“Oh! Oh, Deae Matres! You’re one of the notorious Sarmatians?”
“Notorious?” I asked, amused.
She smiled back, with an air of surprise, but her reply was serious. “In the marketplace in Corstopitum they say you drink blood out of skulls and wear cloaks of human skin. People who used to go to Condercum or Cilurnum to trade started coming to Corstopitum instead. They were just thinking of going back again when there was that mutiny, and the battle against the Picts. We were glad, very glad, that the Selgovae and Votadini didn’t have the chance to steal our cattle and carry us off as slaves-but we were frightened, too, to hear how completely they’d been crushed. And when the Sarmatians at Condercum mutinied, just thirty killed over a hundred…” She stopped. I could see the awful possibility running through her mind, that I was a mutineer who had escaped and was fleeing justice. “You’re not from Condercum, are you?” she asked anxiously.
“No,” I replied, “Cilurnum.”
But I remembered now, going to Condercum and starting back with Arshak. At the bottom of my mind the memory of what had happened on the road heaved, like a serpent hidden in the dust. I was silent, the white morning dimmed.
“So you’re a soldier,” Pervica said, after a silence, in a flat voice. “I didn’t realize that. You weren’t armed, except for the dagger. You said you worked with horses-but of course, you’re a cavalryman.” After another silence, she said, “When Cluim went in to Corstopitum yesterday, he told the town authorities, not the military ones. That explains why they’d never heard of you.”
“Lend me a horse and I will ride in myself,” I said, trying to shake off a sense of horror at the shadow of memory. “I remember now, I was at Corstopitum on fort business. I think my friends will still be there. Lend me the stallion Wildfire, if you like; I think I can persuade him to carry me to the gates.”
She looked at me with the crooked smile, but her eyes were sad. “Lend you Wildfire? Oh, he was never broken to the saddle; he’s a carriage horse. And you certainly shouldn’t try to ride all the way to Corstopitum. You were almost dead, night before last. When we brought you into the house, you were gray and cold as ice, and I thought we were carrying a corpse. I’ll take you in in the cart this afternoon.”
“I thank you. My men will be concerned for me.”
Her face changed again, the faint regret shifting to wariness. “Your men? You’re an officer?”
I nodded.
She dropped her eyes. “Oh, I’m a fool!” she exclaimed. She didn’t explain why, and I had no chance to ask her, because she went on immediately, “It seems so strange that you’re a Sarmatian. All my life I’ve seen troops leaving Britain for the Danube. My father went when I was seven, and my elder brother was recruited for the war six years ago. And now your people are being sent here to defend us!”
“Where were your father and brother posted?” I asked.
“My father was with the Second Aelian Cohort, at a place called Cibalae, in Lower Pannonia. We had one letter from him after he left, with some money, and then nothing more. My brother was further west, at Vindobona, with the Second Brittones. Do you know of them?”
I knew the places. Vindobona was well to the west of my own country, and Pervica’s brother probably had to fight Quadi, not Sarmatians. But Cibalae was closer to home. The fort there had been at the western edge of the territory I used to raid, and I had an unpleasant feeling that I’d once scalped one of the Second Aelian Cohort. I struggled to clear the memory, and came up with the image of an auxiliary kneeling to brace his spear as I rode at him, a round-faced man in a long mail shirt. Yes. The scalp was brown, with no white in it, and the man had been about thirty. That had been three years ago-he couldn’t have been Pervica’s father, who would have had to be in his late forties. That was a relief.
“You fought them?” asked Pervica, who was still watching me.
“The Second Aelians, yes,” I admitted, “but not your father.”
“It must be very strange for you, after fighting Romans, to come here as soldiers of Rome.”
That summary of our twisted place in the world was so simple and straightforward I could almost have laughed. “It is,” I agreed. “It is very strange.”
There was a moment of silence, and then she said, “Well, I can send Cluim in to town today, and tell him to go to the military authorities this time. Or, if you like, I can drive you in, in the cart. I need to buy some things in Corstopitum anyway.”
