Empress & Soldier: Chapter 27 part 2
In which Druisius begins to see a pattern.
New to this story? Start here.
THERE ARE TO BE GAMES, for the prince to be shown to the people. I will be on duty at the docks. That I mind this a little is a surprise. But I have a job to do, and I would only be a street guard anyhow. Not in the Arénas to see the prince and his mother.
Three ships are entering the outer harbour, where the two curving arms quiet the water. I watch them come in, the sails lowered, the oarsmen rowing. “From Sylana,” the harbourmaster says, standing beside me. “Lightly laden.”
I can see this. They ride too high in the water. But not so high to say they are empty. “Hides,” I say. “Maybe baskets.”
He nods. He knows now I worked these docks as a boy, that Marius is my brother. I watch the steersman bring the first ship into the inner pool. Why three ships, if they carry light loads? Three sets of oarsmen to feed. I chew a lip. Something is not right.
The harbourmaster directs the steersman to a berth. The other two ships come in behind them. “What are you carrying?” he asks.
Hides, as I guessed. Both for leather and the fine kidskin, he says. “We could not feed the goats,” he tells the harbourmaster. “So they fed us, and the hides maybe will buy some grain.” He asks about barges to transport their goods to the city, the fee for the berths.
I step forward. “Why three ships,” I ask, “for so little cargo?”
He is middle-aged. Gaunt, dull-eyed. “The men are cargo too,” he says. “Most hope to stay. There is work here, and bread.”
Not the first to come looking. Hoping. Even before the winter’s hunger.
I call soldiers over to check the hides as they are loaded onto barges. Easy to hide other things in the bundles, things that are taxed higher. The fine rugs of the grassland people, and carvings. The crewmen are thin, too. Young men with sharp cheekbones and shoulders. They work with little energy.
One of Quintus’s many clerks works out of the harbourmaster’s office. He will take the names, collect the entry taxes. Higher for those who plan to stay. If crews stay at the harbour, there is no tax. Only a fee for the hostel, if they do not want to sleep on the ship. And for the scraptae, of course, but those are private arrangements.
I sink onto my haunches, watching the Sylanani men. Looking for awkward movement or an outline under the tunic that suggests something hidden about their bodies. Something to be smuggled into Casil, perhaps weapons. Each man is allowed one knife, although there are rules on where it can be carried, and how long the blade is. There are buyers for other sorts, though.
Not all are young, I see. Several are my age, or a little older. They work mostly in silence. Speaking takes energy. But when the cord around a bundle is badly retied after inspection and the hides spill, there are sharp voices, accusations. Words fly back and forth. The steersman shouts, and the voices die to mutters and then sullen silence again.
I know two things, though. Two men who work together took the brunt of the accusations. As if they are outsiders, yes? They do not speak quite like the other men, but like the Boranoi.
Of the twenty-four crewmen, eighteen want to stay. The two I think are not from Sylana are among them. I call my capora over to supervise the men who are not leaving the harbour, and follow the others to the harbourmaster’s office. The men crouch outside while the steersman pays his fees. He wants to sell two of the boats, he says. Can the merchants here be notified?
I glance back at the boats. Coastal traders, eight oars. An investment for the days when there is grain again, maybe? I will let Marius know. Then I listen as the men pay their fees, give their names, take the passes issued. Remember the names of the two I wonder about.
I tell the men they cannot leave yet. To wait on the quayside. When the office has emptied I ask the clerk for the numbers on the passes given to the two men. “Why?” he asks.
I shrug. “Just a feeling, yes? A look about them.”
He writes the numbers down. I put the paper in my belt pouch. Then I go outside to search the men.
Only one, barely past boyhood, has two knives. He volunteers this when he realizes what is being looked for. “For my uncle, so he will take me in,” he says, in his own language. He holds out one of the knives. It has a carved bone handle, and a slightly curved blade. It does not look new.
I ask for a translation. I do not want these men to know I understand them. In bad Casilan, another man complies. “It was his father’s knife,” he adds. “He is dead. It should go to his brother.”
I think the boy speaks the truth. But if he is searched again at the city quay the guard will take it. “Tell him it can be claimed at the guards’ headquarters,” I say. “He and his uncle must come together, tomorrow afternoon.” The boy nods his assent, relieved. If I ask questions of him tomorrow, I think he will be truthful then too.
