Videssos Cycle, Volume 2 (118 page)

Again it was Gaius Philippus who answered. “Only one. Since all the nomads, not only from this latest invasion but from years gone by, too, have come to Videssos without his leave, he bids you order them back to Yezd and keep them there from now on.”

Scaurus waited for Wulghash to explode again. Instead he threw back his head and laughed in the Romans’ faces. “Then he may as well bid me tie all the winds up in a sack and keep them in the sky. The nomads in Videssos are beyond my control, or that of any other man. They go as they will; I cannot
make
them do anything.”

As that was exactly what the tribune had thought when Thorisin gave him the instruction, he had no good answer ready. Wulghash went
on, “For that matter, I would not recall the nomads if I could. Though they are of my blood, I have no use for them, save sometimes in battle. You’ve seen who backs me—Makurani. Civilized men.

“The nomads spread strife wherever they go. They plunder, they kill, they ruin farms, wreck trade, empty cities, and drain my coffers. When some of the clan chiefs wanted to harry the Empire instead of Yezd, I helped them on their way and sent more after them. Good riddance, I say. Had they all gone, my rule would have been ten times easier.”

Marcus was suddenly reminded of the Romans after they had conquered Greece—captured by their captors in art, in literature, in luxury, in their entire way of life. Wulghash was much the same. His people had been barbarians, but he seized on the higher culture of Makuran with a convert’s zeal.

The khagan had another reason to resent the folk from whom he had sprung. His hands bunched into fists, and he glowered down at the sleeping-mats on the ground as he paced between them. He said, “And the Yezda chose Avshar over me, followed him, worshiped him.” That rankled yet, Scaurus thought. “It was not just his magic; he and they suited each other, with their taste for blood. So, since you serve Gavras, tell him he is welcome to the nomads he has. I do not want them back.”

After his outburst, there did not seem to be much room for discussion. “We’ll take your words back to the Emperor,” Marcus promised in a formal voice, “and tell him of your determination.”

“Can’t say I blame you, either, looking at things from your side,” Gaius Philippus added.

Wulghash softly pounded him on the shoulder in gratitude. “I said to Gavras’ face you were an honest man.”

“Won’t stop me from cutting you up a few days from now, if I have to,” the veteran answered stolidly. “Like your Makurani, I know which side I’m on.”

“Be it so, then,” the khagan said.

“He won’t commit himself to getting the nomads out, eh?” Thorisin asked.

“No,” Scaurus replied. “He disowns them. If anything, I think he
hates them worse than you do. And in justice,” he went on, and saw the Emperor roll his eyes at the phrase, “I don’t see what he could do. Yavlak and the other clan-chiefs are their own law. They wouldn’t heed his commands any more than yours, and he hasn’t the power to compel them.”

“I know that,” Gavras said placidly. If he was angry at Wulghash’s rejection of his demand, he hid it well. In fact, he looked pleased with himself, in a foxy way. “I wanted to hear them denied from his own lips.”

Marcus tugged at his ear, not following whatever the Emperor had in mind. Beside him, Gaius Philippus shrugged almost invisibly.

“Never mind,” Thorisin said. “Just make sure you see me tomorrow morning before you go off and haggle with him again. Now get out. I have more people to see than the two of you.” He did sound in good spirits, Marcus thought.

The Romans bowed and left. Scaurus heard Thorisin shouting for his steward: “Glykas! Come here, damn it, I need you. Fetch me Mourtzouphlos and Arigh the Arshaum.” A little pause. “No, you lazy lackwit, I don’t know where they are. Find them, or find another job.”

The Makuraner sentry spat at Marcus’ feet when he and Gaius Philippus came up to Wulghash’s encampment. The tribune thought he was about to be attacked in spite of the shield of truce he was carrying. He got ready to throw it away and go for his sword.

“Expected as much,” Gaius Philippus said. He had also shifted into a fighting stance. Scaurus nodded.

But having relieved his feelings, the sentry haughtily turned his back and led the Romans to the khagan’s tent. This time they went straight there. Wulghash’s troopers shook fists as they passed. Someone threw a lump of horsedung. It smacked against Gaius Philippus’ upraised truce shield, staining the smooth white paint.

Wulghash was outside the pavilion, talking with his bodyguards. One of them pointed to the Romans. The khagan rumbled something deep in his throat. He jerked his chin at Gaius Philippus’ shield. “A fitting symbol for a broken peace,” he growled.

