Old Martin didn’t follow him, of course; Lucien hadn’t expected him to. The sky had turned gray, and Lucien smelled rain on the wind. In the darkening day, the peeling ocher paint of the buildings held an eerie brightness, as if it still clutched the memory of sunshine. Lucien clamped his hands under his arms to warm them, then headed back through the maze. The ghetto had once been part of the city, and had originally exemplified meticulous Roman planning. But there were many fires in Castramagorum, and the riders who rebuilt it each time lacked the Roman attention to detail.
Lucien intended to look for a stablemaster and another ride of equus, but as he made his way through an open area of crumbled brick and cracked paving stones, he found himself distracted by a makeshift market. There were no stalls; people, mostly riders, had spread out blankets to mark territory and keep their wares clean. Most of the sellers had little to offer, just bits and pieces from their former lives. The lovers and spouses of riders sometimes brought skills with them when they came to live in Castramagorum; Lucien slowed in front of one such seller, a woman with piles of cloaks and tunics laid out around her.
“Made them myself,” she told Lucien when he paused to finger the fine material. “So you won’t be paying a middleman.” The cloak that caught Lucien’s fancy was dyed a green that faded in places to brown or yellow; the colors reminded him of Helena’s eyes.
“The dye didn’t take well to that one,” she said with a cluck of her tongue. “Try this.”
Lucien shook his head at the deep emerald green wool she thrust under his nose, and folded the mottled cloak over his arm. “No, this is the one I want.”
“Sixteen denarii,” she said, as he reached to retrieve the pouch from his inner pocket.
“Sixteen?” he repeated, a little shakily; it was the same price he charged for his own services. Running his hands along the fine, even stitches in the hem, Lucien shook his head. It took far more skill to make this work of art than to do what he did. He handed the cloakmaker Justinian’s pouch and all thirty-two coins, then walked away before she could count it, for fear she’d refuse his gift.
He went to one of the flophouses for a nap, but found himself unable to sleep; for all that he’d started to slip off the horse, the pure equus still had him on edge. Finally he got up and headed towards Helena’s soup kitchen again. If nothing else, he thought, the book would give him something else to think about. He needed to work tonight—the stronger dose of equus had him already aching for more—but it would be several hours before any citizens slipped into Castramagorum.
Lucien elbowed his way past some of the others riding too hard to be allowed inside Helena’s, then took his place in line. Squinting his eyes, he looked around for Helena. Even with his weak eyes, he could usually recognize her, but he didn’t see her anywhere. “Is Helena here tonight?” Lucien asked the magus serving soup when he reached the front of the line. “She has a book she was going to let me borrow.”
“Uh. I’ll check,” the magus said and walked towards the back room, wiping his hands on his apron.
Lucien found a seat near the window, away from most of the other diners, even though Sebastia waved him over. He pretended not to see her—everyone knew he was near-sighted, and he wasn’t in the mood for her constant prattle right now. Besides, he wanted some privacy so he could give Helena his gift.
Sebastia came over anyway. She wore a man’s tunic, but her unruly red curls were bound up in the traditional style of Roman women. “Hey, Lucien. I don’t think you saw me waving. Anyway, I have to tell you something.”
“Hey, Sunshine.” Lucien smiled at her despite himself. Sebastia had come to live in Castramagorum by choice—she’d willingly taken the brand to have access to equus. Lucien thought she was crazy, but she was an excellent gossip, and one of the happiest riders he’d ever met. Still, he tucked the green cloak closer to his side, hoping Sebastia wouldn’t notice.
“Has Helena been asking you odd questions?” Before Lucien could even nod, Sebastia continued. “Well, she’s been talking to a lot of us. And I heard that she’s planning some kind of a coup.”
“Helena?”
“You knew her husband was a magus, right? A total lost rider. He died last month from the cold. I guess he had a tendency to ride the horse to Gaul, and Helena couldn’t always keep track of him. Anyway, the word on the street is that she’s got some citizen patron who wants the names of magi with talent; you know, people who aren’t so far gone.”
“For what purpose?”
