Island of Ghosts (41 page)

Her eyes were full of tears, but her mouth was set in determination. The hands in mine did not twist, but they did not hold.

“I would not,” I told her again. “Listen, I have lived in two worlds, the one across the Danube and the one here; I was once a prince of the Iazyges, and I am now the commander of a unit of cavalry for the Romans. But there is a part of me that is neither of those things. I know, because I have balanced on it, shifting from one to the other. It has neither rank nor wealth nor title nor honors. All those things are gifts of either world, and have changed; it has not, and so it could choose a path in a land where all was unknown. That is the part of me that loves you. And because it owes nothing to either world, it cannot compare one with the other, or cheapen your great worth falsely beside the value of Tirgatao—whom, it is true, I loved dearly. Love is not like water in a bucket, which is full or poured out; it is like a river, which will flow where it can find a channel, and if it is blocked in one place, strives to find another pathway for itself, a new person to love. I will have no less love for you because I loved her first. I would not hate you, Pervica. I could not.”

Her mouth crumpled, and the hands clenched suddenly on mine. Then she flung her arms around me, dropping onto her knees beside me, and cried against my shoulder, scales and all.

She stopped crying soon and let me kiss her and hold her for a little while—and then she wiped her eyes, and sniffed, and sat back on her heels. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“So, we will be married, after all,” I replied, wanting it to be perfectly clear and agreed.

“Yes,” she sniffed, smiling ruefully.

“Good.” I smiled back.

“Yes,” she repeated, then added, “if you are still alive on the wedding day.”

I wanted to encourage her, so I told her most of what had happened in Eburacum, leaving out only a few details about the Christians. As I spoke I felt my own hopes rising. The balance was shifting. Before, my enemies had struck at me from under a cloak of secrecy, like the invisible warriors of the tales, and I had been helpless to strike back. But now I had a list of names and an ally with authority to investigate them—and I had great hopes of getting more from Siyavak. Stripped of their invisibility, it was they who would be helpless.

“Opposition to the conspiracy has been growing here, too,” Pervica told me eagerly. “I spoke to Matugenus, the druid I told you about. He was afraid to do anything at first—he thought that all the supporters of the old religion would damn him as a Romanizer and a heretic—but in the end he decided that trying to use the gods to commit murder was blasphemous, and that he would oppose it even if he died for it. He erased your name from the tablet and we left it on the altar of the Mothers. Ever since then, people from all around have been finding excuses to call. It’s partly curiosity, but also partly to show their sympathy for me. They even have some sympathy for you. Nobody liked that carpenter who was killed, but people have been outraged that he was murdered to put a curse on the man who saved us from the Picts. Matugenus has called for a convocation of druids such as there hasn’t been in the North for years, and he’s beginning to think that he can count on substantial support. Apparently many of the more moderate druids have been unhappy with the position of the extreme sect for some time, but they’d all been too unsure of themselves to say so until now. At times I’ve thought I could feel our strength spreading out through the countryside like fire spreading in tinder.” She smiled shakily, and added, “It helps that you’re still alive. Cunedda had cursed you; Matugenus revoked the curse. The gods obviously listened to Matugenus, not Cunedda. Ariantes, how good a fighter is Arshak?”

I shrugged. “Very good. Particularly with the spear. You have seen that. I would say that my horse is better trained, though: he has not the patience to put an animal through a maneuver again and again. It will be an equal contest, and the outcome is in the hands of God. Marha has favored me up till now. I will try to arrange the meeting with him for ten or twelve days from now, which I hope will give me time to resolve some of the other aspects of this. But you must not stay here if there is such a long delay. He is an impatient man, and will be ashamed that he restrained himself out of fear of the authorities: he might very well come back here, determined to injure you this time. You should stay in Cilurnum, you and Elen and Cluim and his sister. I could rent you a house.”

“What about my sheep? And the farm?”

“Is there so much that needs doing at this time of year that a neighbor could not do it for you? You said you had two other tenant families living elsewhere on the estate in their own houses. Could they not see to the sheep for ten days or so?”

She leaned wearily against me. “Very well, then. Yes, I’ll come.”