“As far as Thorisin is concerned, the truce still holds,” Marcus answered. “Have you been assailed here?”

“Spare me the protests of innocence, at least,” Wulghash said. “I’d sooner believe in a virgin whore. You know as well as I what Gavras did in the dead of night—sent out his Videssians and those vicious savages from Shaumkhiil to harry my warriors in their scattered camps. Hundreds must have died.”

“I repeat: Were you and yours attacked here?”

Scaurus’ monotone made the khagan look up sharply. “No,” he said, his own voice suddenly wary.

“Then I submit to you that the peace between you and the Emperor has not been breached. You told us yesterday that you had no use for the Yezda, that you could not force them to obey you, and that you did not want them. In that case, Thorisin has every right to deal with them as he sees fit. Or do you only claim them as yours when you gain some advantage from it?”

Wulghash flushed all the way up to the balding crown of his head. “I was speaking,” he said tightly, “of the Yezda already in Videssos.”

“That doesn’t do it,” Gaius Philippus said. “You were the one complaining how the buggers with Avshar kissed his boot instead of yours. Now you want ’em back. All right. The way I see it, Gavras has the right to stop you if he can. They weren’t part of the deal. And as for this,” he glanced at the shield of truce, “your soldier flung the horseturd.”

Marcus put in, “Thorisin could have attacked you here instead of the Yezda, but he held off. He isn’t interested in destroying you—”

“Because it would cost him too dear.”

“As may be. It would cost you more; he is stronger than you now. And while he is stronger, he intends to see you gone from Videssos. I warn you, he is deadly serious over his ultimatum. If he sees no movement from you come day after tomorrow, he’ll move on you with everything he has. And there are fresh troops just in from Garsavra.”

The last was bluff, but Thorisin had set the groundwork for it by lighting several hundred extra campfires the night before. Wulghash bit his lip, examining Gaius Philippus closely. But the senior centurion revealed nothing, for the khagan had slightly misread his man. Gaius Philippus would always say what he thought, but a team of fifty horses could not have dragged a stratagem from him.

Recalling what Wulghash had told him when they were just out of
the tunnels below Mashiz, Marcus said, “I would also wish we were friends as well as what my people call guest-friends.” Wulghash took his meaning, and he went on, “As a friend, I would say your best course lies in retiring. You cannot succeed against Thorisin here and you need to reestablish yourself in Yezd.”

“I don’t think the two of us will ever be friends, whatever we might want,” the khagan answered steadily. “For now, worse luck, I fear you are right, but I am not done with Videssos yet. Defend it if you can, but it is old and worn. One good push—”

“I’ve heard Namdaleni talk the same way, but we survived them.” Scaurus thought back to Drax the opportunist, and hotheaded Soteric. Remembering her brother reminded him of Helvis and how she had scorned him for calling the Videssians
we
. He shrugged, which made Wulghash scratch his head. He was content with his choice.

The Yezda khagan was not one to leave a point quickly. “If not in my day, then in my son’s,” he said.

“How is Khobin?” Marcus asked, dredging the name up from Wulghash’s use of it in the palace banquet hall.

“Alive and well, last I heard,” Wulghash said gruffly. But his eyes narrowed, and his left eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch; the tribune knew he had gained a point. Wulghash’s chuckle had a grim edge to it. “The hired killers Avshar sent out botched their job. They weren’t his best; he must have thought Khobin not worth worrying about.”

“I’m glad, and glad he was wrong.”

“And I,” the khagan answered. “He’s a likely youngster.”

“That’s all very well, but it grows no barley,” Gaius Philippus said, dragging them back to the issue at hand. “What do you propose doing about pulling out?”

Wulghash grunted, but Gaius Philippus’ forthrightness had made him ask for the veteran. “If I had my choice, I would fight,” the khagan said. “But the choice is not mine—and Gavras, it seems,” he added wryly, “will not let me seize it. So … I will withdraw.” He spat that out as if it tasted bad.

Scaurus could not help letting out a slow, quiet breath of relief. “The Emperor pledges that you will not be harassed as long as you are retiring in peace.”

“Big of him,” Wulghash muttered. He seemed surprised and not very happy to see the Romans still in front of him; he must have looked on them as symbols of his failure to hold his ground. “You have what you want, don’t you? If you do, we’re finished. Go away.”

