The presence of a Roman officer silenced Quintilius, though he still looked deeply dissatisfied. Pervica smiled warmly at Longus, then turned to Elen and began giving orders about bread and beer. I turned back to my men and told them to go into the back and make themselves comfortable near the barn, but first to unload the present for Pervica from the packhorse and bring it into the house. Longus held the door for Pervica and followed her in; Quintilius, scowling, shoved in front of me. Leimanos followed me with the present, and after him came Eukairios with his tablets.
I clinked my way to the dining room, where I found a charcoal brazier lit for warmth and the rosewood tabletop covered with papers and a strongbox. Pervica stared when Leimanos appeared with the present. I’d rolled it in a carpet to keep it safe. “What’s this?” she asked.
“A gift, Lady,” I answered. “A small thing in token of my gratitude to you.”
“It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed, staring at the carpet, which Leimanos set down on the floor.
It was a good one, red wool patterned with galloping black horses and, in the center, a golden sun. I’d intended for her to keep it. But I smiled and knelt to unfold it. “This is the covering,” I told her, undoing the knots that secured the carpet. I lifted the top fold away. “This is the present. You said you disliked the painting in this room; I thought you might prefer this one.”
The painting was of a battle between the Greeks and the Amazons. I’d seen it in a villa I’d looted in Pannonia, and taken it home because one of the Amazons looked a bit like Tirgatao. She’d pretended not to like it for exactly that reason, so it hadn’t been in the wagons when they were looted. I’d brought it with me thinking it might be useful to bribe a Roman with, but hadn’t wanted to part with it, until now.
“Jupiter Optimus Maximus!” exclaimed Longus, staring at the painting, which was on a plank of wood about four feet long by two feet high. An Amazon astride a leaping white horse dominated its center, leaning down to slash at the fallen Greek below her, who’d caught her wrist and was pulling her off. Behind them horses danced, armor gleamed, cloaks flapped brightly, and beautiful men and women struggled with each other. The struggle did not seem terribly serious, and the battle was more of a festival frolic than a warlike contest. The whole painting bubbled with color and exuberance. The Amazon who looked like Tirgatao was in the upper lefthand corner, drawing a bow threateningly on a Greek in a gold helmet. You could see from the look on her face that she meant to hit him, but she’d probably kiss him afterward.
“This is really superb!” Longus observed, picking up the painting and setting it on the table, braced upright against the strongbox. “Where did you get it?”
“I had it in my wagon,” I answered misleadingly. “I have been told it was painted by Timomachos of Byzantium and is quite valuable.”
Eukairios made a strangled noise and dropped his tablets. “It’s not genuine!” he said.
“Of course it is genuine,” said Leimanos, offended for me. “The man we took it from wept, and said it was worth more than forty thousand denarii.”
So much for my restraint.
“You stole it?” asked Quintilius, as though this confirmed his worst suspicions.
“My lord took it on a raid,” Leimanos corrected proudly. “His planning and our strength had carried us almost to Segedunum, and we found the house of a former governor of Asia, a palace fit for a king. Ten alae of cavalry they had searching for us, and half a legion: we looted the house, drove off the cattle, ate, drank, and set out again. We met one ala and destroyed it, and went home safe to our own wagons.”
“Leimanos,” I said in Sarmatian, “these are Roman subjects. Telling them how we looted Roman subjects will not impress them.”
“If it’s that valuable, I don’t think I should keep it,” said Pervica quickly.
“It is less precious to me than my life,” I said. “If it pleases you, it would please me if you kept it, Lady.”
She shook her head. “I’ve told you already, you owe me nothing. I could hardly have let you die. No, it’s a lovely painting, a beautiful painting, and thank you-but I’d never feel comfortable with something worth forty thousand denarii hanging in my dining room.” She didn’t add that she didn’t want stolen property, either, but that was plainly the case.
I sighed. “If that is what you wish, Lady.” I gave Leimanos an angry glance, and he looked away, embarrassed and ashamed. He’d boasted to impress them with my importance, forgetting that Romans boast of different things.
