In the end I set sail from Bononia with Eukairios-and with Valerius Natalis, and with Flavius Facilis. Eukairios came because we were finishing some accounts; Natalis, because he was returning to his preferred base at Dubris-but Facilis was an unpleasant surprise. We had seen very little of him once the crossing began, and I’d thought that he’d given up his charge of us and was preparing to return with his legionaries to Aquincum. I found that instead he’d been writing to the legate Priscus, offering his services as an expert on Sarmatians. I could not ask him why. I suspected, even then, that it was not because he had any straightforward plan for revenge, but because he felt his business with us was unfinished. He meant to finish it and make sure we would not forget him, as I had wished to do. I suppose, too, he had nothing waiting for him in Aquincum except regrets and painful memories: why shouldn’t he start a new life in Britain? At any rate, Priscus had accepted him and had offered to appoint him camp prefect of some fortress in the North where he could keep an eye on us. I was not happy at Facilis coming-he would have provoked my men into mutiny twice, if he’d had his way-and I was still more unhappy that Priscus thought we needed him. But because I could do nothing about it, I avoided the man. I had eight horses on the transport, and I went into the hold with them instead of onto the deck with the Romans-but, of course, I took Eukairios and the accounts with me.
When we were three hours out from Bononia, however, Natalis sent a slave to invite me to have a drink with him. The horses were all accustomed to the ship by then, so I agreed to leave them-I’d relied heavily on the procurator’s authority in Bononia and I couldn’t afford to offend him. I told Eukairios to come up on deck as well, and to bring the accounts, since we’d finished them. (I was not seasick on that voyage. The transport bucked and rolled far less than the bireme had, and the sea was calmer that day.)
Natalis was in the covered cabin by the sternpost of the transport, sitting in a carved chair and looking out at the ship’s wake. He gave me his most benevolent smile, had another chair brought up for me, and offered me a cup of wine. “I thought we might have a drink together to celebrate a job well done,” he said. “I’ve been grateful for your help, Ariantes.”
“We have been grateful for yours, Valerius Natalis,” I returned. I sipped my wine uncomfortably.
“Yes-but I was obliged by my position to help you, and you might very easily have decided to… cause difficulties. I believe we might have had serious trouble in Bononia, if it hadn’t been for you.”
“It was my own people who would have suffered most,” I said, just a bit too sharply.
“Oh, indeed, indeed,” Natalis agreed quickly. “But one doesn’t expect barbarians to be so reasonable-or to show such flair for administration. As a token of my gratitude, I’d like to give you a present.”
“Lord Valerius Natalis, I did not act as I have through hope of reward from any Roman.”
“I am quite sure of that, Lord Ariantes. It would be an insult to you to suppose otherwise, wouldn’t it? Nonetheless, it’s a Roman custom for senior officers, such as myself, to make gifts to those who have helped them. I am sure you could use a reliable scribe in your future career, so let me make you a present of Eukairios.”
Eukairios, who’d been standing quietly by the entrance to the cabin all this while, dropped his accounts ledger with a clatter and stared at Natalis in horror. “Lord procurator!” he gasped.
“I could not accept,” I said. “My people do not keep slaves.” I spoke quickly because I was angry with myself. I already knew that if Natalis pressed me, I’d accept. Now that I’d been offered him, I knew I wanted the scribe badly.
“Oh, you must have some slaves!” protested Natalis. “How can a gentleman manage without them? What do you do with the captives you take in all your wars, eh?”
“We do not take captives, Lord Procurator. We do not keep foreigners in our wagons, and our own people are all free, the sons and daughters of warriors. What would I do with a slave? Eukairios cannot ride a horse.” (I’d discovered this in Bononia when I asked him to take a message, and it had shocked and astonished me.) “Where would I put him?”
“I’m sure you could arrange something,” Natalis said easily.
At this, Eukairios interrupted. “Lord Procurator,” he stammered, “please, my lord, please don’t send me away from Bononia.”
“Be quiet, man! Well, Ariantes? It would be a shame to waste your talents because of a lack of pen and ink.”
“But, Lord Procurator…” begged Eukairios.
“I said, be quiet!” Natalis snapped.
Eukairios staggered over to Natalis and dropped to his knees, reaching out a hand to his master. “Please, my lord, I beg you, my lord, please don’t-”
Natalis shoved the hand away. “Why are you making a scene like this? You don’t have any family in Bononia.”
“No,” pleaded Eukairios, “but I have friends, old and dear friends and-”
“I know all about your friends,” Natalis said, now tight with anger, “and I don’t want them connected with anyone in my office. You’d disgrace us all, Eukairios, if there was trouble here like there was in Lugdunum. Do you think I want to see a scribe from my own office-the office of the procurator of the British fleet! — killed in the arena to amuse the mob? You can go off to Britain with the Sarmatians. Even if you find some more of your ‘friends’ there, no one will pay any attention to them.”
Eukairios went white. He knelt with his hands on the floor before him, like a beast. “I’m sorry, Lord Valerius Natalis,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I… I… you know…” He rubbed at his eyes. “Oh my God, my God!”
“Get out,” Natalis ordered him. “You’re embarrassing Lord Ariantes.”
Eukairios staggered out.
Natalis turned back to me with a forced smile. “The truth of the matter is, I’d be glad if you’d take him off my hands,” he said, apparently realizing he had to explain the scene. “He’s a good, reliable scribe, but he’s a Christian. I’ve overlooked that in the past, but there have been some demands in Gaul to stamp them out, and I don’t want any scandal to attach to the office. He’d be all right in Britain. No one cares about the Christians there.”
“What is a Christian?” I asked, torn between pity for Eukairios and suspicion of Natalis at this admission that he wanted to get rid of the man.
“A follower of an illegal cult. Christ was a Jewish sophist crucified for sedition under the emperor Tiberius, and some of the Jews were stupid enough to decide that he was a god-and not just any god, but the Jewish god, who can’t even be spoken of by name. The rest of the Jews naturally turned on them with all their usual ferocity toward blasphemers, so they went Greek, and now there are adherents of this lunacy in every city in the empire where Greeks are found. It appeals to slaves and riffraff, of course, not the better classes.”
He rolled his aristocratic eyes in contempt, and went on pompously, “The Christians practice disgusting rituals in private houses at night, hoping, poor wretches, that this will give them immortality, and they refuse to worship any divinity except their crucified sophist, and even refuse to make offerings to the genius of the emperor and the spirit of Rome-so, of course, the cult’s illegal. It was banned almost immediately after it appeared, but that hasn’t stopped it spreading. Personally, I don’t see any point in punishing the Christians, and I’ve turned a blind eye to the business as much as possible. I don’t believe most of the stories about them-they aren’t wicked, just silly pathetic fools. And, as I said, nobody’s ever bothered with the cult in Britain-and even if somebody did, no one would worry that you, a barbarian nobleman, had the least sympathy for that kind of nonsense. But if anyone took official notice of Eukairios and his ridiculous religion, he could be killed for it. Complete waste of a good scribe, in my opinion. Now you know the worst of Eukairios. The best-that he’s hardworking, experienced, and able-you knew already. I can add to that that he doesn’t drink, doesn’t get into trouble with women, and keeps out of quarrels. This cult is the one great daring secret of his drab little life.”