by David Drake
They shouldn’t have been abreast. The wagoneers who properly would have been at the back didn’t want to wait extra hours to unload.
They were hauling Greek wine landed at Ostia and brought up the Tiber on barges. These wagons were hauling it to taverns on the outskirts of the city. Because of the expense of land transport, it was cheaper to do this than it would be to bring wine overland even as little as twenty miles from vineyards in the Sabine Hills.
The wagon wheels were iron-shod, spitting sparks from the paving stones and ringing like Vulcan’s workshop. Corylus didn’t want to follow the wagons all the way to his apartment, but getting around them even on a street as wide as the Argiletum was tricky. If he misjudged, he took the risk of being squeezed between two wagons or even slipping under a wheel. The weight would take off whatever body part was between iron and the paving stones as thoroughly as a German’s sword could do.
Somebody shouted from ahead. A drover’s whip whacked over the sudden frustrated lowing of oxen. The leading wagons had met an equally large vehicle coming the other way.
A narrow alley led off to the left. Corylus ducked into it rather than thread his way through the mess ahead. Neither the teamsters nor the draft animals were going to notice a slim youth if he happened to be in the place they intended to pass through.
He heard something scuttle in front of him. He guessed it was a dog or a drunk—it was too big for a cat. He didn’t suppose it mattered so long as it was going away. He’d lost the light. The moon was behind buildings, he thought at first, but he didn’t see the outline of the roofs against the lighter sky.
He looked back toward the Argiletum. He didn’t hear the wagons anymore. Instead, an owl called. The sound was familiar—but not in Carce.
Corylus moved forward, walking on the balls of his feet and holding his staff at a slant before him. I’m having another spell like I did during the reading. My body is in Carce, but my mind has gone somewhere else.
The air was cold, and the wind carried a hint of snow with it. There were trees around him in this dream, towering conifers whose needles matted the ground. This time he seemed to have a body, though. He kept moving, taking long strides as he’d learned to do with the scouts when they had to cover ground quickly before daylight caught them.
The ground had been rising almost imperceptibly. Corylus came into a clearing and at last saw the moon again: it was in its first quarter and just above the horizon. In Carce the full moon had been at zenith when he left his friends at the base of the Capitoline Hill.
He heard wolves to his left and behind: one and two, then many. They filled the night with their harmony. They had picked up a scent.
They howled again, noticeably closer. Corylus was pretty sure whose scent they had.
Corylus turned to his right and broke into a trot, dropping his toga as he ran. He’d worn his best to meet Atilius Priscus tonight, but he could replace it for money. If he survived.
There were no paths in this forest, but the trees smothered the under-growth between their mighty trunks. He should be heading in the direction of his apartment, if he ever fell back out of this dream into the world where his apartment existed.
The wolves continued to howl. Two were noticeably ahead of the remainder of the pack. Corylus knew he could outrun them; but if he did that, their ten or a dozen fellows who were loping comfortably behind would bring him down exhausted not long thereafter.
At the edge of his consciousness, Corylus sometimes caught glimpses of streets and buildings. He didn’t recognize anywhere in Carce for certain; he couldn’t even swear that what he thought he saw was the city in which he had started this night.
He would trade this forest for passage to the shadow city, though, no matter what might be waiting for him there. He’d seen the bodies of wounded men whose friends hadn’t found them before the wolves did.
The leading wolves yipped in excitement. Corylus didn’t dare look over his shoulder—a slip would be fatal—but he knew that the pair had him in sight.
He lengthened his stride, knowing it was just a matter of time. No matter what he did, the result would be fatal.
A hundred feet ahead, a rock the size of a twenty-oared ship humped from a clearing. The soil nearby was too thin for firs to grow into giants, but a mix of small cedars standing shoulder to shoulder with dogwoods surrounded it instead.
A tangle of multiflora roses covered half the outcrop. A figure hunched on top—a wolf? But better to deal with a single enemy in front than to have a dozen tear you down from behind. The roses would keep even wolves from coming at him through them.
