, an invaluable asset to the defense of the province. As for Ariantes, I’ll swear any oath you like that he had nothing whatever to do with the mutiny at Condercum. No one could command the dragon better than he does, and I would be completely lost without him.”

“Agreed,” growled Facilis. “I agree to every word of that. And if you speak to Flavinus Longus or the other Roman officers in Cilurnum, Lord Legate, they’ll tell you exactly the same.”

There was a moment of astonished silence. “

Well,” said Priscus at last, “I’m glad to hear it. I was glad of the Sixth Sarmatians when I heard what happened at Corstopitum. They arrived quickly, hit hard, and caused no problems afterward: I would’ve hated to demote their commander. This fellow Gatalas is dead, and the rest of his men took no part in the killing, and surrendered quietly. Very well, we’ll keep the present command structure, and call the mutiny the result of passion in one unstable man. I’ll give the Fourth Sarmatians a new commander and bring them back to Eburacum with me, and we’ll put the Second Sarmatians in their place. Ariantes, since your liaison officer and camp prefect are willing to vouch for you, you can take temporary command of the Fourth Numerus as well as the Sixth.”

“My lord legate, no,” I said hurriedly, “It would offend Gatalas’ men enormously, sir.”

“Why would it offend them?” snapped Priscus, glaring again.

I spread my hands helplessly in the air. I had grown less aware of the gulf between Roman and Sarmatian at Cilurnum, but I was dropped in the middle of it now. “My lord, the fourth dragon were all… clients… of Gatalas. They kept sheep and horses of his when we were in our own country, and he gave them grazing rights and judged their disputes. He led them on raids and in war. I and my men, we were friendly rivals at best, and at worst, enemies. Now they have watched their commander die, and by his orders have not raised a spear in his defense. They have been disarmed and confined to their barracks as traitors, while I and my dragon fought a battle and won a victory. They have been humiliated-and to hand them over to me would only humiliate them more, however gently I spoke to them. They need forbearance and the hope of glory if they are to become loyal servants of Rome. No, my lord. Let me go to Condercum and speak with them. I will find out which of the squadron captains is most willing to work with the Romans, and you can appoint him and Valerius Victor to a joint command.”

Bodica spoke for the first time. “Surely, Lord Ariantes,” she said softly, “if they’re under a joint command, they’ll believe that Gatalas was right to rebel, since the thing he was afraid of has come about?”

“Not if it is done properly,” I replied. “Gatalas was a prince of the Iazyges, a scepter-holder. His men will not expect to receive the same honor as their prince.”

There was another silence-then the legate’s stony face cracked unexpectedly into a grin. “The minds of barbarians are a mystery,” he said. “The place of a Sarmatian prince can’t be taken by another Sarmatian prince, can’t be taken by a Sarmatian who isn’t a prince, but might just be managed by a Sarmatian noble and a Roman tribune together. Lord Ariantes, you’re a capable man. Even your letters on pay were sensible, little as I liked them, and now your camp prefect, who has no love for any Sarmatian, has vouched for your trustworthiness. Didn’t you realize I was offering you a promotion?”

I hadn’t, and the sudden reversal left me blinking. “My lord legate,” I said, uncertainly, “I thank you. But if you wish to make the best use of Gatalas’ dragon, you will arrange the command as I have suggested.”

He snorted and leaned back in his seat. “When a man gives advice against his own advantage, the advice is probably good. Very well. You have leave to go to Condercum, with Gaius Valerius, and arrange the command of the Fourth Sarmatians in whatever way you and he can agree on. Lord Arsacus, you can go along with Lord Ariantes. When you get to Condercum make arrangements for your people to replace the Fourth Numerus. But first, Ariantes, you can explain to me why your troop can’t manage on an auxiliary’s pay without getting into debt. The rest of you are dismissed.”

When I left the legate’s office an hour or so later, I found Arshak waiting for me in the courtyard outside. “Greetings, my brother!” he said, jumping up and coming over. “Congratulations to you on the victory. I hope next time I’ll be able to share it with you.”

I caught his hand and shook it. “It wasn’t hard fought,” I said, “but I’d welcome you beside me. I’m glad you’ll be freed from Eburacum.”

