“Come and enjoy the music, Turlo,” I said. “And have some wine. The quality has improved, now Sergius has been reminded of Cillian's rank.”
Turlo's eyes narrowed. He poured wine, and sat on the bench closest to us.
“I have a small update for you,” Cillian said softly. “But it must not be made public, at all. There will be a betrothal announced, at a later date, between a certain high lady of our acquaintance, and the heir to the lands to the north.”
Cillian, I thought, you are incorrigible. He had crafted what he had said to keep Turlo in suspense until the last word. Turlo's face went from a frown to a broad grin. He gave a bark of laughter. “Excellent news!” he said. He schooled his face into sternness. “I will have words for you, Adjutant, when we are alone.”
“Don't bother,” I said. “He's been scolded enough. Let's just celebrate, Turlo.”
We requested an early meal, something light, and the sky was not yet dark when we went to bed. Neither of us had slept more than a few hours in days, even including Cillian's drugged sleep last night, and when I had stood up after eating, I had swayed with fatigue.
I slipped under the coverlet, fighting to keep my eyes open. Cillian lay down beside me. I turned to him. He touched my face. “I would very much like to make love,” he murmured, “but I just can't.”
“Good,” I said, “because neither can I. Sleep well, and long, my love. I'll be here in the morning.”
Of all the nights for me to dream of violence, this was not one when I would have expected it. But perhaps, I thought later, I knew we were going home now, that the war could no longer be ignored. The images were all from Tirvan, of blood and death on both sides, and on my hands. I woke trembling. Cillian's arm lay over me, for his reassurance as much as mine, I understood now. I lay still, thinking with the clarity that sometimes comes in the darkest hours of the night.
I might never be free of this, I thought, not truly. Violence done, by me and to me, has left its scars. There may always be fear, and revulsion, and more savagery lies ahead. But with him, I am sheltered, and safe, and I can cope.
But I sheltered him, too, I knew. I had touched on the truth, that first night at the lake: the darkness within us both was more than one night, or many, would assuage. I could only guess at what he must have felt, at seven: terrified, but also culpable. He had built his defenses against loss, constructing a demanding code of behaviour distancing himself from connection and love. How old had he been, when he first heard the hero's legend?
In each other we had found healing, but neither of us were whole. If time, and the gods I did not believe in allowed, perhaps, but that grace was unlikely to be given in a time of war. I did not know where need ended and love began, for either of us, and I did not think it mattered.
I turned towards him. The moon was well past full, but the night was clear. Enough light shone through the shutters that I could just see his face, untroubled now in sleep. I touched his cheek with one fingertip. “Käresta,” he murmured, not waking, and reached out, pulling me closer. I settled against his chest, and closed my eyes.
We woke late, and it was even later before we left our room. Prisca was bringing the mid-day meal. Sorley grinned at us. He looked relaxed, and refreshed, and I suspected part of his morning had been spent much as ours had been.
“Turlo has gone to begin calculating supplies needed, or some such,” he told us. “I was to tell you that he expects nothing from either of you, today. Or me, for some reason.”
“Very good,” Cillian said. “There are some things I would like to do today. A question for you first, mo bhráithar. Would having Druisius accompany us home please you?”
Sorley's eyes widened. He flushed. “But, how could he?”
“There is a line in the treaty that allows us to hand-pick a few of the men—or women—to join us. It was meant to ensure we had the best commanders, up to a certain rank. For example, I could request Junia, so that she can train mounted archers, in the Empire. I cannot request Quintus, even if I wanted him.”
“Druisius is bored as a palace guard,” Sorley said. “I will have to ask him. To answer your question, yes, it would please me. But only if he wants it too, and only after I ensure he truly understands where my greatest loyalties lie.”
“Let me know.” He turned to me. “Shall I request Junia?”
He has grown used to authority, I thought. Turlo might have something to say about who should come. “I don't know,” I temporised. “Turlo asked me to take on that role, once we are home.” I tried to think clearly. “She would have to accept being second to me. But her knowledge would be invaluable.” Did I really want here there?