It took her a little while to arrange for others to tend the sheep and cattle, and for her and the three servants to collect their things and pack them in the farm cart. It was dusk when we set out for Cilurnum. Pervica stopped the cart on top of the hill and looked back at the farm, dark now in its hollow under the scudding clouds. I knew she was wondering if she would ever see it again. But she said nothing, and looked back at me with a rueful smile before shaking the reins and starting on.

XV

I
DREAMED  I 
was riding across a wide meadow in the sunshine, riding a strange horse, a beautiful white stallion that stepped as lightly as snow falling. It was early summer and the grass was purple with vetch, red with poppies, and scented with meadowsweet. I rode over a hill and saw my own wagons below me beside a stream, and my own horses grazing beyond them. Tirgatao was sitting beside the campfire, with Artanisca beside her and a baby on her lap. I gave a shout of joy and galloped down to them. She stood as I approached, but when I dismounted, she waved me back with her hand, laughing. Artanisca jumped up and down, shouting, “Daddy! Daddy!”—but he did not clutch my leg.

“Look!” said Tirgatao, and she held up the baby. It was fair-haired and blue-eyed, and smiled into my face. I smiled back, reaching out my finger for it to grab—and then I remembered that it had died before it was born, and I drew back.

“It’s all right,” said Tirgatao, understanding. “I wanted you to see her.”

“You were burned,” I said, in a whisper. “My dearest light, they burned you.”

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” she replied, smiling at me as though I’d made a joke.

“I was going to marry again, if I lived,” I told her, awkward and ashamed.

At that she laughed out loud. “I know. Oh, my darling, don’t look at me like that! The dead don’t marry, and it would be a waste for you to stay alone, when you can love so well and there are so many living who can only hate. I met Marha in the fire, and I asked him for your life. Tell Pervica that now I give it to her.”

I looked at her in astonishment, and she laughed again. “I love your face when you’re surprised,” she said tenderly. “All that serious princely dignity looking silly: you were made to be teased. Tell Pervica she must tease you. Yes, my golden hero, I met Marha, I myself, and he didn’t harm me. Eukairios was right: it’s what we are alive that counts, not what happens to us when we’re dead. Fire can only purify the good, not destroy them.”

“How do you know Eukairios?” I asked.

“I don’t,” she replied, still smiling. “You do. Look, your mount wants attention.”

I looked, and saw that the white stallion had become a dragon, golden, fire-eyed, bright-winged; it spread its wings and roared, its long tail cracking like a whip. It was still harnessed with my own saddle and bridle. I accepted it unquestioningly, as one does in dreams, and caught the bridle. The dragon tugged impatiently at the reins, just as a horse does when it wants to go home. I turned back to Tirgatao—but she was gone, and the children and the wagons with her; the stream bank was empty. I cried out and vaulted onto the dragon’s back. Its wings cracked as it galloped into the air. The meadow swung away beneath me, empty, all empty, and everything had gone still and pale, and the only sound was the muffled rush of the wind in my ears. Then we were flying higher still, and around us the stars were singing while the wind stung my face. I was cold. From a great height I looked down, and I saw for a moment clearly, as though it were a still spot in a rushing stream, a clearing in a wood, a charcoal burner’s hut with an ash heap beside it, and a gilded, red-crested helmet on a stake thrust into the ground. Then my eyes burned with the cold and I closed them.

I groaned and woke up. I was lying on my bunk in my own wagon, still cold; I’d thrown off the blankets in my sleep. I sat up and rubbed my hands through my hair, drugged with the dream, trying to make sense of it. After a moment, I went to the door.

The morning fires were burning under a bright winter sun, and it was late to be just rising. Facilis, Eukairios, and Flavinus Longus were sitting in front of the wagon under the awning, together with Banadaspos and Leimanos; they were all drinking something and talking to each other. I looked at them for a moment, and suddenly everything seemed to fall into place, and I was happy. Tirgatao, dead, suffered no more; I stood living in the sunlight, watching my friends eat breakfast peacefully together. One moment, ordered, ordinary, and without hatred: my life was worthwhile.

I sat down to put my boots on, the wagon creaked, and they all looked round and greeted me. In another minute I had my coat over my shoulders, a cup of milk in my hands, and was sitting beside them. It was a relief not to have to put the armor on, for a change.

