“ ‘Oh, when will my spring come?
When will I be like the swallow, and renew my tongue?
By silence my song has perished, and Phoebus looks aside.
Thus Amyklai raised no alarm, and by its silence, died.
Whoever’s never loved, love tomorrow; love tomorrow, whoever’s loved before.’
“I can draw up a document for you.”
I had a sudden conviction that he had quoted those lines before, in the days when he had talked back to his superiors and been beaten for it. He had watched love passing him by then, and cried out for the spring of freedom that came now, too late. It was as though the solid rock of my own identity shivered, and I reached at the unimaginably foreign state of what I might have been if I had been born a slave.
What Eukairios cried in that moment was for himself, and I had no business intruding into it. “Then do so this afternoon,” I ordered. “But now we must hurry or we will be late for our appointment with the legate.”
We left the horses in the stable yard, which reassured my men, who were fretful as heifers that have lost their calves. We were not late arriving for the meeting with Priscus, which was just as well, since we were very late leaving. To my relief, the legate made no reference to the events of the night before and began at once to discuss the arrangements for the other dragons instead. We’d talked for a couple of hours and written a few letters when the legate’s secretary stuck his head round the door and announced that Siyavak and Victor had come, as ordered. Priscus told the secretary to admit them-in just a minute.
“I want to extend the plan for the horses to their numerus,” he explained. “But I don’t want any talk about the other Sarmatian troops in front of Siyavak. It will be some time before the Fourth Sarmatians live down their previous commander’s mutiny, and it would be better if they didn’t know how many other Sarmatians there are in Britain or where they’re posted. Do you understand me?”
I nodded, though I was taken aback. I had, of course, noticed that I was being trusted with knowledge, but I’d assumed that the information was no longer considered sensitive. It was obviously not as sensitive as it had been, but still too delicate for Siyavak’s attention. I was being rewarded for my Romanizing. Priscus gestured to his secretary to let the others in.
Siyavak looked tired and strained. I thought he was pleased to see me, but he would not look at me for long and sat at the opposite end of the room. I wished that I could talk to him: I had no idea whether he was still my ally, after all this time spent with Bodica. We discussed how many horses the fourth dragon could spare as brood mares and afterward some other business that affected both our companies, until the secretary stuck his head around the door again and said that it was time for the dinner party. It seemed we were all expected to be there-except, of course, Eukairios.
“Hercules!” exclaimed the legate. “Is it five o’clock already? Well, we’d better go then. Not polite to keep a lady waiting!” He stamped out the door. Victor hurried after him, trying to discuss some bit of legion business that had been pushed aside before, and Siyavak slipped out behind them. I paused to say good night to Eukairios and arrange to meet him in the morning, and started after the others. When I stepped into the corridor, I found Siyavak waiting.
“I thank the gods!” he whispered hoarsely. “I was beginning to think I’d get no chance to speak to you at all.”
“Are you safe?” I asked him.
“For the time being. She thinks I’m drunk with admiration for her, like the rest. Have you thought of a way for us to communicate? I don’t dare speak long now: if we come in to this dinner together, she’ll notice.”
I took a deep breath, prayed to Marha, and gave him the name and password that the Christians had given me that afternoon. “That is a man who can write letters for you,” I said, “and send them secretly. He’s a kind of ally-but I beg you, make no mention of him to anyone. He’s a member of an illegal cult, though a different one from the druids, and he’d die for his faith as much as they would for theirs if his allegiances were known. But do you want to arrange a meeting with me now?”
“I want to, oh gods! — but it’s not wise, Prince. She has spies everywhere in this city, and I’ve seen what she does to people who betray her. I must go now, or she’ll become suspicious.” He pressed my hand and hurried ahead, and I followed, slowly, dreading it.
There were seven of us at the dinner: Siyavak and Victor; Priscus and Bodica; myself and Facilis-and the centurion I’d met the night before, Publius Verinus Secundus, who turned out to be fort prefect for Eburacum. We were seated in the three places in those pairs, with Secundus sharing a couch with me and Facilis, on our host’s right. (I took my sword off and hung it on the arm of my couch when I arrived.) Bodica looked more beautiful than ever, dressed in a gown shot with the silk we’d given her husband, her hair arranged very simply with a few gold hair combs. But, to my surprise, she was in an obvious and appalling temper. The reason soon emerged: her hairdresser had gone missing.
“The silly little slut’s still gone!” she was telling her husband while the slaves were showing me to my place. “She’s been missing since this morning now, and you said it was nothing to worry about! I told the duty officer to keep an eye out for her on the gates-I’m sure the little bitch is hiding somewhere, and means to run away for good. She knows I was angry with her and she’s trying to get out of being punished. When I catch her, she’ll-”
“Now, now,” said the legate soothingly, “you know she had that baby recently. It disturbs the minds of even freeborn ladies, losing a baby, and she’s just a feeble-minded girl. She’s probably just panicked and run off to cry over it.”
“But look at my hair!” protested Bodica. “I don’t dare let that idiot Vera curl it, she never gets it straight, and now we’ve got all the officers here and it’s twenty years out of fashion!”
“My dear, you look lovely as ever,” Priscus said gallantly, taking her hand and escorting her to the couch, “and I’m sure the officers agree with me. Gentlemen don’t notice fashion nearly as much as you ladies seem to think we do, and who cares for curls when the hair and face are so charming without them?”
We all agreed, and Bodica, though still seething, settled down to her part as hostess. I remembered how Facilis had been enraged by Bodica’s treatment of this slave girl before, and glanced at him. He reclined stolidly on the other end of the couch, looking expressionlessly at nothing in particular. The slaves handed us our cups of wine.
We talked harmlessly about the wine and the food and what we’d done during the Saturnalia through the first courses. I deliberately spilled my first cup, managed to wipe my plate off before eating from it, served myself the appetizers from the opposite ends of the serving dishes, and then ate as little as I decently could. Facilis noticed, of course, but said nothing. Bodica noticed as well, and gave me a sweet smile and a dangerous glare. I assumed that the wine was safe: it was served, as always, from a common mixing bowl, and the slave had no opportunity to slip anything into my cup alone. I was aware, halfway through the main course, that I was probably drinking too much of it. But I was hungry-the meeting with the Christians had caused me to miss my lunch-and very tense, and the slaves kept refilling my cup as fast as I emptied it.
When the main meal was finally over, Priscus swung his legs off the couch, sat up straight, and gave all of us a benevolent smile. “Now,” he said, “to what I really wanted to discuss this evening. Ariantes, who is trying to kill you?”
I stared at him, shocked by the suddenness of the bolt after the earlier lulling silence. I wished I’d left the wine alone.
“Don’t try to pretend you don’t know what I mean,” Priscus said, when I’d sat stupidly for so long that it became awkward. “You have an enemy: who is it?”