The Circle of the Gods (16 page)

When he stepped free from the press at last the young woman had gone and he made no attempt to search for her. He needed no woman. Men and horses were his need. He turned away to waard the north gate and left the city. A little way along the Glevum road he climbed a grassy knoll crested with two beech trees and sat down, looking across at the camp of the Sabrina cavalry wing through air which was hazed with the dust kicked up by three troops of horse at drill. He was angry with himself for even momentarily being stirred by the sight of a pretty face. The gods had brought him here for matters of far higher import.

Arturo sat on his knoll for over an hour, watching the cavalry drills. He heard that Count Ambrosius had formed his cavalry into wings—the old Roman
alae
—of sixteen troops with each troop holding thirty-two men and had even named the commander of a wing in the old style of
praefectus.
From the size of the camp and the number of mounted men drilling he guessed that this Sabrina wing was no ordinary
ala
of around five hundred strong. This seemed more like an
ala milliaria
of twenty-four troops, each of forty-two men—around a thousand men in all—and no doubt commanded by a
tribunus.
Maybe it was yet far from its full complement of men and horses, but it was a larger force by far than any that Prince Gerontius could muster. Clearly the ambitions of the Count ran high and matched his pride in the ancestry he claimed for himself. He was a man full of nostalgia for the great days of past Roman glory, of Roman blood himself (though that was common enough now in this country), who longed to restore the glory of the old Empire.

Tired of watching the cavalry and overwarm under the midday sun, he slipped off his tunic, made a pillow with it for his head, and lay back, staring up at the sky. Men there must be, he thought, drilling out there on the plain, who longed for real not mock action and must know that it could not come this year for it was far too late for campaigning. To tempt any of them to his side he had nothing to offer. Now, if ever before, he needed help from the gods or some sign from them that there should be no death of hope. He shut his eyes and silently called on them, willing them to hear him, his teeth grinding with his fervour as he mutely named them … Epona, Nodons, Coventina, great Dis, father of all … great gods and small gods he named, battle gods and house hold gods… Badb and her brothers, and was tempted to call, too, to the Roman gods, for surely they held lien and interest still in this land, but turned away from the thought for fear of offering his own native deities.

He was brought from his silent fervour by the sound of horses' hooves behind him. He sat up to see a man riding one pony and leading another up the knoll and, after a brief nod to him, dismount and hitch the ponies to a beech branch.

He came across to Arturo, carrying a drinking skin, and sat down by him. Without a word he drew the stopper from the skin, drank, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, then the mouth of the skin, and handed it to Arturo, saying, “A gift is the best greeting. Drink.”

Arturo took the skin and drank. Expecting mead, he found that it was wine. Handing the skin back, he said, “I thank you.” Then prompted by a wry sense of humour, he went on, mocking his own newly passed fervour, “If you bring a message from the gods then I will give you double thanks.”

For a moment or two the man eyed him without replying. He was small of stature with a pear-shaped face, brown as a ripe chestnut and, as Arturo had noticed when he had walked across to him, bowlegged as though he had come into this world riding a pony and had seldom set foot on ground since. His eyes were as dark as polished sloes, his hair darker and tightly curled, his cheeks cleft with deep wrinkles and his thin lips, at this moment, drawn back tight over firm white teeth in an amused, houndish smile. Driving the wineskin stopper home with a quick smack of his palm, he said, “And what kind of message wants young Arturo, son of the Chief of the tribe of the Enduring Crow?” He nodded at Arturo's bare shoulder as he spoke. “Nay, look not surprised. You would not know me, but many a time I have seen you at drill in the river readows below Isca town. And many a mount your old friend, Master Ricat, has bought from me.”

Arturo pointed a finger at the long knife which the man wore in the belt about his hide surcoat and said, “What charity stayed your hand as I drank? You could have slit my throat and claimed my blood price.”

“Stolen or honest-come I deal in horses, not men's lives, no matter the price. But you would do well when you take the sun to keep your tribal sign and the birthmark below your ribs hidden.”

Ignoring this, Arturo asked, “What do men call you?”