He grinned. “So am I. I swear on fire, I never thought a man could hate stone so much.”

“You look well, though, despite it.”

“That is the doing of the legate’s lady. I think that if it hadn’t been for her, I would have killed someone. She is a wonderful woman, Ariantes, a wise woman, a true queen.”

I didn’t like the sound of that at all, and he seemed to realize it, because he changed the subject. “Victor is waiting for us at the military stables, if you want to start for Condercum. What was all this about pay?”

I explained it on the way to the stables. Our troops were being offered the standard auxiliary pay, two hundred denarii a year, plus the cavalry allowance of two hundred denarii for the upkeep of one horse. However, most of us had more than one horse and we all had more armor than a Roman would. Even though we had men who could replace worn-out equipment for the dragon and didn’t need to turn to professional blacksmiths, still the cost of the upkeep of the armor would be high. Eukairios and I had worked out how big the allowance would have to be to take account of the differences, and had been pressing for the pay to be increased accordingly. Priscus had just offered me part of the sum, and suggested that we reduce the number of horses. For various reasons, I was not satisfied with this, and I told Arshak about it-warmly, because my mind was still hot with it. He frowned and asked questions.

“I don’t understand,” he said, when we’d finished. “How do you know these things, what it costs to repair armor or provide fodder for a horse?”

His tone was flat, and I suddenly understood all too well that what he meant was, “You’ve Romanized, more even than I expected.” And I saw in the same instant that it was horribly true.

“I have a good scribe who explains it,” I replied, cursing myself. “I needed to learn, and did.”

He stopped suddenly and caught my shoulder. We were just at the corner of the stable yard, standing in one of the cramped alleys of the military compound. “What are they doing to us?” he asked, looking at me earnestly.

“What do you mean?” I replied-coolly, trying to step back from myself and find where I stood.

“Gatalas is dead, you talk of pay negotiations and get Facilis to vouch for you, and I… Ariantes, we are scepter-holders of the Iazyges. Or we were.”

“We were,” I said quietly. “But now we are commanders of numeri for the Romans.”

“For the Romans! Neither you nor I love the Romans. How can we fight for them?”

“We swore to the emperor himself at Aquincum that we would do so.”

“We didn’t know what we were swearing. We had no conception of what it meant. We thought we would stay Sarmatians but fight under another commander-but they’re making Romans of us. We eat bread and sleep in tombs and give bribes to officials. Marha! Haven’t you sickened of it yet?”

I was silent for a moment. “I and my men have kept our wagons,” I said at last. “No. I am no sicker of it than I was when we arrived.”

“Our wagons were broken up,” Arshak said bitterly.

“The men got barracks, and I got a house. It stands in a row with the houses of the tribunes, and it’s made of stone. Everything is in rows, and made of stone,”-he glared furiously at the featureless walls around us-“and the Romans think we must be grateful for the comfort. I’d set fire to it, if it would only burn!” He let go of my shoulder. “But you seem to like it here!”

“What did I have left, across the Danube?” I asked, very slowly.

He looked at me with hot eyes. “Things here could be different.”

“And I’m trying to make them so.”

“You’re tinkering. Talking in their words, becoming more like them every day, despite yourself. Pay! Wagons! The problem is the Romans. The native Britons are a lot like us; we would agree with them very well, if this were a British kingdom. They have kings and queens of noble blood, who reward valor and not greed. Why should we fight them?”

“Who has been telling you this?” I asked, and saw the answering flicker in his eyes.

“Do I need anyone to tell me? You can’t want to fight for Rome-for the people who murdered your wife and child, insulted their bodies, and tossed them into the fire.”

I slapped him across the face. “Don’t mention them to me, Arshak!” I told him, in a low voice, while he stared in angry surprise. “Don’t ever mention them to me!” I turned and strode furiously on into the stable.

After a minute, Arshak followed me. I half expected him to whisper a time and place to meet to settle the argument, but he said nothing-and, as soon as he met Valerius Victor, became instantly all charm again.

