“I don’t think that’s necessary any more,” Perennius said very softly. He did not reach for the knife or the woman, though the weight came off his right boot minus-
culy.
“Bella,” Sestius said in a strangled voice. “Put that
away!”
The sheath was inside the waistband of her trousers, where the fall of the tunic hid the hilt. Sabellia looked at Perennius, not the centurion, as she slipped the weapon away again. “I should have put it in you,” she said. Her throaty contralto was actually deeper than the masculine tone she had tried to counterfeit in greeting. “Then we’d see how tough you were.” She rose to her feet with a sway of cloth and flesh. Calvus relaxed visibly.
One of the Marines had enough Latin to call, “Hey Legate – save me sloppy seconds!”
Perennius looked at the soldiers. His smile sent the speaker flinching back while the others quieted. “Tell you what, boys,” the agent said in Greek, as being the closest thing to a common language for the unit, “why don’t you all go back to your game? We’re short-staffed for the work anyhow, and I’d hate to lose some of you.”
The hint was too clear and too obviously serious for the troops to ignore it. The dice rattled in the palm of a short
man with a beard like the point of a knife. The other Marines looked at him, then hunkered down on the forecastle again with only a glance or two back toward Perennius and his companions.
Gaius turned. “Look, Aulus,” he said, “we don’t even have to turn around. We can put her aboard one of the Customs – ”
Perennius laid a hand on the younger man’s elbow to silence him. The agent looked from Sestius to the woman, then back. The centurion had struck a brace. His face was as still as dicipline could make it. The Eagle was leaving the inner harbor now. The constriction between the column-headed moles caused the swell to dash itself into whitecaps. Sestius appeared queasy, but he did not move forward from the edge of the deck.
Now that she had been exposed, literally and figuratively, Sabellias looked obviously to be a woman in dumpy clothes. Her hair had been cut short. Her face was broad and her small nose turned up, giving her almost a Scythian look which her Gallic accent belied. She glared eye to eye at Perennius. One hand clasped her cape across the torn front of her tunic, while the other hand was still obviously on the hilt of her knife.
“Sestius,” the agent said, “you acted like a fool, and it could have gotten you killed.” The agent’s tone was flat, his words neutral enough to leave doubt whether the implied slayer was an enemy or Perennius himself in an access of rage. Perennius’ hand was on the courier’s arm, as if the older man were drawing some support from the contact.
“Yes, sir,” the centurion said. His eyes stared across at the shore. He had sense enough not to add anything to the minimum required. Sestius had seen men like the agent before, and it was only need that had put him in the Illyrian’s path.
“You told me what you planned to do after the operation,” Perennius continued in the same flat voice, “and that was all right; I could plan for it. But I can’t plan for what I don’t know, can I, soldier?”
“No sir.” Sestius’ cheek was red and swelling with the print of the agent’s fingers. Sabellia glanced at her companion and sucked in her breath. The slap had been lost to her in the wave of her own confusion.
“And would you like to guess how I feel about people who think they’ve fooled me, soldier?” the agent went on. His fingers tensed, only momentarily but hard enough that Gaius winced.
“Sir,” said Sestius to the air, “I didn’t think we’d fool you, but I was desperate. Having Bella with me was the only way I was willing to, to settle. I’m sorry.”
Perennius looked at the woman. She was younger by a decade than Sestius, but that was normal for a soldier with some rank on him. She edged closer to her man. The agent remembered another Gallic girl who had not been willing – or able, but it was all the same to love’s victim – to stand by a soldier. “All right, Quintus,” Perennius said softly, “she can stay until I hear some reason why she shouldn’t. But don’t ever try to play me for a fool again.” He turned abruptly. “I’ll show you our cabin,” he threw over his shoulder. “You can get your gear stowed properly.” Calvus was with him, a half step toward the stern before even Gaius realized what was happening. To the tall man, Perennius muttered, “Thanks. I was so mad about what the fool had done that I forgot it wasn’t a thing he’d tried to smuggle aboard, it was a person. Spunky bitch.”