“I’ll make some. Meanwhile, tell Priscus to give you some cooking wine-like posca-and keep pouring it over the cuts here, and here, three times a day. No-make it four times. Once in the morning, once before bed, and twice during the day. And keep her stall mucked out and dry.”
“Yes, Dominus.”
He was a native, a small, wiry man with an instinct for horses. Looked as though he’d taken his share of falls in more than his share of races. The donkey pushed at his side with her nose.
“She’ll be all right, won’t she?”
Draco was stroking her neck, an unusually thoughtful expression on his face. More than dirt rubbed off at the baths. There was more energy to his step, maybe some life after Coir.
“If she doesn’t get a fever from those sores. We have to dry them out-can’t let them make pus.”
Marchoc nodded his head in agreement, a smile cracking his face like old parchment. “She’s a good beast, she is. Brave, too. Never complains. Only bit me once.”
I grinned. “So far. Give her time.”
We all shared a good laugh at the temperment of female animals, until I could feel Nimbus glaring at me from her stall. I patted the donkey’s behind and walked over to see her. I opened my palm and gave her a turnip green I’d swiped from the kitchen.
“See? I saved this for you.”
She wasn’t impressed but allowed me to scratch her neck while she ate it. The lamplight fell on her gray coat, made it glisten in the dark. It was getting late. I was surprised Gwyna hadn’t come out to yell at me yet.
There was a sudden increase in the amount of noise by the donkey’s stall, where I’d left Draco and Marchoc. I took the lamp and gave Nimbus an absentminded pat good-bye. When I reached the others, I was surprised to see Lineus. He didn’t care for the barn.
“Tell the mistress I’m coming.”
“No, sir, it’s not the mistress.”
His voice was squeaky, his eyes too wide, and he looked back and forth between Draco and me as if he wondered if we were enough.
“What is it then?”
He bit his lip. It was almost completely dark outside, and the shadows from the barn lantern made even Lineus look faintly sinister. I grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Talk, man! What is it?”
“Someone-someone to see you, sir.”
“Who?”
Marchoc was watching us with his mouth open, and now Lineus frowned at him. The stableman retreated back into the stall with the donkey. The head slave turned to me and lowered his voice.
“He refuses, sir, to say who he is. He refused to take off his mantle, too. He keeps it wrapped around his face. He won’t even come in the house. He-he stays in the shadows, sir. He says he won’t leave until he talks to you.”
I could feel Draco move to my side. “Where is he? And the door-my wife-”
“She knows, sir, and the door is bolted, and the largest slaves are behind it.”
“Where is he?”
“By the hawthorn tree, sir. On the right side of the house. He said-he said he’d be waiting there.”
A covered face meant he was afraid of being caught. That meant he’d done something worth catching him for. “Tell him it’ll be a few minutes. Did he say anything else?”
Lineus paused while his face fell on the ground and didn’t get back up. “Only that you’re to come alone, sir.”
Draco opened his mouth to speak, but I brushed him quiet with a gesture. It wasn’t my game, but I had to play anyway. Fortunately I owned more than one pair of loaded dice.
“Lineus-does the governor keep any weapons around here? Javelins, swords-”
“There are a few swords we keep locked in the tack shed-for emergencies, sir-we’re alone here much of the time, and-”
“What else? Any bows?”
“I-I think there might be four or five, sir.”
“Find them. You’ve got five minutes. And listen-give Draco the best sword here. Arm your strongest slaves with the rest. Then send them to Draco. The bows give to anyone who can shoot. Position the men-”
I couldn’t see the front of the house from where I was standing, even if it hadn’t been well into the first hour of night. I closed my eyes and tried to remember.
“Position the men behind the big rock, the one slightly uphill from the hawthorn tree. One there-and one from any window in the house that would give a good shot. Make sure they stay out of sight. Five minutes. Move.”
He blended into the darkness without more than a small squeal under his breath.
Draco was plucking my sleeve. “Where do you want us?”
“You, down the hill. If he doesn’t already have someone waiting with him. If he does, same place, just stay out of sight. The other men, too. And Draco…”
His eyes glinted in the yellow light. “Yes, Arcturus?”
“Don’t jump him unless he kills me. Is that clear?”
“But what if-”
“No. Do nothing, unless he kills me. Then take him alive.”
His hand gripped mine, and my arm was starting to hurt. Then he melted away in the shadows, as silent and still as the cloud that cut the face of the moon.
I knelt down and picked up some dirt. Always cheap and effective, and it felt comforting in my hand. I poured it inside a fold of my tunic, together with a couple of small rocks. I still felt naked. Looked around the barn. Pitchfork-too big. Shovel-likewise. The donkey was staring at me as if she were trying to tell me something. Of course.
I walked around behind the stalls to the tack room. Lineus had it open and was distributing yew bows to a few of the slaves. Draco and his men were already on their way down the hill.
I squeezed in beside one of the gardeners and rummaged on a shelf until I found it. A hoof pick. Hand-sized, with a curved, sharp end that could dig out mud-or a man’s throat. The donkey gave me a satisfied look when I came back to the barn.
I kept it in my hand on the way to meet him. Gwyna was in the house somewhere, watching me as I walked in front, angling slowly toward the dark mass that looked vaguely like an outline of a man on horseback.
An owl flew off a nearby branch and hooted. I jumped. Maybe this was only what it seemed to be. Just a meeting. With a man who kept his face covered. My footsteps on the stones were loud. He’d know I was coming before he saw me. He knew I was alone. I figured he had men with bows and swords, too.
His horse snorted and stamped, and now I could see it was fast-built and dark. Chestnut, maybe, or gray. A small man. I breathed a little. I lifted my right hand, palm up. The pick was in my left. My voice came out as if a fat lady were sitting on it.
“I’m here. Climb off and tell me what you want.”
He was wrapped up in several mantles, but he uncovered his mouth. The voice was middle-aged, smooth, educated. A Roman voice. “I wanted to meet you, and I believe you wanted to meet me.”
“Who the hell are you?”
The voice laughed. “A direct question-but not a direct hit. Let’s just say I own the shovel.”
So the syndicate had come out to play. I got a little closer to the horse. “It wasn’t hard enough. What makes you think you are?”
He pushed some more cloth off of his face, probably trying to see me better, but he left enough to keep him completely in shadow. His voice not quite so amused. “We’re not wrestlers. You’re a doctor and I’m a businessman. I’m not looking for your soft spot. If I were…”
He lifted himself up in the saddle slightly and turned to look at the house. My hands were slippery around the pick. I tried to control my voice. He couldn’t see my face, either, not clearly.
“What is it you want?”
“I told you. To meet you. Weren’t you looking for me?”
“No. I don’t give a fuck about you. You’re legion bait. I suppose you mean I made enough noise, you heard from Grathus-and came to find me. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Well, it gives us an understanding. So now that I have found you-”
“You’re trying to decide what to do with me.”
The figure was silent for a moment, as if it were throwing a die and waiting to see what turned up. “The governor is leaving. But you knew that.”