Free Eagle's Honour by Rosemary Sutcliff Page B

among the rest, was already shouting for more wine to celebrate, and one of the Auxiliaries, who had been gazing worshipfully at the unsuspected hero in their midst, leaned forward and said, ‘Sir – will you tell us about it?’
    Aracos’s face was flushed, and his pale eyes had reckless sparks in them, but at the eager words he set down his empty wine cup, which the moment before he had been holding up to be refilled with the rest, laughed, shook his head, and lounged a little unsteadily to his feet. ‘Maybe another time – another year. Not tonight; I’ve an early start for the hills in the morning.’
    Making his somewhat zigzag way back to the leather merchant’s house on the outskirts of town where he always lodged when he brought the horses down, Aracos cursed inwardly by all the gods he knew.
    What a fool he had been to get caught up in the thing at all. He must have been drunker than he realised. But in his inmost places he knew that drunk or sober would have made little difference. He couldn’t have sat there and let the boys take up the challenge alone and land themselves in the trouble they were heading for.Yes, but he might at least have had enough wits about him, when the Corona Civica came up, not to let the old story show all over his face. Ah well, it would be half a year before his next trip down from the hills; he’d probably never see tonight’s bunch again, and old Sylvanus who kept the wine shop would forget.

CHAPTER TWO
    But old Sylvanus did not forget. It made too good a story to tell to customers. Finally Aracos simply shrugged and accepted the situation. Being a hero was always good for a free drink, anyway.
    He went on accepting it for two and a half years, and then one autumn day he went down to Isca Silurium with the usual string of remounts, struck his bargain with the garrison horse-master, and took himself to the
Rose and Wine Skin
to wash the dust of the horse-yards out of his throat.
    Most of the men crowded about the braziers were strangers to him, but two or three Legionaries whom he knew were grouped together in the far corner. He headed across to join them, but mid-way, a voice exploded in his ear. ‘Aracos! Now by Jupiter’s Thunderbolt, if it isn’t Aracos!’ And as he looked round, somebodysurged into his path; he saw a lean and beaky face with small bright eyes and a coarse, good-humoured mouth, and remembered it from a long time ago.
    He felt as though someone had jolted him in the pit of the stomach. ‘Nasik! What do you do here?’ The words sounded stupid in his own ears.
    ‘What should I be doing here? The Third Wing’s just posted here – back from Pannonia. What do you do here?’
    ‘Work for a Horse-Chieftain in the hills. Want any remounts?’
    A couple of the older Cavalrymen joined in, grinning and exclaiming at the smallness of the Empire; the younger ones were new since his time. He had a choking desire to turn and thrust his way out into the street again, but that would not stop the thing happening, only mean it happening behind his back.…
    And then old Sylvanus joined his voice to the rest. ‘Here’s a fine reunion. You’ll have been together in that northern fighting, ten years ago? Well now, you’re just the lads we want, for we’ve never yet got him to tell us how he came by the Corona Civica.’
    A couple of the Legionaries whom Aracosknew, had joined the group and added their voices to the rest. ‘Now
you
can tell us. Come on now, tell the tale; don’t be bashful, my wood anemone!’

    Nasik looked from them to Aracos, puzzled; then burst into a shout of laughter. ‘Corona Civica? It’s a jest, isn’t it?’
    There was a sudden uneasiness among the onlookers, a sharp, startled pause. ‘A jest? No, why should it be?’ someone said.
    Nasik broke off his laughter. ‘You
don’t
mean to say – did he tell you he got the Civica?’
    Aracos stood quite still, fronting the perplexed and startled faces. There was a little smile on his