The man shrugged his shoulders. “A hundred names, mostly vile. But seldom my own, which is Volpax.”

“Then, Master Volpax—and I have indeed heard of you—the gods sent you. They know I need horses.” He nodded toward the beech trees. “Not mixed-breed ponies like your dun-coloured mare there with a black tail.”

“You shame my mare. On a long march she would outlast many of those overstuffed, overcosseted cavalry horses out there.” He nodded to the plain where the last of the dust was settling as the troops rode away to quarters. “So you need horses? Have you found some silver hoard that you can afford to buy them?”

“We have no need to buy them.”

“We?” Volpax's eyes widened and he grinned wolfishly.

Arturo smiled. “The gods have sent you to an honest and reliable partner. There are hundreds of horses quartered around the barracks of the Sabrina wing. You could work alone and take a few, or you could work with some rogue helper who would betray you when you trimmed his share—which you would.”

“It is always a temptation, I agree.”

“With me it would be different. I can betray no man without betraying myself. And we would draw no daggers over sharing for out of every three horses we take I would keep one. Remember this, too. I know a horse from an overstuffed hay bag. And, like you, I can talk their soft language at night to gentle them and cut their hobbles or headropes while you ride a mare in season down the lines for them to follow.”

Volpax chuckled. “You know the tricks.”

“Why not? You probably played them at Isca against us. I say, although you do not know it, that the gods have sent you.”

Volpax pursed his lips, his eyes hooding with thought, and then said, “I would not quarrel with that—for it is a sign of distinction. But it is beyond their power to make up my mind for me. I will think on what you say.” He stood up, the wineskin swinging from his left hand. “You stay in Corinium?”

“I do. At the house of Paulus the carpenter.”

Volpax shook his head. “You are too open—even with me. There is a blood price on your head. Every man knows the taunt you have flung at Gerontius and Count Ambrosius.”

“I am open with you alone—for the gods sent you.”

“Let us from now keep the gods out of this. I have an affair which takes me to Glevum. I shall pass this way again in three days'time. Be here then at midday and I will give you an answer.”

“You have my promise. And I thank you in advance for your answer, Master Volpax.”

For a moment Volpax seemed on the point of protest. Then with a slow shake of his head he turned and went to his ponies. But as he mounted the dun, he called, “Stay close to Master Paulus. Keep away from the drinking places and wenches, and forget that you ever met me or heard my name, Comrade Arturo.”

Arturo sat and watched him ride away down the Glevum road. He could have wished to be going with him for he would have liked to see the city. Then he rose and began to make his way back to Corinium. The gods were with him. There was no doubt of that. One horse in three. That meant stealing sixty to gain twenty mounts. And three hundred to have a hundred …
Aie
, but that was looking too far ahead. All great matters began small.

He began to whistle gently to himself. The gods had truly marked him. But for all that, they were stern and devious masters. Had they not momentarily tempted him that morning with a glimpse of a young woman in blue? He could have pressed after and searched for her and never have met Master Volpax. No, until he came again to the beech knoll in three days'time, he would keep close to old Paulus.

For the rest of that day and the one following, Arturo never went beyond the yard where Paulus was content to have him either helping or sitting on a stool as he worked. Toward sunset on the evening of the second day, while Arturo helped Paulus stack a pile of rough-cut planks, a voice from behind them called, “Master Paulus!”

Arturo and Paulus turned. Standing in the open front of the thatched shed was a young woman and one glance told Arturo that it was the girl in the blue robe whom he had seen in the market. Unaware almost that he did it, Arturo ran his fingers through his sweat-tousled hair and then drew his open tunic about him and belted it.

“Mistress,” said Paulus, shuffling past Arturo, “if you come with a complaint from your father about his tool racks tell him that they will soon be ready.”

The young woman shook her head and said, “He sends no complaint. But a summons to a meeting of the city's tradesmen and crafts workers called now because of a new demand by the Count's warden to raise the levy once again on the free work we give to the calvary camp.” She smiled. “They meet now and will talk until dark and drinking time and it will all come to naught.”

