Island of Ghosts (47 page)

“We were told you couldn’t,” said their spokesman. “Just sit down in it, sir. I don’t want to get in trouble with the doctors. The governor must have finished the last case by now, and they’ll all be waiting for you.”

I sat down in the sedan chair. I felt utterly ridiculous.

The governor was seated at the tribunal in the great hall of the headquarters of the Sixth Legion. The courtyard outside was full of his personal guard, and the hall itself was so full—with his staff, with officers of the legion, with prefects of all the auxiliary forces of the North—that it was hard to see any known face among all the faces. I noticed Julius Priscus, though, standing behind the tribunal. He looked shrunken and aged since our last meeting, and he stood with his shoulders slumped. His eyes met mine as I was carried in, and his mouth twisted. He looked away. Everyone else in the room seemed to be staring at me.

The guardsmen who were carrying the sedan chair set it down, and I stood up, balancing on my good leg. The governor sat with his hands on his knees, looking down at me. He was a middle-aged Numidian, grizzled brown and dark-eyed, and in honor of the military occasion he was wearing gilded armor under his gold-fringed crimson cloak. The emperor’s statue watched with a preoccupied frown from the chapel of the standards at the side of the hall.

I saluted the governor. “Greetings, my lord Antistius Adventus!” I said. “Greetings to you all.”

The governor clear his throat. “You are Ariantes, son of Arifarnes, commander of the Sixth Numerus of Sarmatian Horse?”

I bowed my head in agreement.

“You have been accused of murdering the commander of the Second Numerus, Arsacus son of Sauromates.”

“I killed him, my lord, in fair combat,” I corrected him.

One of the governor’s staff coughed. “Were you aware that he was plotting a mutiny?”

“I was.”

“Was the fight perhaps connected in some way with that mutiny?” the same staff member prompted.

“We had chosen different sides, sir,” I said carefully. “He wished to fight, and took steps to provoke me.”

“You might have taken steps to inform your Roman liaison officer, or your camp prefect,” put in a different man, this one an army commander in the red cloak and sash of a prefect.

I had no intention of discussing Comittus and his druidical connections. “I had informed both of them,” I said instead, politely, “of the conspiracy against Roman power in this region. I had informed them, and the legate, and you, my lord governor, and all who were concerned, of Lord Arshak’s involvement in that conspiracy, as you all know. But I was provoked, as I said, to fight him. And I thought also that for him to die at the hands of the Roman state would be crushing to his people, to mine, and to those of our nation who have yet to arrive in this province. He was the nephew of our king. Moreover, it seemed to me very likely that many lives would be lost overcoming him, for he was a powerful man and a brave one, and would have fought his arrest. I therefore fought him privately, and the gods granted me victory.”

“You are a loyal servant of the emperor?” asked the first prompter.

“I am faithful to my oaths,” I replied.

My prompter turned back to the governor. “You notice that he was aware of everything that the centurion told us?” he asked. “That this man Arsacus would have been an immense embarrassment to us if he had been arrested and executed, and that many Roman lives would have been at risk in any attempt to arrest him? Isn’t it far better that this loyal commander killed him in a duel?”

“Yes, I did notice it, Quintus Petronius,” answered the governor, testily. “But I’m still not going to give him a gold crown for it. I agree that it was a mercy of the gods that this fellow Arsacus was taken out quietly and in a way that his followers don’t too much object to, but dueling remains a practice I do not wish to encourage in the British army. Ariantes son of Arifarnes, it’s plain that the man you killed was a rebel and traitor and that you killed him largely because of it, and I therefore have no hesitation in proclaiming you innocent of murder. But I cannot give you the reward you may have expected, because of the
manner
in which you killed him. In future, you must respect Roman discipline.”

I bowed my head to hide my surprise. I heard someone laugh over to one side, and I glanced round to see Longus and Pervica, squeezed in the door that led from the courtyard, watching me, in Longus’ case, with delight.

