demanded bitterly. “Why sit about like a couple of eagles with ruffled feathers, too grand to complain, waiting for me? And then, the moment I arrive, sending me to deal with them as though I were your message boy!”
“I am sorry, Ariantes,” Arshak said-rare words for any Sarmatian prince to use, and rarer still in his mouth. “We were mistaken, Gatalas and I. We will all go and see this legate together.”
At this I was ashamed of myself. The bread choked me, and I tossed it aside. “My brothers,” I said, speaking now with the urgency of what I felt, “don’t you and the Romans conspire to make a Roman of me. I have tried to deal with them on their own terms, it’s true, but it’s only because they won’t listen to me otherwise, and we must make our voice heard. But you know what they say: di vide et impera. ” (And I said the words in the language to which they belonged.) “I know perfectly well that they think I’m the man they can use, the reasonable one, and they’ll make a tool of me if they can. Don’t help them by pushing all the reasoning, and all the bargaining, onto me.”
Arshak stepped over to me and offered me his hand. “We will stand by you,” he promised solemnly. Gatalas nodded and followed him.
I stood and took both hands in my own. The fear that had twisted in the back of my mind was out in the open now, and it was an immense relief to throw it off, and stand joined with my brother princes. “Thank you,” I told them. “We’ll all go and see the legate, then. But, Arshak, I think you should change your coat first.”
He frowned. He took great pride in his coat, and was wearing it that day tossed loose over his shoulders and pinned. The scalps had been stitched on in a kind of pattern, with the lighter-colored ones making a stripe down the back and each arm, and the body in shades of black: the red wool of the coat’s fabric showed only at the cuffs. (I’d watched him carefully working out where he’d put Facilis’ scalp, if the gods were kind, and which others he’d move to make space for it.)
“We want to ask the legate to give us our weapons back,” I said, when he was silent. “It’s not a good move to start by reminding him how many Romans we’ve killed with them.”
Arshak sighed. “Very well! I’ll wear the other one. But I’d thought we would demand our weapons back, not ask for them.”
I hesitated. “Do you want my advice?”
“You know more about the legate than we do.”
“Then we should ask first, and ask softly, before we demand. My impression of the legate is that he’s a proud man and a hard one, and doesn’t like to be corrected: if we demand, he may say no, simply to prove to us that he won’t be dictated to. Then if we refused to leave the city weaponless, even if he had to back down now, for lack of troops to put down a mutiny, he’d punish us later. He doesn’t like or trust us, and he’s accepted Facilis into his legion to advise him about us.”
“What!” exclaimed Gatalas. “Facilis isn’t going back to Aquincum?”
I told him about Facilis’ offer to the legate and its acceptance.
“No wonder we haven’t been given our weapons back,” Arshak said thoughtfully. “Facilis has got at the legate. Well, I’m pleased he isn’t going safely home.” He smiled.
I hated that smile. I wanted to ask Arshak to leave the centurion alone, say that the risk of trouble from killing the man far outweighed the pleasure of vengeance. But I knew Arshak would be offended if I did, so I said nothing.
“How do you think we can get round this legate, then?”Gatalas asked, while Arshak fingered the place on his coat that he’d chosen before.
“We go to him quietly, all three of us, and tell him that the men are upset because they expected to be given their weapons as soon as they had crossed the ocean. He may not even know that; he wasn’t at Aquincum. We tell him that it will damage their confidence in him if they don’t get the weapons, and that they’ll be suspicious of any promises that he might make in future.”
“What confidence?” asked Gatalas.
“The confidence we might have if he deals with us fairly. My brother, he’ll know that the men must believe that he means what he says, or there’s no reason for them to obey him. He knows he must give us our weapons sometime. We can pledge our honor that our people won’t do violence to any Roman on the way to Eburacum. If we phrase it tactfully, I think he’ll give in. Arshak, you know how it’s done-you did it yourself in Bononia.”
“Not exactly this,”said Arshak. “But yes, near enough. Very well, we do it gently. In fact”-taking charge-“we don’t even go to him as though our first thought was to complain. We appear before him to greet him as our new commander, and to give him a gift. Romans love getting presents. What do we give him?”
“A horse?” suggested Gatalas.
“They don’t value them as much as we do,” I said. “A jewel?” My hand went involuntarily to the unpinned top of my coat.
Arshak looked at me sideways. “What did you do with your coat pin?”
“Gave it to Valerius Natalis, as you’ve guessed,” I replied-evenly, though I couldn’t yet bring myself to admit that Valerius Natalis had given me a slave. “He was very pleased with it.”
Gatalas winced. “Did you have to give him a dragon?”
“If it bought us one friend in the Roman camp, it was well given,” said Arshak. “If Natalis has a jewel, though, we don’t want to give the same to Priscus. I have a length of silk which I bought from a caravan from the East and took along for just this kind of thing. Would he like that, or would he think it was woman’s gear and be offended?”
“He has a beautiful young wife,” I answered. “She’s influential too, or I’m much deceived. Give it to him, and mention her: that should be safe.”
“We’ll bring only ten men each from our bodyguards,” Arshak went on, now in charge completely. “Enough to show that we’re persons of importance, but not enough to be interpreted as a threat of force. Very well. I’ll go fetch the silk and change my coat, and we can all collect our horses and our men. We’ll meet back here in a few minutes.”
He strode off, and Gatalas started for his wagon, less quickly, and scowling: he disliked asking for what he thought he should demand. I ran my hands through my tangled hair and turned to the captain of my guard.
“Leimanos, was there trouble over the milk?” I asked. “How much of it is there?”
His eyebrows bobbed up, and he snorted with appreciation. He was a kinsman of mine, a lean brown man with eyes as blue as Arshak’s, loyal and hardworking: we’d ridden together since the battle where I’d killed my first man. “Enough for about twenty men in our dragon. The other companies got the same amount. I poured some for you, my prince, and told the men to be quiet until you’d drunk it and could say who got the rest.”
“Good man. It’s to go to the men who are ill. If there’s anything left over when they’ve had their cups, make cheese.” I picked my own cup, which I hadn’t touched, off the step of the wagon. “Take this to whoever’s most ill.”
Leimanos frowned. “The rest can go to the men who are ill. You drink that, my lord. You didn’t eat last night and you didn’t eat the bread this morning: you should at least drink that. And the other commanders drank milk. It’s true what you told them: you’re no less a prince than either of them, and it’s a disgrace to the dragon if you’re treated with less honor.”
I drank down the milk. A company’s sense of its commander’s dignity ought to be treated with respect.
Leimanos smiled with satisfaction. “Do you want me to take the first ten of the bodyguard and come with you to see the legate?”he asked.
“No, stay and see to the milk,” I answered. “Tell Banadaspos and the second ten to get their horses. I’m going to dig out another coat pin and comb my hair.”
“Yes, my prince.” Instead of going off obediently, however, he hesitated.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Only that I’m glad you put that brace of eagles in their place,” he said vehemently. “They had no business thinking themselves better than you. They’ve been happy enough with the leather and the medicines and the food and the milk that you talked out of the Romans, to say nothing of their crossing the ocean safely instead of dying on Roman swords in Bononia-but their men have been whispering that you’re Romanizing, and they’ve let the whispers run.”
“Ah. There’ll be more whispers to come, Leimanos,” I said, steeling myself. “There’s worse Romanizing that you don’t know yet. I accepted the gift of a slave, a scribe, from the procurator Natalis. I needed someone to write letters.”
