The chanting warriors surrounding Kai, the doomed man at his feet. A man condemned by no crime but age – his back bowed with unceasing pain, numb hands that could no longer hold the reins. And so now this, in place of the death in battle. An honourable end of sorts.
The circle fell silent, the sword heavy in Kai’s hand. And as always in the dream, Kai swung too slow. As always, the man raised his head. And it was his father’s face that he looked upon.
But this time, the dream was longer, worse. Something different, and all too familiar. This time, he saw once more the shame of what he had failed to do.
The sword falling from his hands, and as soon as it touched that dream ground it vanished, the mistake already irreversible. And he was moving back, sliding half-steps, his hands raised in supplication, surrender.
Silence from those who watched, those shifting, changeable faces of the dream. All those that he had ever known, it seemed, were there to bear witness. The only sound came from his father – Kai had heard the screaming of gutted men on the battlefield, the maddening keening of women holding stillborn children to the breast. But he had never heard a worse sound than that low moan of shame.
Then from the circle, a figure walking forward. The light on the blade, the swing and the cut. A scream.
Kai woke to darkness, stillness, the sound still ringing in his ears. An awful longing to return to the dream, to that impossible hope of changing the past.
He felt Tomyris stirring against him – not yet fully awake, still locked in some dream of her own. Carefully, so as not to rouse her, Kai reached out a hand to the flap of the tent and lifted it aside. For a time, he watched the falling of the snow. All about there were the Sarmatian people – emerging from the wagons of tented felt, gathered about fires, bartering and pleading with one another. A world there, but one that he was sealed away from, like those realms of the old stories, cities hidden beneath water that could be seen but never reached. He was alone in his shame.
For he was a captain no longer. Not even a place in the warband, without Bahadur to pledge for him. There were few that the Sarmatians killed or exiled – only the worst of men, the rapists of children, the murderers of kin, blasphemers against the gods. But there were many whom they killed in slower, quieter ways. The outcasts and the shamed, pushed to the fringes of the clan, with whom none would share the gift-friendship that a nomad must have to live, the flask of wine and bowl of stew that is given freely to those who need it. Now perhaps there was only a waiting for sickness or hunger to claim him. Waiting to watch his child die.
A voice close by, the breath against the hollow of his neck. ‘What will happen now?’ said Tomyris.
‘It will be a hungry winter, my child.’
‘After, I mean.’
‘A spring, like any other. The herd, the raid, the taming of horses. We shall ride together under the sun – you would like that, wouldn’t you? Why should it be any different than before?’
‘Our home was not burned before. They have never come that far before.’
‘Too far, and we darkened our spears to prove it. You do not need to be afraid.’
‘I am not afraid. Not for me.’ She hesitated, bit at her lip. ‘But what will you do?’
‘I do not know,’ he said. And he did not.
She pressed her face against his chest, and he looped his hand into her hair as though he were stroking a horse’s mane. For they both knew the truth she spoke.
Outside in the campground, Kai saw a dark shape moving, a familiar figure stalking through the snowfall like a wolf. As if his hand was burned he let it fall from the edge of the tent, let the light dim once more. Too late, for the footsteps were quickening, and soon the winter sun was upon them once more.
‘Are you an old woman or a swaddled infant?’ Arite said. ‘Do you mean to lie there all day?’
He answered, stung: ‘Little work for a shamed man to do.’
‘You may put your Roman to work, at least,’ she said. ‘Or do you let him lie idle and wait upon him as though you are his slave?’
Hot words were there upon his lips, ready to be spoken. But as his vision adjusted to the sharp light he saw her hair was still unspooled in mourning and falling free about her shoulders, a wandering madness in her eyes. And so he turned his reluctant daughter from the blankets, and threw the fur cloak across his shoulders, beckoning the Roman like a dog. Soon enough they were all out in the snow, stamping at the ground to keep warm.
Arite was eyeing the Roman, as she might have judged a doubtful horse from the herd. ‘What may he do?’
‘I do not know,’ Kai answered. ‘He is one of their captains. I have heard they cannot even mount a horse without a slave to help them.’
‘And what is his name?’
Kai did not answer.
‘I would not leave a dog without a name,’ Arite said reproachfully.
But at this, the Roman spoke for himself. Gaunt and grey-faced from his wound, he drew himself up tall. ‘Tend horses, I can,’ he said, the accent thick. Then, tapping at his chest, he gave a name: ‘Lucius.’
‘Tend horses, he says.’ Arite grinned. ‘And he speaks a little of our language. Perhaps he will be worth something after all. Tomyris, put him to work amongst the herd. I shall join you soon enough.’
Tomyris set off at once, one arm outstretched and pointing the way, looking for all the world like a miniature cavalry captain signalling the charge. A look of disbelief from the Roman, to be given into the charge of a child half his size, but he followed her nonetheless. When Kai went to follow them, he felt a hand upon his shoulder, bidding him to stay.
‘There are others to keep watch over him,’ Arite said, ‘and besides, she has been tending fiercer beasts than that Roman for a long time now. She does not need you to guard her.’
‘Then what would you have me do?’
She did not answer at first. Her eyes were darting about the camp, to where the women were shaving down the horns of the cattle, and where a hunter tossed scraps to his sighthound. Then she said: ‘You led those riders off the ice when no other could have done it. I always thought you would make for a fine captain.’
‘I did,’ he said. ‘But little that is beautiful lasts for long.’ The words fell from his tongue without thinking, and he felt the twist in the gut, the sharpness at the back of the throat, as he remembered who had taught him that saying.
‘Bahadur used to say said that to me, too,’ Arite said, her voice soft.
‘He always spoke the beautiful words.’ Kai hesitated, scratched at the snow with the toe of his boot. ‘I wish he were here. He would know what to do.’
‘I know what he would say. If it were summer, and we were at peace, he would tell us to feast and dance. Not to think of what had come before, or what would come tomorrow.’
‘And what of winter?’
‘To do what we must,’ she said.
Kai nodded slowly. ‘You want me to go to Laimei.’
‘I do.’
‘You are right, to claim you speak Bahadur’s mind. He asked the same of me, before the battle on the ice.’
‘It was honest advice, was it not?’
‘It was. It did no good then, though. I cannot think that it will now, either.’
‘What else will you do?’
‘There are other captains I might ask a place of. Perhaps another clan, if I took a wife of their people.’
She shook her head. ‘It must be her. None of our clan will have you if she says you nay. And I do not think another clan…’
‘…will take a shamed man.’ Kai knew the truth of her words. Yet still it seemed impossible to him to do what she asked. ‘You know many things, Arite,’ he said, ‘but I think that this is something you do not understand.’