The Sarantine Mosaic (133 page)

Ecodes of Soriyya, veteran decurion of the Second Amorian, a career soldier, was keenly aware, even with the turmoil of the night and the two fast cups of wine he'd (unwisely) accepted after searching the home of a fellow southerner, that one conducted oneself with composure in the home of a Senator, and had one's men do the same, even if they were frustrated and in a hurry and there was an enormous reward to be pursued.

The ten of them went about their business briskly and very thoroughly but didn't trouble the woman servants and took some care not to break anything as they flung open trunks and wardrobes and checked every room, above and below stairs. Things
had
been broken during searches earlier after they'd helped clear the faction rabble from the streets and Ecodes expected to hear of complaints in the morning. That didn't worry him unduly. The Second Amorian's tribunes were good officers, on the whole, and they knew the men needed some release at times and that soft citizens were always grumbling about the honest soldiers who protected their homes and lives.
What was a broken vase or platter in the scheme of things? How far would one go in protesting that a servant had had her breast squeezed or her tunic lifted by a soldier in passing?

On the other hand, there were houses and there were houses, and it could be bad for one's chances of promotion to offend an actual Senator. Ecodes had been given reason to believe that he might make centurion soon, especially if he had a good war.

If there was a
war.
There was a lot of talk going about tonight as soldiers met and passed each other in the streets of Sarantium. Armies fed on rumour, and the latest was that they wouldn't be going west in any great hurry after all. The war in Batiara had been the grand scheme of the last Emperor, the one who'd been murdered today. The new Emperor was the army's own beloved leader, and though no one could possibly doubt the courage and will of Leontes, it did make sense that a new man on the throne might have things to deal with here before sending his armies sailing off to battle.

That suited Ecodes well enough, in truth, though he would never have said as much to anyone. Fact was, he hated ships and the sea with a fear deep as bones or pagan spells. The thought of entrusting his body and soul to one of those round, slow tubs hulking in the harbour with their drunken captains and crews frightened him infinitely more than had any attack of Bassanids or desert tribes, or even the Karchites, foaming at the mouth with battle rage, on his one tour of duty in the north.

In a battle you could defend yourself, or retreat if you had to. A man with some experience had ways of surviving. On a ship in a storm (Jad forbid!) or simply drifting out of sight of land, there was nothing a soldier could do but heave his guts and pray. And Batiara was a long way off. A very long way.

As far as Ecodes of Soriyya was concerned, if the Strategos—the glorious new Emperor—decided to have himself a good long think about the west for a while, direct his armies north and east, say (there was talk in the dark that the fucking Bassanids had breached the peace, sending a force over the border), this would be altogether a proper, wise thing.

You couldn't be promoted to centurion for a good war if you were drowned on the way, could you?

He accepted a terse report from Priscus that the courtyard and garden were empty. They had the house searches pretty much down to a routine now. They'd been in enough of them tonight. The main floor rooms near the front here had been made into some sort of medical chambers, but they were empty. The steward—a lean-faced, officious type—had obediently assembled the servants downstairs and accounted for the three women by name. Priscus and four of the others went down the hall to check the household staff's rooms and the kitchen. Ecodes, speaking as politely as he could, inquired as to who might be occupying the rooms upstairs. There had been two men until this morning, the steward explained. A recovering patient and the Bassanid doctor who was staying here as a guest of the Senator.

Ecodes refrained (politely) from spitting at the mention of a Bassanid.

‘What patient?' he asked.

‘Not a woman, a man. And we are under instructions not to say,' the steward murmured blandly. The smooth, superior-sounding bastard had exactly the sort of city manner Ecodes most despised. He was a servant, no more than that, and yet he acted as if he'd been born to olive groves and vineyards.

‘Fuck your instructions,' Ecodes said, mildly enough. ‘I haven't time tonight. What man?'

The steward grew pale. One of the women brought a hand to her mouth. Ecodes thought (couldn't be sure) she might be hiding a giggle. Probably had to hump the thin-blooded bastard to keep her job. Wouldn't be unhappy to see him caught up a bit, Ecodes would wager.

