The Boat of Fate (32 page)

I leaped back as if propelled by a powerful spring. I’d told her too much, it seemed, about honour in all my ramblings; she’d worked well, inside her elbow with a knife, left nothing to chance. It was understandable, the whole affair was understandable; yet it came to me, in that frozen instant, that she had no
right
. No right to thus perform pleasantries on her person, to lie as Calgaca had lain in blood.

The housefolk were gawking and rustling at the door. I burst between them, ran back through the house. The Domina, I saw, had also worked too well; while Paeonia, who undoubtedly had loved me, had now to die to recompense a Roman whore. By such means, perhaps, the whole wide world maintained its equilibrium, balanced as it was on the shoulders of a God.

Behind me they had raised a shout of murder. I quickened my pace, having no intention of dying misunderstood. In the atrium Paeonius himself ran at me, fumbling to draw a dagger from his pouch. He tripped and fell headlong, squealing with fright. I could have killed him where he lay; instead I leaped over him, flung my weight against the great bronze doors. They wouldn’t give; I doubled back the way I had come, and there was a slave with a lifted sword. I cut upward to the armpit, it being his life or mine. He fell threshing. It gave the others pause.

The sunlight in the street struck with a physical shock. I stopped, dazzled, unaware for the moment of the mob closing round me. Some had run from the Bishop’s house; others were strollers, attracted by the din, eager to assist at the apprehension of a criminal. They waved an assortment of improvised weapons: stakes, clubs, mattocks and axe-handles snatched up from the nearest shop counter. The first blows fell while I still stood dazed. I was aware, dimly, that I parried and thrust; then the press had fallen back. I retreated, breathing heavily, up the steps to the porch of the house. In the street a man lay writhing, hands gripped over his face.

The rest seemed for the moment unwilling to close. I retreated again, holding sword and dagger up level with my eyes. Behind me I heard the groan of bolts as the main doors were unfastened. Soon they’d be at my back. Then Gildo came running, with a pattering rush. He was naked save for a loincloth, and held a stabbing spear gripped short. The mob yelled, and boiled forward.

It seemed I once more acted without the conscious intercention of thought. Beside me the nearer of the ornamental chariots leaned against the house front. I braced my shoulders, put my foot against it and heaved. The thing swayed and toppled. The trace pole took the Libyan across the chest, bore him backwards; one wheel sprang from the axle, bounded into the crowd. The chariot crashed down the steps amid a confusion of legs and arms; then trumpets pealed deafeningly down the length of the street.

I stared round uncomprehendingly. As if by a miracle, the roadway had filled with armed and mounted men. They wore intricate breastplates, masked helmets that glinted and shone with gold. Cloaks of scarlet and yellow hung from their shoulders, pennants of the same gaudy hues fluttered from lance-tips; and at his side each man carried the spatha, the great broadsword of the Germans.

They had formed themselves into a rough semicircle, enclosing the mass of humanity in the roadway. Now the war horns blared again, close and raucous. Instantly, with terrible precision, the tips of the crescent swung inward, forming a cordon between me and my attackers. Steel screeched on leather, and the mob waited for nothing more. One man, bolder or more stupid than the rest, cut at the nearest rider with a dagger. A sword blade flashed, fell with a thud; he flung his arms up, vanished beneath the hooves. The rest took to their heels; within seconds the street was deserted, and silent save for the sobbing of the creature I had blinded.

I had seen no troops like these in all my life. I lowered my sword, feeling the shaking start. Another signal and the ranks wheeled once more. Through them a man came riding. He was bareheaded; his hair, blond, light and impeccably groomed, clung close to his well-shaped skull. He wore a chased and gilded breastplate; above it was a quilted, finely patterned surcoat. His horse, a superb grey, was caparisoned in flowing silk; to my dazed eyes, mount and rider seemed to shimmer like a flame.

He reined the animal at the foot of the steps. The chariot lay on its back on the pavement, its one remaining wheel still turning idly; beneath it protruded the shoulders and distorted face of Gildo. The rider glanced down briefly, then back to me; and I met the stare of the bluest, iciest eyes I have ever seen. ‘Well,’ he said, in a cold, perfectly modulated voice. ‘It seems you have a talent for difficulties, Tribune. . . .’

Before he opened his mouth I knew him; there could be no mistaking.