“However”—and the governor smirked, and began to speak in a peculiar booming voice which I later realized was the way they’re taught to talk in rhetorical schools—“it is clear that the province of Britain owes you a debt for the prompt way in which you reported this treason to the authorities, for your tenacity of purpose and loyalty when faced with threats against your life, and for the encouragement you gave to Siau . . .”—he had trouble with the name—“Siauacus, the commander of the Fourth Sarmatians, in his brave and loyal service in uncovering the conspiracy. Moreover, I have taken note of the high regard in which all your junior officers hold you, and the tributes paid to your administrative ability by the procurator of the fleet and the former legate of the Sixth Victrix. In respect of the services you have rendered us—but
not
the killing—I have decided to award you the silver spear, the medals, and the armbands normally given to honor valor. In appreciation of your proven loyalty and abilities, I have decided to do away with the need for a Roman liaison officer in your case and to allow you the supreme command of all the troops at Cilurnum, including the five squadrons of the Second Asturian Horse. As a temporary measure, I would also like you to take charge of the Second Sarmatian Horse.”

My head was swimming, and I was afraid my leg would give way. “My lord,” I said, spreading my hands helplessly, “that I cannot do. They are Arshak’s men, and I am their lord’s killer. They will not revenge it, because it was fair combat and they had sworn to abide by its result—but they would not obey me. I suggest that you allow Siyavak to choose one of the squadron captains as commander of the dragon, and appoint him jointly with a Roman.”

The governor frowned, looking offended—then shrugged. “Very well,” he said. “We’ll resolve that matter later. In the meantime, Ariantes, I wish to offer you, in the emperor’s name, a reward greater than any of those I have mentioned so far: the citizenship of Rome.”

I bowed my head again, to conceal my feelings. The citizenship of Rome. I, become a Roman. Become a countryman of Tirgatao’s murderers. I did not want it.

But the governor had taken my gesture as one of awed consent, and he smirked as he instructed one of his staff to draw up the papers. Another staff member was already sorting out a memorandum about the next case, and the audience whispered to each other about it and about the business they had just seen finished. I asked if I were free to go. I was told I could, impatiently, by the officer who’d been annoyed with me about dueling, and I began to limp heavily out of the hall. Longus and Pervica pushed their way in through the door and forced me back into the sedan chair. After a moment, the consular guardsmen picked it up and carried me out.

I made them stop before they took me back to my hospital room, and they put me down outside in the hospital courtyard, where there was a garden. Pervica and Longus hurried up behind them. Longus was laughing. I climbed out of the chair and steadied myself against a potted shrub. “Should we take the chair back then?” asked the leading guardsman. “Or will you need it later, sir?”

“I do not want it!” I said, with some force, and he grinned.

“Very good!” he said cheerfully, and gestured for the others to take it away. “Sorry they didn’t give you the crown, sir. You deserved it. But that’s the senior command: they always come down hard on a breach of discipline. Good luck!” And he and the rest marched off.

Longus laughed again. “Hercules!” he said. “You looked so stupid when the governor said you couldn’t have a golden crown.”

“I thought I would be punished,” I told him.

He laughed again. “That’s what Marcus Flavius said. You have a very low opinion of Romans, don’t you? We’d be a pretty ungrateful bunch to punish you after you saved the province—or the north quarter of it, anyway. And you standing there, wobbling on one leg, the other injured in your struggle against the enemies of Rome—Hercules! Half the governor’s staff think he’s treated you very unfairly as it is. Of course, you gave them presents when you were trying to increase the pay offer, didn’t you? They had a high opinion of you anyway.”

I shook my head in bewilderment. I told myself how pleased my men would be when they learned that the Romans had honored me—but I realized even as I thought it that they would find out that I might have been given a gold crown, and they would instantly forget their relief and resent the lack of it. Siyavak, they would tell each other, had been given a gold crown, and he wasn’t even a scepter-holder. And the next time they met up with the men of the fourth dragon, they’d quarrel with them. As Facilis said, Sarmatians!

“So,” said Longus happily, “now you’re officially prefect of the
ala
of the Second Asturians—my prefect, my lord”—he swept me a mocking bow—“as well as commander of the Sixth Sarmatians. And Comittus goes back to being a staff officer of the Sixth Legion. You’ll have to move into that house after all, you know. You’re a Roman citizen! What are you going to call yourself?”

I shrugged. Pervica came over and put my arm over her shoulders, helping me to balance. “You don’t want to be a Roman citizen, do you?” she asked gently.

