Votan and Other Novels (FANTASY MASTERWORKS) (39 page)

Gwawl stepped forward and began to make his complaints again, and Cicva interrupted and offered to buy his horse-blanket – at least, she said that if he had five more like it she would give him a copper sestertius for the half-dozen, and in any case where was the rest of the money he must have got for that valuable and well-built boat, made to last a thousand storms on the Western Sea, or had he been cheated out of it?

Meanwhile, I walked over to the two senior officers, and I undid the bandage on the Garrison Commander’s wrist. When I felt that the bone was only pulled out and not broken, I tried to remember which way to jerk, and I said the charm I had so often said in the North long ago:

Nonsense, really, but it did the trick with those half-romanised German officers, looking so civilised, but savages at heart, and all the time worrying about whether their sons will pass for Romans born, or whether they’ll always show that touch of the
tow-brush. The charm did it, that and the smell of the pig fat that all good Germans remember from their mothers’ faces, and that they play too clean to bother with when they come within the Empire to make their fortunes. And the quick twist of my hand on the bone of the wrist, and Apollo helping me, whatever he did afterwards. It set the bone to rights, and both senior officers looked at me, and the Port Captain said:

‘What do you want of us, Allfather?’

‘Allfather? I know of no Allfather’ – for this was the name that the Germans gave me when I was in the North, and it had brought me enough trouble all along the Amber Road, I wanted no more of it. ‘I am only a simple traveller, and men within the Empire call me Photinus.’

After that, they treated me like someone important, even more important than a leading member of one of the richest trading families of the Empire, travelling incognito. I was someone they shared a secret with. The Port Captain pointed at Gwawl and asked:

‘What do you want us to do with him? Shall we charge him formally, or would you prefer us to kill him – privately, that is?’

‘No,’ I told them. ‘Why should I hurt a poor, helpless, demented fool? You see, he even believes his own lies.’

I ordered our clerk to give Gwawl a silver denarius, one of the new kind, one-horse and half copper, and that he had in turn to borrow from Cicva. It was one she had palmed from Gwawl’s purse before she had let the sailors have it in exchange for the boat: and he knew it by his own toothmarks, and it made him swear more. But plainly there was nothing more that he could do there, and so he went away. I thought, though, that we hadn’t seen the last of him, and no more we had.

Then I told the clerk we were more than ready to go and see the rooms he had for us in the inn, and if they weren’t the best in Rutupiae, he would be in trouble. The Garrison Commander, however, put in a word, rather diffidently:

‘Excuse me, All – that is, Simple Traveller – but there is no need for you to go to an inn. If you would be so gracious as to be our guest for the evening, in our mess – there are fifteen of us here tonight, all men of honour and breeding, and you shall have
good food, real German food that you’ll like, not that Mediterranean stuff, all soaked in oil.’

I accepted, graciously of course. I told the clerk to escort Cicva to an inn, and see that she had room fit for a princess, or there would be no knowing what would happen to him in the morning. I drew the girl aside and told her:

‘As far as I’m concerned, you’re free now, but you’ll have to stay with me for a few more days till we can find a magistrate and make it legal. So don’t get into any trouble tonight, because your legal position, and mine for that matter, might be a little ambiguous.’

Off they went in a rowing boat, and off I went with the two senior officers, but I called in at the Port Chancery before I reached the baths, and I borrowed the services of a couple of the official copyists. They would have to work all night to do what I wanted. It’s a wonderful thing to have influence – or credit; influence comes cheaper in the end.

I must say, that handful of officers lived well, even if there were only fifteen of them in a house built to hold thirty at least, and still staffed on that scale with cooks and waiters. The bath had all the normal amenities, and I went in to dinner with my body oiled and scented, and my hair and beard combed Greek fashion, but in a toga, as befitted a Citizen born.

All the officers were Germans, born outside the Empire, and with twenty or so years of service apiece. So we had a real German dinner, only we reclined in the comfortable Roman way. I hadn’t had a real German meal for years, nor did I again for years. We had hot and cold sausages of all kinds, and rye bread, and strong dark barley beer. Then, after we had sung all the traditional songs like ‘Cole, the Bastard King of Britain’, the guardship captain stood on the table and recited the latest border poem – ‘Pictish Nell’, it was called. Well, I mean, one party is just like another wherever it is.

