“Would they really start fighting duels if you hadn’t warned them?” he asked in amazement.
I looked at him sideways, wondering what it must be like to lead a body of men who did not fight duels over every half-imagined slur. “Of course,” I said. “Though not so much with men from this dragon. We all know one another. But there are one or two points of conflict with the troops that follow Arshak and Gatalas.”
“What? I ought to know if I’m to… liaise properly.”
True enough. “The others sneer at the Roxalani in my company, and the Roxalani sometimes take offense. I am lucky in Kasagos, who is senior to the other Roxalanic captains. He is a sensible man and a priest and diviner, and he knows how to calm his fellow tribesmen and soothe their opponents-but still they fight, at times. Then we are second to Gatalas in the order of march. The men do not mind coming behind Arshak, because he is of royal blood, but Gatalas, they say, is no better than myself. So they and Gatalas’ men boast to one another that their horses are faster, their armor stronger, their own skill greater, and their commanders braver and more glorious-and sometimes they fight over it.” After a moment I added, “They did it to some extent even on the way from Aquincum. But then they were unarmed, and they were too wretched with bad food and weariness to have much heart for boasting. It will be worse now.”
I could have added that now Gatalas’ men were certain to say to mine, “Your commander is a Romanizer,” and my men would probably reply angrily, “Who got you that beef you’re eating?” and there would be blows over that, too. But what would be the point of trying to explain the danger and dishonor of Romanizing to a Roman?
The Romans were waiting for us by the tribunal. Priscus had even fewer troops than I’d expected: fifty dispatch riders and one century. He sent Arshak’s dragon in front, with a guide, and followed it with his own troops and their baggage. Gatalas’ dragon came next, and then the wagons, and finally my own company brought up the rear. Normally I would have expected that to be a dusty position-but everything was far too wet. The worst problem was horses losing horse-sandals in the churned-up mud verge of the road. As soon as I’d arranged the squadrons, I was obliged to leave them to dig the horse-sandals out on their own while I joined the legate. Senior Roman officers usually ride together when their forces are on the march, though Sarmatians stay with their men. Facilis had imposed the Roman order of march on us during the journey from Aquincum, largely to keep an eye on the officers and separate us from our followers, and I wasn’t surprised to find that Priscus retained this precaution.
Priscus was riding a solid and rather sleepy-looking gray at the head of the century-the legionaries, of course, marched on foot. Arshak and Gatalas and their liaison officers were already on his right when Comittus and I cantered up, and Facilis rode slightly behind them, keeping out of their way. Aurelia Bodica was on her husband’s left, sitting in her flimsy painted chariot again, with both the white stallion and another white horse to pull it. (I’d noticed her covered carriage with the baggage train, drawn by a less exalted horse.) She was even lovelier than I remembered, and she smiled at us very brightly.
“Greetings, cousin! Greetings, Lord Ariantes!” she called. “Isn’t it lucky the rain’s stopped?”
“Just in time for the journey,” agreed Comittus, falling in beside her.
She gave me a look of sweet concern. “Though I gather that you had very wet weather to travel in over the last month, Lord Ariantes. My husband”-she glanced toward him-“has been telling me that your troops have had such a difficult journey so far that you all have a number of men lying in the wagons with the baggage, too ill to ride. I hope we can recover them.”
I felt ashamed of my distrust of her. “I trust they will recover, Lady Aurelia Bodica,” I replied, “given better food and supplies.” I was glad she’d given me the chance to call the legate’s attention to the question of supplies again.
Priscus snorted.
“Well, I’ll be glad to help if I can,” declared Bodica earnestly. She glanced over at Arshak and Gatalas as well, and raised her voice so that they, too, could hear her offer, “As my husband can tell you, Princes, my family and my friends own a great deal of land and cattle in northern Britain, and I’d be glad to use whatever wealth or influence I have to help your people settle in happily.”
The legate smiled, and leaned out of the saddle to pat her hand. “You needn’t worry, my dear,” he told her. “I’m sure we can settle them without digging into our private fortunes. But thank you.”
Bodica gave him a lingering smile back. I bowed my head and thanked her for her kindness in making the offer; Arshak and Gatalas did the same. I gathered from their manner that they’d been introduced to her before I joined them, and that they found her impressive.
