“Lord Dio. Are you in a rush? I’m in need of some conversation…”
The elderly lord nodded. “As a matter of fact I was just going to do the rounds and check on the men. They like to know I take an interest. Care to join me?”
“Actually,” Sabian replied, “I’d prefer to talk in private if I can tear you away. Your troops don’t really need to see you anyway. They must love you; they’re one of very few units who haven’t suffered desertions yet.”
Dio nodded soberly. “Very well.”
He turned and, picking up his goblet and helmet, walked back into his tent. Sabian consciously stopped grinding his teeth and strode in after the man. Inside, the tent was organised much as a military command tent, rather than a lord’s personal habitation. Four chairs sat around a table full of charts and maps and lists and the insignia of Dio’s forces hung from the rear. A small bed and a travel chest were the only concessions here to comfortable living.
Sabian stopped in the entrance and glanced around to make sure Dio’s guard were not attending too closely. Fortunately the old lord was respected enough that the guard felt safe to keep a perimeter some distance away. Just in case, he closed the flaps of the tent and tied them shut anyway.
When he turned round, Dio was watching him quizzically. “If I didn’t know you better commander, you have the look of a man about to desert.”
“Funny you should say that…”
Sabian walked across and sat heavily in one of the chairs. “Do you mind?” he enquired, gesturing to the jug of wine on the table.
“Be my guest. Pour me another while you’re at it.”
Sabian did so, a half smile as far as he could push his face.
“I’m not deserting, Dio. Don’t worry about that. As much as I can’t see you deserting either. We’re both men of honour and we don’t betray our oaths.”
A simple nod.
“But some things; most things even, about this campaign disturb and annoy me and I’m on the verge of resigning my commission.”
Dio nodded again. “It’s no secret you’re not happy. Most of the army talk about it. You’d be surprised at just how popular a subject you are right now. No.” He picked up his goblet again and took a sip. “I’m not planning to desert either, but should you or I go, I think a lot of this alliance would fall apart. I would like to think, anyway.”
Sabian gritted his teeth again and took another swig.
“Problem is: Velutio wants us to fight a battle that I think is wrong in the very last place I would choose to do it with an army that, by the time we get there, may be outnumbered.”
Dio smiled. “Your conscience playing you up, Sabian? You’re not old enough to remember the Empire when it was a power. Maybe the battle will be fought in their favour, but the Gods will be with us and we can’t fail. The Gods know our cause to be right, so you’ve got one thing wrong there.”
“Why’s that?” muttered Sabian, staring into his goblet.
“Because Avitus was the second most powerful man in the Empire after Quintus. Caerdin was the most important military man, but Avitus was also a governor and destined for office at the Emperor’s side. He’s got a claim and precedence. This Darius was just the son of some courtier or officer or some such. We’re in the right and the Gods know when you’re in the right.”
“You’re a pious man, then?”
“Of course.” Dio took another sip. “I wouldn’t say the Gods ruled my life, but I certainly try to respect their wishes whenever I can and not fly in the face of their rules.”
Sabian smiled. “And what if I told you that you were wrong, Dio. What would you think then? If the Gods had deserted us?”
Dio narrowed his eyes. “What is it you know, Sabian?”
“I know who the ‘Emperor’ Darius really is. And having spent some time with him, I’m of the horrible opinion that he might be just the man the world needs.”
“What do you mean who he ‘really is’?” the old lord leaned forward in his chair.
Sabian shrugged. “I’m sworn to silence. I’m straining to keep that vow, because it’s suddenly more important than I could ever have thought when I made it.”
Dio growled. “Sabian… if this is as important as you seem to be suggesting, the Gods will be your judges, not whoever you made a vow to. Speak!”
The commander sighed and leaned back in his chair. “If I do tell you, you cannot make it public. I may take you and even others into my confidence, but I’m not about to announce this for a whole variety of reasons.”
He shuffled in his seat and took another swig of wine before refilling his cup.
“He’s the Caerdin child.”
He watched the startling serious of expressions crossing Dio’s face with some satisfaction. He’d been holding that particular secret in so long he couldn’t believe how freeing it felt opening up to someone.
“He’s Caerdin’s son and that makes him Livilla’s son too, and a member of Quintus’ Imperial household by blood.” He smiled weakly at the elderly lord. “ Now tell me who’s got the true claim.”
Dio sat for a long moment and whistled through his teeth. “I think I can see why Velutio’s keeping this under wraps. But the enemy don’t know either, do they, or we’d have heard it by now.”
“Very astute,” agreed Sabian. For a number of reasons there are only a couple of people in Caerdin’s camp who know and they can’t reveal it either. That’s a personal matter and not something to be lightly undertaken. It’s not for Velutio I’m keeping this quiet, but for Darius and Caerdin. Even the general and the boy are unaware and it has to stay that way.”
Dio stared at him. “You’ve perhaps too much honour to do your job properly, Sabian.”
The commander laughed out loud. “You have no idea how sick I’m getting of hearing that. But you’re a man from the same mould, Dio. Hell, you supported Caerdin against Avitus after the Emperor’s fall from grace, I seem to remember.”
“True.” Dio sat cradling the goblet between his hands and staring at the floor. “I’m in a quandary now, commander. You know that, because you put me there and I can’t help thinking you did that on purpose. You won’t desert, but your conscience is pushing me to do it for you. I should, by rights, turn and walk away with my men.”
Sabian nodded. “But then by rights, so should I. If you went with your men, I wonder how many of the other lords would follow you?”
“You’ve given me a lot to ponder commander. I am, of course, taking your words at face value despite their importance, but I have the feeling you’re telling me the truth. I think I’ll come with you to the Tosco valley before I make my decision. I think I’d like to see this Caerdin child first.”
Sabian nodded. “I hope the Gods grant you a reasonable path and that it’s the right one, for I can’t help but think I’m on the wrong one and heading for hell.”
As Sabian and Dio sat within the lord’s tent, deep in discussion, a figure moved among the men of Lord Vassario’s army a few hundred yards away. He was of average height and average build in a red tunic bearing Vassario’s emblem of a tree and a sword, with a military scarf pulled up around his throat. A common soldier carrying a sack was a figure to be ignored and no one paid any attention whatsoever as the extremely average man threaded his way between other soldiers carrying gear.
Certainly no one examined him closely enough to spot his swarthy, Pelasian skin under the dirt covering that was so common of soldiers in autumn campaigns. He struggled with the sack of grain on his shoulder and found his way to a tent. It was only a small tent by the standards seen elsewhere on the camp; certainly not the size of the lords’ command tents and considerably smaller than the eight-man tents the troops shared. A medium-sized affair, it nevertheless had the unit’s insignia on a standard thrust into the turf outside. The Pelasian looked around quickly and disappeared inside.
Terrico was once of lord Vassario’s three captains and probably the least popular. A martinet, he had a reputation for cruelty and it was possibly only that reputation that had prevented more desertions from the army, or so Terrico would like to think. A stocky man with a thick black beard, he turned in the midst of shaving his upper lip, a silver mirror in one hand and a sharp razor in the other. He glared at the intruder.