The tribune had a squadron of the Dalmatian cavalry from Condercum, and we rode out with that to escort us: I was politely given to understand that my own bodyguard would not be welcome. When we reached the fort that night, I felt that I wasn’t welcome either. “The air was pretty poisonous,” Victor had said, and indeed, it was thick with bitterness and hatred. The Roman garrison watched me and Arshak ride in the gate with a heavy sullen stare that set my teeth on edge, and they kept it up the whole time we were there.

Though it was late, I asked to speak with Gatalas’ officers in the main hall of the headquarters building at once. The garrison grumbled but, at Valerius Victor’s insistence, agreed, and set up torches, which cast a flickering light over us and made the statue of the emperor, standing larger than life in the chapel of the standards off the hall, seem to be alive and watching. When Gatalas’ men filed in, under armed guard, they gave the statue and the Romans the same heavy sullen stare that the Romans had given us.

I asked Gatalas’ men how they were; they released a torrent of helpless grief and resentment. Their wagons had been broken up, some of their friends had been executed for killing the Romans they’d quarreled with, some had been beaten like slaves, their prince was dead, and they had been ordered not to defend him. Worse, far worse: the Romans had burned his body. They’d watched helplessly, disarmed, imprisoned, and disgraced. Their chief consolation was how many Romans Gatalas had managed to kill before he died.

“He revenged himself,” I agreed, trying to put a hopeful face on it, though I was appalled. “And he has what the gods promised him, death in battle. He was warned of danger from fire, but not of destruction: perhaps his soul will escape. At Cilurnum we sacrificed three horses on his behalf, and prayed to the gods for him. But you were promised good fortune and glory in war, and your prince ordered you to surrender so that you could have what you were promised. I’ve come to help you choose a new commander who can offer prayers for Gatalas’ spirit and for your own future.”

“We have no power over who’ll command us,” they replied. “That was why our lord mutinied. He’d heard that they meant to depose him and set that tribune in his place.” And they glared at Victor, who was sitting by the tribunal, looking blank. He didn’t speak Sarmatian.

“It wasn’t true,” I said. “They thought of doing that before they met us, but they changed their minds, and there were no plans to replace anyone.”

They looked at me sullenly, as though they were sure I was lying. Then they looked at Arshak, who was sitting on the table swinging his foot. “Didn’t you send us a message of warning, Lord?” one of the captains asked. He was a young man, but I’d had him in mind as a possible leader for the dragon: he’d struck me as the most intelligent, as well as one of the most loyal, of Gatalas’ officers. His name was Siyavak, a slim man, with dark hair and eyes that made him stand out from the rest.

Arshak stopped swinging the foot. “I?” he asked. “I didn’t send any message.”

At this they looked bewildered. “Lord Gatalas showed us the message and said it came from Eburacum,” said Siyavak.

“If there was a message from Eburacum, it wasn’t sent by me,” said Arshak, angry now. “Do you still have this letter?”

“It wasn’t a letter,” replied Siyavak, “but we have it. Our lord left it with us, and if the Romans will let me, I’ll fetch it.”

The Romans allowed him, and he came back carrying a bundle wrapped in black. He set it down on the floor in front of Arshak and unrolled the cloth: a set of divining rods tumbled onto the floor. Moving with sharp, angry jerks, Siyavak counted them out, and I saw that they were tied together in sequence by a red cord. They were all black; none of the chalked ones were included. “They promise death and destruction,” whispered Siyavak. “He had them read before us. And on the final rod..” He sorted through and picked one up. “This.”

There was a pattern of scratches on the blackened surface of the rod, little lines parallel to one another or at angles. It was nothing like Latin writing, but it looked as though it might have a meaning. “What is it?” I asked, taking the thing, still bound to the others by the blood-colored cord. The whole bundle was one of the most frightening things I had ever seen: it seemed to vibrate with a menace of supernatural disaster beyond anything the mind could conceive. There would have been some white in any normal reading.

“Gatalas said that the messenger who brought the bundle gave him the name of a man here who could interpret it,” Siyavak told us, still in the low voice, “and he said he had shown it to the man, and the man read the marks as though they were writing. ‘Beware,’ it says, ‘the Romans have lost patience. You will be arrested and replaced by Victor.’ ”

I looked at the tribune, who was now standing over the rods and staring in confusion, aware that something had been disclosed but having no idea what.