“My sister tells me you’ve installed the lady Pervica with her again—with three servants this time,” Longus remarked. “She said to tell you that she likes having Pervica, but that the posting inn is actually down the road, next to the fort. She thought maybe you didn’t know that.”

“Thank your sister for me again,” I replied. “It was late when we arrived last night, and there was no time to arrange other accommodation. I will try to rent a house today.”

“Oh, don’t! Flavina would be most offended if you did,” said Longus. “The posting inn was a joke; she does like Pervica. So do we all. I’m glad you persuaded her to come to the fort: I didn’t like to think of her out there alone, after that tablet they found at Corstopitum.”

Facilis grunted agreement. I almost asked him what kind of accommodation he’d found for Vilbia—the girl was not in my wagon, and Kasagos had told me that she’d been found a refuge somewhere—but I remembered that Longus knew nothing about her and probably shouldn’t be told. So I simply nodded instead. For my part I had no intention of telling the Romans about Arshak, knowing they would certainly try to prevent the duel if I did. Even Eukairios would, I thought, struggle with his conscience and then tell Facilis: he understood a little what honor meant to me, but he would not believe an insult worth dying for. I’d warned Banadaspos and the rest not to discuss the matter in front of any Roman and made Pervica promise to keep quiet about it as well.

“I’ve been telling Gaius what happened in Eburacum,” Facilis growled, shattering the peace of the morning.

Longus snorted. “Gods and goddesses! I should have realized, Ariantes—but you should have said something.
Why
won’t you tell the legate who’s trying to kill you, if you know?”

I glanced at Facilis quickly; he shook his head: no, he had not told Longus more than I had told Priscus.

“Without evidence, it would only cause trouble,” I answered, making a quick decision. “But I can tell you a little more than I told him. Banadaspos, Leimanos—”

They both looked up, then stood, looking suspicious. “You don’t mean to send us off?” asked Banadaspos.

“My dear brothers, there are some things I must say which concern the honor of a colleague. I believe he’s innocent of wrongdoing, but he will have to be questioned. I would not subject you to such questioning before your men, and you should not witness this, though the Romans must.”

I could see that Banadaspos had told Leimanos about Comittus: they both understood instantly who I meant. They looked still more suspicious. Longus watched blankly, not understanding the conversation, which was held in Sarmatian.

“It does not concern my safety—unless he’s guilty,” I told my men. “And I will tell you the outcome.”

They sighed, bowed, and walked resignedly off. It would console them, I thought, when I sent one of them with a message to Arshak to arrange the meeting and it was the Romans’ turn to be excluded from a secret.

“Shall I go as well?” asked Eukairios. He did understand Sarmatian, enough to follow most of what had been said.

I nodded. “But fetch that document you drew up in Eburacum, and bring it to headquarters later. We should have some witnesses for it there.”

That cheered him up: he walked off almost jauntily. I turned back to Longus and told him what I knew of the druids and the plot to establish a Brigantian kingdom by the help of the Picts and my own people. He was horrified and profoundly shaken. But when I finished by telling him of the list, and the fact that it contained Comittus’ name, I was amazed to find that it didn’t surprise him in the least.

“Oh, Lucius isn’t one of your extreme sect! He’s very much of the main school of druidism, and pretty junior in that,” he exclaimed, as though this were the most ordinary thing in the world to say. “And he’s been in an absolute stew over the whole business ever since that tablet was found. He told me all about it after the Saturnalia—though he was a bit surprised to find out I knew it already.”

“You knew he was a druid?” asked Facilis in bewilderment.

Longus shrugged. “People
are
, you know. Some of my squadron always slip off from the Saturnalian celebrations at night to go to the temple of Mithras over at Brocolitia, which is legal—and some slip off to celebrate the midwinter solstice at the sacred grove down by Blackwater Stream, which isn’t. I don’t ask for details about either, but I know about it. When I saw Lucius riding back into camp with a few others in the middle of the morning of the solstice, with the edge of a white robe sticking out from the corner of his saddlebags and a sprig of mistletoe in his cloak pin, it didn’t take much guessing. There’s a lot of druidism about—it is the old religion, after all, and people who’re allowed to worship the gods unhindered don’t see any point to banning the priests. Nor do I, for that matter. In my view, they ought to legalize it and set up a proper druidical priesthood like they have in Gaul. Then all this murder-in-the-dark business would shrivel away.”