Gillian Bradshaw - Island of Ghosts

“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.

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.