Sorley's foot touched mine, under the table. I glanced at him. He gave me a questioning look. “What is it?” Cillian asked.
“Junia made her interest in me known,” I said. “I made it very clear I did not return that interest. It does not seem to have worried her. If Turlo agrees, I think we should request her to come.” She would be valuable. The needs of our army must take precedence over any private concern I had, in this.
Cillian smiled. “So we have all caught someone's attention here in Casil, have we?” he said. “I wonder if Turlo has?” he mused. “There is attraction in the new, it is said.”
“Cillian,” I said, “speculating on your superior officer's private life is not done. Stop it, now.”
He laughed. “Shall we go to the market after we eat? There is something I want to buy.”
“And I,” I said. I had thought of it, waiting at the palace.
Heat bounced off the pavement and the buildings. Not long after mid-day, there was little shade to be had. I glanced up at the Giant of the Sun as we passed: I, at least, had not yet grown used to it. Only servants and soldiers were out: the more leisured classes would be resting, or sitting in treed courtyards, out of the sun.
At the market, the vendors sat under woven canopies, some fanning themselves. “Now,” Cillian said, “I need Druisius's help with my purchase. Lena, can Sorley help with yours? We can meet at the taberna afterwards.”
“Well,” Sorley said, after Cillian had clapped Druisius on the back and strode off with him, “that was—directive.”
“Mmm,” I agreed. “It may be a good thing he will be reporting directly to Callan, once we are home.”
“What is it you want to buy?”
“A xache set, so we have one for the ship. We still have your kidskin to use as a board, don't we?”
“Yes. What a good idea. I hadn't thought about not having Irmgard's to use.”
We found the xache pieces, carved from wood, in one of the small permanent shops. The pieces lacked detail, but they had a simple beauty, and would serve. Sorley bargained with some skill, and my purse lacked only half its coins when he was done.
The taberna was busy, as usual, but the serving girl, recognizing us, found us a table. She brought wine, and water, and a dish of roasted beans, and two more glasses when Sorley asked. I poured water only; I was thirsty. The trees shaded us, just a little.
I saw Cillian come in, alone. He crossed the courtyard towards us. “Druisius is just finishing up the bargaining,” he told us. “He'll be here shortly.”
“What did you buy?” I asked.
“Be patient,” he said. “You will see. Did you get what you wanted?”
I showed him. “For the ship.”
“A good thought. We will all appreciate it. Meas, Lena.” He poured wine, holding up the flask. “There is a toast I would like to make. Will you join me?” I added water to mine. He raised his glass. “To you, käresta, and you, Sorley, mo charaidh gràhadh,” he said. “I am blessed beyond understanding in the two of you. Thank you for what you did.” He hesitated. “Catilius wrote, Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love whom fate brings to you, but do so with all your heart. Fate brought you both to me, and I love you both, with all my heart.”
Sorley blinked. “You will make me cry,” he murmured. And m
e, I thought.
“Not my intent,” Cillian said. “But I will help you make music.” Druisius came towards us, a cithar in his hand. “This is for you.”
Sorley turned. Druisius handed him the cithar, grinning broadly. “Sede[21],” Cillian said to Druisius, pouring him wine. Druisius sat, his eyes on Sorley, gauging his reaction. Sorley drew his fingers across the strings, listening to the resonance.
“It's lovely,” he said. “But Cillian, you can't give me this.”
“I can and I have,” Cillian replied. “I trust Druisius has chosen well? If you like, you can think of it as a present for us all, so that we will have music on the long journey home. But as you are the only one who can play it, I am giving it to you.”
“Now I will cry,” Sorley said, but he was grinning. “Bêne, amané[22],” he said quietly to Druisius, before turning again to us. “I wish there was something I could give you in return.”
