Bagratuni slapped his leg, smiling in delight. He rubbed his nose, thinking. “The city is a bad place to hunt the lowlanders. There are no free True People inside-all lowlanders and their women. Very dangerous to go there.”

Thyatis’ eyes narrowed. “You say no free True People, what about slaves? Are there many True People slaves in the city?”

Bagratuni nodded, his grin fading.

“Yes,” he said more slowly, “there are many True People who serve the lowlanders in the city. Many True People die when the lowlanders come to build the city. Many’work on city, but no food, no rest. Only death. The lowlanders, they put bones of children in brick mortar. Then they laugh.”

“Bagratuni, can you get us into the city?” Thyatis leaned a little forward. “Not all of us, only a few need go.”

The brown man rocked back on his heels. He made a clucking sound with his lips.

“Maybe,” he said, speaking slowly. “If you let me go, I will come back and lead you into the city by a secret way. But I have business to attend to, so I must go quickly.”

Thyatis glanced at Sahul, who remained as impassive as ever, and at Jusuf, who shook his head glumly. She looked back at the brown man and smiled a little. “Honored guest, I would not think of keeping you at my hearth if you are late in your travels.”

She stood up, careful to keep a screen of hazel between her and the distant city. Bagratuni rose as well, though his face was puzzled.

“Go in peace,” she said, and motioned to Jusuf to give the little man his weapons back. Bagratuni buckled his sword and daggers onto his belt again, bowed sharply, and crashed off through the brush. Thyatis jerked her head after him at Sahul. The elderly Bulgar nodded and glided off into the trees, barely a leaf stirring in the wake of his passage. She turned to Jusuf, who was leaning on his spear with a disgusted look on his long face.

“You want a local-I find one, a perfectly good one, even healthy. His teeth are good, hardly worn down at all! And you let him go.”

Thyatis gave him a hard look and he straightened up.

“Leave a man here to watch for his return-with or without friends. Everyone else moves camp with me. If he is not back by sunset, we go across the river my way.”

Jusuf nodded and slipped off between the trees. Thyatis turned, staring across the river. How much time do I have? No news of the advance of the Roman army had come to her. The Bulgars knew nothing, and she couldn’t wait like the Boar, if it was he sitting over there in the city of tan and gold.

Ziusudra smiled broadly, spreading his muscular arms wide. “You see, my lord, did I not say she was beautiful?”

Gaius Julius swung up over the side of the ship. He was quite impressed, though he took pains to keep his face even and calm, showing no particular emotion.

“She is swift, like the wind over the water, and light, like a young girl dancing.”

Gaius Julius raised an eyebrow and surveyed the broad teak deck of the Nisir. The long ship was clean and spartan, its ropes and line tied up in neat bundles. High walls rose up on either side of the deck, and two masts rose out of the polished wood of the foredeck. A high prow curled up at the front, painted in gray and dark blue. Two tall steering oars flanked a steering deck at the back of the ship. None of the Tyrean crewmen was in evidence, leaving Gaius Julius and Ziusudra standing alone under the tall masts.

“She seems sound,” the Roman said, testing the weave on one of the ropes tied off to the main mast. “How long would it take you to reach Alexandria, say, or Tingis on the coast of Mauretania?”

The Tyrean smiled, his strong white teeth gleaming amongst the bushy red beard. “My love is swift and sure-I can plot a course by the light of the stars. I have made course from Ostia to Alexandria in eight days, Cadiz on the coast of Hispania in four. Nisir will take you anywhere you desire to go, like the chariots of the sky gods.”

Gaius Julius shook his head in amusement-no ship captain on the Inner Sea would say any less. He rubbed the side of his long nose, considering the captain, the ship, the strength of the timbers under his feet.

“I understand that you have had… some ill luck of late.”

Ziusudra’s eyes narrowed, seeing a slight smile on the patrician’s face. “There was some… trouble… with a cargo of eels a month ago. But it was the fault of the shipper! We made our run in plenty of time!”

“The eels,” Gaius Julius said slowly, “got loose and escaped through the bilge hatches, my good Tyrean friend. Two of your men had to go to the surgeon to have the creatures detached from their bodies. A terrible calamity. My sympathies. I wonder, then, if it is safe to carry precious cargo on your ship.”

The Tyrean glared back at Gaius, his hands on his hips. If he had been a pot of hot water, he would have been boiling over. “Those baskets were supposed to be eel-proof! Ah, and the stench! It took a week of scrubbing to get it out of the planking. You’re not looking to move rare and precious animals, are you?”

“No,” Gaius said, relenting at last and cracking a smile. “Only some tourists-but, my friend, this is a private voyage, so no other passengers will be allowed aboard. Oh, and no cargo either, just me and my friends.”

“No cargo!” Ziusudra was outraged. “How shall I make a profit then? I have notes to pay, my lord. I must turn some shekels with this voyage!”

“No matter,” Gaius said, pulling a plain wooden scroll case out of his tunic. “I took the liberty of acquiring your notes from Zuscis the banker. He was quite pleased and so am I. This seems a fine ship to own.”

Gaius Julius grinned, showing his own even white teeth to the Tyrean. Ziusudra glared back at him with beetling brows.

“If you do well, then you shall have the Nisir back when we are done.”

Dwyrin woke with cold water sluicing over his head. He gasped and sputtered, blowing water out of his nose. A rough hand dragged him up from the water trough that he had been held over. He shook his head, feeling.cool water spill down inside of his shirt. Against the hot air around him, it felt blessed.

“Wake up, lad!” a familiar voice growled. The nervous whine that had marked it for so many days was gone now. “Back to the land of the living!”

Blinking his eyes clear of the stinging water, Dwyrin looked around. Another Imperial camp surrounded him, filled with tents and, above them, a rampart of hastily packed earth. He was standing by the side of a large tent with a wooden frame rising behind it. The frame supported one side of a broad canvas sunshade a good thirty feet on a side. The sunshade covered a camp within the camp, shielding it from the westering sun.

Colonna peered into his eyes, holding back the lid with his thumb.

“Huh,” the soldier said, “you’re in good shape now. You faint a lot?”

Dwyrin pushed his hand away and stood up. His knees felt weak. “Where’s my unit? I have to report.”

“Well…” Colonna said, scratching at his beard and staring off into the distance. “Why don’t we have something, to eat first, and then we’ll go see the Tribune. You’re a little late as it is, so waiting a mite more won’t hurt.”

Dwyrin considered, and his stomach voted for him. Dinner it was.

A large tent had been pitched near the middle of the camp for the cooks. Unlike the carefully laid out pattern of the camp at the port, this one was a jumble of tents, ditches, and the low wall. Many sunburned barbarians with long blond hair and tattoos were present, sitting under the flaps of their hide or horsehair tents. Colonna held aside the canvas door of the big tent and Dwyrin passed in. There were no tables, only a series of big pots rilled with stew. Colonna handed the boy a battered tin bowl and a spoon carved out of horn.