Free The King's Cavalry by Paul Bannister Page A

fanned themselves with peacock feathers and carried a mappa dangling from the wrist to mop away dust or perspiration. A few even affected the new fashion of having a cloth just to wipe the nose.
    They all seemed conscious of their appearance, noted Candless, who wondered at how long their morning toilet took them, to fix their hair, and don their jewels, bracelets, pendants and collars, but they seemed not to be busy, just ladies with leisure, passing away the easy days in a pleasant place.
    It was a popular place to linger, for the baths was a natatorium where as many as 1,600 bathers at one time could enjoy the temperature-controlled pools, emerging refreshed and cleansed to browse an array of displays of all the goods of the empire. They could wander into the vast library, open from the first to the sixth hour, where scholars pored over scrolls from all over the known world. Two whores, recognisable by their blonde wigs and gilded nipples, which were visible through their filmy kirtles, chatted in the shade. Above them were their tariff boards and the guide squinted to see the prices.
    “This way, Lord,” he said, recovering and openly proud of his city, “we are almost at the bishop’s house.”
    “Wait a moment,” said Candless. “What about the Christians?” In the euphoria of seeing how well the true gods were regarded in this welter of statues, marble and gold, the pagan masquerading as a Christian bishop had quite forgotten to ask about his fellow congregants.
    “Oh, they’ve surfaced, come out of the catacombs now,” said the guide, shrugging. “They’ve taken over one or two minor temples since the emperor gave them an unofficial nod. They’re back to being tolerated again. They had a hard time of it for a while there, with the crucifixions and the arena fodder they made. It was good spectacle though for the rest of us, but that’s over and they seem to be decent enough people, very helpful if they live near you. They’re not exactly lying low, they offer to help if you have sick people in the house, that kind of thing, but they’re not flaunting their beliefs much, either. The last couple of their bishops got exiled, you know.”
    “I know,” said Candless grimly. It had been a major setback for his plans to acquire sacred relics. “Don’t stop. Take me on to Bishop Militades’ house.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    X - Escape
     
    My small craft skittered down the Rhine like a lively horse. The sail was straining, driven well by Vulturnus, god of the east wind, and Sol smiled down from the morning sky. I was making good time, putting distance between myself and Mainz, where hopefully my former jailers had not yet learned of the boat stolen from the local customs post.
    It would have been simple to sail all the way to the coast, but I reluctantly acknowledged that I should abandon the little vessel. Its official status was plain from its blue sail and I certainly did not look the part of a Roman tax inspector, so, although the locals might shy away from me, no military patrol would hesitate to stop and question me.
    The river narrowed and took a sharp turn north as I sailed opposite a sizeable settlement with the walls of an obvious castrum and I guessed I was close to the Via Ausonium, a military road that ran up the west side of the Rhine. I recalled it from my days as a soldier in Mainz and knew I’d be courting inspection if I continued much longer. Soon enough, a suitable stretch of willow-lined river appeared. I dropped the telltale sail, bundled and pushed it over the side, then rowed my craft to the shore and under the concealment of a big willow’s overhanging foliage, where I tied up and stepped onto the bank.
    The boat had a couple of official markings burned into the gunwale at the bow, but any halfway-larcenous local would plane them out and use the boat for his own purposes. With