[A Dream of Eagles 01] - The Skystone

by Jack Whyte (ebook by Undead)

  I had not finished bathing when I was interrupted by Luceiia's personal retainer, a Greek called Diomede, carrying fresh clothing for me. He welcomed me home and informed me that the Lady Luceiia was entertaining guests, and that dinner would be served in half an hour. In the meantime, would I please go, as soon as I was ready, to the anteroom, where the guests were having a cup of wine? I thanked him and, cutting short my wallowing in the pool, dressed quickly in what I saw to be some of the best of the fine clothes that Luceiia's tailors had been making for me over the past month. In a short time, scrubbed and cool and quite resplendent in my new and stylish clothes, I hurried through the colonnades from the bath house to the main building, curious about who these guests might be. There were three of them, all young, all handsome and all soldiers. They were dressed in what had become fashionable as "undress uniform," decorative tunics cunningly fashioned to resemble armour. I felt an irrational wave of jealous resentment that they should be here, with Luceiia, when I might be still away in the hills but for a bout of frustration. I swallowed the feeling, however, recognizing it as petty, and schooled my features into a smile as I went first to greet and kiss Luceiia, favouring them only with a pleasant, impersonal nod in passing.

  Luceiia was radiant in the light of what seemed to be a thousand of the household's finest beeswax tapers. I had never seen her so lovely, and I told her so, but her eyes were sparkling with a joy that I could see was not due solely to my presence. She squeezed my arm strongly with an inexplicable excitement as she introduced me to her guests, all of whom were from the garrison to the south at Portus Adurni, now called Portchester. I greeted each of them personally, welcoming them to the Villa

  Britannicus, and then accepted a cup of wine from Diomede before turning back to face them, Luceiia still close by my side.

  "So, gentlemen, your health! May I ask what brings you here?"

  "I do. Publius." The voice, from directly behind me, made me turn so quickly that I spilled my wine, and there was Caius Britannicus, arms spread wide to embrace me, striding in from the doorway, his face split into a giant grin. He threw his arms around me and lifted me completely off my feet, swinging me around in a complete circle before releasing me and stepping back to look at me.

  "By the gods, Varrus, you look good. And clean! No sign of Vulcan in this fellow! My sister tells me there has been no ousting you since you heard about our local skystones."

  Still speechless and floundering for words, I looked from him to Luceiia, whose grin was as great as her brother's. She stepped forward and took us both into her embrace.

  "Forgive me, my dear," she said through her smiles. "Caius arrived yesterday, escorted by these three officers. He wanted to ride in search of you and your valley as soon as he heard you were here, but I refused to allow him. I knew you would be home today or tomorrow, and I wanted to surprise you and to see the look on your face when you met. So I swore everyone to secrecy until I could bring you face to face. Was that cruel of me?"

  Finally I found my voice. "No, it was not cruel. But I suppose it was feminine, and therefore obscure. Anyway, it was successful. I am... surprised... astounded, in fact." I smiled at Caius. "Welcome home, Proconsul. How was Africa?"

  "Hot, smelly, fly-ridden and pestilential. Little changed since you and I last knew it. But I left the Proconsulship there in the hands of my successor. I am now plain Caius Britannicus, farmer and man of few pursuits."

  "Aye." I grinned. "And Proconsul of Numidia, Senator of Rome, General of the Legions and Magistrate. None of those titles can be relinquished."

  "No, my friend, but they are only titles, and I have had enough of them for one lifetime. Plain Caius Britannicus will do from now on." He put his arm around my shoulder and turned to the others. "Gentlemen, we will go in to dinner now, but first a toast. To Publius Varrus, my finest friend, to whom I owe my life several times over, and to the marriage that is soon to be celebrated between him and my beloved sister."

  Luceiia took my hand as the others drank to our future, and when they had done, Diomede stepped forward to usher everyone into the triclinium. Caius, however, held us both back, a hand on each of our arms, until the others had passed into the dining room. Then he swung me around gently and spoke in a soft voice, looking me straight in the eye.

