“Consider?” demanded Facilis. “Your gods are the sort, then, who leave such matters open to question?”
Comittus shook his head, lower lip trembling like a child’s. “We’ve been persecuted for a long time, Marcus,” he protested wretchedly. “When people have hurt you, it’s natural to hate them. I haven’t suffered myself, so I can’t condemn… that is, I don’t say it’s right, but… but can’t you understand?”
I was sure Facilis understood perfectly, but he showed no sign of it. He cursed Comittus for a traitor and a hypocrite. Then he whipped out the writing leaf with the list of suspected ringleaders. The evidence of how much we knew shook Comittus so badly I thought for a moment he would faint, but still he did not want to speak, though he eventually confirmed two of the names in a voice thick with distress. One name was Cunedda’s.
Facilis pounced. “The archdruid,” he said contemptuously. “The Brigantian poisoner who dreams of dragons fighting, the man the person at the head of all this chose as chief adviser. Yes, of course we know who the leader of this conspiracy is! We know where that person is; where is this Cunedda?”
Comittus began to cry again.
“You know,” said Facilis mercilessly. “He’s one of the friends who asked you questions about Ariantes, isn’t he? And he’s the one who sent you a message after the curse, trying to arrange a meeting, isn’t he?”
Comittus nodded.
“You know what he wanted then, don’t you? His curse wasn’t working, so he wanted you to help him murder the prince. Just think of that! If you’d gone along with that, you could have painted this fort with blood. Gods and goddesses! He’s a murderer, Lucius, and by your own reckoning he’s a blasphemer as well. Why are you protecting him? You say you think he’s wrong. Who’s going to believe that when you try so hard to shield him? You’re in trouble anyway: why should you make your own sufferings worse to protect him? Come on! If he proposed a meeting, he must have told you where you could reach him. Where was it?”
Choking, almost unintelligible with grief, Comittus named a place, then covered his face and doubled over sobbing.
It was enough, and I finally put a stop to his misery. “Comittus,” I said, “the authorities do not know your name and we will not betray it to them.”
Comittus uncovered his face and stared, first at me, then at Facilis.
Facilis gave me a look of intense annoyance, then sighed and nodded. “I’ve been given the responsibility for investigating that sacrificial murder,” he said, “and the only people I want punished for it are the guilty ones. You and these convocation-calling friends of yours weren’t there and I’m not going to bother you.”
At this Comittus wept again and thanked us, clutching all our hands. We left him in his house to calm down and went across to headquarters to discuss what to do next.
Eukairios was waiting in the commander’s office, his three sheets of parchment sitting on the desk, rolled neatly and tied with a cord. “The mysterious document!” observed Longus, but the usual facetious words were spoken in a voice uncharacteristically tired and unhappy. “I hope it’s not another nasty surprise, Ariantes.”
I shook my head. “It’s Eukairios’ manumission. How many witnesses do we have here at headquarters?”
Facilis gave a bark of laughter. “I should have guessed it. Eukairios could have invested in a red hat months ago.”
“A red hat?” I asked, puzzled.
“A freedman’s hat,” explained Longus. “He puts it on and everyone knows to congratulate him. A red hat with a peak. Like yours, but a little floppier and without the earflaps.”
“Like mine?” I demanded, horrified: had I been wearing a hat that marked me as a freed slave?
Longus and Facilis both began laughing. “Oh gods, Ariantes, didn’t you know?” said Longus, forgetting his unhappiness. “No, I suppose not! Nobody dared say anything.”
I took my hat off. They both laughed again.
“Ariantes, nobody in their right mind ever mistook you for a freedman,” Longus told me. “Nobody. The thought of you as a slave-it’s like that play where the god Apollo gets made the slave of some Thracian as a penance, and his master runs around fetching things for him. And that hat isn’t really the right shape-it’s just that it’s red.”
I shook my head. I would have to buy a hat of some other color. “Do you need a red hat?” I asked Eukairios.
He began laughing as well, but stopped himself. “Yes, my lord. I hadn’t bought one, in case it brought me bad luck.”
I handed him mine. “Let us sign the document, and then you can put it on.”
He unrolled the document and read it out, and I signed it, in triplicate (“You make your mark there, my lord, and I write ‘Unlettered’ here ”), and after me Facilis, Longus, four Asturians who were working in the headquarters as clerical staff, and Leimanos, who’d come down to see if I’d finished with Comittus. Then Eukairios put on the hat, looking pink as a girl who’s just been kissed, and everyone shook his hand and congratulated him. When it was my turn to shake his hand, he clutched my hand in both of his-then dropped it, flung his arms around me, and hugged me like a long-lost brother. “Thank you,” he shouted, “Patron!” He was shaking with joy.
I had no heart then to discuss druids with Facilis, or mislead Longus about what I knew. I told Eukairios to go buy himself a drink, then told the others that I was going to visit Pervica. I wanted to tell her my dream. Leimanos left headquarters with me.
When we had collected our horses and were riding down the Via Decumana to the south gate, I remembered the other piece of important business I had to conduct that day. “Leimanos,” I said, “has Banadaspos told you everything that happened in Eburacum, and at River End Farm?”
He stiffened, and his horse laid back its ears. “Yes, my lord,” he answered quietly. “I’m sorry we didn’t defend you better.”
“I have no complaint against you in anything. I spoke because I want to send a messenger to Condercum.”
He looked into my face and smiled, but I could see his knuckles whitening on the reins. An insult to his commander, even given through the commander’s betrothed, was an insult to him. He’d had enough of Romanizing and restraint, of secrets and conspiracies: he wanted battle, and his honor avenged. But he knew that Arshak was a dangerous opponent, and he was afraid for me. “My prince,” he said, very softly and humbly, “may I ask you to send me?”