“Blazes, we’ll be back,” Perennius said. He pressed his horse with his heels. “Don’t guess there’ll be a better time,” he called to Gaius. “Let’s do it.”
The younger man obviously did not hear the instruction. Neither did he see that Perennius had ridden off until the agent was a length ahead. Then Gaius kicked his own mount forward with a clatter, pulling abreast of Perennius in the easy canter the agent had chosen until external influences forced their pace. Gaius rejoined just as Perennius realized that they had been separated.
The masks made vision just as difficult as they did hearing. Perennius had bought gorgets and shirts of leather-padded chain mail, standard heavy-cavalry issue, at the same time he acquired the parade greaves and helmets. The gorget in particular made it very uncomfortable to swivel his head the way the narrow field of view required. “I know this’s got problems, these masks,” he said to Gaius in the raised voice they needed to hear one another, “but I’m more afraid of the Guardians than I am the lizard. The rigs take so damn long to lace together. …”
“Oh, I …” the courier said. “I didn’t – I mean, I wasn’t thinking of taking it off or anything.”
Gaius had almost added “sir.” Perennius could hear it in the abject tone. That hurt worse than a blow would have. It hurt the more so because it was a reaction which the agent had over the years tried to stamp into just about everyone else he had known. “Look,” he began. He realized his voice was an inaudible murmur and went on louder, “Look, Gaius, all my life I’ve been telling myself it’s all right to lose my temper. It’s not all right. I know it’s not. I apologize, and I swear by – by the Goddess Rome that I’ll never do it again, at least with you.”
Gaius twisted to face the agent as squarely as the four-pommeled military saddle would allow. The silvered bronze hid his face, but the courier’s surprise was evident in his
stance. He knew that Perennius had as little belief in the formal gods of the State as he did in any of the Oriental cults that had been appealing to the more superstitious of Rome for the past five centuries. Gaius knew also that Perennius would willingly die before he trivialized Roma, the personification of the Empire. “I, I deserved it, Aulus,” the youth said awkwardly. “I did what you said. I killed him.”
Perennius felt cooler and more supple than he had in months. The merely physical discomfort of the gear he wore was forgotten. “Gaius,” he said, “when you screw up as often as I’ve done and as bad as I’ve done, then maybe I’ll have a right to shout at you. As for what happened, well … we needed these horses – ” he patted the shoulder of his mount – “so it was going to come to that. I figure we got off about as cheap as we were going to. Those Gauls were pros. You and Quintus were damned fools to rush the last one that way, but Quintus was a big boy. Only thing I care about is that you learn from what happened so the next time you screw up some new way.” The agent smiled, forgetting that the other man could not see his face. “The way I do.”
Gaius nodded vigorously, causing his equipment to jingle. “Aulus,” he said, “I will. I swear I’ll make you proud of me. I swear by – ” and he had sense enough to swallow the next thought without voicing it.
“Blazes, friend, you have made me proud,” said Perennius. And he was quite serious.
They paused at the crest. “Wouldn’t hurt to water the horses,” Gaius said as he noticed the rivulet they would have to ford at the bottom of the hill. “I wonder if we dare take a sip or two ourselves?”
The question was hesitant. A drink would require them to unlace the masks. It would have been possible to cut and hinge the face-covering so that the wearers could drink – as the sun and their constricting gear made almost imperative – but Perennius had not thought of that. Perhaps one of the others had, but the agent had made the plan so intensely his own that no one else had – or had dared – offer significant suggestions.