‘It is understood that you have ordered me to tell you?' the steward said. Lump of dung, Ecodes thought. Covering himself here.

‘Fucking right it's understood. Tell.'

‘The patient was Scortius of Soriyya,' said the steward. ‘Rustem of Kerakek had been treating him in secrecy here. Until this morning.'

‘Holy Jad!' gasped Ecodes. ‘You aren't spinning a tale?'

The steward's expression made it clear, if any doubt had hitherto existed, that he wasn't the tale-spinning sort.

Ecodes licked his lips nervously and tried to absorb this information. It had nothing to do with anything, but these were tidings! Scortius was by a long bowshot the most famous son of Soriyya today. The hero of every boy and man in that desert-bordered land, including Ecodes. Enough soldiers on leave had attended the racing today for the story of the Blues' champion's unexpected reappearance in the Hippodrome—and what had followed—to be known to everyone searching tonight. There were rumours he might die of his wounds: the Emperor and the greatest charioteer on the very same day.

And what would
that
do to the superstitious in the army, on the eve of what was supposed to be the grand war of reconquest?

And here was Ecodes, standing in the very house where Scortius had been recovering, treated in secret by a Bassanid! What a tale it would make! He could hardly wait to get back to the barracks.

For the moment, he simply nodded his head to the steward, his expression gravely sober. ‘I can see why this
was secret. Be easy—it will never be revealed by us. Anyone else in the house?'

‘Only the physician himself.'

‘The Bassanid? And right now he is … ?'

‘Upstairs. In his room.'

Ecodes looked over at Priscus, who had come back along the hallway. ‘I'll do that room myself. We don't want complaints here.' He glanced an inquiry at the steward.

‘First room on the left from the top of the stairs.' A helpful man, if you let him know the rules of the game.

Ecodes went up. Scortius! Had been here! And the man who'd saved his life …

He knocked briskly on the first door but didn't wait for an invitation. This was a search. The man might have done a good turn here, but he was still a fucking Bassanid, wasn't he?

He was, it appeared.

The naked woman riding the man in the bed turned as Ecodes opened the door and let out a muffled shriek and then a torrent of what was obviously foul abuse. Ecodes could only get the gist of it: she was swearing in Bassanid.

She dismounted from the man beneath her, swinging around to face the door, covering her nakedness hastily with a sheet as the man sat upright. He had—not unreasonably under the circumstances—an outraged expression on his face.

‘How
dare
you!' he hissed, keeping his voice down. ‘Is this Sarantine civility?'

Ecodes actually did feel just a little bit intrusive. The eastern whore—there were always some of them here from all over the known world—was spitting and swearing, as if she'd never shown her naked backside to a soldier before. She had switched to Sarantine now, heavily accented but intelligible, and made a number of
pungent, explicit assertions about Ecodes's mother and alleys behind cauponae and his own provenance.

‘Shut up!'
The physician slapped her hard on the side of the head. She shut up, whimpering. Women needed that sometimes, Ecodes thought approvingly … obviously a truth in Bassania as much as anywhere else and why shouldn't it be?

‘What are you doing here?' The grey-bearded doctor struggled to assume a measure of dignity. Ecodes was privately amused: dignity was not easy when surprised beneath the pumping body of a whore. Bassanids. Not even men enough to get their women under them where they belonged.

‘Ecodes, Second Amorian Foot. Orders to search all houses in the City. We're looking for a fugitive woman.'

‘Because none of you can
get
a woman! They all
run
from you!' the whore beside the doctor cackled, her mouth wide open at her own wit.

‘I heard about the search,' the Bassanid said to Ecodes, keeping his composure. ‘In the Blues' compound where I was treating a patient.'

‘Scortius?' Ecodes couldn't help but ask.

The doctor hesitated. Then he shrugged.
Not my concern
,
the gesture seemed to say. ‘Among others. The soldiers were not gentle today, you know.'

‘Orders,' said Ecodes. ‘Trouble to be stopped. How is … the charioteer?' This was
huge
gossip.

Again the doctor hesitated, again he shrugged. ‘Ribs broken again, a wound ripped open, loss of blood, maybe a fallen lung. I'll know in the morning.'

