clear that there are Britons involved. Very well, maybe Arsacus wasn’t guilty of that particular effort; maybe he’s not guilty at all, though if he isn’t, I don’t see why you’re keeping your mouth shut, Ariantes. It makes a lot of sense that you’d try to settle Sarmatian quarrels in Sarmatian ways: you’re vulnerable to accusations of Romanizing even without informing on a fellow commander. But maybe I’m wrong.” He set the lamp down on the table in front of me. “Put your hand over this and swear your people’s oath on fire that you believe Arsacus is innocent and you don’t know who’s trying to kill you or why.”
I stared at him, appalled. “Sir,” I said at last, “if I have suspicions, I have no evidence. And I have no wish to be accused of slandering eminent Romans without evidence. When I do get evidence, you may be sure I will tell you of it.”
He glared at me. “Eminent Romans, is it?” he asked. “Eminent Romans and Arsacus, or eminent Romans alone?”
I put my hand over the flame of the lamp; it made a spot of gold warmth on my palm. “I swear that when I told you I did not remember what happened on the way back from Condercum, I was telling the truth,” I said. “I swear that I believe Arshak to be innocent of the arson, and of the murder in Corstopitum.” The spot of warmth was becoming uncomfortably hot. I struggled to remember what else I could truthfully swear to, couldn’t think of anything, and took my hand away.
“That’s a long way short of what I asked you to swear,” observed Priscus.
There was one other thing I could swear to. I put my hand over the flame again. “I have not lied to you, my lord, nor broken the oath I swore at Aquincum in any way; on fire I swear that now.” I put my hand down and held on to the arm of the couch; my fingers were starting to shake. “If you like,” I added, “I will have my scribe write an account of what I believe to be the truth of these matters, and should my enemies’ efforts succeed, you may have it.”
“That’s not good enough! What are you afraid of?” demanded Priscus. “Do you think I’d let you be murdered while the business was investigated?”
“I have told you, sir, I have no evidence and no witnesses to call, and without them, I cannot speak.” I climbed to my feet, unsteadily-I felt as though I’d been riding hard all day. “May I go and rest, Lord Legate? I did not sleep well last night, and I am tired.”
Priscus swore, glaring at me. Facilis got up and straightened his cloak. “I’ll walk him back to his friends, sir, with your permission.”
“You won’t get anything out of him,” growled Priscus. “Ariantes, you are disobeying a direct order from your commander in chief. That is rank insubordination and punishable. Are you going to tell me the truth-or do I have to send you to prison?”
I said nothing. I stood there with the wine ringing in my head, looking at him. I was horribly aware of my sword, hanging from the arm of the couch, its hilt a few inches from my fingers. It would solve nothing. Prison for insubordination or prison for slander, death and disgrace either way. And what would my men do then?
Verinus Secundus, who had sat stony-faced through all of this, stirred and spoke for the first time. “But supposing he’s right, sir?” he asked. “The kind of murder there was at Corstopitum-there’s a lot of that, even in the legion. I’ve heard the lads whispering. We can trust his own men not to kill him, but if we put him in prison, who’s to guard his guards?”
Priscus grunted. After a moment, he nodded, and gave me a gesture of dismissal. I picked up my sword, slung it over my shoulder, and limped out, followed by Facilis.
When we were in the street outside the commandant’s house, and alone in the cloudy moonlight, I stopped and turned on Facilis angrily. “Why did you tell him?” I demanded. “Do you know what would be done to me in a prison? Do you know what my men would do if I were put in one?”
“He’s not putting you in one,” Facilis replied. “And what was I supposed to say when he asked me? He may be a cuckold, but he’s no idiot. He doesn’t suspect her yet, but he will, and why should we suppress evidence to slow him down? But I didn’t come along with you to talk about this. Ariantes, I need your help.”
“My help! Marha!” I turned on my heel and began to stalk off. Now that I’d escaped, I was furious, with the legate, with his wicked murderous wife, with the Romans in general and myself for Romanizing, and particularly with Marcus Flavius Facilis, for making himself my ally and then going some way to betraying me. And I had no idea what would happen next, whether I’d be allowed to leave Eburacum without confessing what I knew, whether I’d live another day.