“No,” I agreed.

“You can’t refuse!” exclaimed Longus, losing his mockery.

“It would insult the governor if I did, would it not?” I said evenly, “And it would give me . . . advantages, I suppose, which would be useful. No, I cannot refuse.” I looked sourly at the hospital. “If I am not technically under arrest, I do not need to stay here, do I? But my wagon is in Cilurnum.”

“I’m sure they’ll find you a house,” said Pervica.

I put my arm around her waist and looked at her. I could feel her hipbone against my wrist, and the smoothness of her stomach under my hand. I suddenly wanted her very badly. I knew that she was staying in an inn in town, and I didn’t want to leave her there. “If I am a citizen,” I said, “it will make it easier to marry legally. I suppose I could tolerate a house, if you shared it.”

Her fingers tightened on my shoulder. “It will probably take longer than one afternoon, though, to sort it out,” she said quietly.

“Let us try!” I said, urgently now. “We can have a wedding feast back in Cilurnum: see if we cannot sort out some kind of contract today!”

She flushed bright red and kissed me. “Yes!” she cried, suddenly enthusiastic. “Yes, right now! Gaius and I will go and see what we can do. I’ll find Eukairios, and he can find Marcus Flavius: they’ll know how we can do it.”

I stayed in the hospital garden while they searched, sitting down beside the fountain. It was a warm day, for February: the sun was shining, and the early crocuses had shoved their blunt snouts above the ground. Hellebore was flowering, white and sweet-scented, and the water was dark and clear. After a while, Facilis trotted into the courtyard. He seemed unusually pleased with himself.

“Congratulations,” he said. “Honors all round. Gaius tells me you want to get married today.”

I nodded. I had another thing to say to him first. “I understand you spoke to the governor on my behalf, urging him to give me honors for killing Arshak.”

Facilis grunted. “I pointed out to them that you solved a very sticky problem for us.”

“You slippery bastard,” I said, with feeling.

He barked, and sat down on the fountain beside me, grinning. “We’ll have you speaking Latin properly yet!” he exclaimed. “About the marriage—I can help arrange it for you, if you like. I’m going to the public archives myself this afternoon anyway.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

He grinned at me. “A manumission and an adoption.”

“What?”

He gave a pleased grunt. “I told Julius Priscus last night that I’d . . . um,
found
Vilbia, with her baby, in Corstopitum, and that I’d, um,
apprehended
them. But I said I’d taken a liking to the girl and wanted to buy her. He had no objection. He doesn’t want anything that ever had anything to do with his wife, poor bastard; he’s sick with the whole business, ruined and disgraced. His administrative career is finished, though I can’t see anything he did that was worthy of blame. Anyway, he gave me Vilbia on the spot, I drew up the manumission papers, and I’m going to get them witnessed this afternoon and legally adopt the girl.”

“As your daughter?” I repeated, bewildered.

He barked with laughter. “You want a wife, but that doesn’t mean everyone does. I had one once, and that was enough for me. But I also had a daughter once. She died when she was seven. I’ve always had it in the back of my mind, ‘What would have happened if she’d lived? What would she be like now?’ Probably not a bit like Vilbia. But the girl has suffered, and she needs someone to care for her. She’s a sweet, kind girl, and brave, to defy her mistress over the baby—you know she believed in Bodica’s magic absolutely, and was terrified of her. I want a daughter; she wants a father. These things sort themselves out. One little piece of parchment and instantly I’m a father again, and a grandfather as well. Flavia Vilbia and Marcus Flavius Secundus, citizens of Rome. How about that, eh?”

“Congratulations,” I said, smiling at him. “I wish you all much joy.”

“We’re going to move to Eburacum,” he went on. “I’m being promoted, to
primus pilus
of the Sixth Victrix! Think of that! All those years I sweated in the Thirteenth Gemina, and I thought
hastatus
of the first rank was as high as I could get, and now I’m
primus pilus
for a year, over the heads of two others, and afterward something senior. No more muddling about with a lot of barbarians who always smell of horses.”

First the news that Comittus would be recalled to the Sixth; and now Facilis as well. “I will miss you,” I said, and it was perfectly true.