But these were all elderly gentlemen, and so there were no games or fighting after the drinking. The place to see that is where there are old men and young men together, where the old men push the young men into it, to break their heads and spoil their clothes. Old men are too wise to try it, and the young men think of the expense, but can’t say no to their seniors. Instead,
here, the officers on early call went off to bed, and the duty officer went on his rounds, and only half a dozen of us were left to talk a lot and drink a little.

I said I was surprised to find so many men of their age and seniority living like this in a mess, not one of them married or even keeping women in the town – the law on marriage for the Army has got so complex in recent years that nobody is quite sure what is illegal any more. They all laughed.

‘We’re all married, more or less,’ one of them said. ‘We’ve all got families, legitimate or not, in Durovernum, and fine houses there too. We do five days here, and then three off there. It’s a nice town, is Durovernum.’

It must be, I thought. It’ll be worth spending a few days there before I move on if it’s full of neglected wives. Then I remembered Phryne – it was getting harder and harder to remember Phryne – and I reminded myself that I was going to behave properly in Britain, even without hyena’s hair. I asked what the Brits were like.

‘Not too bad,’ the Port Captain told me. ‘If you don’t mind the taste of butter and the smell of goose grease. The ones down here are not too bad, more like the Germans, but it’s west of Londinium you meet the real Brits. We never saw much of them, in the Army. They look after themselves, with their own local assemblies and senates, and as long as they pay the wheat tax and do everything according to Roman laws, we don’t interfere. The worst thing they can do is take their law suits to the Druids, like they used to before we came. That would really undermine our system, so the order is strict – kill a Druid at sight, we’re supposed to. There hasn’t been a Druid seen down in the South, not for twenty years.

‘But they’re not bad, the Brits, except the ginger ones. The red-haired men are killers, and as for the women – why, I wouldn’t touch a red-haired woman, not for all the Gold in Ireland.’

‘Much Gold in Ireland?’ I asked, all innocence.

‘Up among the Demetae you want to go for Gold. That’s where the mines are. But it’s no place to go if you want to keep alive. A lot of the Demetae still follow the old King, Pwyll, and we’ve never caught him. I did four months up at the mines
there – no, don’t laugh, it wasn’t what you think. I had a turn as Guard Commander, and I didn’t ask for another. Plenty of Gold up there, but what a place. I tell you, it rains four hundred days in the year. There’s only one future for that country. They want to catch all the rain in buckets – they’ve got plenty of buckets, they worship a bucket. Then they can build an aqueduct across the channel, and across Gaul, and down into Africa, and they can pour all their rain into it and sell it down in Africa. And I tell you, if they thought it would show a profit, I think the Brits would do it. So mean they are up there, a man will walk five miles to have a look in your mirror to save wearing out his own.’

‘But Ireland?’ I pressed.

‘Well, they talk about Irish Gold,’ said another officer. ‘But nobody’s ever seen any. There may be copper, I’ve seen that come in. When I was supporting the Second Legion up there at Isca—’

‘Supporting?’ someone interrupted. ‘Picking up, more likely!’ It was lucky there was nobody from the Second in the room or there would have been some horseplay after all.

‘When I was at Isca, I was telling you, we used to have Irish coming in in skin boats, selling dogs, mostly. I’ve never seen men as poor as the Irish.’

‘Poor?’ put in the unit accountant, who had been most helpful in getting the copyists to put everything aside to do my work. ‘There are some Brits who are so poor, they can’t afford charcoal or firewood to cook on. They burn the very stones out of the ground for fuel.’

‘No!’ I could believe a lot of things, I couldn’t believe that.

‘Yes, and the wheat won’t ripen, they have to dry it in kilns. They won’t eat wheat themselves, they only grow it to pay the taxes with. Themselves, they eat a kind of millet, oats they call it. But they make real beer, out of barley.’

‘They’re a cunning lot,’ said someone else. ‘Once when I was on outpost duty …’

And so they went on, telling tall stories of skirmishes on the hills north of the Wall, and weird tales of how other people, always other people, had been caught by magic. And so we talked our throats dry and our voices hoarse, and at last we all went to bed.