The whore was still glaring at Ecodes, though at least she'd shut her foul mouth for the moment. She had a nice, ripe body, what he'd seen, but her hair was a tangled nest, her voice shrill and grating, and she didn't look especially clean. As far as Ecodes of Soriyya was concerned, you got
mud and swearing with your soldiers, when you went with a girl you wanted … something else.

‘This woman is … ?'

The doctor cleared his throat. ‘Well, ah, you do understand that my family is a long way off. And a man, even at my age …'

Ecodes grinned a little. ‘I won't go to Bassania to tell your wife, if that's what you mean. Must say, you could have done better here in Sarantium than this, or do you like them talking dirty to you in your own language that much?'

‘Fuck yourself, soldier,' the woman snarled in that thick accent. ‘Since no one else is likely to.'

‘Manners, manners,' Ecodes said. ‘This is a Senator's house.'

‘It is,' said the doctor. ‘And manners are in short supply right now. Be so good as to finish doing what you must and leave. I confess I find neither propriety nor diversion in this encounter.'

I'm sure you don't, Bassanid pig
,
Ecodes thought.

What he said was, ‘I understand, doctor. Following orders, as I'm sure you realize.' He had a promotion to protect. The pig was living here and treating Scortius, which meant he was important.

Ecodes looked around. The usual upstairs room for this neighbourhood. Best room, view of the garden. He crossed to the window over the courtyard. It was dark. They'd already searched down there. He went back to the door, looked over at the bed. The two people there gazed at him, sitting up, side by side, silent now. The woman had the sheet up to cover herself, mostly, but not entirely. She was giving him a glimpse, a tease, even as she swore at him. Whores.

You were supposed to look under the beds, of course— obvious hiding places. But you were also supposed to use
your judgement as a decurion (a centurion-to-be?) and not waste time. There were a lot of houses to be searched before dawn. There had been no ambiguity about the orders given: they wanted the woman found before the ceremony in the Hippodrome tomorrow. Ecodes was willing to assert with confidence that the woman who had been Empress of Sarantium this morning was not under the bed on which these two Bassanids had been engaged.

‘As you were, doctor,' he said, allowing himself a grin. ‘Carry on.' He went out, closing the door behind him. Priscus was coming down the hallway with two of the men. Ecodes looked at him; he shook his head.

‘One room that was occupied, but it isn't any more. A patient of some sort.'

‘Let's go,' Ecodes said. ‘I'll tell you about
that
outside. You won't fucking believe it.'

She'd had a filthy mouth, that Bassanid whore, but a nicely curved rump, he thought, going down the stairs ahead of Priscus, remembering that first startling, arousing vision when he'd opened the door. He wondered idly if there'd be any chance of a girl himself, later tonight. Not likely. Not for honest soldiers doing a job.

In the antechamber by the front door he waited for his men to file out and then nodded to the steward. Politely. Even said a thank you. A Senator's house. He'd given them his name when they came in.

‘Oh,' he said, as a last thought struck him. ‘When did that Bassanid whore upstairs come here?'

The steward looked genuinely scandalized. ‘You foul-mouthed man! What a disgusting thought! The Bassanid is a well-known physician and an … an honoured guest of the Senator!' he exclaimed. ‘Keep your evil thoughts to yourself!'

Ecodes blinked and then laughed aloud. Well, well. Too sensitive by half! Told him something, didn't it?
Boys? He made a mental note to ask someone about this Senator Bonosus later. He was about to explain when he saw the woman behind the steward wink at him, holding a finger to her smiling lips.

Ecodes grinned. She was pretty, this one. And it was obvious that the very proper steward didn't know all that was going on in this house.

‘Right,' he said, looking at the woman meaningfully. Maybe he'd have a chance to come back later. Unlikely, but you never knew. The steward looked quickly over his shoulder at the girl, whose expression immediately became entirely proper, her hands clasped submissively at her waist. Ecodes grinned again. Women. Born to deceive, all of them. But this one was clean, the way Ecodes liked, a bit of class to her, not like the eastern shrew upstairs.