“Have you seen these before?” I asked the tribune, in Latin.

He shook his head. “They’re some of the divining rods you use to know the will of the gods,” he said. “Why do they matter?”

I explained, and showed him the stick with the markings. Something shut suddenly behind his face. “Jupiter Optimus Maximus!” he whispered.

“What is it?” I asked.

“The writing’s… British,” he replied. “I can’t read it.”

And he didn’t want to look at it. But he had understood something about it that we had not.

“Someone from one of the Pictish tribes must have sent it,” he went on, “trying to provoke the mutiny, to distract our troops so that they could raid our lands.”

“Didn’t Gatalas show these to the Romans?” I asked Siyavak.

He sat back on his heels, looking at Victor intently.

“He did not show them this,” he said, in Latin now, and to Victor, not me. “No. He went to you, though, he asked what you would do about the command of the dragon.”

“I didn’t understand,” said Victor. “I thought he was trying to find something else to quarrel about.”

“You said that you had once planned to be commander in his place.”

“I only said that because I thought he knew! I told him the plan had been abandoned!”

“How could anyone believe you, with things as they were?” Siyavak turned back to Arshak. “We thought this was from you, Lord Arshak, that you’d heard something in Eburacum.”

“No,” said Arshak. He took the rod and slipped it out of its loop of cord, then turned it in his hands, looking frightened. “No, they can vouch for me at Eburacum. I’ve had no chance to send anything. And it wasn’t true.”

“Who was the messenger who brought it?” I asked. “Who interpreted the markings?”

“I don’t know,” replied Siyavak. “My lord Gatalas didn’t say.” He looked at me bleakly. “So he died for nothing then?”

“No,” I answered. “He died for a lie.”

“We will revenge him,” said Siyavak, his eyes beginning to smoulder. “Marha! Whoever sent him this murdered him, as surely as if they’d sent him poison! We will revenge him!”

“You will have to work with the Romans to do that,” I said.

He looked at Victor again; all of them looked at Victor. “Very well,” Siyavak said, angrily. “We can do that.”

When I left next morning they’d agreed to a joint command by Siyavak and Victor and were planning a funeral service for the dead. The air was still poisonous, but no longer sullen; the hatred was balanced by a sense of purpose. I had hopes that when they got away from Condercum they might yet find a way to be happy.

Victor remained at Condercum to supervise the fourth dragon. He offered us some Roman cavalry as escort, but Arshak declined the protection of men who detested us, and I agreed with him. Arshak and I set out back to Corstopitum on our own. It had turned colder, and there were a few flakes of snow drifting from a slate-colored sky. I was tired-I hadn’t slept much in the stone barracks block-and the world of camps and war seemed more confining and oppressive than ever. I didn’t want to put my armor on that morning; the weight and the sound of it set my teeth on edge. I packed it behind my saddle. No need to get it wet, I told myself, and my coat and hat were warmer. Arshak, who’d armed for the journey despite the snow, eyed me contemptuously.

We rode off in silence along a road that was almost entirely empty. We had not spoken to each other since his reference to Tirgatao, and now he sat on his horse with his head bent, eyes fixed on the animal’s mane in a hot manic glare. We’d ridden the better part of ten miles along the military way, and had passed the fort of Vindovala, when Arshak suddenly sat up straight and turned the glare on me.

“You struck me in the face at Corstopitum,” he said.

“I did,” I told him. I’d had time to calm myself again, and I knew how to answer him. “I ask your pardon for the blow. But you mentioned a thing that’s like a hot iron in my heart, and you can’t be surprised that I was angry.”

A little of the glare faded. “Do we have to be enemies?” he asked, almost pleadingly.

“We’re not-are we?” I returned.

“You’ve taken the side of the Romans.”

“We both swore at Aquincum that that was our side.”

“It isn’t! It never was! It can’t be!”

“Then whose side is our side? The side of the people who sent that message to murder Gatalas?”

