Island of Ghosts (38 page)

I nodded, then shook my head in bewilderment and began walking again. Just before we reached the stable yard, I thought to ask, “Who is the father of this baby?”

“How would I know?” asked Facilis. “Some guard or groom or slave who said something nice to her once, and dumped her when she got into trouble. She’s not interested in him at all, just the brat.”

When we reached the wagons I told my men that Facilis would come back in the middle of the night, bringing a stolen slave girl and her baby, and explained to them that Romans kill unwanted slave children. They were as horrified by this as I was, and stunned to think that Facilis, whom they still disliked, had the courage and piety to defy his own people’s laws and save them—particularly when they counted off the months and saw that the baby couldn’t possibly be his. For their part, they would have been willing to help even if their commander hadn’t been there to require it, and they grinned at Facilis and slapped him on the back, which disconcerted him.

I  
SLEPT  SOUNDLY 
that night, and woke quickly when the cautious knock sounded on the side of my wagon. I got up, picking up my sword just in case, and found Facilis and Banadaspos standing outside the door, with a shape huddled in a cloak between them. The wagon’s awning was stiff with frost, and rang when my hand brushed it. The moon had set, and it was dark and bitterly cold.

“This is Lord Ariantes,” Facilis whispered to the faceless girl. “He’ll take you out of the city in his wagon tomorrow morning.”

“But . . . but,” the girl whispered back, soft-voiced and stammering, “but this is the man my lady wishes to kill! She’s tried twice to kill him, and cursed him with death!”

Even in the dark, I saw how Banadaspos stiffened, and I groaned. His Latin had become fairly fluent, and he’d had no trouble understanding. “Banadaspos!” I ordered him quickly, speaking in Sarmatian. “You must not repeat to the others what she just said.”

“My lord,” he shot back, “whose slave was she?”

“If I’d wanted you to know, I’d have told you. I want no trouble between you and the Romans.”

I should have known it was useless to try to avoid the confrontation. “You’re treating us shamefully!” Banadaspos exclaimed furiously, so loudly that there was an answering stir in the wagons around us, as my men woke up and started listening. “You’ve quarreled with Arshak, and the Romans have tried to murder you, and you treat us, your bodyguard, as though we had no right to know anything about it! You go slipping off into the city with Eukairios instead, and plot there with strangers. I am your man, and have been since I took my first scalp. How well I have served you, no one knows better than you yourself. I’ve always been proud of my commander, and prouder to think that I was entrusted with your life. I’ve never been guilty of any disloyalty. I swear it on fire, none of us have! You’ve got no right to treat us like this!”

“Banadaspos!” I exclaimed, jumping down from the wagon and catching his shoulder. “Yes, I have a Roman enemy who’s tried to murder me. And I know you and all the bodyguard are proud and courageous, and would be ashamed to cower before Roman authority when your prince’s life was at stake. That’s the reason I’ve told you nothing. I’ve been afraid where your pride and your courage might lead you—and your loyalty, which I know and trust absolutely.”

“Who is this enemy?” Banadaspos demanded—and then answered himself. “A woman, the girl said. A Roman inside the fortress walls. And a friend of Arshak, whom you’ve quarreled with. The legate’s lady.” He glared through the night at my face. “When she came today, I thought she seemed to hate you, but I put it down to her anger at seeing you manage a horse she’d ruined. Twice, the girl said; twice she’s tried to kill you. Once by water and once by fire. My lord, you should have told us.”

Those responsible for keeping you alive have rights in your life. I could not answer Banadaspos at all, and I stood there helplessly, ashamed, exasperated, and exhausted. At that minute there was a feeble snuffling cry from the shapeless cloak around the girl, and she jumped and clutched something under it.

“Oh, please!” she said, turning to Facilis. “He’s hungry, and it’s cold. Please, find me somewhere else to go! I’m afraid to stay here, with a man my lady’s cursed with death.”

“Your lady’s curses haven’t hurt Ariantes,” Facilis told her soothingly. “He’s a good man, and has invoked the protection of his own gods. And I don’t know how else to get you out of the city, darling, if you don’t go in his wagon. They’re watching for you at the gates, and your lady was in a very ugly mood when I saw her this evening.” She was silent, cradling the now feebly wailing bundle under her cloak. “That baby will die if you don’t get out of the city with him,” Facilis told her, his voice so gentle I wouldn’t have recognized it.