“Anyway,” Pervica went on, trying to soften her refusal, “you’ve already done me a great kindness, Lord Ariantes. Thanks to you, my husband’s debts are all paid off.”
I looked at her in surprise, and she smiled. “I suppose I hadn’t told you directly. My husband had left me with debts totaling some eighteen hundred denarii-mostly to Cinhil here.” (I noticed that she called him by a British version of his name, and suspected that he only used “Quintilius” when he was trying to impress someone.) “I’d resigned myself to paying it off little by little for years to come. But with all the things your men gave Cluim, we paid everything. Cluim refused to touch any of it until we’d paid the debt. I was just collecting the note of the final discharge from Cinhil when you arrived. And Cluim still has nearly nine hundred denarii to spare!” There was such gladness in her voice that it shocked me: I realized how much the debt, which I had not been aware of, must have burdened her before.
“I am pleased, Lady,” I returned. “But that was the debt my bodyguard paid to Cluim. I have given you nothing.”
“Except thanks?” she asked, with the gentle ironic smile I remembered.
“Except those,” I agreed. “Leimanos.” I switched back to Sarmatian. “Take the picture out and see that it’s wrapped in straw to keep it safe on the way back; let her keep the carpet, anyway. And don’t come back in unless you can remember who you’re talking to.”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” he said miserably, picking up the picture. “I thought…”
“I know, I know. You’ve learned Latin faster than you’ve learned Roman customs. Well, she might have refused it anyway, and it seems you and the bodyguard have already given her a thing she really wanted.”
Leimanos went out, carrying the painting under his arm. The dark servant girl, Cluim’s sister, bustled in from the back of the house, carrying a pitcher of hot spiced beer and a dish of nuts. While the girl poured the drinks, Pervica asked us to sit down. The couch only had places for three, and Quintilius plonked himself firmly in the center of it. Longus sat down beside him, but I preferred the carpet, and sat down on it with my bad leg bent and my good one crossed under it; I set my helmet down beside me. Pervica did not recline on the couch, but found herself a stool at the end of the table. In the end Eukairios took the other place on the couch.
“I also wished to speak with you,” I told Pervica, as the girl handed me my drink, “about a different plan for your horse that might interest you.” And I told her about the plan for the stud farms.
She listened intently, and her first question was, “What would the set price for the foals be?”
“That would have to be settled,” I replied. “My scribe here, Eukairios, is very good with money. I have brought him to help you determine how much you should charge if you do decide that you are interested.”
“You’re not considering this plan?” asked Quintilius in a stern, masterful tone.
“Of course I am!” replied Pervica. “If the price was good, it would… it would make this farm everything poor Saenus always dreamed it would be! You know it would!”
“It’s nonsense!” snapped Quintilius. “There probably isn’t any serious plan to breed horses. This barbarian just wants some excuse to come here so he can try your virtue!”
The room went very quiet. Longus lost all his irony and looked alarmed. I was glad that Leimanos had gone. “You are unwise to say that,” I said, looking at Quintilius levelly, “if you mean by it tha
t I would ever do anything to harm a lady to whom I owe my life.”
“What’s unwise in suspecting an acknowledged thief of dishonesty?” Quintilius replied. “It’d be a fool who’d trust you!”
“Oh, Hercules!” groaned Longus.
I looked at Pervica. “Lady, is this man your friend?”
“He is an old friend of my husband’s,” she said earnestly, “and he’s been very worried ever since he heard about you. I told you that there have been various stories about your people which have frightened many people. Please excuse him.”
“I excuse him, then, for your sake,” I said. “But, Quintilius, I would ask you to remember that we are both guests of this lady. You should not insult her guests in her house, out of respect for her, if you have none for them or yourself.”
“If I’d had any say in it, she’d never have allowed you into the house in the first place.” The masterful tone had become a bellow.
“But you had no say in it, and I am here. It seems to me that the lady is quite capable of managing her own affairs.”