Next morning, I finished my business in the Imperial Chancery, and saw several packets off by the Imperial Mails, here and there. Then I had a boat take me across to the village and met Cicva and the clerk. The latter said that he had a boat ready to take us up river to Sturry, where we would be met by a litter, but Cicva said:

‘No, it’s a lovely day. I’d rather ride.’

‘Ride what?’ I asked her. ‘We haven’t got any horses.’

‘You haven’t,’ she told me. ‘I have. I’ve got four: and a groom, too.’

‘You hadn’t got them yesterday,’ I objected.

‘Well, there were some people last night in the tavern who thought they knew which cup the pea was under.’

I looked at the horses, which were fine beasts, and at the groom, who was healthy enough on the surface. But then I saw that there were six more horsemen, cavalry troopers, armed.

‘What about these?’ I asked as sternly as I could.

‘The port duty officer came into the inn on rounds last night. I remembered Gwawl, and I thought the most useful thing I could win from him was the use of half a dozen men for a day.’

The girl had some sense, I admitted that. But it was annoying. I had visions of every woman in the island able to handle the pea and the cups, and where would the men be then? I told her, with as much feeling as I could put into my voice:

‘Surely you know that this game is forbidden to women in the ordinary way? If it were not for my continuous intercession with the Gods Below, for all my fasting and prayer through the dark, you would have been struck dead in your sleep. Cicva, by the Gods Below and Above, I forbid you ever to play this game again.’

She glared at me. Then she laughed.

‘As you order. But I tell you, Photinus, for this prohibition, you shall play Find-the-Lady across all the Isle of Britain.’

I swallowed that. I might have brought a witch back to the island, but at least she hadn’t red hair. Two days later, after we had been to the magistrates, and Cicva had been properly freed and had a bundle of parchment to prove it, I helped her to sell three of the horses and the groom. She got up on the fourth to ride away, all alone, with her bundle of clothes strapped on the saddle in front of her. I asked her:

‘And where are you going now?’

‘Home.’

‘And where’s that?’

‘And would I be telling you? But I might, though, if it meant any good at all. You’re a hard man, and a clever one, Photinus, but I think that I could trust you if I had to.’

Well, well, I thought, as I watched her ride away toward Londinium. Trustworthy? I learn new things about myself every day.

Durovernum was indeed a pleasant town, with its large houses set apart in their big gardens. I would have been pleased to have spent a few weeks there, because with so many wives mourning their husbands detained at Rutupiae it offered opportunities to any young man with a love of pleasure and a strong constitution. Alas, I stayed too short a time.

Our agent in Londinium, Leo Rufus, had a house in Durovernum, as had several other well-to-do merchants from Londinium. It was the convention to pretend that there was a hot season in Britain, as in a civilised land, and to have a country house to spend it in, as an escape from the great city. It was a real Roman house that Leo had, with atrium, triclinium and all the other rooms you find in the textbooks on architecture. The feature that worked hardest was the impluvium.

Leo Rufus was just like his house. Even his name was a sham: I knew enough about the Brits’ language now to know that he had started life as Llew Gough. He was not, in fact, a Citizen of Rome, but it took some time before he let that slip, and then only because he wanted to know how much it cost to become one. But he talked as if he had spent most of his life in Rome (where he had never been), and he had nothing but contempt for the ‘natives’, as he called his own kinsmen. He spoke Latin to me all the time, so I saw no reason to let him suspect that I knew any Barbarian language.

The first evening he and I had a little quiet dinner by ourselves, reclining, of course. We ate roasted skylarks, which a true Brit would never do, and we drank real Falernian. Everything was like that, the real thing with no expense spared, but, of course, much more meat than any Roman would eat at one meal. Leo said he always entertained like this for the sake of the prestige of
the family, but I made a note that we would have to adjust the rate of commission we were paying him. Of course, every time he had a guest he would have a good meal like this himself, at the expense of the firm, and the privations of this existence were dreadful. But it was I, as one of the family, who was paying for all this, and so I made no bones about making myself at home. Not quite at home. We were alone in the house. Leo apologised for the fact that his wife had returned to Londinium the very morning I had left Rutupiae. Leo himself was left to do the best he could with a mere two dozen slaves.