“Oh! Oh yes.” She was tearful now. “I’m sorry, Marcus Flavius, I don’t mean to cause trouble. I’m sorry, Lord Ariantes. I do thank you for helping me.”

I sighed, offered her my hand to help her into the wagon, and followed her into it. I’d already cleared a place for her on the opposite bunk. “You may sleep there,” I told her, taking her hand and letting her feel the bed in the deep darkness inside the wagon. “Do you have what you need for the child?”

“Yes, sir.” I could hear her moving in the dark, sitting down, unpinning her tunic to give the baby her breast. The weak snuffling cry stopped abruptly and was replaced by the sound of sucking.

“Stay there quietly, then. It would be better if you do not leave the wagon once it’s light, though my men all know you are here and can be trusted. You can lie on the floor of the wagon, under the bunk, and pull a carpet over you if you are afraid of discovery.”

“Yes, sir. What if I need to . . . uh, use the latrine?”

“You will have to get out of the wagon for that, and find somewhere in the stable yard. Try not to do it after dawn, and I will try to see that we leave promptly. I will be back in a few minutes: I must speak to my men.”

“I’m so sorry. I’ve upset your friend, haven’t I? I shouldn’t have said anything; she told me never to say anything about you to anyone. But I’ve finally got away from her, and I was so surprised when Marcus Flavius said who you were, and I’m so tired. She cursed you . . .” The girl trailed off. “I’m sorry,” she finished miserably.

“It is for the best,” I told her. “Rest quietly. We will allow no one to harm you or the little one.” I climbed down from the wagon.

Banadaspos was still there, and others of the bodyguard were joining him. Kasagos and his squadron were up as well: they were all whispering together, explaining to each other what had happened. “. . . the legate’s lady . . .” I caught, “. . . a witch, a follower of the Lie . . . fire . . . her slave . . . Arshak . . . no accident . . .” Facilis was slumped wearily against the side of the wagon. I ached to go back to bed, but I could only stand still and wait for what my men had to say to me. At least, I told myself, it’s Banadaspos, and not Leimanos. The claim the commander of my guard had on me was just that much greater than his deputy’s, and my failure to tell him anything just that much more shocking.

The murmured explanations stopped. “My prince,” said Banadaspos, stepping forward and speaking for them all, “who are your enemies?”

I told them what Bodica was and what she wanted. They listened in silence, though I could tell that they were all very angry, and when I’d finished, they remained silent.

“I do not want a battle with the Romans now,” I said flatly. “My fellow
azatani
, I relied on you even though I kept secrets from you. You know how I’ve taken you with me even to exercise my horses. Perhaps you thought I was taking precautions against the Picts: now you know better. I trusted you with my life no less than I ever did before—but I didn’t trust you to stay patiently quiet when I was threatened, and that is what is needed. You must show me now that I was wrong to doubt your restraint.”

“What can we do?” asked Banadaspos, now anxious as well as angry.

“What you were doing before,” I replied. “Keep my enemies’ knives out of my back, defend me from the Lie by your prayers and your honesty, and wait. I have hopes now that we’ll get evidence against our enemies, evidence that will ruin and disgrace them. I’ve made alliances and I hope they’ll bear fruit. But if we strike now, we’re the ones who’ll be disgraced, dying at the Romans’ hands with the world reproaching us as oath-breakers and slanderers. I know you’re angry with me, but I both beg and command you: be patient, and keep this quiet!”

“My prince, you can’t blame us for being angry,” said Banadaspos. “Without you, we might as well drag our standard in the mud for all the honor we’d get from anyone. If it hadn’t been for you, we’d have arrived in Cilurnum disarmed and scarcely better than prisoners, and we’d have stayed there when Gatalas mutinied instead of winning the glory of a victory. We’d have lost our wagons, like the other dragons, and we’d have to eat grain and beans like the Romans. We’d be paid shabbily and grub about in debt, and everyone would treat us with contempt. Even the Asturians would boast in front of us! We’ve gloried in how much the legate esteems you, sending for you to advise him on the other dragons; we’ve reveled in the knowledge that even when the other dragons do get the same wages and advantages as us, they owe them to our prince, not their own. And now we learn from a slave that your enemies have nearly murdered you without our even knowing—twice! It disgraces us, my lord, it disgraces us immeasurably. Give us another chance to prove our worth. Please, my prince, though we’ve failed you, trust us now!”

