Island of Ghosts (19 page)

Danger from lies, the rods had warned in Bononia. I suspected, though still vaguely, that someone had lied to Gatalas, someone with contacts among the Pictish tribes—and from Comittus’ unhappiness I guessed that the same thought had crossed his mind as well. And without details, without proof, like a man listening to echoes in the darkness, I wondered if the legate would bring his lady with him when he came from Eburacum.

VII

J
ULIUS  PRISCUS  ARRIVED 
in Corstopitum five days later, and summoned Comittus, Facilis, and myself at once. We left Leimanos and Longus in charge of the fort, and rode down with my bodyguard. I also brought Eukairios. The scribe had ridden to the town a couple of times on his own, with letters, and he no longer fell off a horse unless the horse actively wanted to get rid of him. He still disliked being on horseback, but he wanted to visit the town to meet his “correspondent” there. I hadn’t inquired too deeply about this person, since it was easy to guess he was another Christian, and it was better not to know any of the illegal details. I guessed that Eukairios must have been given the name and a password in Londinium, or perhaps in Eburacum. Whoever the man was, I was grateful to him.

When we arrived, we found that the legate had brought half his legion with him, more than enough troops to deal with any trouble, and had summoned Gaius Valerius Victor and another senior Roman from Condercum. He had also brought Arshak, but not Arshak’s men. And he had indeed brought his wife. Aurelia Bodica sat beside her husband while the rest of us stood in the main hall of Corstopitum headquarters, and discussed the question Priscus had come there to resolve—“What should we do about the Sarmatians?” I suppose it was a major concession, which we owed to the Pictish defeat, that Arshak and I were allowed to participate. But it didn’t feel that way at the time. It felt to me as though I were on trial.

“A hundred and twenty-four Roman soldiers dead!” said the legate, much as Facilis had, except he had the exact figure. “And why? Because the bloodthirsty savage who commanded the Fourth Sarmatians had somehow taken it into his head that he was going to be demoted and replaced! Who told him that, eh?” And he glared at me.

“My lord legate,” I said, stunned by the accusation, “if that was true, I had heard nothing of it; and if it was false, I am the last man to spread lies about it.”

“You were in Dubris before the others,” snapped Priscus. “You were the one who said there’d be a mutiny if we went through with our original plans to make your troops regular auxiliaries. And you are the one who has a scribe, and has been deluging my office with letters and bribing my staff.” It was true, I had—mostly in an attempt to improve the pay of my men.

“Yes, sir. But I did not write to Gatalas. He did not have a scribe and could not read.”

“He could have found someone to read him a letter easily enough! You were dissatisfied with your troop’s pay; it seems to me very likely you were complaining to him. I told you before that if I was sure you were making trouble, I’d have you flogged to death. As it is, if your troop hadn’t defeated those tribesmen . . .”

He let the threat hang. “Sir,” I said, trying to keep my voice level, “if I have been concerned at my men’s pay, it is because I wish at all costs to avoid trouble. At the present level of pay they will get into debt, and if they are in debt, they may act wildly. I said nothing to any Sarmatian about your plan to make us regular auxiliaries under Roman officers: I believed that you had abandoned it, and to spread any rumor of it would only stir resentment.” I glanced quickly at Arshak. The revelation didn’t seem to surprise him. He must have heard it when the trouble first caught fire. He looked well, better than I’d expected. I’d been afraid to find him worn with tension, restless as a caged hawk, but he was sleek and golden and arrogant as ever—though the coat he was wearing was his plain one.

“Ariantes is telling the truth,” Facilis put in, suddenly and unexpectedly. “He’s had no contact whatever with Condercum, and he’s not the man to stir up trouble if he had. He knows perfectly well that his own people would be the losers in any contest with the legions, and he’ll go to any lengths to protect them. Javolenus Comittus and I were both with him when he got the news of the mutiny: he was shocked by it, and his first thought was to calm his own people down. If Gatalas believed he was going to be replaced as commander, it’s probably because he heard some rumor, or misinterpreted something somebody said. Had he had a lot of disputes with you, Tribune?”