The figure stood. It was a woman clad in a shift as thin as the moonlight.
Corylus sprinted, ducking to crash through the band of small trees. He supposed losing an eye to a cedar twig would be a cheap price if it got him to the relative safety of the outcrop; he’d still avoid it if he could.
He staggered to the base of the sandstone outcrop. It was six feet high and nearly sheer on this face. After his run he would have had trouble vaulting to the top if he’d been barehanded, but he thrust the staff behind him and pivoted himself up.
The wolves who’d been on his heels wormed out of the thicket an instant later. They were young males, best fitted to push the quarry’s pace while the more experienced members of the pack saved their energy for the kill.
One of them leaped. Corylus had his footing. He gave the wolf a two-handed blow over the head with his staff.
The wolf yelped, thumped into the side of the rock instead of landing on top, and sat down on the ground whimpering. His companion thought better of attacking directly and instead circled the injured animal.
Corylus’s hands stung. The thick cornelwood staff had gotten home perfectly. It should have dashed the animal’s brains out instead of just stunning it. These beasts looked like wolves and they weren’t much bigger than the wolves he was familiar with on the frontier, but they were much heavier built. A skull that could absorb a blow like the one he’d just dealt must be as thick as a wild bull’s.
“You’re a strong one, aren’t you?” a throaty voice said. “Your mother would be proud of you.”
Corylus glanced at the woman; he’d almost forgotten her. He supposed she could knife him or simply shove him off the outcrop, but even so she would have been a lesser evil. “My mother?” he said, feeling a little silly when he heard the words come out of his mouth.
The rest of the pack slipped through the undergrowth, appearing on all sides of the rock simultaneously. They’d waited till they had him ringed to close in. They were silent now, save for an older female who whined as she sniffed the injured animal, then licked the bloody pressure cut in the middle of his forehead.
The bone hadn’t been broken, though. The young male got to his feet, wobbly but apparently alert.
“I knew her, yes,” the woman said. “Frankly, I thought she was too skinny to be as full of herself as she was, but I suppose I shouldn’t speak ill of her now.”
Even the brief glance Corylus had given her was enough to show that this woman was beautiful in a lush, full-breasted fashion. He thought that her garment was pastel, not white, but by moonlight he couldn’t guess the hue.
“Ma’am?” he said. “Am I dreaming?”
She laughed like a brook gurgling. “Goodness,” she said, “I don’t think much of your taste in dreams if that’s what you believe this is!”
A wolf on his left sprang. It hadn’t snarled, but Corylus had seen its haunches quiver. He slammed it in the throat, this time using the staff as a spear instead of a club. It was like punching a bullock, but the wolf spun hard into the ground.
Corylus pivoted. The wolf which had poised to jump from the other side instead circled and whined, looking up at him sidelong.
“Ma’am!” he said. “Keep behind me. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”
The pack’s leader was huge, with the bulk of a big man. He must easily weigh two hundred pounds. He had scars o
n both shoulders, and his left ear had been chewed to tatters. He stared at Corylus from beneath bony brow ridges, calm and murderously determined.
“I don’t see that there’s much ‘behind’ when they’re on all sides,” she said, “but they won’t bother me. Normally I wouldn’t interfere with them either, but for your mother’s sake—”
A wolf leaped from the right. Corylus batted it on the nose, throwing it back with a yelp of pain. He’d stopped trying to deliver killing blows: that risked him losing his balance to no particular end, given how rugged the animals were.
As expected, the leader with two younger males behind him was already coming up the less abrupt slope to the left. Corylus stabbed at the big wolf’s shoulder with the end of the staff, then swiped sideways to shove the wolf on that side off in a cartwheel. It was like lifting a wagon one-handed, but Corylus’s muscles were up to the job under the goad of fear.
The third wolf slammed its teeth into the fluttering hem of his tunic. Corylus punched, this time with the short end of the staff. He heard the beast’s lower jaw crack, but he fell to one knee and the leader was on him again.
