Tor some time, now, I’ve caught the smell of war on the wind, stronger and stronger. Civil war. Maximus will get the Britannic legions to hail him Augustus. The Sixth may be doing it in Eboracum at this very hour. He’ll cross to Gallia and try for the throne.’
‘Wait, wait! He didn’t say that to me. He said only that affairs of state are approaching a crisis and Rome will need a loyal man in Armorica.’
‘Loyal to him. You’re not stupid. You know what he meant.’
‘He is … a valiant leader, father. And intelligent and just. Rome perishes for want of right governance.’
‘Those sound like words you got from him,’ Marcus said, low in his throat. ‘Oh, we could do worse. Provided the struggle doesn’t wreak the kind of harm the last such did, or give the Northfolk their chance to invade.’
Gaius recalled Parnesius. ‘The Wall will abide, I swear.’
‘Scoti sail past it. Saxon galleys sweep in from the eastern sea.’
‘Against them – Rome will have new help.’
Once more they halted. Marcus’s gaze probed like a sapper’s spade. ‘That’s your task,’ he said finally.
Gaius swallowed hard and nodded.
‘I believe I know where. I’d liefest hear it from yourlips, son. Mithras be witness that I’ll keep the secret.’
Gaius thrust the name forth. ‘Ys.’
Marcus drew a sign before him, the Cross of Light that marked the shield of his warrior God. That’s an uncanny place,’ he said.
Gaius mustered courage. ‘It’s been left alone so long that all sorts of wild stories about it have sprung up. What do we know for certain? What do
you
know, father?’
Wind roared and whistled. Clouds were appearing over the horizon. Their shadows raced across winter-grey hills and the few springtime-wet croplands. A solitary willow nearby lashed its withes around. At their removes, the manor house and the soldiers’ camp looked very small. The hawk wheeled scornful overhead.
Lines deepened in Marcus’s brow and beside his mouth. ‘I was never there myself,’ he said. ‘I did speak with Britannic and Gallic captains who’d called. But they were just three or four, and none had done it more than once. The Ysans don’t seem to want any trade with the outside that they don’t carry on for themselves. No more involvement of any kind with Rome that they can avoid. Not that they act hostile. My talkmates said the city is still more wonderful than they’d heard, Ys of the hundred towers. But even in the joyhouses there was always … an otherness.’
‘It’s a foederate of ours,’ Gaius reminded.
‘After a fashion. And only in name for – what? These past two hundred years? When did the last Roman prefect leave?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Gratillonius straightened. ‘But I will be the next.’
‘Keeping Ys neutral, at least, and a counterweight to people elsewhere in Armorica who might otherwise side with Gratianus and Valentinianus against Maximus.’
Gaius responded louder:
‘And, I hope, taking a more active part than hitherto in measures against pirates. Ysan commerce has shrunk with Rome’s. From what little I recall or could find out these past months, Ys trades mainly with its Osismiic neighbours, overland; but once it was the queen of the Northern seas. I should think it’d welcome guidance in rebuilding security and commerce. Father, I don’t see how any living city can be the kind of witch-nest those rumours tell of. Give me a few years, and I’ll prove as much to the world.’
Marcus Valerius Gratillonius smiled, more in pride than in pleasure. ‘Good for you, son. Sink or sail, you’re a Roman!’
And how many such are left? he did not ask. Men who have hardly a drop of blood in them from Mother Rome, and who will never see her whom they serve. Can she hold their faith, today when new Gods beckon?
IV
1
It was good to be on salt water again Gratillonius braced himself at the taffrail of the transport, near a swan’s-head figure that decorated the after
‘Wait, wait! He didn’t say that to me. He said only that affairs of state are approaching a crisis and Rome will need a loyal man in Armorica.’
‘Loyal to him. You’re not stupid. You know what he meant.’
‘He is … a valiant leader, father. And intelligent and just. Rome perishes for want of right governance.’
‘Those sound like words you got from him,’ Marcus said, low in his throat. ‘Oh, we could do worse. Provided the struggle doesn’t wreak the kind of harm the last such did, or give the Northfolk their chance to invade.’
Gaius recalled Parnesius. ‘The Wall will abide, I swear.’
‘Scoti sail past it. Saxon galleys sweep in from the eastern sea.’
‘Against them – Rome will have new help.’
Once more they halted. Marcus’s gaze probed like a sapper’s spade. ‘That’s your task,’ he said finally.
Gaius swallowed hard and nodded.
‘I believe I know where. I’d liefest hear it from yourlips, son. Mithras be witness that I’ll keep the secret.’
Gaius thrust the name forth. ‘Ys.’
Marcus drew a sign before him, the Cross of Light that marked the shield of his warrior God. That’s an uncanny place,’ he said.
Gaius mustered courage. ‘It’s been left alone so long that all sorts of wild stories about it have sprung up. What do we know for certain? What do
you
know, father?’
Wind roared and whistled. Clouds were appearing over the horizon. Their shadows raced across winter-grey hills and the few springtime-wet croplands. A solitary willow nearby lashed its withes around. At their removes, the manor house and the soldiers’ camp looked very small. The hawk wheeled scornful overhead.
Lines deepened in Marcus’s brow and beside his mouth. ‘I was never there myself,’ he said. ‘I did speak with Britannic and Gallic captains who’d called. But they were just three or four, and none had done it more than once. The Ysans don’t seem to want any trade with the outside that they don’t carry on for themselves. No more involvement of any kind with Rome that they can avoid. Not that they act hostile. My talkmates said the city is still more wonderful than they’d heard, Ys of the hundred towers. But even in the joyhouses there was always … an otherness.’
‘It’s a foederate of ours,’ Gaius reminded.
‘After a fashion. And only in name for – what? These past two hundred years? When did the last Roman prefect leave?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Gratillonius straightened. ‘But I will be the next.’
‘Keeping Ys neutral, at least, and a counterweight to people elsewhere in Armorica who might otherwise side with Gratianus and Valentinianus against Maximus.’
Gaius responded louder:
‘And, I hope, taking a more active part than hitherto in measures against pirates. Ysan commerce has shrunk with Rome’s. From what little I recall or could find out these past months, Ys trades mainly with its Osismiic neighbours, overland; but once it was the queen of the Northern seas. I should think it’d welcome guidance in rebuilding security and commerce. Father, I don’t see how any living city can be the kind of witch-nest those rumours tell of. Give me a few years, and I’ll prove as much to the world.’
Marcus Valerius Gratillonius smiled, more in pride than in pleasure. ‘Good for you, son. Sink or sail, you’re a Roman!’
And how many such are left? he did not ask. Men who have hardly a drop of blood in them from Mother Rome, and who will never see her whom they serve. Can she hold their faith, today when new Gods beckon?
IV
1
It was good to be on salt water again Gratillonius braced himself at the taffrail of the transport, near a swan’s-head figure that decorated the after
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