As they walked back to the imperial camp, Gaius Philippus said darkly, “I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and tired of everyone telling me, ‘Go.’ Next time someone tries it, he’ll know just where to go, I promise.”

“You’d never make an ambassador,” Marcus said.

“Good.”

That evening, though, having heard their report, Pikridios Goudeles disagreed with the tribune. “You should be proud of yourselves,” he told the Romans. “For amateurs, you did very well. Thorisin’s unhappy because he can’t slaughter Wulghash; Wulghash is disgusted because he has to go home. And after all, what is diplomacy,” he paused to hone his epigram, “but the art of leaving everyone dissatisfied?”

Sullenly, Wulghash withdrew toward the west. Gavras sent out a company of Videssian horsemen to make sure he really was retreating, much as Shenuta had kept a close eye on the Arshaum when they were passing through his territory.

A couple of days later, after it became clear the khagan was pulling back, Gaius Philippus startled Marcus by requesting leave for the first time since the tribune had known him. “It’s yours, of course,” Marcus said at once. “Do you mind my asking why?”

The veteran, usually so direct, looked uncomfortable. “Thought I’d borrow a horse from the Khatrishers, do a bit of riding out. Sight-seeing, you might say.”

“Sight-seeing?” Gaius Philippus made the most unlikely tourist Scaurus could imagine. “What on earth does this miserable plain have worth seeing?”

“Places we’ve been before,” the senior centurion said vaguely. He shifted from foot to foot like a small boy who needs to be excused. “I might get up to Aptos, for instance.”

“Why would anyone want to go to—” Marcus began, and then shut
up with a snap. If Gaius Philippus had finally worked up the nerve to court Nerse Phorkaina, that was his business. The tribune did say, “Take care of yourself. There probably are still Yezda prowling the road.”

“Stragglers I’m not afraid of, but Avshar’s army went through there. That does worry me.” The veteran rode out a couple of hours later, sitting his borrowed horse without grace but managing it with the same matter-of-fact competence he displayed in nearly everything he did.

“After his sweetling, is he?” Viridovix asked, watching the Roman trot past the burial parties busy at their noisome work.

“Yes, though I doubt he’d admit it on the rack.”

Instead of laughing at the centurion, Viridovix sighed heavily and said, “Och, I hope he finds her hale and all to bring back. E’en a great gowk like him deserves a touch o’ happiness, for all his face’d crack to show it.”

Gorgidas spoke in Greek. Marcus translated for Viridovix: “ ‘Count no man happy before his end,’ ” Solon’s famous warning to Croesus the Lydian king. The physician continued tartly, “The mere presence of the object of one’s infatuation does not guarantee delight, let me assure you.”

The tribune and the Gaul carefully looked elsewhere. Rakio had not returned to the legionary camp after the battle, save to get his gear. Having taken up with one of the Namdalener knights, he left Gorgidas without a good-bye or a backward glance.

“Don’t stand there mooning on my account,” the Greek snapped. “I knew he was fickle when we started; to give him his due, he never pretended otherwise. My pride isn’t badly stung, or my heart. It’s the better matches that leave the lasting sorrow.”

“Aye.” That was Scaurus and Viridovix together, softly. For a few seconds each of the three men was lost in his thoughts, Gorgidas remembering Quintus Glabrio; Viridovix, Seirem; and Marcus, Alypia and Helvis both.

Where nothing else would have, the thought that his second love might go as the first had almost kept him from pressing Thorisin on their bargain. His combat injuries were healing. But when he touched it unexpectedly, the wound Helvis had dealt pained him as much as it had when it was fresh. He flinched from opening himself to the risk of such hurt again.

Well, what are you going to do, then? he asked himself angrily—hide under a rock the rest of your life so the rain can’t find you?

The answer inside him was quiet, but very firm.

No.

The Emperor’s Haloga guardsmen were used to the tribune asking for an audience with their master. They saluted with clenched fists over their hearts; one ducked into the imperial tent to find out how long a wait Scaurus would have. “Yust a few minutes,” he promised as he reemerged.

Actually it was closer to half an hour. Marcus made small talk with the Halogai, swapping stories and comparing scabs. Apprehension tightened his belly like an ill-digested meal.

Glykas the steward stuck his head out and peered round, blinking in the bright sunshine, till he spied the Roman. “He’ll see you now,” he said. Scaurus walked forward on legs suddenly leaden.