“My brother azatani,” I shouted, trying to pitch my voice so they could all hear, “we are bound on the final stage of our journey, and I ask two things of you. First, I have sworn upon fire that we will do no harm to any Roman along the way: I entrust you with the keeping of my oath. I don’t say just that I want you to respect the lives and property of those you meet; I say that even if a thief should visit us, you must be blameless. Take him alive and give him to the legate to punish. Second, remember, now that you are armed again, that we are not in our own country and not free to follow our own customs. If you fight duels among yourselves, not one but both the duelists will die, the first at the hand of his opponent, and the second executed by the Romans as a murderer. I cannot defend you from that; even if you fight a man of another company for the sake of my own honor, I cannot defend you. So if you must fight, do so with blunted weapons, and not to the death.
“In twelve days we will be in Eburacum, and four days after that, in Cilurnum, where we will be based. I hear that it is a pleasant place beside a river, with abundant grazing for horses and good hunting nearby. We will need to travel no more than thirty Roman miles in any day, and I trust that we will be well provided for along the way. There are no more oceans to cross, and we will travel now as warriors, armed and honorable, and not as wretched prisoners. May God favor us!”
They cheered, waved their spears, and shouted, “Marha!” I gave another signal to the drummer, and he rattled out the call to march, which was taken up by the banner-bearers of the squadrons. Arshak and Gatalas were still speaking to their men, so we circled the parade ground while we waited for them to start. I never like to keep the men standing about waiting.
“What did you say to them?” asked Comittus, who’d turned his horse beside mine.
I told him, roughly.
“Would they really start fighting duels if you hadn’t warned them?” he asked in amazement.
I looked at him sideways, wondering what it must be like to lead a body of men who did not fight duels over every half-imagined slur. “Of course,” I said. “Though not so much with men from this dragon. We all know one another. But there are one or two points of conflict with the troops that follow Arshak and Gatalas.”
“What? I ought to know if I’m to… liaise properly.”
True enough. “The others sneer at the Roxalani in my company, and the Roxalani sometimes take offense. I am lucky in Kasagos, who is senior to the other Roxalanic captains. He is a sensible man and a priest and diviner, and he knows how to calm his fellow tribesmen and soothe their opponents-but still they fight, at times. Then we are second to Gatalas in the order of march. The men do not mind coming behind Arshak, because he is of royal blood, but Gatalas, they say, is no better than myself. So they and Gatalas’ men boast to one another that their horses are faster, their armor stronger, their own skill greater, and their commanders braver and more glorious-and sometimes they fight over it.” After a moment I added, “They did it to some extent even on the way from Aquincum. But then they were unarmed, and they were too wretched with bad food and weariness to have much heart for boasting. It will be worse now.”
I could have added that now Gatalas’ men were certain to say to mine, “Your commander is a Romanizer,” and my men would probably reply angrily, “Who got you that beef you’re eating?” and there would be blows over that, too. But what would be the point of trying to explain the danger and dishonor of Romanizing to a Roman?
The Romans were waiting for us by the tribunal. Priscus had even fewer troops than I’d expected: fifty dispatch riders and one century. He sent Arshak’s dragon in front, with a guide, and followed it with his own troops and their baggage. Gatalas’ dragon came next, and then the wagons, and finally my own company brought up the rear. Normally I would have expected that to be a dusty position-but everything was far too wet. The worst problem was horses losing horse-sandals in the churned-up mud verge of the road. As soon as I’d arranged the squadrons, I was obliged to leave them to dig the horse-sandals out on their own while I joined the legate. Senior Roman officers usually ride together when their forces are on the march, though Sarmatians stay with their men. Facilis had imposed the Roman order of march on us during the journey from Aquincum, largely to keep an eye on the officers and separate us from our followers, and I wasn’t surprised to find that Priscus retained this precaution.
Priscus was riding a solid and rather sleepy-looking gray at the head of the century-the legionaries, of course, marched on foot. Arshak and Gatalas and their liaison officers were already on his right when Comittus and I cantered up, and Facilis rode slightly behind them, keeping out of their way. Aurelia Bodica was on her husband’s left, sitting in her flimsy painted chariot again, with both the white stallion and another white horse to pull it. (I’d noticed her covered carriage with the baggage train, drawn by a less exalted horse.) She was even lovelier than I remembered, and she smiled at us very brightly.
“Greetings, cousin! Greetings, Lord Ariantes!” she called. “Isn’t it lucky the rain’s stopped?”
“Just in time for the journey,” agreed Comittus, falling in beside her.
She gave me a look of sweet concern. “Though I gather that you had very wet weather to travel in over the last month, Lord Ariantes. My husband”-she glanced toward him-“has been telling me that your troops have had such a difficult journey so far that you all have a number of men lying in the wagons with the baggage, too ill to ride. I hope we can recover them.”
I felt ashamed of my distrust of her. “I trust they will recover, Lady Aurelia Bodica,” I replied, “given better food and supplies.” I was glad she’d given me the chance to call the legate’s attention to the question of supplies again.
Priscus snorted.
“Well, I’ll be glad to help if I can,” declared Bodica earnestly. She glanced over at Arshak and Gatalas as well, and raised her voice so that they, too, could hear her offer, “As my husband can tell you, Princes, my family and my friends own a great deal of land and cattle in northern Britain, and I’d be glad to use whatever wealth or influence I have to help your people settle in happily.”
The legate smiled, and leaned out of the saddle to pat her hand. “You needn’t worry, my dear,” he told her. “I’m sure we can settle them without digging into our private fortunes. But thank you.”
Bodica gave him a lingering smile back. I bowed my head and thanked her for her kindness in making the offer; Arshak and Gatalas did the same. I gathered from their manner that they’d been introduced to her before I joined them, and that they found her impressive.
“Oh, and Lord Ariantes,” Bodica went on, “I believe I never actually thanked you for catching my horse the other day. Please excuse me! I was so surprised to find one of your people actually in Britain, it went right out of my head. But really, I’m very grateful. I do love this horse, and who knows what might have happened to him if you hadn’t caught him?”
“I am glad to have been of service to you, Lady,” I replied.
Arshak turned his mount, cantered behind the chariot, and pulled in beside me. “What is this?” he asked me, speaking Latin in courtesy to the company. “You had the good fortune to be of service to the lady?”
Bodica laughed. “Didn’t he even tell you, Lord Arshak?” (I noticed, with some surprise, that she said his name correctly, with the sh sound most Romans can’t pronounce.) “Was that modesty, Lord Ariantes, or didn’t you find the adventure worth repeating to your friends?”