“Maybe there is,” I said on impulse. “Not exactly for us, though. Don't you think there should be a danta about Irmgard, and you and Turlo, and I suppose Cillian and me, and what we have done? And who better to write it than you?”
Part IV
How can man die better than facing fearful odds for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods? Macauley
Chapter Nineteen
We sailed out of Casil on a morning tide, the four of us—five, now—together on the first ship, Rufin in command. He had asked to come, we had learned. On the mast, under the eagle of the Eastern Empire, golden on its red field, flew the standard of my Empire, the White Horse and the Wall on a green background. It had been made in Casil, after the agreement had been signed.
I suppose we should have been looking forward, but we all watched Casil recede, the white buildings shining in the morning sun. Our last days had been crammed full of tasks, Turlo and Sorley in long consultations with commanders and quartermasters, determining men, equipment, and supplies. I had done whatever they asked, which mostly had been a combination of being a messenger and checking manifests, work both boring and precise. I had taken special care with the two dozen bows of wood and horn we had been given. Junia would travel on the same ship that carried them, to ensure their safety.
Turlo had argued with Cillian about Druisius, but not about Junia. “I would have asked for her, too,” he said. “But Druisius is only another soldier.”
“He is not,” Cillian had said firmly. “He matters to Sorley, and that should matter to you, Turlo. And,” he pointed out, “it relieves a certain tension among us. I will leave all the other appointments to you, General, but I ask your indulgence in inviting Druisius to join us.”
“Aye,” Turlo had said reluctantly. “I see your point. Druisius may come, if he wants. Now, Adjutant, you are excused duty until I tell you. I cannot spare the cohort-leader, but you need some rest and relaxation.”
“I can rest on the ship,” Cillian argued.
“That was an order, Adjutant. Lassie, talk some sense into him,” he growled, and left us alone.
We regarded each other over the rooftop table. Cillian still looked tired, the faintest hint of purple under his eyes. He was quieter, too, with a contemplative stillness that was new.
“Do as Turlo has told you,” I said. “You need to rest.”
“I am weary,” he admitted. “These have been difficult weeks.”
“There have been so many demands on you. Translator, scholar, negotiator.”
“Yes.”
“Adjutant, friend, lover.”
He smiled. “The last is not a demand.”
“Perhaps not,” I said. “But, Cillian, when was the last time you did not have to consider anyone but yourself? When was the last time you were alone?”
“For more than a few minutes? Somewhere on the river.”
“For a few days, do what you want. Turlo and Sorley and I can oversee the preparations to leave. Borrow a horse and ride out of the city. Ask for access to the library; you know you want to see it. You have earned time to yourself.”
“I would prefer to spend time with you, käresta.”
“I have work to do. Kärestan, we have scarcely been apart for over a year, excepting this last couple of weeks. Do you realize that? I remember you telling me you love solitude, time just to be quiet, to think, and you have had next to none. There is a long voyage on a crowded ship ahead of us, so take what you need, and what you deserve, while you can.” I smiled. “You would regret not spending time in the library, you know.”
He reached to entangle his long fingers in mine. “You are right,” he agreed. “To have been in Casil, and not at least seen the library properly—I would lament it, later.”
“Just don't get so engrossed you forget to come home,” I said. “Your days are your own, but I lay claim to your evenings.”
He had done as Turlo had ordered, coming home to tell us of the marvels of the library, and the conversations he had with men he met there. That the writings of Casil and Heræcria were known in the forgotten West amazed them, and he had been offered copies of some books unknown to him, to take back. In exchange, he had offered to translate a history of Linrathe, and Colm's history of the Empire, and send them back to Casil. “A task for the ship,” he had explained. The fatigue faded from his face, and the tension from his body, over those few days.
I was still unaccountably tired: not exhausted, but lethargic, and the fear and stress of the last weeks had made my stomach sour. Prisca, after consultation, made me teas with mint and ginger, which helped, and I ate fewer of the acidic black fruits. I had developed something close to an aversion to the anash, but I could not stop drinking it until we sailed. I might feel sluggish over my work, but in the privacy of our room, lassitude disappeared. We had come too close to losing each other, and while we did not speak of why, the need to affirm our love ran high in us both.