Longus leaned back, shaking his head in amazement. Pervica gave me a look I couldn’t interpret, and began discussing the set price with Eukairios-hurriedly, before Quintilius could begin again. It didn’t take them long to work one out.
“So,” I said, when they’d finished, “I may tell the legate that you agree to the scheme, provided you get at least this much?”
“Yes,” she said firmly.
“No,” said Eukairios. “You’ll have to tell him she wants at least ten denarii more. He’ll expect to beat her down, my lord.”
Pervica and I looked at each other. I spread open my hands. “Trust Eukairios.”
“I believe I would,” she told me, smiling. “Now, how many horses do you think the farm could take? You’ll have to tell him that as well, and I’ve no experience in horse-rearing.”
“Pervica, you must not accept this scheme!” exclaimed Quintilius. “As your husband’s oldest associate and your closest adviser, I forbid it!”
Pervica got to her feet. “Cinhil,” she said evenly, “I’ve been grateful for your help, over the years, and for your patience about the money. I’ve heard your advice and I respect it. But I’m quite certain that we have nothing to fear from Ariantes-and for that matter, he’s proposing a scheme that would be administered by the office of the legate of the Sixth Legion, not himself. I can see absolutely no reason to reject it untried.”
Quintilius was on his feet as well, towering over her. “Pervica,” he began, “out of respect for Saenus…”-then stopped. For a moment he looked not so much angry as confused and betrayed. It was clear from the lady’s calm resolution that she wouldn’t obey his order, and he couldn’t enforce it. Then the anger came back, hotter and wilder, and he turned to me. “No!” he exclaimed angrily. “You’ve fooled the lady into thinking you’re harmless, but she’s not without friends. I forbid you to come here. Take your men and get out!”
I stayed where I was. “Lady,” I said, to Pervica, “does he speak with your authority?”
“No,” she answered, but she’d gone pale and looked distressed. “No. Cinhil, please…”
I got to my feet. I was taller than Quintilius, which was satisfying. “Do you wish to fight me, then?” I asked him.
At that he went pale as well, but he was resolute. “Yes,” he declared, “if it’s man to man, and you’ll take those gilded fish scales off.”
I took off my coat and began undoing the buckles on my armor.
“Please!” said Pervica. “Please don’t! Ariantes, he isn’t a soldier, you mustn’t fight him!”
“Ariantes,” said Longus, “look, I know he wants to-we can all swear to that-but if you kill him, they’ll still have to at least formally charge you with murder, and I don’t like to think what your men would do if we tried to arrest you. In the name of all the gods, leave him be!”
“Do not be anxious,” I told them. “I will try not to harm him.” I unfastened my baldric, set the sword on the table, and pulled off the scale armor cuirass. The woollen shirt and trousers I wore underneath the armor were only light ones; it would be a cold fight. “Do you have your arms with you?” I asked Quintilius.
He licked his lips. “N-no.”
“You may borrow my sword, then.” I unfastened the belt of the armored trousers and began taking them off as well.
Quintilius picked up the sword, which was very like a Roman spatha, the long slashing sword of the cavalryman. The hilt was gold, with a dragon’s head set with rubies forming a ring-clip on the end. He put his hand around it tentatively and drew it from the sheath; the blade gleamed with the serpent pattern of fine steel. He looked at it as though it might bite him.
“Is it too long?” I asked, setting the armored trousers beside the cuirass.
“I… I said I’d fight you. It will do.”
“I am sorry if you prefer the short sword. I have none. Do you prefer to fight on horseback or on foot?”
“On foot,” he whispered.
“Please!” repeated Pervica. “Please, this is pointless! Pointless! Cinhil, in the name of all the gods, apologize!”
“I’m going to fight the bastard here and now!” shouted Quintilius, abruptly going red again.
“I won’t have men killing each other on my property!”
Quintilius simply ignored that. He pushed his way out, through the door that led into the kitchen and the back of the house.
“Would you prefer it if we went up to the road?” I asked Pervica.
“No! I’d prefer it if you didn’t fight at all!”