“Your help!” agreed Facilis, running after me. “Look, that girl..”
“What girl?”
“Vilbia. Bodica’s little slave. I’ve got her in my house.”
“What!” I stopped again, and Facilis stopped, facing me, panting a little.
“I’d said a few kind words to her on the way from Dubris,” he said, “and she turned up at my door last night, the poor little bitch, clutching her baby, and she cried, and she begged me to save the brat and to protect her from her mistress. May the gods destroy me in the worst way if I don’t. I’ve got to get her out of the fortress somehow, and that wagon of yours is the best way I can think of. Nobody’s going to look for her in that.”
“With a baby?” I asked incredulously. “I thought Priscus said she had lost one.”
“She bore a healthy son eight days ago, but her mistress had no use for a baby and tossed it out. The little bastard was the only thing the poor girl had to love in all the world, and she slipped out of her slave’s cell, all bloody from childbirth, and crawled through the streets at night, and found the baby on the dung-heap before it froze, and wrapped it up warmly, and hid it. She’s been running to it every night, to feed it and care for it, but she’s had to leave it in the day to look after that witch’s hair. The little bastard didn’t thrive on the treatment, of course, particularly in this cold weather; in a few days it was clear he’d die without better care, and the girl couldn’t stand it. She ran to me because of a few kind words. May the gods destroy me in the worst way if I give her back!”
“Bodica threw a baby, a healthy, living child, on a dung-heap to die?” I asked in horror.
“Oh gods, Ariantes! They all do that. What else do you do with a slave brat if you don’t want it?”
“Marha! Romans!”
“The baby won’t make much noise,” he said. “It’s a feeble little thing now, and even when it cries you can barely hear it-but she doesn’t let it cry. You don’t need to worry that it would give her away.”
“I will take her out in my wagon,” I said, and began to walk on. “If I am not allowed out, I will see that she escapes somehow. I have allies who might help.”
“You’re allowed out. You’re allowed out tomorrow. Did you really think he was going to imprison you? Hercules! Don’t be an idiot. With a conspiracy boiling away in his half of the province, stirrings across the border, and suspicions attached to all his British senior officers, the last thing he wants is more trouble with your people. And he’s seen a lot more of Sarmatians than he had last September: he knows that if he tried to imprison the prince-commander of a dragon, any dragon, he’d have to imprison his bodyguard as well, and half the men at least, and that would mean a major military operation. He can’t afford that. Besides, you’re the loyal, responsible one: who’s going to help him manage the next four thousand Sarmatians if anything happens to you?”
I stopped again and stared at him. “I do not understand you Romans at all,” I complained. “Why did he threaten to imprison me if he had no intention of doing so?”
“To let you know that he was seriously annoyed with you, of course. You bastards hate lying so much, you don’t understand how we use it. When he asked you to swear that oath, it never even occurred to you to lie, did it?”
“I have never sworn falsely in my life! And with a curse hanging over my head, how could I afford to?”
“That’s what I mean. You’ve Romanized full tilt since you got to Britain, but you’ve been pretty damned careful how you Romanize. So I can put the girl in your wagon?”
“Yes. If I can leave tomorrow, I will do so. You should bring her tonight.”
He beamed at me and clasped my hand. “Thank you. I knew I could rely on you. I’ll bring her at the second watch, when it’s quiet. You’re going to have to tell your men to expect us. With things as they are, anybody they find creeping up to their precious commander’s wagon in the dead of night is likely to be chopped to pieces. Will they accept it? You don’t need to say who I’m stealing the girl from.”
I nodded, then shook my head in bewilderment and began walking again. Just before we reached the stable yard, I thought to ask, “Who is the father of this baby?”
“How would I know?” asked Facilis. “Some guard or groom or slave who said something nice to her once, and dumped her when she got into trouble. She’s not interested in him at all, just the brat.”