“Oh, and Lord Ariantes,” Bodica went on, “I believe I never actually thanked you for catching my horse the other day. Please excuse me! I was so surprised to find one of your people actually in Britain, it went right out of my head. But really, I’m very grateful. I do love this horse, and who knows what might have happened to him if you hadn’t caught him?”
“I am glad to have been of service to you, Lady,” I replied.
Arshak turned his mount, cantered behind the chariot, and pulled in beside me. “What is this?” he asked me, speaking Latin in courtesy to the company. “You had the good fortune to be of service to the lady?”
Bodica laughed. “Didn’t he even tell you, Lord Arshak?” (I noticed, with some surprise, that she said his name correctly, with the sh sound most Romans can’t pronounce.) “Was that modesty, Lord Ariantes, or didn’t you find the adventure worth repeating to your friends?”
I was taken aback: I hadn’t considered being knocked down by a horse an adventure.
“Ariantes is not given to boasting,” replied Arshak, giving me an affectionate look. “I think otherwise any service to a lady such as.. your wife, my lord Julius Priscus” (the pause before he tactfully brought the legate into the conversation was only just noticeable) “is a tale he would gladly have told us.”
Bodica gave him a look that said, “That is very pretty flattery, sir!” Priscus, however, was frowning anxiously. “How did the horse get loose?” he asked. “You hadn’t mentioned that, my dear. You just said you’d met one of our Sarmatians in the marketplace. Blizzard didn’t.. that is, the beast didn’t cause any trouble for you, did it?”
Bodica explained. Priscus gave Comittus a scowl, which the tribune received with a nervous, appeasing smile. “You were in charge of the escort, weren’t you, Tribune?” demanded the legate. “What were you thinking of, to let the beast slip its tether like that? Blizzard is a very valuable animal, shipped all the way from Iberia! You should have seen to it that he was tied securely.”
“I don’t know how it happened, sir,” replied Comittus. “I thought he was tied up securely.”
Priscus snorted again. “Don’t think. Check! That horse is not just a valuable animal, it’s a powerful one: it might injure Bodica if it got loose at the wrong time.” He glanced anxiously at his wife. “Really, my dear, I wish you’d use the gelding instead.”
“Oh, but I adore big strong fiery stallions, Tiberius, you know that!” Her quick, laughing under-the-lashes glance reinforced the double meaning.
Priscus gave a pleased grunt. “All the same,” he added, “there’s such a thing as too much fire in a horse. You remember that last animal you had nearly killed a groom, and I don’t like to think-”
“Tiberius!” she exclaimed, warningly, though she smiled on it, and he stopped. Her taste for fiery horses was evidently a sore point between them. No wonder Comittus had been anxious when the beast got loose.
“A stallion such as the lady Aurelia’s is no more dangerous than any other horse, if it is well trained and well handled,” I put in, trying to be helpful. What I said was true, though in fact, like most cavalrymen, I’ve always preferred a good quiet mare for any purpose, such as battle, that might frighten or alarm a horse.
Bodica gave me another dazzling smile, but the disquieting look was back in her eyes. Priscus gave me a hard glare. After a moment, Bodica began to ask questions about our mounts and our other horses.
It was an easy day’s riding, as I’d promised my men. We stopped in the middle of the afternoon, only twenty Roman miles from Dubris at a place called Durovernum: it had been decided that an easy journey north would give us time to recover from the hard one we’d had to Bononia. The men were in a good mood, happy at having their weapons back, happy at having reasonable food, happy at riding through the green rolling hills with their dragon leaping before them, the first Sarmatians to have crossed the ocean. They sang as they rode and told stories. I was less cheerful, worrying about the future. They might be happy now, but when they got to Cilurnum they would realize that they were here forever. Then they would miss their wives and families, hate the fellows who shared their wagons, and long for the open plains and the herds and wagons they had left behind. There would inevitably be trouble with drink and women, if there were any nearby, and quarrels over precedence and honor. And up to now they hadn’t spoken enough Latin to quarrel with Romans-but I guessed that they would learn it. When we stopped at Durovernum, I was eager to leave the legate and his party, with whom I’d been obliged to ride, and get back to
