Gillian Bradshaw: Island of Ghosts

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.