Island of Ghosts (43 page)

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.

XVI

T
HE  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.