“What!” exclaimed Gatalas. “Facilis isn’t going back to Aquincum?”
I told him about Facilis’ offer to the legate and its acceptance.
“No wonder we haven’t been given our weapons back,” Arshak said thoughtfully. “Facilis has got at the legate. Well, I’m pleased he isn’t going safely home.” He smiled.
I hated that smile. I wanted to ask Arshak to leave the centurion alone, say that the risk of trouble from killing the man far outweighed the pleasure of vengeance. But I knew Arshak would be offended if I did, so I said nothing.
“How do you think we can get round this legate, then?”Gatalas asked, while Arshak fingered the place on his coat that he’d chosen before.
“We go to him quietly, all three of us, and tell him that the men are upset because they expected to be given their weapons as soon as they had crossed the ocean. He may not even know that; he wasn’t at Aquincum. We tell him that it will damage their confidence in him if they don’t get the weapons, and that they’ll be suspicious of any promises that he might make in future.”
“What confidence?” asked Gatalas.
“The confidence we might have if he deals with us fairly. My brother, he’ll know that the men must believe that he means what he says, or there’s no reason for them to obey him. He knows he must give us our weapons sometime. We can pledge our honor that our people won’t do violence to any Roman on the way to Eburacum. If we phrase it tactfully, I think he’ll give in. Arshak, you know how it’s done-you did it yourself in Bononia.”
“Not exactly this,”said Arshak. “But yes, near enough. Very well, we do it gently. In fact”-taking charge-“we don’t even go to him as though our first thought was to complain. We appear before him to greet him as our new commander, and to give him a gift. Romans love getting presents. What do we give him?”
“A horse?” suggested Gatalas.
“They don’t value them as much as we do,” I said. “A jewel?” My hand went involuntarily to the unpinned top of my coat.
Arshak looked at me sideways. “What did you do with your coat pin?”
“Gave it to Valerius Natalis, as you’ve guessed,” I replied-evenly, though I couldn’t yet bring myself to admit that Valerius Natalis had given me a slave. “He was very pleased with it.”
Gatalas winced. “Did you have to give him a dragon?”
“If it bought us one friend in the Roman camp, it was well given,” said Arshak. “If Natalis has a jewel, though, we don’t want to give the same to Priscus. I have a length of silk which I bought from a caravan from the East and took along for just this kind of thing. Would he like that, or would he think it was woman’s gear and be offended?”
“He has a beautiful young wife,” I answered. “She’s influential too, or I’m much deceived. Give it to him, and mention her: that should be safe.”
“We’ll bring only ten men each from our bodyguards,” Arshak went on, now in charge completely. “Enough to show that we’re persons of importance, but not enough to be interpreted as a threat of force. Very well. I’ll go fetch the silk and change my coat, and we can all collect our horses and our men. We’ll meet back here in a few minutes.”
He strode off, and Gatalas started for his wagon, less quickly, and scowling: he disliked asking for what he thought he should demand. I ran my hands through my tangled hair and turned to the captain of my guard.
“Leimanos, was there trouble over the milk?” I asked. “How much of it is there?”
His eyebrows bobbed up, and he snorted with appreciation. He was a kinsman of mine, a lean brown man with eyes as blue as Arshak’s, loyal and hardworking: we’d ridden together since the battle where I’d killed my first man. “Enough for about twenty men in our dragon. The other companies got the same amount. I poured some for you, my prince, and told the men to be quiet until you’d drunk it and could say who got the rest.”
“Good man. It’s to go to the men who are ill. If there’s anything left over when they’ve had their cups, make cheese.” I picked my own cup, which I hadn’t touched, off the step of the wagon. “Take this to whoever’s most ill.”
Leimanos frowned. “The rest can go to the men who are ill. You drink that, my lord. You didn’t eat last night and you didn’t eat the bread this morning: you should at least drink that. And the other commanders drank milk. It’s true what you told them: you’re no less a prince than either of them, and it’s a disgrace to the dragon if you’re treated with less honor.”
I drank down the milk. A company’s sense of its commander’s dignity ought to be treated with respect.
Leimanos smiled with satisfaction. “Do you want me to take the first ten of the bodyguard and come with you to see the legate?”he asked.
“No, stay and see to the milk,” I answered. “Tell Banadaspos and the second ten to get their horses. I’m going to dig out another coat pin and comb my hair.”
“Yes, my prince.” Instead of going off obediently, however, he hesitated.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Only that I’m glad you put that brace of eagles in their place,” he said vehemently. “They had no business thinking themselves better than you. They’ve been happy enough with the leather and the medicines and the food and the milk that you talked out of the Romans, to say nothing of their crossing the ocean safely instead of dying on Roman swords in Bononia-but their men have been whispering that you’re Romanizing, and they’ve let the whispers run.”
“Ah. There’ll be more whispers to come, Leimanos,” I said, steeling myself. “There’s worse Romanizing that you don’t know yet. I accepted the gift of a slave, a scribe, from the procurator Natalis. I needed someone to write letters.”
“My lord,” said Leimanos, “if you say you need a scribe, then you need one. No one who knows you, who’s followed you through the war, will talk of Romanizing. You are our prince”-and Leimanos came and touched my hand to his forehead-“and we say the gods favored us. I can speak for the whole dragon when I say that if you can deal with the Romans successfully, we’re glad of it. How would we live, otherwise?”
“Thank you,” I said, liberated for the second time that morning. “I will see if I can’t get us back our weapons.”
IV
The meeting with the legate went well. Priscus was still staying at Natalis’ house, and we were admitted and ushered into the dining room as soon as we arrived. The legate had been working there with the three tribunes, but he rose and greeted us politely. Arshak, who could be very gracious and charming when he wanted to, made a little speech of greeting in return, saying we hoped and expected that our service under a nobleman as distinguished as Julius Priscus would bring us glory, and giving him the silk “as a token of our respect for you, my lord, in the hope that it will adorn your house and please your noble lady.” Aurelia Bodica was not in evidence, but it certainly pleased the legate. His heavy frown vanished and he looked almost genial.
Arshak went on to mention the demand for the weapons with an air of embarrassment, as though he were faced with a problem he didn’t know how to resolve and was only turning to the legate for guidance. Gatalas chimed in with expressions of sympathy for the men’s fears, concern at the damage to their confidence in their new commander in chief, and guarantees that, if they were armed, they would not cause any problems. The legate began to frown again. Whatever arguments he’d heard against giving us our weapons back outside his own fortress had clearly been persuasive. But Arshak was persuasive too, and Priscus wavered visibly. Hurrying to catch the moment, I put in the other argument I’d thought of-that I’d planned to use the unloaded weapons wagons to carry a hundred barrels of salt beef, a hundredweight of oak staves, and two hundredweight of beech planking, none of which could easily be loaded onto horses, and that if we didn’t have the weapons wagons for them, we’d have to buy carts, which would put us over budget. That did it: Priscus agreed. “After all,” he said, “you were sent here as soldiers, not prisoners-and you can hardly sail yourselves back across the Channel. You swear to me that you’ll keep your men in order?”