“Who knows, but it could be profitable, you know? The whole stable.”
“So why are you telling me this?”
“Everyone knows Helena likes you. If she weren’t a new widow, I’d say she has it bad for you.”
Lucien shook his head to deny Sebastia’s words, but he felt a blush creep up his neck. His hand strayed to the cloak, and he wondered if the gift was such a good idea after all.
“So, we want you to find out the deal. Find out if she’s holding.”
“You want to roll Helena for pure equus?”
“She’s got to have it if she’s planning a coup.”
“Someone does,” Lucien said, thinking of his own ride the night before.
“Right. Hey, sorry, but I have to go. Can we count on you?”
“I don’t know, Sunshine. Let me think about it.”
“Don’t think too long. You could stand to make some friends around here, Lucien.”
“Is that a threat?”
Sebastia just smiled and flounced off. Lucien stirred the vegetables around his plate and stared out the window, trying to digest everything he’d learned.
“I have a good mind not to lend you any more of these.” Helena said, dropping the book on the table.
Lucien picked up the book, inspecting the binding for damage. “I know, I’m really sorry about the smudge. I shouldn’t read these anywhere near food. But anyway, I brought you....”
“Lucien, I’m talking about Old Martin.”
“Oh.” Lucien lowered his eyes, then stole a quick look to see how angry Helena was. She was very angry.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t bar you? Fighting is against the rules, and, really, Old Martin is nearly fifty. What were you thinking?”
Lucien set the book down on the table. His fingers traced the leather tooling on the cover of the book. He wanted to snarl that Martin deserved much worse, but that would definitely get him barred from her kitchen. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying as hard as he could to sound sincere.
When he stole another glance at Helena, her face had softened, but only a little. Beyond Helena, Old Martin sat at a table, grinning at him over his soup bowl. “Fellator,” Martin mouthed.
Lucien felt a surge of anger and bit his lip, fighting it down. The edges of his nerves tingled as he concentrated, almost as if he were about to mount equus again. Lucien swallowed hard. He needed to look repentant. “I thought Martin had damaged the book,” he said.
Helena sat down next to him. “That’s no excuse for violence, Lucien.” Her face had softened into disappointment, and Lucien turned his face away in shame. From the table where Old Martin sat, Lucien heard Martin hiss, “Hanc habeo quae tibi placebit, fellator.” I have something that’ll make you happy, cocksucker. Lucien went rigid and something like equus fire burned in his guts. That was when Helena brushed his cheek lightly with the back of her hand.
Lucien moved without thinking, striking out wildly with his hands clenched into fists. “Don’t touch me,” he shouted, lurching to his feet. His hand hurt as if he’d hit something, and he realized with sick horror that what he’d hit was Helena’s face. The hall had gone silent; no one else moved. Helena pressed a shaking hand to her face, and began to struggle up from the floor. “Helena,” he whispered. “Oh, no.”
“Wait,” she said, but Lucien bolted, leaving behind both the book and the cloak, running out the door and into the maze of streets. He was shaking like he’d just come off a ride, but it was anger a
nd fear in his veins, not equus.
Helena would never let him come back—not after that. No more books, he thought. He would die without books.
***
A LIGHT DRIZZLE shrouded Castramagorum’s streets, and the lantern Lucien stood under snapped and sputtered. He leaned against the corner of a closed grocer’s shop; across the wide avenue leading to the gate, Lucien could hear the drunken laughter of slumming citizens, looking for the thrills and dangers of Castramagorum. Lucien leaned his head back and let the rough stone of the shop support him. Maybe if he could get a little equus, get feeling a little more normal, he could go back and find a way to apologize to Helena.
At a whistle from one of the drunks, Lucien stood up a bit straighter and glanced in their direction. The group of revelers broke into raucous laughter and hurled the usual insults at him. Lucien slumped back against the wall. The way today had gone, he wondered if he’d get any work tonight. The misting rain coated Lucien’s skin in a clammy sheath. If only he hadn’t blown his money so fast, he’d give up on tonight and find a warm fireplace with a cup of equus tea.
