There were several items that I had never seen before, and a parchment wrapped in deerskin, addressed to me with the instruction that I should read it carefully at my leisure and study the contents and methods described in it. Intrigued, I laid this package, too, carefully aside. A second, new-looking package contained a magnificent shirt of soft leather, onto which had been stitched, with the most astonishing precision, thousands of tiny metal rings in overlapping rows, in the fashion of our own Roman plate armour, but in a form much lighter and far more supple. The accompanying note said that it had been brought back from the country north of the Danube and was the kind of armour being worn now by many of the Germanic and Saxon chiefs.
The last package was a magnificent box of rich, oiled wood no more than a foot long by a hand's breadth wide by about half of that in depth. At first I could not even find out how it opened, but eventually I discovered that the top and bottom had been carved to fit one over the other into matching grooves. I knew this package was special, from the way it had been hidden away at the back of the hoard. I was trembling slightly in anticipation as I opened it, but I almost dropped it when I saw what it contained. It was a knife. A dagger. But such a dagger! The blade shone like polished silver, and in fact I took it to be that at first; the hilt looked to be of polished gold. The entire weapon was covered with a slight sheen of oil.
I picked it up reverently. It felt alive in my hand. I tested the blade with the ball of my thumb and drew blood! Gaping at the blood in amazement, for I had barely used any pressure, I carried the knife upstairs and out into the sunlight, where it blazed in my hand like a torch. I heard footsteps behind me and Equus stood by my side.
"I see you found it. I've been dying of impatience! Thought you'd never go down there. Boudicca's buttocks, man, sometimes I think you're not human! How could you not go down there for all this time?" I didn't even bother to answer him. I was too busy staring at the wonder in my hand.
"He was sorry it couldn't be a sword, but that was all of the skystone metal he had left, and he didn't want to pollute it with ordinary iron the way he did with the sword he made for your father. He didn't know what it was, but whatever it was, he thought it was fitting that it fell from heaven. It holds an edge like nothing in this world. It'll shave the hairs off your arm. Try it."
I did, and the tiny hairs of the back of my wrist gathered in a small clump on the edge of the blade.
"Have you ever seen the like?"
I simply shook my head, hefting the knife in my hand. It had an unusual hilt, slightly cruciform, the arms of which protruded for about an inch above and below the blade.
"Why the cross-piece?"
"Extra weight. And balance. You can throw it. It flies as though it had wings, like magic."
"Is the handle solid gold?"
Equus shook his head. "No. Gold-dipped, though. Underneath it's brass. Gold was too heavy. And too soft."
"And too expensive. It looks like one piece — the hilt, I mean. How did he make it?"
"He poured it." Equus grinned at my wide-eyed look, "Did you find the scroll he left for you? It's all in there. The old man thought it was an entirely new technique, revolutionary, he said, if it's properly used."
"How did he get this finish on the blade, Equus?" He shrugged his massive shoulders. "He didn't. It was there already. All we had to do was polish it... and polish it and polish it and polish it. But it was worth it. And the brighter it got, the easier it became to polish. We put the oil on it to protect it against rust, although we didn't know whether or not the skystone rusted. Better to be safe than angry. "
I held the beautiful thing up to my eyes. At the top of the blade, just below the cross hilt, my grandfather had inscribed a tiny "V" for his name and mine: Varrus. I felt a lump swell in my throat and swallowed hard.
"Equus, I'm going to take the scroll, and this, and go home. Will you see to shutting everything up?"
He grinned again. "Thought you might do that. Of course I will. Go home. Go!"
VIII
"How bad was that wound of yours?"
Plautus and I were sitting in one of the local taverns frequented by the garrison centurions, waiting for Equus to come and join us and watching the antics of some of the other customers in the place. His question was unexpected.
"Bad enough. Why d'you ask?"
"Just curious. I was watching the slut with the big tits across there, and something about her reminded me of the bitch who used to run that big old brothel, over in Alexandria. You know the one I mean. The big one."
"The big brothel, or the big bitch?"
He laughed. "Both."
"You mean Fatia?"
"That's the one! Fatia. What a whore that one was. She could suck the pommel off a sword! Hello! What's going on over there?" I turned to look at the commotion that had erupted in the back of the tavern. Somebody had been caught cheating at dice and there were naked blades being waved around. The quarrellers were civilians, however, so Plautus had no need to get involved. We were too far away from them to see any of the details, but a sudden scuffle and a scream told us that blood had been spilled before the tavern owner and his enforcers could reach the scene. They were there within seconds, however, restoring order with heavy hands and clubs.
Plautus sat back in his seat. "God-cursed civilians, they make me sick. Not a one of them fit for military service, but they cause more trouble in one night in this place than all the old sweats who come in here. If the place was mine I'd declare it off-limits to all civilians."
"That's nice. Then I wouldn't be able to come here." Our beer was gone, and I signalled to the serving girl to bring us more. We both watched her in silence as she swung her fleshy body towards us, slopping ale from the jugs she held in one big hand. As she leaned over the table I could smell her — warm and sweaty and slightly sour. She leered at Plautus and he reached to tweak one of her prominent nipples as she laughed and swung away.
"She stinks like a goat, " I said. "What is it about her that reminded you of Fatia? At least Fatia was clean."
"Aye, clean, but voracious. What a mouth!" He shook his head in nostalgic wonder. "What a mouth that bitch had."
"Plautus, are you drunk?"
He blinked at me. "No more than usual at this time of night. Why? Are you?"
"I don't think so, but you're not making sense. You asked me about my leg and then started prattling about Fatia. I don't see the connection."
He hitched himself around in his seat and looked me straight in the eye.
"You used to be a bigger whore-chaser than I was. You introduced me to Fatia's place, remember? Now we've been back together again for, what?
Two months? I haven't seen you as much as look at a woman in all that time. It just occurred to me that you might..." His voice faded. "You know..."
I stared at him in amused surprise. He was embarrassed! "Your wound—I thought perhaps... damnation, I think I am drunk."
I smiled gently. "I've still got all my equipment, if that's what you're getting at. It was a close thing, though. Missed by an inch."
"An axe, you said?" He looked fascinated.
"Aye, with a spike on the back. It was the spike that got me. The whoreson swung it underhand, up into my crotch."
"Aiee!" His face puckered up in sympathy and horror at the image. "It hurts just to think about it."
"You should try it from where I sit. I still wake up at night in a cold sweat, dreaming about it."