A coil of rosebush looped the big wolf’s hindquarters and pulled him away. He snarled and bit at it. A cane slapped him across the muzzle; the thorns drew bloody furrows like the nails of an angry woman.
The bush dragged the wolf back and released him, sending him tumbling. He scrambled to his feet, snapping and growling, but he didn’t rush in again. The other wolves backed off also.
Corylus stood, using his staff to brace himself upright. His mouth was open, and gasping in air. He tasted blood; he must have bitten his lip. His whole body was trembling and he was queasy with exertion.
“You shouldn’t be here, you know,” the woman said.
He could barely hear her over the roar of his own blood in his ears. He bent forward slightly to help him breathe better.
“I didn’t mean to come,” Corylus wheezed. “I don’t know why I’m here.”
He’d banged his right knee hard on the rock. It was already swelling, and the skin was torn; he’d have a bruise for a week.
The wolf leader had been sitting on his haunches, licking the shoulder where Corylus had stuck him. Now he got to his feet, growled, and barked curtly. The pack vanished into the undergrowth much as they’d appeared, though he heard the male with the broken jaw whining long after he had disappeared from sight.
“Here, let me smell you,” the woman said, kneading her fingers through Corylus’s hair and drawing his head down to sniff his dark curls. Out of reflex he resisted, but she was unexpectedly strong; he got the impression he would pull his hair out by the roots before he broke her grip on it.
She laughed, kissed him on the tip of his ear, and released him. “It was a man named Nemastes,” she said. “At least he calls himself a man. Here, I’ll send you back if that’s what you want.”
“Ma’am?” Corylus said. He was dizzy from reaction and wasn’t really sure what he was hearing. “Yes ma’am, I really want to go back to Carce. Can you do that?”
“Of course I can,” the woman snapped. Behind her, the tangle of rose canes quivered. “Why else would I have said I could?”
Corylus didn’t see her move or speak, but a flash of white light enveloped him. Needles dug momentarily into his bones. He stumbled forward.
People were shouting at him. He saw lanterns and men with cudgels coming from both sides. He raised his staff, trying to back away but aware that his right knee was stiff with the bruise. He wouldn’t be able to escape this time.
“Wait!” cried a woman’s clear voice. “That’s Corylus!”
THE LEADING LITTER BEARERS SHOUTED, “Wau!” and stopped together, rocking Alphena forward in her seat. The team was so well matched that the bearers on the back of the poles didn’t slam the heavy vehicle into the thighs of their fellows in front.
Escorting servants ran past the litter, some of them brandishing their cudgels. Alphena leaned out to see what was happening. In the light of bobbing lanterns she saw a hunched man with a heavy stick confronting the entourage.
The litter bobbed: Hedia had gotten out. “Wait!” she called in a voice of command. “That’s Corylus!”
Is it? The fellow was stumbling backward. He had his stick up, though, and the servants weren’t pressing him too hard.
“Get back, you ninnies!” Hedia said, striding into the middle of the ruck. “Midas, if any of these blind fools strikes Master Corylus, he’ll spend the rest of his life in a lead mine in Spain!”
Alphena got out, caught her long tunic on the door latch, and almost fell on her face. She blushed, furious at herself though she doubted anybody had seen her clumsiness. They were all too interested in Corylus and the bustle of people around him.
The litter bearers alone hadn’t joined the tight circle. The on-duty team had set the vehicle down but then waited, each man with his replacement, for orders.
“Get out of my way!” Alphena demanded, pushing at servants with both hands. Her female voice drove an immediate passage where a man might have met reflexive resistance. “Let me through!”
Corylus’s right knee looked like raw meat, and his eyes were wild. His linen tunic was torn and bloody. The garment was too light for the evening, but there was no sign of a cloak or toga. Blood-matted fur clung to both ends of his stout staff.
“Corylus, what’s happened?” Alphena said in horror.
Hedia put her left hand over his on the staff and said, “Careful with your stick, dear boy. You’re with friends now.”
“Is this Carce?” Corylus said in a savage rumble. He sounded like a beast claiming his territory.
