The presence of a Roman officer silenced Quintilius, though he still looked deeply dissatisfied. Pervica smiled warmly at Longus, then turned to Elen and began giving orders about bread and beer. I turned back to my men and told them to go into the back and make themselves comfortable near the barn, but first to unload the present for Pervica from the packhorse and bring it into the house. Longus held the door for Pervica and followed her in; Quintilius, scowling, shoved in front of me. Leimanos followed me with the present, and after him came Eukairios with his tablets.
I clinked my way to the dining room, where I found a charcoal brazier lit for warmth and the rosewood tabletop covered with papers and a strongbox. Pervica stared when Leimanos appeared with the present. I’d rolled it in a carpet to keep it safe. “What’s this?” she asked.
“A gift, Lady,” I answered. “A small thing in token of my gratitude to you.”
“It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed, staring at the carpet, which Leimanos set down on the floor.
It was a good one, red wool patterned with galloping black horses and, in the center, a golden sun. I’d intended for her to keep it. But I smiled and knelt to unfold it. “This is the covering,” I told her, undoing the knots that secured the carpet. I lifted the top fold away. “This is the present. You said you disliked the painting in this room; I thought you might prefer this one.”
The painting was of a battle between the Greeks and the Amazons. I’d seen it in a villa I’d looted in Pannonia, and taken it home because one of the Amazons looked a bit like Tirgatao. She’d pretended not to like it for exactly that reason, so it hadn’t been in the wagons when they were looted. I’d brought it with me thinking it might be useful to bribe a Roman with, but hadn’t wanted to part with it, until now.
“Jupiter Optimus Maximus!” exclaimed Longus, staring at the painting, which was on a plank of wood about four feet long by two feet high. An Amazon astride a leaping white horse dominated its center, leaning down to slash at the fallen Greek below her, who’d caught her wrist and was pulling her off. Behind them horses danced, armor gleamed, cloaks flapped brightly, and beautiful men and women struggled with each other. The struggle did not seem terribly serious, and the battle was more of a festival frolic than a warlike contest. The whole painting bubbled with color and exuberance. The Amazon who looked like Tirgatao was in the upper lefthand corner, drawing a bow threateningly on a Greek in a gold helmet. You could see from the look on her face that she meant to hit him, but she’d probably kiss him afterward.
“This is really superb!” Longus observed, picking up the painting and setting it on the table, braced upright against the strongbox. “Where did you get it?”
“I had it in my wagon,” I answered misleadingly. “I have been told it was painted by Timomachos of Byzantium and is quite valuable.”
Eukairios made a strangled noise and dropped his tablets. “It’s not genuine!” he said.
“Of course it is genuine,” said Leimanos, offended for me. “The man we took it from wept, and said it was worth more than forty thousand denarii.”
So much for my restraint.
“You stole it?” asked Quintilius, as though this confirmed his worst suspicions.
“My lord took it on a raid,” Leimanos corrected proudly. “His planning and our strength had carried us almost to Segedunum, and we found the house of a former governor of Asia, a palace fit for a king. Ten alae of cavalry they had searching for us, and half a legion: we looted the house, drove off the cattle, ate, drank, and set out again. We met one ala and destroyed it, and went home safe to our own wagons.”
“Leimanos,” I said in Sarmatian, “these are Roman subjects. Telling them how we looted Roman subjects will not impress them.”
“If it’s that valuable, I don’t think I should keep it,” said Pervica quickly.
“It is less precious to me than my life,” I said. “If it pleases you, it would please me if you kept it, Lady.”
She shook her head. “I’ve told you already, you owe me nothing. I could hardly have let you die. No, it’s a lovely painting, a beautiful painting, and thank you-but I’d never feel comfortable with something worth forty thousand denarii hanging in my dining room.” She didn’t add that she didn’t want stolen property, either, but that was plainly the case.
I sighed. “If that is what you wish, Lady.” I gave Leimanos an angry glance, and he looked away, embarrassed and ashamed. He’d boasted to impress them with my importance, forgetting that Romans boast of different things.
“Anyway,” Pervica went on, trying to soften her refusal, “you’ve already done me a great kindness, Lord Ariantes. Thanks to you, my husband’s debts are all paid off.”
I looked at her in surprise, and she smiled. “I suppose I hadn’t told you directly. My husband had left me with debts totaling some eighteen hundred denarii-mostly to Cinhil here.” (I noticed that she called him by a British version of his name, and suspected that he only used “Quintilius” when he was trying to impress someone.) “I’d resigned myself to paying it off little by little for years to come. But with all the things your men gave Cluim, we paid everything. Cluim refused to touch any of it until we’d paid the debt. I was just collecting the note of the final discharge from Cinhil when you arrived. And Cluim still has nearly nine hundred denarii to spare!” There was such gladness in her voice that it shocked me: I realized how much the debt, which I had not been aware of, must have burdened her before.
“I am pleased, Lady,” I returned. “But that was the debt my bodyguard paid to Cluim. I have given you nothing.”
“Except thanks?” she asked, with the gentle ironic smile I remembered.
“Except those,” I agreed. “Leimanos.” I switched back to Sarmatian. “Take the picture out and see that it’s wrapped in straw to keep it safe on the way back; let her keep the carpet, anyway. And don’t come back in unless you can remember who you’re talking to.”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” he said miserably, picking up the picture. “I thought…”
“I know, I know. You’ve learned Latin faster than you’ve learned Roman customs. Well, she might have refused it anyway, and it seems you and the bodyguard have already given her a thing she really wanted.”
Leimanos went out, carrying the painting under his arm. The dark servant girl, Cluim’s sister, bustled in from the back of the house, carrying a pitcher of hot spiced beer and a dish of nuts. While the girl poured the drinks, Pervica asked us to sit down. The couch only had places for three, and Quintilius plonked himself firmly in the center of it. Longus sat down beside him, but I preferred the carpet, and sat down on it with my bad leg bent and my good one crossed under it; I set my helmet down beside me. Pervica did not recline on the couch, but found herself a stool at the end of the table. In the end Eukairios took the other place on the couch.
“I also wished to speak with you,” I told Pervica, as the girl handed me my drink, “about a different plan for your horse that might interest you.” And I told her about the plan for the stud farms.
She listened intently, and her first question was, “What would the set price for the foals be?”
“That would have to be settled,” I replied. “My scribe here, Eukairios, is very good with money. I have brought him to help you determine how much you should charge if you do decide that you are interested.”
“You’re not considering this plan?” asked Quintilius in a stern, masterful tone.
“Of course I am!” replied Pervica. “If the price was good, it would… it would make this farm everything poor Saenus always dreamed it would be! You know it would!”
“It’s nonsense!” snapped Quintilius. “There probably isn’t any serious plan to breed horses. This barbarian just wants some excuse to come here so he can try your virtue!”
The room went very quiet. Longus lost all his irony and looked alarmed. I was glad that Leimanos had gone. “You are unwise to say that,” I said, looking at Quintilius levelly, “if you mean by it that I would ever do anything to harm a lady to whom I owe my life.”