He drew in his breath with a hiss and looked away. What were they doing to us? he’d asked. Gatalas dead, me Romanizing, and himself.. He hadn’t said. He’d known, though, that what was happening to himself was terrible. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, in a frozen, unnatural voice.

I was afraid that if I said anything more, I would have to fight him, and that would be disaster however it ended. So I said nothing.

We rode on for another mile, and were nearing the turn down to the old road and Corstopitum when we heard a jingle of harness ahead of us and Bodica’s chariot turned onto the military way in front of us.

She was alone. The blue cloak she wore was pulled over her head against the cold, and she held the reins under it: for a moment the white stallion trotted toward us driven by a shapeless, faceless shadow. Then it stopped, the horse shivering under the yoke, and waited while we rode on toward it.

Just before we reached it, Bodica loosened the hood and turned into a lovely woman again. “There you are!” she announced, smiling prettily. “I thought I would take the horse out for some exercise, and perhaps meet you on your way back from Condercum. I wanted to talk with you.”

Arshak said nothing. He dismounted, strode up to the chariot, and handed her the divining rod with the marks on it.

Her smile vanished. She turned the rod in her fingers, then shook her head and handed it back to Arshak, saying something I couldn’t quite hear. “Can we stop and talk?” she asked, more loudly, looking at me earnestly with those vivid blue eyes. “I’ve brought some hot wine against the cold.”

“Lady Aurelia, greetings,” I said. “I thank you, no.”

She looked at Arshak. “We need to talk,” she told him. “We all do. Didn’t you speak to him?”

He nodded. “Ariantes, stop with us a minute.”

I looked down at them both and gathered the reins. The sudden openness about the fact of their conspiracy frightened me. I wished I’d put on my armor after all. But there was an obvious question to ask, and I had to ask it.

“Lady Aurelia,” I said, “was it you who sent Gatalas that rod?”

She simply stared at me, neither nodding nor shaking her head, neither smiling nor frowning. “I’ve come here to speak to you,” she said. “I would have spoken before, but you avoided me.” Then, deliberately, she turned away and took a flask wrapped in a blanket out from under the bench seat. “I hope that I’m speaking to a friend. Let me treat you as one. I offer you hospitality, and we will all hold what we say under the sacred bond of guest friendship. Then, no matter what comes afterward, we’ll know each other’s minds.”

I walked my horse closer to the chariot but did not dismount. Now it had come to it, I did not want to know. If I knew, I would be at odds with Arshak, perhaps with all my people.

“You said we were not enemies,” said Arshak.

I was bound to hear his explanation. I sighed and nodded. Bodica pulled two cups from under the seat and poured the wine; it steamed slightly in the chill air. She handed one up to me, took a sip from the other, and handed it to Arshak. I took a sip; it was tepid, rather than hot, and had been sweetened with honey.

“You can’t love Rome,” said Bodica.

I said nothing.

“You’re a very able man,” Bodica coaxed, “and a prince in your own right. Why shouldn’t you serve the kingdom of the Brigantes instead of the masters of a city in Italy?”

“There is no kingdom of the Brigantes,” I replied.

“But there could be! Rome used to govern hundreds of square miles beyond that wall there, but it was abandoned because it became too costly to keep. If Brigantia became too costly to keep, they’d abandon that too. Don’t you see that we’re much more like you than the Romans are, that your natural alliance is with us? We don’t worship money, kill men in the arenas for pleasure, or murder women and children when we make war.”

“Your ancestress, the queen of the Iceni, murdered women and children when she made war,” I replied, “or so I have heard. You exaggerate your likeness to us. And you are not Brigantic. Your ancestors were kings and queens, but of southern tribes. You would have no rights in any kingdom of the Brigantes if one did exist, and I do not believe you plan to set up an independent Brigantic kingdom with someone else as queen.”

“She is a queen, by birth and by wisdom,” said Arshak, angrily. “Why shouldn’t she be one in fact as well? The Brigantes would rejoice to have her.”

“And the Pictish tribesmen who invaded?” I asked.

“They would rejoice, too? Someone had promised them that the Romans would be busy with a mutiny, Gatalas’ mutiny. But Gatalas is dead, and so are most of them.”