  "Luceiia tells me you doubt my approval of this marriage?" He sighed and shook his head in mock-regret. "Publius Varrus, you amaze me, but I wish there were more like you. Once and for all, hear me on this. I could think of no better match for either of you. You are both of pure Roman blood and you are my two favourite people in the whole world. I love both of you equally. Together, as a pair, you will be formidable and provide me with a tribe of remarkable nieces and nephews whom it will be my duty and pleasure to spoil outrageously. You have my full and unqualified blessing and I give it gladly, knowing that this will make us brothers in fact as well as in spirit."

  My throat choked up completely and I embraced him in silence, as a brother, for the first time.

  As we approached the dining table, I noticed, that there were seven places set for only six diners. I made no comment, but Caius noticed it, too.

  "Where is Picus?" he asked, just as a tall, handsome boy of about sixteen walked into the room. "Ah, there you are. You're late."

  The boy nodded, coming forward. "I know. Forgive me, Father, Aunt Luceiia, gentlemen." His eyes met mine and held them as he came straight towards me and bowed.

  "Publius," his father said, "this is my son Picus. Picus, my friend Publius Varrus. You have heard me talking about him for years, and finally it's time to meet him. He is soon to be your uncle."

  "I know." The lad's smile was open and confident with a quiet, pleasing self-assurance. I offered him my arm as an equal and as he gripped it he asked, "May I call you Uncle Varrus?"

  "Uncle Varrus." I nodded, keeping my eyes on his. "It sounds well. So be it."

  Dinner was a celebration of many things; the conversation was prolific and frequently hilarious. I noticed, however, that Caius refused to talk about his time in Africa. He spoke freely of his visits to Rome and to the Imperial Court in Constantinople, and his caustic wit had us all laughing many times. But not a word of his residence in Numidia.

  The meal passed quickly, and in the course of it I learned that the three young officers were to return to their garrison immediately; they would be leaving at first light. Picus would be travelling with them as far as they were going, and from there he would journey on to Londinium, where he was to begin his military service, as his father had and I had, in the ranks. Starting as a common soldier, he would be expected to win the rank of centurion on his own merits. After that, he would begin officer's training.

  As soon as I heard this, I excused myself from the table and sent Diomede to my rooms to fetch a package. He brought it to me casually, as I had instructed him to, and I left it lying by my feet until the correct moment.

  When that moment came, I cleared my throat, wanting to say what I had to say simply and exactly, the way my friend Alaric would have said it.

  "Picus," I began, "I have some words for you, as my newest nephew." That drew a general laugh and relieved me of the little embarrassment I felt. Picus was looking at me expectantly from across the table. "You join the legions soon. Tomorrow, in fact, if leaving home for the purpose qualifies as entry. I have a gift for you, and you will honour me if you accept it."

  The boy's eyes widened as he wondered what could be coming. I reached beneath the table and produced the package Diomede had brought me, unwrapping it as I continued speaking.

  "Before your father left for Africa, he asked me to make this sword for him. It wasn't ready by the time he left, for I had no idea that he was going until it was too late. And now he swears he will soldier no more. Anyway, I made this for General Britannicus, and it is a fine weapon, I think. The hilt is made in one piece, by a new technique I've been experimenting with. Now that the General has no further need of a sword, I can think of no mor
e appropriate place for it than hanging by the side of his son." I drew it from its bronze-covered sheath. "The designs on the scabbard and hilt are Celtic — the art of the people of Britain — as appropriate to a Britannicus as his name. The iron of the blade was mined, smelted and wrought here in Britain. Believe me, Picus, you may wear it and use it with confidence. It will serve you equally well in battle and in dress uniform." I sheathed the weapon and handed it to him.

  None of us spoke as he took the sword from my hands and gazed at it with reverence, his eyes tracing the whorls and scrollwork of the Celtic designs that covered it. The scabbard was of sheepskin, lined by the natural wool of the animal; I had scraped and shaved it to a point approaching baldness to protect the blade against rusting and to polish the iron each time it was sheathed or drawn. The outer surface was covered by a skin of bronze, thin as the finest parchment, beaten and decorated by my own hand. I had had no wish to do less than the best I was capable of for my friend in the making of it.