I should leave my capora in charge and go back to the city. Follow the two maybe-Boranoi, see where they go. I wave him over, give him instructions. Then I run to catch up to the barges, grin to the bargemen. “Better beer in the city, yes?” I say as I find space on the bundles to sit. I loosen leathers, lie back a bit, eyes closed.
I listen to the men talk. I chose a barge without the maybe-Boranoi, to lessen suspicion. There are several barges, lightly loaded because the river is shallow. If it was not dammed near its outflow to the sea the barges could not be used at all.
I do not understand all that is said, but enough. One of the older men has been in Casil before. He tells the youngsters what to expect. Nothing raises my suspicions. We dock at a jetty close to the leatherworker’s shops. I tip the bargeman for my ride, nod to the guard here. He does not salute, my loosened uniform telling him I am off duty. I walk away, whistling. The taberna above the river will serve as a place to watch from.
Some men from all the barges stay to help unload, or wait for guidance. The two I am interested in do not. They climb the steps and come straight to the taberna to order beer. Drink with thirst, not looking around. But if they did, they would see only an off-duty sergeant bargaining with a scrapta. My hand is on her thigh and we are leaning close.
They down their beer and leave. I follow shortly after, the girl with me. Not the first time we have done this, and she will be paid twice her usual fee. There are scraptae in all the quarters I patrol who will assist me, men, women, others. They recognize me as one of them, I think sometimes. I trust them to keep my secrets.
The men walk purposefully. They ask directions, once, twice. I am not close enough to hear the question. At one corner I thank the girl, give her coins. She pretends to pinch my buttocks through my leathers. We laugh, and I leave her.
At an open square I hang back until I see what street the men take. I take another, and then the narrow passages and lanes that bring me out onto the one they chose. See them enter a block of apartments. I crouch in the shadows to wait. They do not emerge.
I know enough now. Time to report to my commander.
~
“Boranoi?” He stares at me. “Are you sure?”
“No,” I tell him. “But what they spoke was not proper Sylanan, yes? I know some Boranoi. It is close to Sylanan, but different. It is what I heard, I think.”
He bounces his thumbs together, thinking. “Would they know you again?”
“Yes. I searched them at the harbour.”
“You didn’t ask the Sylanani captain about them?”
“Not then. But he has two boats to sell. He will not be leaving quickly.” I hesitate. Maybe I should not do this. But there is money that is mine. “I can ask my brother to show interest. Keep the man here.”
“Do that. Albius will know the building?” I tell him yes. It is in a quarter we patrolled together.
“Find him. He’s on duty. Then see your brother and come back to me.”
~
“This is no time to be buying new ships,” my brother says.
“You think?” We are walking along the river, the boys running ahead. There are the usual carrion birds and bony dogs competing for rotten fish. Anything close to fresh is taken by people as thin and desperate as the dogs. “He will sell them for half their value, yes?”
Marius raises an eyebrow, but his attention is taken by the boys. Valens has thrown a stone at one of the dogs. It has turned, snarling. “To me, now!” I shout, as if they were soldiers. They obey.
“Do not provoke a dog,” my brother scolds. He has crouched to speak to his sons. “Even if they are not sick, you can die from a dog bite.”
The dog has come no closer. It glances at us, and then back at the fish. Marius keeps his hand on the boys’ shoulders. Sometimes the guard is ordered to kill the dogs that roam the city, especially before the summer when the foaming disease appears. But now we are too busy.
We turn back. Marius takes his hands away, but the boys have been scared and stay close at first. But when they run ahead again, I say, “Use my money. Unless Bernikë needs it?”
Marius shakes his head. “She doesn’t. She is favoured among the dignitasi.”
At the Bassanian baths, where the upper classes meet and exercise and bathe, and some to spend an hour with skilled, expensive scraptae. I have seen the baths only from the outside. Bernikë has made it clear I am not welcome there.
“Then buy one each for the boys, yes? If you think the boats are sound.”
“You don’t need to do this,” my brother says. I shrug.
“Maybe not. But you will think about it?” He nods.
“I will look at the boats. Beyond that, I won’t promise.” That is enough. It will keep the Sylanani captain here.
I return to the headquarters. Another sergeant is at the docks today, with my capora and men. “What have we learned?” I ask my captain, when we are alone in his office. The knife I confiscated is on his desk.