“We must fight now. There is a code in such matters, and I at least could not back out without disgrace.”
“And what about the disgrace to me?”
“Lady, I swear on fire there will be no disgrace to you. I have been insulted and I will defend my honor, but the responsibility for that is not yours, but his. I must go before he says something stupid to my men as well.”
I hurried out, through the kitchen and into the backyard. My men had made themselves a shelter against the wind with some straw moved from the barn, built a fire in a sandy corner, and the cups and bowls of beer testified that they’d been relaxing comfortably. But they were all on their feet now and glaring at Quintilius, who was standing in front of the door clutching my sword nervously in both hands.
“Wait one minute,” I told him. “I will make them swear not to harm you if you should win.”
I pushed past him, went over to my men, and explained the situation to them. They were pleased-he had offended their sense of my dignity-and they grinned at each other and offered me their swords. I made them stretch their hands over the fire and swear that they would not harm my opponent or do any damage to his cattle, family, or property, in the event of my losing the contest. This done, I went back to the door. Quintilius had been joined by the others. Longus just looked resigned now, but Pervica and Eukairios were distressed.
“If you wish, we will go off your land and fight alone,” I offered Pervica.
“Not knowing what was happening would be even worse,” she answered wretchedly. “Please…”
Quintilius slashed the air with my sword, still holding it two-handed. The hilt was really too short for this, and he had to overlap his hands to manage it, but I supposed he was used to holding some weapon like that. “You haven’t borrowed another sword,” he said, harshly.
“No,” I answered. “Do you require any other arms?”
“Come on! Let’s get it over with! Go borrow a sword!”
I went back to my men and asked for a dagger. Their faces lit up, and they ran to fetch a coil of rope as well.
“Just a dagger,” I said, and the glee ebbed away. There was a moment of horrified silence as they realized I meant it.
“Take a coil of rope as well, my lord, please!” said Leimanos. “That at least!”
“He isn’t a warrior,” I told them. “A lasso and a dagger against a swor
d is almost even odds, and where would the glory be in that? Give me the dagger, and remember what you swore.”
“My lord,” said Leimanos. “Please… your leg might fail you..”
“Leimanos, I don’t correct you in matters that concern your own honor. Don’t correct me in matters that concern mine.”
They handed over a dagger reluctantly, and I walked back to Quintilius. He stared.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“You are unaccustomed to my sword,” I said, “and, if you will forgive my mention of it, you are somewhat older than I. Please allow me to even the balance.” I felt suddenly and overwhelmingly happy, light-headed with the old wild thrill: my life in my hands, death before me, and glory either way. It was an intoxication I hadn’t expected to feel ever again.
Quintilius almost refused the advantage-but couldn’t bring himself to, and the fact that he couldn’t enraged him. He gave a sudden howl of fury and leapt forward, swinging the sword into the air.
I could have stabbed him as he jumped, but I didn’t want to kill him and I was wary of his unorthodox method of fighting. I leapt sideways-to my right, so as to land on my good leg-and stepped back quickly. The sword came down, then heaved up again, and he ran after me, waving it wildly above his head. I jumped to the right again, then, since he was almost on top of me, hurled myself forward. He spun about; again I might have slipped under the sword, which he was holding insanely high, but I didn’t want to strike to cause serious harm. I jumped right, nearly crashed into the house wall, and jumped forward and to the left. I had to land on my bad leg this time, and it gave for a moment; I pushed myself up desperately-and saw that Quintilius had brought my sword down on the ground where I’d been, and buried it edgewise in the earth. I was astonished, and somewhat concerned for the blade. He heaved it out, bellowed, and ran at me, swinging it sideways this time. I dropped flat on the ground, and it whistled over my head; Quintilius tripped over me and fell. I rolled and got to my knees; he managed to sit up and swung the sword back at me, one-handed now. I caught it on the dagger and pushed. The knife slid up the sword-blade, over the guard, and sliced the backs of his fingers. He yelled and dropped the sword, then, to my amazement, balled his bleeding hand into a fist and slammed it into my face.
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