Bodica’s eyes had narrowed dangerously. “Gatalas was meant to succeed! He should never have ordered his men to surrender. I made a mistake, I didn’t speak to him myself. So he didn’t realize that we could succeed, and he tried to spare his followers what he thought was the inevitable finish. I won’t make the same mistake again; I am speaking to you. We can succeed; if we dare enough, we will! Still! As for the raid, it was you who stopped it, and that, too, was because you didn’t know.”

“No,” I said bitterly, “it was because we had peace in Cilurnum. You meant me to be under arrest there, suspected of being in league with Gatalas, but my Roman officers trusted me, and left me free. I do not like these plans of yours, Lady. They are too full of lies, and too ruthless with your allies. I would not trust myself and my men to your good faith any more than I would lead them on horseback into the ocean.” I swallowed the rest of the wine in one gulp and handed her back the cup.

She looked at me without expression. “You won’t join us, then? You won’t even hear the rest of what I have to say?”

I shook my head. I was aware of Arshak turning back to his horse and mounting. “I have no proof of anything,” I reminded them both. “And what you have said has been under the bond of guest friendship. If you like, I will swear on fire, as well, not to mention this conversation to anyone. You will then have to see to it that I get no proof: that is a fair contest. Good health, Lady.”

“You are on the side of the Romans, then?” said Arshak, his voice harsh with both pain and anger. His hand was on the shaft of his spear.

“I am on the side of my own men, who trust me to do what is best for them.”

“Traitor!” shouted Arshak, drawing his spear from its holder.

I touched Farna’s sides and sent her dancing backward up the road, and as I went I pulled my bow out of its case. Arshak yelled and lowered the spear. I turned Farna, stringing the bow, setting an arrow to the string, and cantered her onto the verge, going back toward the chariot. Farna reared as I stopped her, the arrow fixed on Bodica. “Let me go back to Corstopitum,” I called to Arshak.

“Fight me!” shouted Arshak, trying to get his horse in front of the chariot. “Not her! Me!” But I turned Farna about and kept the arrow fixed on Bodica.

“I do not want to fight you. If we duel, the survivor will be charged with murder, and his dragon will suffer trying to protect him: I will inflict that on none of our men. I have offered you a fair contest. Accept it now, and let me go.”

“Go, then!” said Bodica. She stood very tall in the chariot, her blue cloak draped close about her shoulders, but the hood fallen from her head, flung back proudly against my threat; she raised her hand. “Go if you can!”

I touched Farna and started back to the road, holding the bow bent and the arrow on the string. But before I reached the paving, something seemed to fall like a fog over my eyes. I felt dizzy. Farna’s hooves rang on the stones, and she stopped, sensing something wrong. My hands, holding the bow, seemed suddenly very far away. As though I were looking at them from a distance, I saw the bow slacken. My fingers fumbled at the string, and I dropped the arrow. Arshak lowered the spear and stared at me in consternation. Farna blew softly and shook her head, puzzled.

Bodica tied the reins of the chariot to the post, climbed down, and walked over to me. I couldn’t move. She pulled the bow out of my hands as though I were a child. I tried to rouse myself; I fumbled at my shoulder for my sword-hilt, but couldn’t find it. Bodica gave me a shove, and I fell. I lay on my back, looking at the side of my horse above me, steaming in the cold, and beyond that, the gray sky and the few light flakes of snow. Everything seemed remote, as though I were looking at it down a long tunnel.

“What have you done to him?” cried Arshak.

“Did you think we could let him go back?” she demanded in return. “His Romanizing has cost our people a thousand lives already, and he’d do worse, much worse, now he knows we’re his enemies.”

“I would have fought him,” protested Arshak. “He’s good, but I could beat him.”

“Everyone knew you left Condercum with him. If he were found killed by the spear-and, dear heart, I believe he would be if you fought him-everyone would know that you did it, and what would happen to us then?”

“What did you do?” Arshak repeated. “He’s a prince of the Iazyges: he deserved to die fighting.” But he sounded halfhearted now.