“Very little. The men speak Casilan, but badly and with an accent the taberna owner doesn’t recognize. Their coins are Sylanani.”
“They have met no one?”
“Not yet. Or not anyone we’ve seen.”
The guardsman who acts as the secretary knocks on the door. “The young man and his uncle are here.” He ushers them in, closes the door again.
“You are here for your knife,” my captain says. His words are friendly.
“My nephew meant no harm,” the older man says. Hurriedly. Fear in his voice.
“Your brother’s knife, we understand?” The young man’s eyes are on me. He recognizes me from the docks.
“That is right. He died over the winter.” The uncle speaks decent Casilan. He can translate for the boy.
“A question or two, and you can have it back.”
“Thank you. What is it I can tell you?” The man is nervous, but it is only the usual concern when being questioned by the guard.
“Not you. Your nephew.” The man’s eyes widen. “Just some information. There were two men who travelled here with him. Perhaps not Sylanani? Does he know who I mean?”
I listen to what the man says to his nephew. He tells him to be truthful. We could send them both back to Sylana, he warns. Or worse. The boy is suitably frightened. Yes, he says. He knows the men. They came to Sylana in the winter, from the north. Looking for work, a place to live. All single men had been sent away from their village, they claimed. The headman let them stay, but only until now.
His uncle translates accurately. My captain asks more questions. No, the older man says, they did not give the name of their village. But north, beyond the grasslands where only the nomadic people live. This side of the river. No one lived in the dry lands west of the river, even before the drought.
It is all he knows, except the names they use. The men did the work assigned to them, were helpful to the widow in whose house the lodged. Accepted the meagre food, and left men’s wives and daughters alone.
My captain gives them the knife and his thanks. Warns them not to speak of what was asked today. They agree, with many reassurances of silence, back away to the door as if he was royal.
“This goes to the palace,” my captain says, when they have gone. “Today. I’ll send a note with you.”
I am used now to reporting to Quintus alone. He gives me instructions sometimes, beyond my captain’s. Who may or may not know this. My captain is not a man to say more than is needed.
~
The fiscarius listens. Asks the expected questions. Looks down at the notes he has taken. Never a secretary, when I report to him.
“You say you heard the difference in their speech. Do you speak the Boranoi tongue?”
“A few words only. What I learned in Qipërta, when I was a soldier there.”
“But you understand it?”
I rock a hand back and forth. “Some. It is like Sylanan.”
“Which you do speak.”
“From the docks, when I was a boy.” And my friend.
He leans back, regarding me. “What other languages?”
“Qipërtan. Trakïyan. Odïryan, a bit.” And my parents’ tongue, but badly.
“Heræcrian?”
I grin, almost. “No. That is for learned men, yes?”
He nods. “With regard to these men, do nothing. Tell your commander to question the man who captained the boats. And that lightly. You understand?”
Not for me to argue with a magistere. He will assign someone else, I think. Two more bodies will be found in an alley, or the river’s mud. No one will care.
###
THE RAINS DO NOT COME. The river channel narrows. Mud dries to almost rock and even the gulls leave. Some say they have been eaten. The pigeons are gone from the city streets, too. They have been netted and plucked, their scant flesh a meal of sorts.
Marius did not buy the boats. Too old, too much repair needed. Two fishermen did. Now the sea has calmed with summer there is money to be made from fish, and plenty still in the sea. Maybe the only thing there is plenty of. Men are hired as crew, not caring the boats are patched and leaking. They are paid in fish, I hear. So many have come, men and women and children, from the dry countryside. They work for food and a place to sleep, often.
Of the two maybe-Boranoi, I hear nothing.
My captain calls his sergeants together. There is news from the war, he tells us. It is not good. When it is common knowledge, the people will use it to rampage, he thinks. We are to prepare for angry crowds in the forum, at the gates of the palace. The Emperor will be blamed.
What happened? someone asks. A naval battle, the captain explains. Lost by Casil, and now the islands at the mouth of the Danós are under Boranoi control.
I think of the grain sent to the north of Qipërta. It cannot reach our army now, not if the Boranoi hold the coast and the islands. Food must be sent overland, in carts. The men will go hungry.
Perhaps they would be hungry anyhow. I think that grain was not meant for Casilani soldiers.
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