And then we had said our farewells and boarded the ship. The voyage, we had been told, would take about a month. The first few days we did very little: Turlo looked green, and while Cillian and Sorley did better than on the Marai ship, they were careful with food and drink, as was I. Druisius, completely unaffected, laughed at us, but gently, and kept an eye on Sorley.
Druisius had become part of our lives easily. Always good-tempered, he and Sorley played for us almost every evening, and he accepted any task he was given. He began to learn our common tongue, and with Cillian's grinning encouragement called Sorley 'my lord' much of the time. Sorley took his revenge by referring to Cillian as 'filus Imperium'. It was all gentle fun, and even Turlo just shook his head and let the men tease each other.
The lessons in swordplay began again once we were all accustomed to the movement of the ship. Casil's soldiers used a shorter sword, and Druisius proved adept at both using and teaching it, in conjunction with their large shield. Most mornings, we practiced on a cleared space at the stern of the ship, behind the rowers. Rufin, the captain, came to watch occasionally, and once offered to spar with Druisius, to the delight of his off-duty men.
I wondered what the villages we passed thought, seeing the ten ships and the handful of supply boats moving steadily west. Larger and with a deeper draught than the Marai ship, the Casilani ships dropped their sea-anchors and sent smaller boats for water, when necessary, and Rufin told us the men had strict orders not to disclose the purpose of the voyage. But the headman of Sylana knew, of course, and as we approached the town, I wondered what might be said of our purported trade agreement with them.
As we drew closer to the settlement, and the marshes beyond, I thought again of the three Marai men who had fallen ill. The Empress had sent a physician to serve her troops; he was on board a different ship, but I assumed we might stop longer at Sylana. Through Cillian, I asked Rufin if it was possible to speak with him. He agreed to arrange it.
Sorley offered to interpret, while Cillian went with Rufin and Turlo to meet Mihae. I had no desire to return to the town at all, preferring to stay on board, comfor
table in my tunic and leggings. A small boat ferried the physician to our ship and he climbed nimbly up on board.
Gnaius, short and compact, with a trace of grey in his hair and neat beard, settled on the deck across from me. Through Sorley, he asked how he could be of help.
“Ask him what he knows about the Eastern Fever, what the symptoms are. Is there always a rash? You saw what happened with the Marai who fell ill. I'd like to know if it might have been the fever.”
They spoke at length. Sorley turned to me at one point. “He'd like to see the drug you gave them.” I found my pack in our sleeping area on the deck and pulled out the small package of anash. I handed it to Gnaius. He rubbed a pinch between his fingers, smelled it, and finally tasted a tiny amount. He nodded, and spoke to Sorley again.
“He says no, it was almost certainly not the fever, but this was still the right thing to give them. How did you calculate the dose?”
“I guessed,” I said bluntly. “Tell him a handful in this much water for the tea,” I estimated with my hands, “and then a small cup, four times a day.”
Gnaius smiled. “You guessed well,” Sorley told me. “He would have made it weaker and more frequent, to reduce the chance of them vomiting it back up, but as they lived, you did no harm.”
Two of them had lived, at least. Could I have saved Detlef? I would never know. “What was it?” I asked.
“A disease of the marshes, he says. It has killed many people, in the past. So the marshes were drained, near Casil, and other places, and the illness stays away, mostly.”
“Gratiás, Gnaius,” I said. We had passed through marshes, on the river above Sylana. It had been hot, and the air close. Why had some men fallen ill, and not others? “And the Eastern Fever?”
“Arises every few years, but not as badly as the writings say it once was. Only children die now, and only some: most who have it survive. But many generations back, it killed many, many people.” Gnaius indicated the anash. “He says that is the right treatment for it, too.”
Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy Page 97