“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, Lucius. Fortuna smiles on me.”
Lucien looked up into the smug, self-satisfied face of Justinian, and thought what a fickle, hard-hearted bitch Fortuna was. Lucien glanced toward the alley. “Same as before, old friend?”
“No,” Justinian said. “I have a different proposition.”
“Oh?” Dread added an icy finger to the cold breeze that blew through Lucien’s tunic. Lucien knew that whatever Justinian asked for, no matter how degrading or painful, he would agree to it for the promise of more distilled equus. “What are you offering?”
“Ah, I should have known payment was the first order of business. Very well: I offer a lifetime of luxury, with all your needs attended to—all of them. I even have books for you.”
“Books?” Lucien whispered.
“Everything from the Dialogues of Socrates to the latest mathematical theorems.” Justinian put a hand on Lucien’s shoulder; Lucien let him keep it there, and even leaned in a bit. Justinian smiled.
“What about equus?”
“I think you know exactly what I have to offer in that department.”
“And you have more?” Lucien put a hand on Justinian’s chest, and let his fingers slide downward to roam the contours of his tunic near his belt.
“Not on me, of course.” Justinian said, his voice a bit husky.
“Of course.” Lucien smiled to hide his disappointment. “All right, I accept.”
“Don’t you want to know what I want from you?”
Lucien shook his head. “I can guess.”
“Good. Now put this on.” Justinian handed Lucien a hooded woolen cloak like the one he’d worn last night.
Lucien shrugged into the cloak. The material felt substantial on his shoulders, clearly fine quality goods. Lucien thought of the cloak he’d bought Helena, forgotten at the mission, and felt a stab of regret; he pushed the thought aside, trying to concentrate on the prospect of distilled equus. “What’s this for?”
“To get you into the city.”
“Are you insane? They’ll kill us both.”
“I have a friend on the gate tonight. Trust me.” Justinian tugged the hood of the cloak up to hide Lucien’s face, shaking the fabric slightly to put it into place. “Just don’t let the wind blow this back,” Justinian said. “I don’t want anyone seeing that brand.”
Taking Lucien’s elbow, Justinian steered him up the long, straight street. Lucien’s hair stood on end; they were passing into the area where the guards were supposed to shoot any magus they saw coming. But there was no shout of warning, no twang of bow strings. Lucien kept his head down, feeling the breeze batter against the hood. With his free hand, he snagged the edges of the hood to hold them in place.
Now Justinian turned; Lucien was certain they were almost beside the wall, and heading for the gate. He could smell the hot wine the night guards drank to stay warm, and see the flicker of their torches on the ground. This is crazy, Lucien thought. They’re going to kill me. For a moment, he almost bolted. He wasn’t sure if it was the promise of the pure equus, or of the books, that kept him where he was.
“It’s just me,” he heard Justinian say, and saw Justinian’s hand flip out his service badge.
“What about him?” the guard asked.
“He’s with me.” Lucien heard the clink of coins and saw a flash of gold—and as simply as that, it was done. Justinian’s firm hand steered him through the gate and beyond the walls of Castramagorum.
Once they were through, Lucien heard Justinian exhale with relief, and he realized that Justinian hadn’t been as certain as he’d wanted Lucien to think. Lucien’s ears were singing with a surge as intense as any ride, though he was as close as he ever got to being off the horse and on his feet. He wanted to flip the hood back and take a good look around the city he hadn’t seen in two years, but now that he was in Londinium, it was more important than ever that he keep his brand covered. In fact, unless Justinian took him back to Castramagorum, he was stuck.
Castramagorum stretched alongside the Londinium wall for a good distance, but there was only one gate. Even keeping his eyes on his feet, Lucien knew that they weren’t going all that far from Castramagorum, but unless he could grow wings and fly over the wall, it might as well be in Gaul. I am a magus outside of Castramagorum: even if I’m trying to go back through the gate, I will be shot on sight. Fear settled in his stomach, which lurched with every step; only focusing on the pure equus he’d taste soon kept him steady. Finally Lucien heard the clink of a gate being locked. Justinian said, “You can take the hood off now.”