  Picus drew the blade from its sheath respectfully, testing its weight in his hand and cutting tentatively at the air.

  "Uncle Varrus," he said, "I have never owned, or held, or even seen anything as beautiful as this. I thank you for the honour you did my father by crafting this for him, and for the honour you do me by considering me worthy of receiving it." He turned to his father. "Father. I swear to you that I will try to hear this sword with all of the honour you would have bestowed upon it."

  A pretty speech indeed for a mere lad. I could see that Britannicus was moved. He stood and approached his son and embraced him without speaking. I felt Luceiia's eyes on me, and when I looked, they were awash with tears. Britannicus turned again to me and I saw approval in his eyes. He cleared his throat, and I wondered what he was going to say.

  "Another cup of wine, Publius, my friend, to wet the head of the Empire's newest recruit."

  While Picus reverently showed his prize to the three officers, we toasted him, and we toasted the old Twentieth Legion, and then we toasted Varrus the sword-maker. When we had emptied our cups, Britannicus looked at his son again, his eyebrow high and imperious.

  "Now, young man, you may retire. You are still a civilian and not yet of a legal age to bear arms. We bid you good night."

  When the boy had gone we sat down again.

  "He's a fine-looking young man, Caius," I said. "Looks like a Greek god."

  "Looks like a damned Hun, is what he looks like! His mother's family all look like that. They maintain they're of pure Roman stock, but one of their ancestral grandmothers became overfond of a northern slave, if you ask me."

  Picus's departure seemed to be the unspoken signal for the break-up of the dinner party. Shortly after he had gone, the three young officers also excused themselves. They had to be astir before dawn and had a long journey ahead of them. Luceiia left Caius alone for a short while and went to confer with Diomede and the kitchen staff about arrangements for an early breakfast and rations for the travellers, and when she came back she bade us both good night and warned us not to stay up too long talking.

  Caius picked up the wine jug, which still held a good amount, and the two of us went into his cubiculum, where one of Diomede's people had a roaring brazier prepared for our comfort.

  We sat together in companionable silence for a while, each of us busy with his own thoughts. Caius broke it by thanking me again for the gesture of the sword, and I shrugged it off, saying I could think of no better purpose for the weapon.

  "Nevertheless," he insisted, "it was a gesture worthy of a noble friend."

  "Good," I said with a small smile. "I was a little worried — not much, but a little — that you might object to my giving it without consulting you. I did it on impulse, but the sword was made for you in the first place."

  He shook his head. "No, Varrus. How could I possibly have any objections? It is a magnificent sword and one which I would have been proud to carry. But I no longer need a sword, and Picus will love it. There will be no other like it in his legion. And, by the way, I know I've asked you something like this before, but how did you get the iron of the blade so light in colour? Is it skystone metal?"

  I grinned, shaking my head. "No, no skystones, no magic — merely one of my grandfather's tricks, Commander. We mix charcoal into the iron during smelting and tempering. It toughens and hardens the blade and somehow enables it to hold a much harder, finer edge. As a side effect, it seems to lighten the colour, too."

  "Ah, yes, your melting and smelting. You started to tell me about that once before, last time we met. Tomorrow I want to talk to you about it at more length. And what about the Celtic scrollwork on the sheath? It's the same as the work on the one your grandfather made, isn't it? The one Theodosius has now."

  "Yes, more or less. It was your friend Bishop Alaric who got me interested in that... among other things."

  He smiled. "Alaric is a catalyst. No one who meets him is ever unchanged. But Luceiia tells me you are a wealthy man now — a legacy from your grandfather, I understand? It sounds like a fascinating tale. I'd like to hear it, if you have the time."

  "There's not much to tell, Commander." I sat silent for a few minutes, gathering my thoughts. Then, in as few words as possible, I told him the story of finding the golden hoard in grandfather's pikes.