At that moment there was a shriek of terror, shrill and piercing, from outside the house. Pervica leapt to her feet and pelted out the door. I followed her more slowly, still stiff-legged and clumsy.
The scream had come from the front of the house, and I hurried out into a columned courtyard to find the red-haired servant screaming again, Pervica running across the snow, and my own bodyguard, glittering in their scales, milling about the farm gate. In another instant I realized that one of the armored figures was Leimanos, and that he was leaning down from the saddle and clutching Cluim by the arm, shouting at the shepherd and hitting him in the face; and that Comittus was beside him, trying to restrain him.
“Leimanos!” I shouted. “What are you doing?”
He spun round in the saddle. “My prince!” he yelled joyfully.
“Ariantes!” shouted Comittus.
And the whole squadron galloped over. Leimanos swept Cluim up over the saddle and took him along, then reined in sharply in front of me and dismounted, leaving the shepherd to slip off dazedly on his own. Pervica, halfway across the yard, turned and began walking slowly back. The horses steamed and glittered, and I noticed Farna, tied behind Leimanos’horse.
“My prince!” said Leimanos, and he dropped to both knees in the snow in front of me and kissed my hand. “Thank the gods you’re alive!”
“I thank the gods indeed,” I answered, and pulled him to his feet. The rest of the bodyguard crowded round, shouting, slapping me and each other on the back, thanking the gods. Comittus, grinning and bouncing, pushed through them and shook my hand.
“But what were you doing to this shepherd here?” I asked, when they’d calmed down enough to let me speak. Cluim had picked himself up, and Pervica was wiping his face with a handful of snow. His face was blotched from the blows, his nose was bleeding, and he looked terrified.
“We found him outside the gate, and stopped him to ask the way,” said Leimanos, glaring at Cluim. “Then we saw that he had your dagger. We feared the worst, my lord.”
I shook my head. “I gave him the dagger. He found me lying nearly drowned in the river, and pulled me out. It is to him, and to this lady here whom he serves, that I owe my life.”
Leimanos gave an exclamation of dismay and went over to Cluim. The shepherd backed away hastily, but Leimanos knelt to him. “Forgive me,” he said, in Latin, in which he now had some fluency. “I did not understand. I thought you had killed my prince.”
Cluim still looked terrified. Comittus interpreted for him, and the shepherd nodded, but did not seem inclined to come any nearer. Leimanos took the dagger, which he’d thrust in his own belt, and offered it back. After a nervous glance around, Cluim snatched it hastily.
“My lord gave you that,” said Leimanos, “in gratitude for his life. And for his life, which I value above my own, let me add this.” He laid his own dagger at Cluim’s feet.
“And this,” said Banadaspos, taking the gold pin from his coat and putting it beside the dagger.
And the others in the bodyguard, all thirty of them, copied them, each adding something-a ring, a purse full of money, a gold torque taken from a Pictish chieftain-until poor Cluim was shaking his bruised head in bewilderment. He exclaimed loudly in British and pointed to Pervica.
“He says these should belong to his lady,” Comittus translated, then at once abandoned translation and gratitude together. “Deae Matres! Ariantes, I’ve never been so pleased to see anyone in all my life. As soon as you disappeared we realized you were the last man in Britain we could afford to lose. We’ve been going out of our minds with anxiety, and the men back in Cilurnum are ready to riot. We didn’t dare tell the fourth dragon you were missing, and Siyavak has been asking to see you: we had to tell him you’d gone back to the fort. If you’d died so soon after Gatalas, gods help us all! Priscus wanted to sack Gaius Valerius for letting you and Arshak leave Condercum without an escort, and he was cursing your soul to Hades for deciding to go hunting. Don’t worry, he’ll forgive you anything when he sees you alive. But I felt sorry for that poor miserable magistrate.”
“What magistrate?” I asked.
“The one who told the prefect of the First Thracians yesterday evening that a shepherd had reported finding a