Lucien pushed the hood back and looked around. They were in the courtyard of a villa. Lucien wondered who owned it; it couldn’t be Justinian’s home. No one would be crazy enough to bring a rider their own house, would they?
“Welcome to my house,” Justinian said. “Let me show you to the bath. I’m sure you’d like to get clean.”
A bath. Lucien looked down at himself, suddenly self-conscious. He was filthy, of course; the closest he’d come to a wash recently was the rain. There weren’t any public baths in Castramagorum, not even at Helena’s. Lucien hadn’t thought about a bath since the war, though he’d been very fastidious as a student. Right now he wanted equus a lot more than hot water, but hot water wouldn’t be so bad, and Justinian probably wasn’t going to give him the equus until Lucien had given Justinian what he wanted. And that was clearly going to start with a bath.
“I’d like that,” Lucien said.
Justinian led Lucien to a warm, moist room. Water simmered in the tub; Justinian must have started the bath before heading to Castramagorum. He pumped some cold water in to even out the temperature and put a bar of soap into Lucien’s hand. Then he set out a robe of creamy wool. “Put this on when you’re done bathing, then meet me through there.” Justinian pointed towards a door. “I’ll be waiting.”
Lucien pulled off his boots, then took off his tunic and trousers. They were stiff with mud and grime, and he tried without success to remember what color they’d been originally. The boots were left over from his days serving the Caesar; had the clothes really lasted that long? Probably not. He eased himself into the bath; the water was almost too hot to stand. He ducked his head under, then lathered up the soap.
Lucien couldn’t tell, in the lantern-light, whether he’d really gotten all the dirt off his body, but at the very least he thought he’d gotten close. It was a good thing Helena had cut his hair recently, or it would be a sodden mass of wet knots.
The water was beginning to cool. Lucien climbed out of the bath, and sluiced a bucket of cold water over himself; Justinian didn’t have the full setup with three pools, but a bather could make do. Then he toweled himself dry and slipped on the robe. As he turned towards the door, he saw a stranger staring at him and jumped—then he realized that it was a mirror, and he was looking at
himself.
The brand was supposed to be in the shape of the letter M, for MAGUS, but as Lucien studied the reflection of his face, he noted that it had puckered into the shape of a star. He ran his own fingers lightly over the scar. He had always looked young for his age, and this was still true, but he didn’t remember his eyes looking so hungry. So hard. He wondered if that was what had attracted Justinian, or if Justinian still saw Lucius when he looked at him.
Raking his fingers through his damp hair once more, Lucien pushed open the door.
The bath opened onto a bedchamber. Justinian lounged on the bed, doing nothing—just waiting. As Lucien closed the door behind him, Justinian looked him over appraisingly. “Take off the robe,” he said, so Lucien let it slip off his shoulders. Naked, he felt cold, and more than a little vulnerable. His own nakedness was not usually required by his customers, but by coming into the city, by letting Justinian trap him here, Lucien knew he had sold his whole body. Hopefully the payment would be worth it.
What followed next was not precisely as unpleasant as Lucien had feared. Far from being a sadist, Justinian was gentle and considerate. It was clear that he viewed himself as a “lover” and not a “customer,” and wanted Lucien to feel the same way. Lucien tried to oblige Justinian with feigned pleasure; it didn’t take much to persuade Justinian that Lucien had enjoyed himself.
When they had finished, Justinian lay beside Lucien on the bed, one arm slung loosely around his waist, his eyes closed. “You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve imagined this,” Justinian murmured.
“How long?” Lucien asked. He didn’t especially care, but if they talked, maybe he could steer the conversation to the promised equus.
“I used to think about you all the time at the academy. You must have noticed me staring at you. I never thought you’d have me until after the war. When I saw what you’d become, I promised myself that I’d come for you.” Justinian raised his head to meet Lucien’s eyes, then kissed him on the mouth. “I want to take care of you, Lucien. I want to make sure that you never have to go back there.” Justinian rested his head on the pillow again, closing his eyes.
Comrade Grandmother and Other Stories Page 15