I was astonished. I looked around the group, and when I could see no hint of disapproval for what Banadaspos had said, I was stunned. I had Romanized full tilt, as Facilis had said, but always with a glance backward, painfully aware how far I’d come, anxious that I was leaving my people behind. I should have realized that my men had, as always, followed me every step of the way. In August, for their commander to be summoned by a Roman legate as his esteemed adviser would have been something to be ashamed of; now, not six months later, it was something they gloried in, something they would boast about in front of the other dragons. And probably even in the other dragons, the boast would be treated as real and not an empty sham. They had all seen clearly where honor lay among the Romans, and like true Sarmatians, they’d run after it. I felt ashamed of myself for my stupidity in underestimating them—and I felt acutely and utterly ridiculous.

“My dear friends and kinsmen,” I said, “in all the time you’ve followed me, you’ve never failed me once, let alone twice. You are my glory and my pride, and my chief concern all along has been for your honor and safety, compared to which my own life is a small matter. As I said before, I have no doubt whatever of your loyalty, your courage, or your strength, and I’ve relied on you to preserve my life from the moment I knew it was in danger. All I ask of you now is that you wait with me quietly for evidence that will satisfy the Roman authorities as to my enemy’s guilt. I want no violence, and I want no rumors spread. If we move without proof, the contest is lost. This very night I refused to answer the legate himself when he asked me my enemy’s name: don’t give away what I kept secret. Swear to me now, all of you, that you’ll stay quiet about this until I give you leave to speak.”

“May I speak to Leimanos?” asked Banadaspos, after a moment’s hesitation.

“To him, and to the rest of the bodyguard,” I conceded, “but to no one else.”

They swore it, all of them, stretching out their hands over the embers of the evening fire. Kasagos and his squadron looked smug, and I could only hope they really would stay quiet when we were back in Cilurnum, and not hint to the rest of the dragon that they shared a secret from which the other squadrons were excluded. But at least there’d be no crisis in Eburacum tonight, and I could go back to bed—though not, I found, to my own bed.

“My lord, you must not share a wagon with your enemy’s slave,” Banadaspos declared firmly, as soon as he’d sworn the oath. “Even if she was honestly asking for help when she went to Facilis, it might occur to her that if she murdered you, her mistress would forgive her anything. I will sleep in your wagon tonight, and you take my place in mine. It will be safer, anyway, for you to rest where we can guard you.”

I thought it quite absurd to suggest that Bodica’s poor frightened little slave would put down her baby and knife me, but I owed the bodyguard some respect, and I yielded meekly. When I went over to my wagon with Banadaspos to explain to the girl, Facilis, whom I’d almost forgotten, picked himself up.

“Settled ’em?” he asked me.

I nodded.

He gave a snort of amusement and rapped on the side of the wagon. “Are you still awake, Vilbia?” he asked.

“Yes, Marcus Flavius,” came the sleepy reply.

“Ariantes won’t be in the wagon tonight. His men want him in another wagon where they can keep an eye on him and be sure he’s safe. The one who’ll be sharing this wagon with you is called Banadaspos—so you don’t even have to be afraid of curses. Is that all right?”

“Oh! Oh yes, thank you.”

“Good night, then. I’ll see you tomorrow, on the road.” Facilis turned to us and added, in an undertone and to Banadaspos, “The poor little bitch has suffered enough. I hope I can trust you not to take advantage of her.”

“Do not insult me,” Banadaspos whispered back, stiffening.

“Sorry,” said Facilis. “Just my slave-owning suspicious Roman nature.” He turned to go.

“Marcus Flavius,” I said, and he turned back and gave a questioning grunt.

“Perhaps I do not understand how you Romans use lying,” I told him, “but I have just understood that, as liars go, you are a consummate one.”

“To what do I owe that tribute?” he asked.

“We said nothing in Latin about Banadaspos sleeping in the wagon. And you have assured us all the way from Aquincum that you speak no Sarmatian.”

He was silent a moment, then gave a bark of laughter. “The trouble with you, Prince,” he said, in the most villainously accented Sarmatian I’d ever heard in my life, “is that you do not allow a poor lying centurion to make a mistake once, even in the small hours of a cold night. Sleep well.”