He stared. “I thought perhaps Arshak had fought you,” he said, after a silence.
“You believed that Romanizing has made me so feeble I’d lose without either of us putting a mark on the other?”
“No,” he answered, flushing a bit, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think at all. Then how…?”
“I can’t remember. But I don’t think the details will make a great difference. The god warned us in Bononia to beware of lies and deceits, and we must take that warning to heart. It seems to me that if you’re not going to join her, you have two choices. The first, the course I will follow myself, is never to see her privately, never to accept any gift from her, and to distrust every message you receive that she might have tampered with-and you’ll have to be suspicious of Arshak as well, since he’s firmly behind her banner.”
“And the second choice?”
“Let her believe that she’s won you over, discover her plans, and expose them. That’s the way you’d get your revenge without harming your men. But you’d have to lie to her. She might either discover it, and kill you-or she might win you over in fact.”
When I saw his eyes light, I knew which choice he’d make. But I’d known that he’d choose the more dangerous path if it offered him revenge. It was the path I’d both hoped and feared he’d choose-hoped, because he could learn things that would let us destroy our enemies; feared, because I was letting him take a course of danger and dishonor that I’d been too proud to take myself.
“Do you think I’d go over to her if she’s guilty of Gatalas’ death?” he demanded impatiently.
“I think you hate the Romans, and she’s very persuasive. She might be able to convince you of something you wanted to believe.”
“I am not blind or stupid,” he said bitterly. “I heard her before in a fog, without thinking, but when a thing’s been pointed out to me, I can see it. I will watch facts now, not pretty smiles. No. I will get revenge. But…” He stopped, then nerved himself. “But you must help me. I feel as though I’m riding an unknown plain without landmarks, and I don’t know which way to turn to reach my goal. You must advise me.”
I’d never expected him to humble himself that far, and I blinked at it. He went on quickly, in a low voice, “I don’t know how to govern myself, let alone command a dragon subject to the Romans. You’re a scepter-holder and you’ve learned to use the Roman roads. You must advise me, Lord Ariantes.”
I said nothing for a minute. It was not that I didn’t want to advise him, but I didn’t see how I could.
“I know!” he said, misunderstanding my silence. “I’ve insulted you, now to your face and before in my own thoughts. But I’ve thought from time to time as well that the sixth dragon was lucky in its commander, and I beg your pardon.”
“I have nothing to pardon,” I answered, touched by it. “You served your own prince honorably. But how can I advise you if you’re in Eburacum, under Bodica’s eyes? For you to consult me would put your life at risk. But if you want my advice, I’m here. We’ll talk through what we can here and now, and I’ll try to find another way for you to reach me in future.”
We talked for some time, first in the alleyway, then at the back of the stables, and parted in the end warmly. I’d been quite right in my first judgment of the man, that he was both intelligent and loyal. I could only pray to the gods that he was intelligent enough to deceive Bodica, and loyal enough not to be turned by her.
When Siyavak had left the stables, I remained for a while, sitting on a bale of straw with my head on my knees, rubbing my sore leg. I was tired-not perhaps as exhausted as I’d been the day before, but still, deeply and immeasurably tired. I’d made no arrangements to spend the night in Corstopitum, and my bodyguard were planning to meet me back in the stables around the middle of the afternoon. The thought of the ride back depressed me; the thought of arranging accommodation in the town for the ten I’d brought with me depressed me as well. I was trying to work up the strength to do one or the other when I heard a polite dry cough, and picked up my head to see Eukairios standing in front of me.
I smiled, so pleased to see him that I surprised myself. He smiled back: I hadn’t seen him smile like that before, and it transformed his drab, weary face into something quite different.
“I met Banadaspos in the town,” he said, “and he said he was to meet you here, so I came looking for you. I’m very glad to see you alive, my lord.”
“The gods have been kind to me,” I answered. “But where have you been? I asked for you at headquarters and at the commandant’s house, but they did not know where you were.”
“I’ve been staying with a friend in the town. But I packed my things when I heard you’d arrived, and I’m ready to leave whenever you want to.”
“Readier than I am, then. Eukairios, I am tired.”
He hesitated, then said cautiously, “You look very tired, if I may say so, my lord. Well, should I take my things back to my friend’s? I’m sure you have a standing invitation to stay at the commandant’s house.”
“I have, my bodyguard has not. And the town is overcrowded, with all the troops here. They might be sent to the servants’ quarters, or somewhere else that would offend them. No, better to ride back tonight. I need to find my armor. Then we can set out as soon as the others arrive back here.”
Eukairios sat down carefully on the straw beside me. “Banadaspos was fetching your gear from the armory, my lord. He told me about it when I met him just now. Why don’t you go somewhere and rest for a bit?”
I was relieved to hear it. “Why go somewhere?” I asked, leaning back into the straw.
He gave his short, nervous laugh, and I looked at him questioningly.
“Your notion of what dignity demands is so different from a Roman’s,” he explained. “A Roman noble might swallow a dozen insults which a Sarmatian would kill for, but he’d be outraged at the suggestion he could rest in a stable.”
“That is what houses are for, is it?” I asked. “Dignity, dignity.”
“And comfort.”
“For some.” I remembered Pervica, her house and her barn, and I smiled again. I began to tell Eukairios about River End Farm and about my plan for the horses. “Do you think she would be interested?” I asked.
“If the set price for the horses was good, I would think so,” he replied. I could see him calculating it in his head: budget horse fodder; budget vet’s fees; take gross income from the foals at probable set price; take net. “It would be a good steady income,” he concluded, “and there’d be a good chance of extra, as well, since the army officials coming and going would probably buy the wool from the sheep too, and other farm produce as well. Yes, a sensible woman would be very pleased with it.”
“Good.”
We were silent for a few minutes, me lying back with my eyes half-shut, contented now, Eukairios still sitting primly with his feet tucked under him. Then the scribe said, hesitantly, “I was glad to hear that you succeeded in calming things at Condercum. May I… may I ask what caused the trouble there?”
I explained. When I came to the markings on the rod, he caught his breath. “I’d… heard a little bit about this. I’d been wanting to talk to you when you got back, only you didn’t come back. My lord, I was very frightened, and I could only pray for your safety. What did these markings look like?”
I sat up: he sounded like he knew something. “Not like Roman writing,” I said. “The lines were not joined up, and there were no curved lines. It was more sticklike.”
“Like this?” he asked, and he bent over and made a series of markings in the dirt of the stable floor.
“Yes,” I said, staring at them, “Exactly like that. You know that kind of writing?”