The Sarantine Mosaic (86 page)

He saw the rotund head of the silk guild (a man who seemed to attend every party in the City), the Supreme Strategos's secretary, Pertennius of Eubulus, surprisingly well turned out, and the Greens' burly, beak-nosed factionarius, whose name he could never remember. Elsewhere, the Emperor's much-favoured Rhodian mosaicist was standing with a stocky, rough-bearded young man and an older, also bearded fellow, distinctly Bassanid. And then the Senator noticed another unexpected, noteworthy guest.

‘Scortius is here,' he murmured to his wife, sampling a tiny, pickled sea urchin, in
silphium
and something unidentifiable, an astonishing flavour that tasted of ginger and the east. ‘He's with the Green racer from Sarnica, Crescens.'

‘An eccentric gathering, yes,' Thenaïs replied, not even bothering to follow his gaze towards where the two chariot-drivers were surrounded by a cluster of admirers. Bonosus smiled a little. He
liked
his wife. He even slept with her on occasion.

‘Taste the wine,' he said.

‘I have. Candarian. You'll be happy.'

‘I
am,'
said Bonosus happily.

And he was, until the Bassanid fellow he'd noticed with the mosaicist came striding over to accuse Cleander of murder, in an eastern voice that was explicit enough— if blessedly low in volume—to eliminate all possibility of avoiding an unpleasantness.

CHAPTER IV

H
e hadn't known Nishik long at all—only for the duration of their journey here—and he couldn't have said he liked the man. The stocky soldier made a poor manservant and an insufficiently respectful companion. He hadn't troubled himself to disguise the fact that he regarded Rustem as no more than a burdensome civilian: the traditional soldier's attitude. Rustem had made a point in the first days of mentioning his travels a few times, but when that elicited no useful response he stopped, finding the exercise of attempting to impress a common soldier to be undignified.

Having acknowledged this, it remained to note that the casual killing of a companion—whether one was partial to him or not—was hardly something one ought to countenance, and Rustem had no intention of doing so. He was still outraged about the morning's deadly encounter and his own humiliating flight through the Jaddite city.

This information he conveyed to the big, red-haired artisan at the wedding celebration to which he'd been brought. He was holding a cup of excellent wine, but could take no pleasure in the fact or the reality of his arrival—finally—in the Sarantine capital after a hard winter trek. The presence of the murderer at the same gathering undermined any such feelings and gave an edge to his anger. The young man, dressed now like some Sarantine lordling, bore no resemblance at all to the profane, drunken bully who'd accosted them with
his cronies in the laneway. He didn't even seem to have recognized Rustem.

Rustem pointed out the fellow at the request of the mosaicist, who seemed a brisk, no-nonsense person, belying a first impression of unhealthy choler and passion. The artisan swore under his breath and promptly fetched the bridegroom to their little group.

‘Cleander's fucked up again,' the mosaicist—his name was Crispin—said grimly. He seemed prone to vulgar language.

‘Tried to grab Shirin in the hallway?' The soldier bridegroom continued to present an inordinately cheerful visage.

‘I wish it were that. No, he killed this man's servant this morning, in the street, with witnesses around. Including my friend Pardos, who just arrived in the City. Then he and a swarm of Greens chased both of them all the way to the Sanctuary, with swords drawn.'

‘Oh, fuck,' said the soldier, with feeling. His expression had changed. ‘Those stupid little boys.'

‘They aren't boys,' said Rustem coldly. ‘Boys are ten years old or such. That fellow was drunk at sunrise and killed with a blade.'

The big soldier looked at Rustem carefully for the first time. ‘I understand that. He's still very young. Lost his mother at a bad time and left some intelligent friends for a wild group of younger ones in the faction. He's also hopelessly smitten with our hostess here and will have been drinking this morning because he was terrified of coming to her house.'

‘Ah,' said Rustem, using a gesture his students knew well. ‘That
explains
why Nishik had to die! Of course. Forgive me for mentioning the matter.'

‘Don't be a shit, Bassanid,' said the soldier, his eyes briefly hard. ‘No one's condoning a killing. We'll try to
do something. I'm explaining, not excusing. I should also mention that the boy is the son of Plautus Bonosus. There's a need for some discretion.'

‘Who is—?'