This was Stilicho.

The inner walls of the pavilion were of dark, billowing silk. Lamps burning perfumed oil cast a warm yellow light. At one end of the place a Syrian girl sang plaintively, plucking at some stringed instrument. At the other I lay on a cushioned Egyptian couch. Facing me was the greatest general in the world.

He wore a plain white tunic; the mellow light smoothed the hard lines of his face, making him look startlingly young. Between us a series of tables were heaped with delicacies. In the centre of the largest stood a bowl of fine Caecuban. Fresh snow, packed round it in sparkling heaps, had reduced its temperature to that of a mountain stream. A servant refilled my cup; I drank, swilling the stuff round my mouth. To me, it tasted like ditchwater.

‘I prefer a paler wine,’ said Stilicho. ‘The dark vintages fuddle the brain, thicken and slow the blood. But, of course, I am not a Roman. I hope my choice is to your palate?’

I muttered something appropriate.

‘I trust you’ll forgive any minor discrepancies of the cuisine,’ the Magister Militum went on sardonically. He glanced round the richly appointed tent. ‘I try to travel with as little ostentation as possible,’ he said. ‘Such luxuries as I permit myself are necessary for the maintenance of my good name. Roma always loved the tangible evidence of power; and age has not softened her.’

He signalled briefly to a slave. The dish before him was removed, and another proffered. He ate thoughtfully before raising his brilliant eyes again. ‘Such enquiries as I have made,’ he said, ‘exonerate you from direct blame in this morning’s affair. In so far as you are culpable, I attribute your actions to the rashness of youth; a rashness you should by now have outgrown. Certainly sacrifices have been offered by night, which is contrary to the law; I have imposed a curfew on the town, and instructed its Bishop and Duovirs to make a full investigation. The spectabilis Paeonius I hold at fault; his lands and properties are forfeit to the State, and he and his household banished during the Emperor’s pleasure,’ He saw me about to interrupt, and raised his hand. ‘Enough,’ he said. ‘This is my decision. I have no time and less inclination to pry too deeply into the causes of civil commotions.’

He took a sip of wine. ‘You’ll doubtless be relieved to hear,’ he said, ‘your potentially suicidal interference saved the life of the child Paeonia. I’ve placed her in the care of my physician; when she’s sufficiently recovered I shall send her to the Court of Mediolanum. She’ll be well looked after there.’ He saw my face change, and forestalled me again. ‘No,’ he said, ‘you may not see her. Her mind is disturbed; she doesn’t know her own family, and certainly wouldn’t recognise a random lover. For you, she was dead. Let her stay so.’ His manner softened fractionally. ‘She’s a delicate creature,’ he said. ‘In time she may recover her awareness of the world; but in my country she would never be considered fit to share a man’s bed. She’ll never bear strong children, or make old bones herself. You’d be well advised to forget her.’

I was silent, trying to adjust to what I had heard. From beyond the open flap of the tent came the sounds of the camp settling for the night; the tramp of feet and jangle of harness, a harshly shouted order. I heard the noises dimly. It seemed a weight was lifted from me; but I was too drained by the confusion of the day to feel emotion.' I had been given a guard to escort me to the camp, though whether as free man or prisoner still remained to be seen. Baudio gawped at the irruption of the Palatini; I picked my things up from where they still lay packed, walking like a man in a dream. My last visit was to the strong-room. A consignment was ready for collection; I stared a long time at the stack of dully shining ingots before turning away. I had taken enough from Paeonius; I didn’t want his silver as well. I flung the keys to Baudio. He said, ‘You must be mad.’

The Germans were waiting in the compound. I mounted, leading a packhorse on which I had stowed my gear. An armed Vandal ranged up silently to either side. At the gates a woman ran to me, one of the slaves. She gripped my knee and sobbed. I stared down frowning, unable to think what she could want. The party halted; then a trooper rode from the rear, seized her arm and flung her away. She fell into mud, lay moaning and clawing her hair. The hopeless sound of her wailing followed me down the road. It was my last, and fitting, memory of the place.

Stilicho recalled me to the present. ‘I hope you realise,’ he said, ‘that you’re a very lucky man. Had I not arrived when I did, that mob would certainly have hacked you to pieces without further questions. There’s nobody quite as merciless as a Roman citizen with a legal excuse for violence; it’s a trait of the civilised world I’ve never particularly admired.’

