Gillian Bradshaw - Island of Ghosts

“That’s what you said yesterday,” said Comittus.

“And it was true then, and is truer now.”

“You’re a very obstinate man,” said Longus.

At that echo I grinned, and then found them all staring at me.

“What is the matter?” I asked.

“You were smiling,” said Longus.

“So?”

“So I’ve never seen you smile. Not more than a lopsided, if-you-think-it’s-amusing sort of twist of the mouth. I’d decided it was beneath your dignity. What did I say that was so funny?”

Comittus suddenly started to grin. “That woman on the farm told him he was obstinate as well, and he smiled then.”

“A woman on a farm?” asked Longus, with lively interest. “What woman on what farm? A young woman?”

“A lady,” I corrected him, beginning to be annoyed. “The widowed landowner whose people took me from the river and who drew me back to life by her care.”

“She was young though,” Comittus said, mischievously. “And rather pretty. And you’re right, Gaius, I’ve never seen him smile like that. Is she why you’re in such a hurry to get back to Corstopitum?”

I cursed inwardly. Romans manage love differently from Sarmatians, and I was uncertain myself how I should go about following what was still nothing more than an interest, a stirring of desire that had been dead. But I did know that my own people allow women far more freedom than the Romans do. The reputation of a Roman lady is a delicate thing, and rough jokes in the fort could break it. “The lady is a respectable woman of rank,” I said severely. “I owe her my life, and I will not have her spoken of with disrespect because she showed me kindness. If anyone fails to treat her with the honor she deserves, I will fight him in earnest.”

They were silent a moment, digesting this. Then Facilis laughed. He had a harsh, barking laugh, an unpleasant sound, but his face was genial. “I’m sure the lady is modest and highly respectable,” he said. “And I suppose your wife back home is like them all, officially widowed.”

“My wife back home was killed by the Second Pannonian cavalry,” I replied sharply, “and my little son with her. Their bodies were burned. Do not speak of them.”

I don’t know why I announced it to them like that. No one had spoken of them. All my followers, and most of Arshak’s and Gatalas’ as well, knew what had happened, but they had kept silent about it for fear of offending me. The Romans had not known.

“I’m sorry,” said Facilis, after a silence.

“Yes,” I said. “As you once pointed out, we started that war.”

“I’m sorry,” Facilis said again, and sighed.

“The second ten of my bodyguard are waiting outside,” I said. “Is there anyone else that needs to come, or shall I go speak to Priscus and to Siyavak on my own?”

“I left some things in Corstopitum,” said Comittus. “I’ll come. But I need to get my warm cloak and saddle my horse.”

“We will ride on slowly; catch us up,” I said, and turned to go. Just at the door, I remembered another thing I had meant to say, and turned back. “Comittus, Facilis-thank you for vouching for me to the legate.”

“What were we supposed to do?” asked Facilis in his usual harsh voice. “Lie?” But he was smiling again.

The ride to Corstopitum did not tire me too badly and we arrived to find the town peaceful. (Most of the troops, both Sarmatians and Priscus’ legionaries, were camped outside the city, as there wasn’t space for them inside.) I left my escort at the stables in the military compound and went to the commandant’s house, where Comittus and I announced ourselves to the slaves. I asked where Eukairios was, but nobody seemed to know. A nervous pay-and-a-half clerk said that he had been billeted in the commandant’s house, but that he wasn’t there anymore. They were sending out runners to find him when Priscus himself appeared.

“Huh!” he said, scowling at me. “So there you are. What happened to you? They said they pulled you out of the river.”

“Greetings, my lord legate,” I replied. “They said the same to me. I do not remember it.”

“Huh!” he said again. “Well, at least you’re alive. Your advice has been wanted. The fellow you put in charge of the fourth dragon has been full of complaints about supplies, and everyone seems to agree that you’d find a way to satisfy him. Come into my office. I’ll summon him and Gaius Valerius, and we’ll go over it all. Lucius Javolenus, did you need to see me?”

“No, sir. I only came to Corstopitum to fetch some things, but of course, if you have anything for me to do…”

“Go tell Siavacus and Valerius that Ariantes is here and they’re to come at once.”

“Yes, my lord. Uh…”

Priscus didn’t wait for the question, but stamped off into the building. I followed the legate into his office-or rather, the prefect of the Thracians’ office, which Priscus had taken over-and perched uncomfortably on the three-legged stool he’d indicated when he seated himself in the chair. (I would have preferred the floor, but knew it would embarrass us both.)

I was glad the officers of the fourth dragon had to be summoned; I had another matter I wanted to discuss. “My lord legate,” I began carefully, “I have been giving thought to the matter we discussed a few days ago.”

“What?” he exclaimed. “You worry about your men’s pay even when you’re drowning?”

Very likely I did give him what Longus had described as an if-you-think-it’s-amusing twist of the mouth. “I considered the problem of the horses as I was recovering.”

He gave a snort. “What about the horses?”

“Do you remember, my lord, why I was reluctant to sell the additional ones we own?”

“You said that the poorest man you commanded had once owned a dozen horses, and had two, and the richest once owned over a thousand, and had six. You thought it would be humiliating and distressing to them to lose any more. Distressing or not, Commander, the province of Britain cannot pay for barbarian numeri to keep six horses just to satisfy their vanity.”

“That was one reason, my lord. I had another one.”

He sighed. “And I must admit, the second was a bit more compelling than the first. You don’t approve of native breeds of horse, and you want to keep those you have for breeding.”

“The British horses, my lord, with a few exceptions, are not large enough to carry the armor. And the exceptions are extremely expensive. The dragon could not afford to purchase enough of them.”

“Very well-but you know the rules. We do not let Roman troops engage in farming while on active service-and that includes Sarmatians taking time out to breed horses.”

“Sir, the horses we have are in their prime. In a few years they will be past that prime and aging quickly. Without sufficient horses of good quality, we cannot use our armor. If we are to function at all, we must begin breeding the animals at once. Now, my lord, the thing I was considering was this. I understand that the army can lease out property to private companies, that in fact this is done with land used to provide supplies. Could we not lease out some of the horses to a suitable private farm? The breeding stock would remain ours, but the farm would feed and care for the beasts, and in return receive a set price for the offspring.”

Priscus looked at me for a minute, rubbing a hand thoughtfully against his chin. “Did you think of that yourself?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re a pretty damned odd barbarian. Yes, that’s an excellent idea. We could fix a price that would make it worth the farm’s while, but still be well below the market value of your bloodstock. If we had any foals surplus, we could sell them at a handsome profit. It’s an excellent idea. But wouldn’t your men be distressed and humiliated at this as well?”