‘Master of the Senate,' said the mosaicist. ‘He's over there, with his wife. Leave this with us, physician. Cleander can use a good scare put into him and I can promise you we'll make it happen.'

‘A
scare?'
said Rustem. He felt his temper rising again.

The red-haired fellow had a direct gaze. ‘Tell me, doctor, would a member of the court of the King of Kings be more severely punished for killing a servant in a street fight? A Sarantine servant?'

‘I have no idea,' said Rustem, although he did, of course.

Pivoting on a heel, he strode past the yellow-haired bride in her white garment and red belt and went right across the room towards the murderer and the older man the artisan had indicated. He was aware that his swift progress through a relaxed gathering would attract attention. A female servant, perhaps sensing a problem, appeared right in front of him, smiling, carrying a tray of small plates. Rustem was forced to stop; there was no room to pass. He drew a breath and, for want of evident alternatives, accepted one of the little plates she offered. The woman—young, full-figured, and dark-haired— lingered in his path. She balanced her round tray and took his wine cup, freeing his two hands. Her fingers touched his. ‘Taste it,' she murmured, still smiling. Her tunic was cut distractingly low—not a fashion that had reached Kerakek.

Rustem did as she suggested. It was rolled fish of some sort, in pastry, a sauce on the plate. As he bit down, a mildly stunning explosion of flavours took place in his mouth and Rustem could not suppress a grunt of
astonished pleasure. He looked at the plate in his hand, and then at the girl in front of him. He dipped a finger in the sauce and tasted it again, wonderingly.

The dancer hosting this affair clearly had a cook, he thought. And comely servants. The dark-haired girl was gazing at him with dimpled pleasure. She handed him a small cloth to wipe at his mouth and took the tiny plate from him, still smiling. She gave him back his wine.

Rustem discovered that his surge of anger appeared to have dissipated. But as the servant murmured something and turned to another guest, Rustem looked at the Senator and his son again and was struck by a thought. He stood still a moment longer, stroking his beard, and then moved forward, more slowly now.

He stopped before the slightly florid figure of the Master of the Sarantine Senate, noting the austere, quite handsome woman beside him and—more to the point— the son at his other side. He felt very calm now. He bowed to the man and the woman and introduced himself formally.

As he straightened, Rustem saw the boy finally recognize him and go white. The Senator's son glanced quickly towards the front of the room where their hostess, the dancer, was still greeting late arrivals.
No escape for you
,
thought Rustem coldly, and he spoke his accusation to the father in a deliberately low-voiced, cool tone.

The mosaicist had been right, of course: discretion and dignity were critical when people of stature were involved. Rustem had no desire to become embroiled with the law here; he intended to deal with this Senator himself. It had just occurred to him that although a physician might learn much of Sarantine medicine and perhaps hear a little chatter about affairs of state, a man owed a debt by the Master of the Senate might find
himself in a different situation—to the greater benefit of the King of Kings in Kabadh, who had things he wished to know about Sarantium just now.

Rustem saw no reason to have poor Nishik, his longserving, much-loved servant, die in vain.

The Senator cast his son a satisfyingly poisonous glance and murmured, ‘Killed? Holy Jad. I am
appalled
,
of course. You must allow—'

‘He was drawing his own sword!' the boy exclaimed in a low, fierce tone. ‘He was—'

‘Be silent!' said Plautus Bonosus, a little more loudly than he'd perhaps intended. Two men not far away glanced over. The wife, all reserve and composure, appeared to be gazing idly about the room, ignoring her family. She was listening, however; Rustem could see it.

‘As I was saying,' Bonosus continued more softly, turning back to Rustem, his colour even more heightened, ‘you must allow me to offer you a cup of wine at our home after this charming celebration. I am grateful that you chose to speak with me directly, of course.'

‘Of course,' said Rustem gravely.

‘Where would we find your unfortunate servant?' the Senator asked. A practical man.

‘The body is being attended to,' Rustem murmured.

‘Ah. So there are … others who have already learned of this?'

‘We were pursued through the streets by sword-wielding youths led by your son,' Rustem said, allowing himself a shade of emphasis. ‘I imagine a number of people did observe our passage, yes. We received assistance in the Emperor's new Sanctuary from his mosaicist.'