I found my voice finally. ‘What brought you to Massilia in the first place, sir?’ I asked him. ‘Had you business in the town?’

He glanced at me keenly. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘With you. I asked for you at the mines. They told me you’d been seen riding for Massilia like a man possessed, but nobody could tell me why. Bearing in mind your past record, my curiosity was roused; I decided to follow you.’

He took his time before continuing.

‘Three seasons ago,’ he said finally, ‘I happened to be in Mediolanum when an extraordinary despatch came through. As I knew the sender personally, I interested myself in the affair. It seemed a rising young Tribune--Duke Vidimer spoke highly if incoherently of you, and added an earnest though equally chaotic plea for clemency--had been unfortunate enough to kill a fellow officer in armed combat. The details were somewhat unclear; however, I was able to reconstruct the affair to my satisfaction by questioning the trooper who brought the report. As these things sometimes chance I found the victim of the brawl was also known to me, having served a short time on my staff.’ He smiled, without particular humour. ‘Under the circumstances I felt a certain kinship with the officer who had so abruptly terminated his career, and exercised a privilege peculiar to my position. The report, the only one made, was mislaid; as far as Mediolanum is concerned, the incident never took place. If and when you return to your Province you will undoubtedly have to face a civil charge, but that lies outside my jurisdiction or my interests.’

He stared at me with his disquieting eyes. ‘Understand me clearly,’ he said. ‘I neither condone your behaviour nor excuse it; under ordinary circumstances you would certainly have been flogged and beheaded. My views in this as in other matters are dictated by practical necessity. The State is no longer so rich in manpower that it can afford to squander lives. You are an efficient officer, with the further advantage of a sound education. In short, you are of more use to me alive than dead; do I make myself plain?’

I sat staring blankly. The shock of the reprieve, after the long nightmare of waiting, left me incapable of coherent thought. He saw my difficulty and didn’t leave me to struggle for long.

‘Obviously,’ he said, ‘your life is no longer safe here. Blood was spilled this morning; I judge that you acted in self-defence, but the town will hardly see it in that light. So as far as Massilia is concerned I’m taking you away to stand trial for previous crimes against the State. In fact I’m sending you out of Gaul on a personal embassy, for reasons I’ll presently explain. I’m giving you a small escort and the acting rank of Praefectus. But on my life, involve yourself in no more scrapes like the last; or I promise you, wherever I might be, I shan’t rest until I’ve seen your head.’ He gestured for the dishes to be cleared. ‘How much,’ he asked, ‘do you know about Britannia?’

I answered stammeringly that I had no first-hand knowledge of the island, never having visited it, but that it had been my mother’s homeland and that I had spent some time while in Burdigala studying its geography and history.

He nodded curdy. ‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘I heard something of the sort from Vidimer.’ He leaned back, eyeing me reflectively. ‘You’ll be leaving at first light,’ he said. ‘You’ll make your way to Gesoriacum, where you’ll find the headquarters of the British Fleet. I’ll authorise you to take passage on the first available ship. You’ll be carrying despatches which you’ll deliver personally to the Vicarius, the Duke of the Britannias and the Count of the Saxon Shore. You’ll place yourself at the disposal of these officers, taking what steps you can to secure the defences of the island. Your knowledge of the territory will be an asset; while never having visited it you’ve had no opportunity to form confusing loyalties.’

I stared at him again. As far as I was aware the defences of the Province were adequate. The old Twentieth had been cut apart at the Frigidus, but Britannia still disposed a considerable list of auxiliary regiments, both horse and foot, and there were holding garrisons formed from the Sixth and Second Legions both on the island and in Gaul. I said as much, and he nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m recalling them.’

The Syrian had finished her singing. She bowed quietly and slipped from the tent. A night-flying beetle boomed at the flame of a lamp and fell, kicking. In the silence, the little sound of its landing was clearly audible. I said, ‘Then you’re abandoning the Province.’

He had been watching the insect as it struggled to right itself. He said, ‘I abandon nothing.’

He leaned forward, poured wine for himself, drank, savoured the taste and set the goblet down. ‘Theodosius made me Regent,’ he said, ‘giving the whole Empire, both East and West, into my charge. Have you heard of Radagais?’