  He listened carefully, as always, and then began asking questions that led from the gold all the way to everything else I had been doing over the past five years. I answered them all briefly, hoping to get them out of the way and then get him talking about his adventures, but try as I would, there was no way I could sidestep his questions and work in some of my own.

  I ended up by telling him the whole story of my run-in with Seneca, my flight from Colchester, and my troubles on the road to Aquae Sulis.

  "So," he said, finally, "it is to the Senecas that we owe the pleasure of your company. You have been here how long, now? A month? Two? And your initial encounter with the Seneca brat was a month before that, more or less?"

  '"Less." I said. "About two weeks, perhaps three."

  "Does Quinctilius Nesca know you by sight?"

  "No. Not at all. None of them really knows who I am. The scum I met on the road were looking only for a grey-haired man with a bad limp. That's all they have to go on. They'll never find me here."

  "Hmmm... unless Primus Seneca remembers that I had a friend with grey hair and a bad limp when he last saw me. which is not too unlikely! Never underestimate these Seneca creatures, Publius. They are not like other men. They have a capacity for evil that is almost supernatural."

  "In that case, Commander," I said, troubled by the ominous tone of his voice and his immediate identification of a point that had occurred to me months before. "I had better move on. I see no point in attracting trouble here to your home."

  "Don't be naive. Publius, that will solve nothing. If they come here, they come: your absence will not deter them. You and I should get some sleep. It is late, and we have to be astir early tomorrow. We will talk more about this in daylight. But there's no need to worry, my friend. I have resources of my own. The first thing we shall do is check on the status of their spleen — ask a few questions and find out how active the hunt is today. It is more than possible that Primus never made the connection between you and me, with only a sparse description to go on. I have been away for a long time, out of sight and, we can hope, out of mind. Either way. we will know within fifteen days. Now we had better get to bed."

  "Commander." I struggled with my thoughts. "Before we do, Commander, I have a question."

  His chin sank onto his chest, and I had the distinct impression that he was not listening to me.

  "Commander?"

  "Commander! That's three damned Commanders in one breath!"

  I blinked at this unexpected explosion, and he sighed in exasperation before turning to face me and continuing.

  "Varrus, you and I have known each other, as men and as comrades, for over eleven years. I cannot think of
one other man I admire more or esteem more highly. I am privileged, I believe, to call you friend. I know there is a part of you that has never stopped thinking of yourself as a centurion and of me as a senior officer, but I made you my primus pilus, Varrus, and I have never regretted it for a moment. I didn't do it out of friendship, either. You earned that promotion. Your talents and your natural abilities demanded that you achieve that rank. In many ways, you, my friend, are the embodiment of all that I hold worthy of honour in the term 'Roman. ' I know career officers by the hundred, and politicians, senators and emperors who cannot begin to be worthy of comparison with you. Don't look like that! I know you find it embarrassing to hear such things, but hear me, and heed me. My name is Britannicus to all of my colleagues and associates. My friends call me Caius. Nobody calls me Commander any longer, except you. My name is Caius. Now let me hear you say it."

  "Caius."

  "That's right. And I shall call you Publius. Except when we both forget in the heat of the moment, we shall address each other as friends and brothers. Agreed?"

  I nodded. "Agreed."

  "Good man! And I know you'll look after ray sister. She's a fine girl, Publius. Make you a grand wife and fill this house up with babies. Sons, Publius, sons! that's what a man needs. You can't have too many children. Look at what happened to me. I lost three of them in a month, and now my oldest is going into the army. If he gets himself killed, my name will die with me."

  He lapsed into silence, and I covered the pause by pouring more wine, after which we sat quietly for a few minutes before he spoke again.

  "Well? What was your question?"

  "It was about your family." I hesitated and then plunged on. "I have not expressed my regrets since you came home, and you have made no mention of what happened. What did happen in Africa, Caius?"

  His hand shook as he stared into the bottom of his cup, leaving my question unanswered for so long that I started to excuse myself for asking, but he waved me to silence.