‘Ah,' said Plautus Bonosus again, glancing across the room. ‘The Rhodian. He does get about. Well, if that matter is attended to … '

‘My mule and all my goods,' said Rustem, ‘were left behind when we were forced to flee. I have just arrived in Sarantium this morning, you see.'

The wife turned to him then, eyeing him thoughtfully. Rustem met her gaze briefly and turned away. The women here appeared to be rather more … present … than those in other places he'd been. He wondered if it had to do with the Empress, the power she was said to wield. A common dancer once. It was a remarkable story, really.

The Senator turned to his son. ‘Cleander, you will excuse yourself to our hostess and leave now, before the dinner is served. You will ascertain the whereabouts of this man's animal and goods and have them brought to our home. You will then wait there for me to arrive.'

‘Leave?
Leave already?' said the boy, his voice actually breaking. ‘But I haven't even … '

‘Cleander, there is a possibility you might be branded or exiled for this. Get the accursed mule,' said his father.

His wife laid a hand on his arm. ‘Shh,' she murmured. ‘Look.'

A hush had descended over the large room full of animated, pleasure-seeking Sarantines. Plautus Bonosus looked past Rustem's shoulder and blinked in surprise.

‘Now how do
they
come to be here?' he asked of no one in particular.

Rustem turned. The silence became a murmurous rustling as those assembled—fifty or more—bowed or sank low in acknowledgement of the man and the woman who stood now in the entrance to the room with the hostess behind them.

The man was very tall, smooth-shaven, compellingly handsome. He was bareheaded, which was unusual and showed his thick golden hair to good effect. He wore a knee-length, deep-blue tunic slashed to show gold at the sides, with gold hose and black boots like a soldier
and a dark green panelled dress cloak, pinned at one shoulder with a blue gem, large as a man's thumbnail. He held a white flower in one hand, for the wedding.

The woman beside him had her own yellow hair gathered up loosely under a white mesh cap, with artful ringlets spilling down. Her floor-length garment was crimson and there were jewels at the hem. She wore gold at her ears and a necklace of gold with pearls and a golden cloak. She was nearly as tall as the man. A sallow, lean fellow materialized at the man's elbow and whispered briefly in his ear as those attending the celebration rose from homage.

‘Leontes,' said the Senator softly to Rustem. ‘The Strategos.'

It was a courtesy. Rustem could not have known this man, though for years he had heard of him—and feared him, as did everyone in Bassania. There was a glow cast by renown, Rustem thought, something almost tangible. It was Leontes the Golden (and the origin of the name became clearer now) who had comprehensively beaten the last fully mustered northern army east of Asen, almost capturing the Bassanid general, forcing a humiliating peace. The general had been invited to kill himself when he returned to Kabadh, and had done so.

It was Leontes who had also won lands (and productive, taxable citizens) for Valerius in the great spaces stretching all the way west and south to the fabled Majriti deserts, who had brutally quelled incursions from Moskav and Karch, who had been honoured—they'd heard of it even in Kerakek—with the most elaborate Triumph an Emperor had ever granted a returning Strategos since Saranios had founded this city.

And who had been given the tall, ice-elegant woman beside him as a further prize. They knew of the Daleinoi in Bassania, as well—even in Kerakek, which was on the
southern trade routes, after all. The family's wealth had begun with a spice monopoly, and the eastern spices usually came through Bassania, north or south. Ten or fifteen years ago, Flavius Daleinus had been killed in some appalling fashion at a time of Imperial succession. A fire of some kind, Rustem recalled. His elder sons had been killed or crippled in the same attack, and the daughter was … here in this room, brilliant and golden as a prize of war.

The Strategos gestured briefly and the dark-haired serving girl hurried over with wine for him, her cheeks flushed with excitement. His wife also accepted a cup, but stayed behind as her husband stepped forward so that he appeared alone now, as if an actor on a stage. Rustem saw Styliane Daleina glancing around slowly, registering, he was certain, presences and alignments utterly invisible to him. Her expression was as unrevealing as that of the Senator's wife, but the impression given by the two women was in no other way the same. Where the wife of Plautus Bonosus was reserved and detached, the aristocratic spouse of the most powerful soldier in the Empire was cold and brilliant and even a little frightening. Awesome wealth and great power and violent death were in her lineage. Rustem managed to look away from her just as the Strategos began to speak.