Valerius Victor shrugged. “We’d had nothing but disputes. They didn’t want to sleep in barracks; they wanted more fresh meat and milk than they could get; they quarreled incessantly with the original garrison of the fort, and had to be confined to barracks half the time. A couple of the old garrison were killed, and the men responsible had to be executed. No, the air was pretty poisonous. But I never said that I was going to replace Gatalas as commander. I could see for myself I’d be murdered if I suggested any such thing.”

Priscus let out a breath through his nose. “We had some of the same disputes in Eburacum.” He glared at Arshak, who smiled. “Not as bad, though. And you, Lucius—have you been breathing the same poisonous air in Cilurnum?”

“No,” declared Comittus at once. “We’ve got on very well in Cilurnum. We’ve had some quarrels between the Sarmatians and the Asturians, but on the whole, the dragon’s been settling in very well. Hasn’t it, Marcus Flavius?”

“Yes,”said Facilis shortly.

“In fact,” declared Comittus, gathering himself up, “I have complete confidence in the men and officers of the Sixth Numerus of Sarmatian Horse, and I believe they are, and will remain, an invaluable asset to the defense of the province. As for Ariantes, I’ll swear any oath you like that he had nothing whatever to do with the mutiny at Condercum. No one could command the dragon better than he does, and I would be completely lost without him.”

“Agreed,” growled Facilis. “I agree to every word of that. And if you speak to Flavinus Longus or the other Roman officers in Cilurnum, Lord Legate, they’ll tell you exactly the same.”

There was a moment of astonished silence. “

Well,” said Priscus at last, “I’m glad to hear it. I was glad of the Sixth Sarmatians when I heard what happened at Corstopitum. They arrived quickly, hit hard, and caused no problems afterward: I would’ve hated to demote their commander. This fellow Gatalas is dead, and the rest of his men took no part in the killing, and surrendered quietly. Very well, we’ll keep the present command structure, and call the mutiny the result of passion in one unstable man. I’ll give the Fourth Sarmatians a new commander and bring them back to Eburacum with me, and we’ll put the Second Sarmatians in their place. Ariantes, since your liaison officer and camp prefect are willing to vouch for you, you can take temporary command of the Fourth Numerus as well as the Sixth.”

“My lord legate, no,” I said hurriedly, “It would offend Gatalas’ men enormously, sir.”

“Why would it offend them?” snapped Priscus, glaring again.

I spread my hands helplessly in the air. I had grown less aware of the gulf between Roman and Sarmatian at Cilurnum, but I was dropped in the middle of it now. “My lord, the fourth dragon were all . . .
clients . . .
of Gatalas. They kept sheep and horses of his when we were in our own country, and he gave them grazing rights and judged their disputes. He led them on raids and in war. I and my men, we were friendly rivals at best, and at worst, enemies. Now they have watched their commander die, and by his orders have not raised a spear in his defense. They have been disarmed and confined to their barracks as traitors, while I and my dragon fought a battle and won a victory. They have been humiliated—and to hand them over to me would only humiliate them more, however gently I spoke to them. They need forbearance and the hope of glory if they are to become loyal servants of Rome. No, my lord. Let me go to Condercum and speak with them. I will find out which of the squadron captains is most willing to work with the Romans, and you can appoint him and Valerius Victor to a joint command.”

Bodica spoke for the first time. “Surely, Lord Ariantes,” she said softly, “if they’re under a joint command, they’ll believe that Gatalas was right to rebel, since the thing he was afraid of has come about?”

“Not if it is done properly,” I replied. “Gatalas was a prince of the Iazyges, a scepter-holder. His men will not expect to receive the same honor as their prince.”

There was another silence—then the legate’s stony face cracked unexpectedly into a grin. “The minds of barbarians are a mystery,” he said. “The place of a Sarmatian prince can’t be taken by another Sarmatian prince, can’t be taken by a Sarmatian who isn’t a prince, but might just be managed by a Sarmatian noble and a Roman tribune together. Lord Ariantes, you’re a capable man. Even your letters on pay were sensible, little as I liked them, and now your camp prefect, who has no love for any Sarmatian, has vouched for your trustworthiness. Didn’t you realize I was offering you a promotion?”

I hadn’t, and the sudden reversal left me blinking. “My lord legate,” I said, uncertainly, “I thank you. But if you wish to make the best use of Gatalas’ dragon, you will arrange the command as I have suggested.”