“Aye, that is so. And I shall wake with a sore head from drinking in the morning. So be it.” He shrugged his shoulders and moved away to his house.

But when he had gone the young woman stood her ground, her dark-red lips curved in an almost mocking smile which, for some reason that baffled him, suddenly irritated Arturo so that he said, ignoring courtesy and ceremony, “Some mornings since you smiled at me in the marketplace, and now you stand as though there was something you expected from me.”

Her smile broadened, and she said, “And why should I not? Or are your promises like blowing thistledown to be carried away and lost? Have you forgotten then that once you said to me that one day you would come and woo me; that we should lie in the long grass, listen to the golden birds sing and drink the new wine? That seeking me you would ask only for one who had eyes like the blue bell-flower, lips redder than the thorn berry and hair like …
Aie
now that escapes me—”

“Like polished black serpentine,” said Arturo suddenly, for now memory was back with him like the sudden sweep of light from the sun breaking free of dark clouds.

“True, that was it. So why should I not smile at you in the marketplace—since I would know your face anywhere, or so I thought until you greeted my smile with a face as blank as a mouse-stuffed owl's? But now I know you as all folk who have heard the blood price called against you would know you with your tunic drawn back to show your tribal tattoo and birthmark. Would you, too, have me immodest enough to lift my robe and show you the swallow's gorge mark on my thigh?”

“There is no need,” said Arturo quickly, recovering from his confusion. “I would have known you at any time except this when—as you must know—there are other matters which bear heavily on me. You are Daria, daughter of Ansold the sword smith. But it was to Lindum, not Corinium, that you were travelling.”

“True—but my father changed his mind when he saw the work which was here with Count Ambrosius's army. You are a fool to work with old Paulus half-naked for all to see your marks and so make a high blood price an easy picking for any man who passes. Such heedlessness will never bring you the years to make good your boast to Gerontius and Count Ambrosius. Perhaps those who called that an Arto promise were wiser than I thought.”

As she finished speaking she began to turn away, but Arturo, anger rising in him, stepped forward and held her by the arm and said pugnaciously, “You do right to mock me. But you do wrong to taunt me with talk of empty promises. They shall sue me for help for the gods have ordained it.”

Daria frowned down at the hand which held her arm and, as Arturo released her, she said, “And the golden birds and the new wine—when shall they be heard and drunk?”

Arturo smiled. “There will be time and place for them. You think you stand here and talk to me out of chance? Nay, even though I had forgotten you the gods had not. I take my shame for a misty memory. But it is written that on the day of my triumph you shall come riding into Glevum with me on a white horse, wearing a cloak of scarlet with a lining of blue silk and about your waist a golden belt with a clasp of two singing birds. And when Count Ambrosius comes out to greet us he shall hand to you a silver goblet full of new wine, and then—”

“And then, and then,” Daria interrupted him, mockingly, “will be the day when pigs shall be flying and the salmon coming up the Sabrina shall wriggle ashore, their mouths full of sea pearls to lay at my feet. But for now, be wise. Keep your tunic drawn and your god dreams to yourself.”

Without other word or look she turned from him and walked away. Arturo watched her go, knowing now that he would never again lose her from his mind, and wondering how he ever could have forgotten her and that rain-drenched day on the high moors when she had slipped a quick hand to the dagger in the garter sheath beneath her tunic.

At noon on the following day Arturo waited for Volpax under the trees on the little knoll that overlooked the cavalry training grounds. When he arrived it was as before, riding the dun pony and leading another. He came over to Arturo carrying his wineskin and a knotted cloth in which were six cold roasted quail.

He set the food between them and this time offered the wineskin first to Arturo and began talking as though there had never been any break in their conversation.

“The affair is settled. I have a friend who keeps cattle in a valley far to the south of Corinium. He will lodge and find fodder for up to thirty horses. No more. We take no more than four horses a night—and that at long intervals—and never travel the same path to my friend's valley. Nor when the ground is soft from rain to show the hoof marks. When we have the thirty, you take your ten and I take my twenty and we go our own ways. When you have the men and need for more mounts all you have to do is to pass a message to my friend and I will come to you.”