He led them all to the fire, fearful somehow of losing them in the darkness. And he saw them better there, blood-marked and war-scarred, those who had come from the killing. Fear on their faces more than love now, to find him in that place. For they were all ill omens for each other, their presence speaking only of disaster.
Perhaps there was something written upon his face that Arite did not like to see. She drew close once more and put her arms about him, almost shyly, laid her head against his neck. Only for a moment at first, but as she began to pull away he tightened his grip on her shoulders. Not enough to hold her in place, but enough to ask her to stay. She leaned back close against him, her breath heavy against his neck. A betrayal every moment he held her close, until she drew away from him, her eyes low and heavy and defeated as she took her place by the fire.
As they sat together in silence, Arite waited for the dancing light of the fire to fall on Kai’s face, so she might see what had changed in him. Older now perhaps, aged by the few days that they had been apart – a careful weight to the way he moved, the way an old warrior may favour a wound earned many seasons past. And a stillness, too, almost a peace to him, though whether it was that of the defeated or the contented man, she could not say.
They each spoke in turn, the way the storytellers will at a feast. Of the warband that had followed Kai to the east. The duel with Laimei, a battle fought without a single stroke of the sword. Of the raid on the camp, the butchering of the clan, all their hope unravelling with every word.
‘There must be revenge for what has been done to our people,’ said Kai.
‘Why did they do it?’ Tomyris asked, her voice breaking as she spoke.
‘They think to unite the clans,’ Arite said. ‘Take the war to Rome once more. They thought it the cowardice of our clan that held them back.’
‘It cannot be done,’ said Lucius. ‘They will be destroyed.’
‘They will not let themselves believe it,’ she answered. ‘And Bahadur’s message means nothing now. We have killed him again, for nothing.’
Tomyris crawled over into Kai’s arms. He held her close and kissed her hair, and said: ‘Laimei will see him safe across the water. There are none who can move and hunt upon the steppe as she can.’
‘And the Romans shall kill him when they hear that we go to war against them.’
The wind across the plain, the dance of shadow and fire. The horses watching silently, waiting.
‘The dead watch us here,’ said Kai. ‘They have brought us here for a reason, and I do not think it is to wait to join them.’ His hand resting on his daughter’s shoulder, tapping a soft, gentle rhythm. ‘Lucius, when will the Romans cross the water?’
‘Soon, but not yet. They will need to wait for good weather, if they are to bring the weapons and provisions from the west. They shall need to pay the men, too. Always late wages, at the end of winter. They won’t march until the silver arrives.’
‘And the Sarmatians will not march until the end of spring,’ Kai answered. ‘They will gather the host, and wait for the hard ground. We have a little time left.’
‘What can we do?’ Lucius said.
Kai stared into the fire. ‘It was a good plan that you had. Submit, wait, trust in the coming of a war to fight.’
‘Yet you think it flawed now?’
‘You said that we must wait, but the Sarmatians do not wait. Each day is the last day, for us, and we leave nothing for tomorrow. It is how we live, fight, love. Rome must give us a war to fight now, and perhaps we may win over our people. Not sit and rot in chains until they call for us. Give us a war at once, and they will fight it.’
Lucius did not speak for a time. Then he said: ‘You think I may do this? I have told you before, I am no great man of my people. A soldier only, not a prince.’
‘They might listen to one come back from the dead. Do your people not think that a fortunate thing?’
The Roman shook his head, skin pale in the soft light of the fire. ‘You do not know what you ask of me. It is as Bahadur said. You do not know what Rome is. You might as well ask me to debate with a god and bend him to my will.’
‘Our stories are full of such things. I am sure that yours are too.’ Kai leaned forward then, put his hand to Lucius’s arm. A gentle touch. ‘I ask you to try,’ he said. ‘Will you?’
An ache around Arite’s heart, then, as she remembered Bahadur. For it was Bahadur who had taught him that art, to ask a man to be brave and see him do it. She saw the Roman’s gaze drift towards the circle of horses close by, his eyes growing soft as he looked upon them. As though he hoped to hear them speak, and offer their counsel.
‘Do horses give omens, amongst your people?’ Arite said.
‘No. But I like to watch them, nonetheless. I have never seen horses such as the ones your people raise.’
‘You would like to be one of them, I think.’
He seemed almost surprised. ‘Of course. Wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes. But I did not think to hear a Roman speak so.’
‘Most would not.’
‘Perhaps you are not a very good Roman.’
He laughed. ‘You would not be the first to say so.’ The smile fell away from his lips then. ‘I do not wish to see your people destroyed,’ Lucius said softly, ‘and so I shall try. There is little enough to lose.’ He tried to speak lightly, yet his voice broke as he spoke, a child caught in a lie.
‘I think that you are many things, Lucius,’ said Arite, ‘but a liar is not one of them.’
A flush at his cheeks, a rueful grin once more upon his lips. ‘Yes. There is much to lose. My life, and yours. But get me back across the river, and I shall try.’ The Roman stood, suddenly restless. ‘We should let the fire die down. I will stand first watch, take a horse and make sure we are alone out here.’
‘You are certain?’ said Kai.
‘I do not think I can sleep. And, besides, I have some words to practise, haven’t I? I have never had to bargain with a god before.’
‘Tomyris?’ Kai said, and a soft, whistling snore answered him. He stifled his laughter with his hand, squeezed his daughter close, then laid her down beside the dying fire.
It should have been the simplest thing, to turn from him and lie down alone in the darkness. Always before she had found courage. Taking the front rank in a charge with the odds against them, the taste of bile hot in her mouth. Burying one child after another as the winter fever cut her family to pieces in a handful of days. Losing Bahadur, and then finding him again, only to lose him once more. Always, there had been courage.
He looked at her. Reached out a single open hand. It still seemed so innocent a thing, that longing for touch, to be held, and she took his hand in hers without thinking.
She closed her eyes, and felt his lips upon her palm, and felt her courage fade away.
25
On the sixth day riding back towards the Danu, Kai saw the shadows in the sky. Distant shapes, arcing and wheeling, the lazy, looping circles of crows who know there is no rush to feed, no contest for the food. Ripe plenty for all.
They had ridden past the ford in the forest, only a few marks remaining of the battle Kai had fought there. A little blood still painted upon the leaves, fragments of sword and spear on the bank, the marks upon the ground of horse and man. They were back into the open country, the great Danu a few days’ ride to their west, when they saw the carrion signal up in the air, black birds above a copse of trees. An ill omen, that in other times they would have ridden around. But an answer, too, to a question that Kai could not ignore.