I thought, with a mind that was numb and fumbling like my hands, how she’d handed me the wine. It had been drugged. Not the wine, she’d drunk some of that as well, and Arshak. The cup, my cup, the cup she offered in the sacred bond of hospitality. Had she been sure I’d refuse to join them, or had it just been a precaution? How could Arshak accept it? I tried to get up. I twitched over to one side, and fell back.

“He deserves to die,” Bodica answered Arshak. “That he was a prince of the Iazyges makes his Romanizing worse. Go back to Corstopitum, but stop on the way and do some hunting. Take off your armor. Say you and he saw a quarry, a deer or a flock of partridges, on your way back from Condercum, and decided to see who could shoot the most game. Say you lost him in the chase, and thought he’d be back in Corstopitum. It will look like an accident.”

“But…”

“He betrayed you, my white heart! Don’t you see that? My husband approves of him, and wanted to promote him above you. He would have become an adviser on all Sarmatian affairs and your lord. He would have ended up handing you over to my husband, and I couldn’t bear that, I’d die. Go, quickly. I can deal with him.”

“If it has to be, let me help. It’s too much for you to bear alone.”

“No! The road’s empty now, but who knows when someone will come along? We mustn’t be seen together. Just help me to put him in the chariot: I’ll do the rest.”

Arshak picked me up by the shoulders, slung me over my horse, and led her over to the chariot. I was aware of it, through the mist, but I could not move. It was the most I could do to pick my head up a little, and then I couldn’t hold it. I was put in the chariot like a corpse and shoved under the bench seat. I was aware, in the dim scent of damp leather and wood, of Bodica and Arshak whispering good-bye, and then the chariot jolted into motion.

It rolled over paved road for some distance, and I struggled in the mist and darkness, half-unconscious, half-awake. When I could think at all, I wished, stupidly, passionately, and irrelevantly, that I had succeeded that time in reaching the Jade Gate. It was cold. After a time, I realized that we’d left the paved road and were bouncing along a rougher surface. Again I struggled to get up, and couldn’t. I twisted my head, and saw beside me the edge of Bodica’s gown, her feet in the expensive shoes of embossed leather, and a mud track beyond. The chariot turned, and the mud was replaced by grass, green winter grass with a light sprinkling of snow. The chariot stopped.

The world faded a moment, and I felt horribly cold and sick. Bodica hauled me out of the chariot and rolled me over on the grass, then went and did something with my horse, which I saw had been tied behind the chariot. She bent over me and unfastened the baldric for my sword, took it off, refastened it, and hung it from my saddle. Then she took the bow case out and put it in my hand. She knelt and looked in my face. “You can see me, can’t you?” she whispered. Her eyes were very bright and she was flushed and smiling. “I’ve given you the bow because they’ll think you were hunting. I’ve hung up the sword because you would have taken it off if you were wading out into the water to fetch something you’d shot.”

Water. I tried to move my head; after what seemed a long time, it shifted, and I saw the river, only a few feet away.

“Yes, there,” said Bodica, gleefully. “You’re going to drown. I’ve never drowned a man before. Only animals.” She giggled, sat down, and began taking her shoes off. “You believe that people who drown are damned, don’t you?”

I could not move or speak. Bodica leaned over me again, her face close to mine; she ran her hand up my arm and pressed my shoulder. “You’re strong, aren’t you?” she whispered. “A big strong warrior and a commander of men. And you’re going to drown like a helpless little puppy.” She giggled again, rubbing my shoulder like a lover, and then leaned closer still and kissed me, open-mouthed, hot and wet. It was peculiarly horrible. It was my death she kissed then, and her pleasure in it was somehow even worse than the thing itself.

She stood up, put her shoes and socks in the chariot, and pushed me with her bare foot; I rolled helplessly over toward the river. I closed my eyes. Tirgatao, I thought, just let me find Tirgatao when I’m dead. Marha, Jupiter, any legal or illegal god you like-let my people’s beliefs be wrong, and let me find Tirgatao and Artanisca.

Bodica gave me another push, and I rolled over into the water. She pulled up her skirts and stepped into the shallows after me, pushed once more so that I lay on my face. The last thing I was aware of was the weight of her foot pressing me down.