He snorted and leaned back in his seat. “When a man gives advice against his own advantage, the advice is probably good. Very well. You have leave to go to Condercum, with Gaius Valerius, and arrange the command of the Fourth Sarmatians in whatever way you and he can agree on. Lord Arsacus, you can go along with Lord Ariantes. When you get to Condercum make arrangements for your people to replace the Fourth Numerus. But first, Ariantes, you can explain to me why your troop can’t manage on an auxiliary’s pay without getting into debt. The rest of you are dismissed.”

W
HEN 
I 
LEFT
the legate’s office an hour or so later, I found Arshak waiting for me in the courtyard outside. “Greetings, my brother!” he said, jumping up and coming over. “Congratulations to you on the victory. I hope next time I’ll be able to share it with you.”

I caught his hand and shook it. “It wasn’t hard fought,” I said, “but I’d welcome you beside me. I’m glad you’ll be freed from Eburacum.”

He grinned. “So am I. I swear on fire, I never thought a man could hate stone so much.”

“You look well, though, despite it.”

“That is the doing of the legate’s lady. I think that if it hadn’t been for her, I would have killed someone. She is a wonderful woman, Ariantes, a wise woman, a true queen.”

I didn’t like the sound of that at all, and he seemed to realize it, because he changed the subject. “Victor is waiting for us at the military stables, if you want to start for Condercum. What was all this about pay?”

I explained it on the way to the stables. Our troops were being offered the standard auxiliary pay, two hundred denarii a year, plus the cavalry allowance of two hundred denarii for the upkeep of one horse. However, most of us had more than one horse and we all had more armor than a Roman would. Even though we had men who could replace worn-out equipment for the dragon and didn’t need to turn to professional blacksmiths, still the cost of the upkeep of the armor would be high. Eukairios and I had worked out how big the allowance would have to be to take account of the differences, and had been pressing for the pay to be increased accordingly. Priscus had just offered me part of the sum, and suggested that we reduce the number of horses. For various reasons, I was not satisfied with this, and I told Arshak about it—warmly, because my mind was still hot with it. He frowned and asked questions.

“I don’t understand,” he said, when we’d finished. “How do you know these things, what it costs to repair armor or provide fodder for a horse?”

His tone was flat, and I suddenly understood all too well that what he meant was, “You’ve Romanized, more even than I expected.” And I saw in the same instant that it was horribly true.

“I have a good scribe who explains it,” I replied, cursing myself. “I needed to learn, and did.”

He stopped suddenly and caught my shoulder. We were just at the corner of the stable yard, standing in one of the cramped alleys of the military compound. “What are they doing to us?” he asked, looking at me earnestly.

“What do you mean?” I replied—coolly, trying to step back from myself and find where I stood.

“Gatalas is dead, you talk of pay negotiations and get Facilis to vouch for you, and I . . . Ariantes, we are scepter-holders of the Iazyges. Or we were.”

“We were,” I said quietly. “But now we are commanders of
numeri
for the Romans.”

“For the Romans! Neither you nor I love the Romans. How can we fight for them?”

“We swore to the emperor himself at Aquincum that we would do so.”

“We didn’t know what we were swearing. We had no conception of what it meant. We thought we would stay Sarmatians but fight under another commander—but they’re making Romans of us. We eat bread and sleep in tombs and give bribes to officials. Marha! Haven’t you sickened of it yet?”

I was silent for a moment. “I and my men have kept our wagons,” I said at last. “No. I am no sicker of it than I was when we arrived.”

“Our wagons were broken up,” Arshak said bitterly.

“The men got barracks, and I got a house. It stands in a row with the houses of the tribunes, and it’s made of stone. Everything is in rows, and made of stone,”—he glared furiously at the featureless walls around us—“and the Romans think we must be grateful for the comfort. I’d set fire to it, if it would only burn!” He let go of my shoulder. “But you seem to like it here!”

“What did I have left, across the Danube?” I asked, very slowly.

He looked at me with hot eyes. “Things here could be different.”

“And I’m trying to make them so.”

“You’re tinkering. Talking in their words, becoming more like them every day, despite yourself. Pay! Wagons! The problem is the Romans. The native Britons are a lot like us; we would agree with them very well, if this were a British kingdom. They have kings and queens of noble blood, who reward valor and not greed. Why should we fight them?”