Carullus was riding beside him, on a dark grey horse. ‘My man?’ Crispin asked, moving his jaw as little as possible. ‘Vargos.’
Carullus shook his head, his own mouth a thin line in a smooth-shaven face. ‘Slaves who strike a soldier-any soldier, let alone an officer-are torn apart in a public execution. Everyone knows that. He nearly knocked me down.’
‘He’s not a slave, you contemptible shit!’
Carullus said, mildly enough, ‘Careful. My men might hear you, and I’d have to respond. I know he isn’t a slave. We looked at his papers. He’ll be whipped and castrated when we get to camp, but not killed between the horses.’
Crispin felt his heart thump then, hard. ‘He’s a free man, an Imperial citizen and my hired servant. You touch him at absolute peril. I mean it. Where s the girl? What’s happened to her?’
‘She is a slave, from one of the inns. And young enough. We can use her at camp. She spat in my face, you know.’
Crispin forced himself to be calm; anger would make him nauseated again, and useless. ‘She was sold from the inn. She belongs to me. You will know this, having gone through those papers, too, you pustulent excrescence. If she is touched or harmed, or if the man is harmed in any way, my first request of the Emperor will be your testicles sliced off and bronzed into gaming dice. Be clear about this.’
Carullus sounded amused. ‘You really are an idiot, aren’t you? Though pustulent excrescence is good, I must say. How do you tell anything to the Emperor at all if it is reported that you and your companions were found by our company to have been robbed, sexually penetrated in various ways, and foully murdered by outlaws on the road today? I repeat, the man and the girl will be dealt with in the usual manner.’
Crispin said, still struggling to keep his composure, ‘There is an idiot here, but he’s on the horse not in the litter. The Emperor will receive a precise report of our encounter from the Sleepless Ones, along with their earnest petition that I return to supervise the restoration of the image of Jad on the dome, as we were discussing when you burst in. We were neither robbed nor killed. We were accosted in a holy place by slovenly horsemen under an incompetent dung-faced tribune, and a man personally summoned by Valerius II to Sarantium was struck by a weapon in the face. Do you prefer a reprimand leavened by my conceding I provoked you, or castration and death, Tribune?’
There was a satisfying period of silence. Crispin brought up a hand and tenderly touched his jaw.
He looked over and up at the horseman, squinting into the light. Odd specks and colours danced erratically in his vision. ‘Of course,’ he added, ‘you could turn back west, kill the clerics-all of them will know the story by now-and claim we were all robbed and violated and killed by those evil brigands on the road. You could do that, you dried-out rat dropping.’
‘Stop insulting me,’ Carullus said, but without force this time. He rode some further distance in silence. ‘I had forgotten about the fucking cleric,’ he admitted, at length.
‘You forgot about who signed my Permit, too,’ Crispin said. ‘And who requested me to come to the City. You’ve read the papers. Get on with it, Tribune: give me half a reason to be forgiving. You might consider begging.’
Instead, Carullus of the Fourth Sauradian began to swear. Impressively, in fact, and for quite some time. Finally he swung down from his horse, gestured at someone Crispin couldn’t see, and handed off the reins to the soldier who hurried up. He began walking alongside Crispin’s litter. ‘Rot your eyes, Rhodian. We can’t, have civilians-especially foreigners-insulting army officers! Can’t you see that? The Empire is six months behind in their pay. Six months, with winter coming! Everything’s going for buildings.’ He said the word like another obscenity. ‘Have you any notion what morale is like?’
‘The man. The girl,’ Crispin said, ignoring this. ‘Where are they? Are they hurt?’
‘They’re here, they’re here. She’s not been touched, we’ve no time for play. You are late, I told you. That’s why we were riding to look for you. An undignified, Jad-cursed order if ever there was one.’