“Yes,” said Hedia crisply. “We’re very close to our house, Lady Alphena and I. Are you able to walk? We have a litter.”
“I can …,” Corylus said. “I don’t need a litter, I’m all right.”
Hedia knelt, gripping the youth’s right thigh and calf. “Bring a lantern close, someone!” she said. “And don’t wriggle, my dear. I want to look at this knee.”
“Corylus, I can hold your staff,” Alphena said. He wasn’t flailing with it anymore, but Hedia had been right to worry that he might. “I’ll be careful with it.”
“What?” he said, but his voice had settled toward normal instead of showing the spiky challenge when he first staggered toward them. “Oh, yes. Sorry, Lady Alphena, I didn’t …”
His voice trailed off. Her lips pursed, but she didn’t blurt something that she would regret later. He gave her the staff, looking down as Hedia probed his leg.
He didn’t have to finish the sentence. She could finish it for him: “I didn’t notice you because I was mooning over your beautiful stepmother.”
The staff was heavier than Alphena expected; she wondered if an iron rod had been set into its core. Also it was sticky where she held it.
“You,” she said in an undertone to one of the linkmen; she had to tap his shoulder to get his attention. “Bring your light here.”
He obediently turned with his short staff. It had a grip on one end and an oil lamp in a cage of bronze wire attached to the other on a short chain. When Alphena examined the smooth wood in the haze of light, she saw bloody handprints on it.
Hedia rose. Corylus started to rub his eyes. She took his right wrist and said, “No, your palm is all over blood. Is it yours?”
He looked at his hand with a puzzled expression, flexing it. “Maybe,” he said. “I, when I fell on the rock I probably put it down. When I hit my knee. But I don’t remember.”
“Well, let’s get you to our house,” Hedia said in a tone that didn’t so much compel agreement as rightly assume it. “We can put you on the servant’s bed in Varus’s room, that way you’ll have your privacy. And speaking of Varus—”
She turned, looking down the boulevard. The lights of a large party were flickering toward them; Alphena heard men singing, “Hermes! The Money Rolls In.” Somebody called, “Who’s that in front of us? Announce yours
elf or it’ll be the worse for you!”
“Candidus, you fool!” boomed Midas. Alphena wasn’t sure which of the deputy stewards was the more senior. From the rancor in Midas’s voice, it wasn’t a certain thing between the men themselves. “What do you mean by threatening their ladyships!”
“Corylus?” Varus called, rushing to his friend’s side. Hedia straightened and took a half step sideways. “What happened to you? And how did you get here?”
“I don’t know how I got here exactly,” Corylus said, clasping arms with Varus. “But I much prefer it to the place I was before. Wherever that was.”
Corylus straightened and looked around the growing circle of attendants. “I was attacked by dogs!” he said loudly. “I took a shortcut through an alley and dogs attacked me; there’s fur on my staff, you see. But I’m all right now, and I can make my own way home.”
“You will not,” said Hedia. “Varus, dear, Master Corylus will sleep in the servant’s alcove in your suite tonight. Does that suit you?”
“Why …,” Varus said. “Of course. Corylus, you’re welcome anytime. Or you can have a guest suite.”
“But before he does that, Lenatus will look him over and put ointment on that knee,” Hedia continued. She was perfectly calm and perfectly in control of the situation. “Now, my young friend, are you sure you can walk? Because the litter’s right here.”
Corylus grimaced. “Ma’am,” he said, “I think I’m better off to walk on it for a bit. If I let it set up, I, well—it’s not a problem now, but it could turn into one easy enough if I let it.”
“Very good,” Hedia said. “Midas, send a man ahead to wake Lenatus and have him ready. And let’s go, all. The sooner we get Master Corylus to the house, the better off he’ll be.”
She turned. “Alphena dear, that goes for us also. Into the litter now, if you please.”
Seething inside, Alphena obeyed. Having to hold the staff made her clumsy, but she’d promised Corylus to take care of it, so she couldn’t very well pass it off now to a servant.