JANISSARIES

They also resented losing the opportunity to sack a Roman city.

"Let them," he'd told Tylara and Drumold. "If we turn those lads loose in Sentinius, they won't be fit to fight for a ten-day. We'd be helpless against any kind of Roman attack. Don't forget that a full thousand Romans got away-more than enough to kill us all if we scatter. I would rather stay in a strong position and let the Romans bring the loot to us."

"We have defeated the Roman legion," Balquhain said. "They can bring in no other for a ten-day. The chiefs know this, and they say that we can use that time to loot the province. There would be much wealth."

"To what purpose?" Rick demanded. "We have taken more grain and loot than we have wagons to carry it in. It will take a ten-day and more to transport what we have back to the passes, and we will be fortunate to get it all into the Garioch before the snows begin. Seizing more wouldn't help us, only harm the Romans-and when the Demon Sun is closest, we may have need of them as friends."

"Caesar will never befriend us," Drumold said.

"Perhaps not, but only a fool gives his enemies reason to hate him, and I am no fool."

"No one says you are," Balquhain protested.

"Then let them do this my way, as they have sworn." And let me go back to the hills without a useless battle. I don't suppose it's possible to live the rest of my life without another fight like this. It takes a quart of wheat to feed a full-grown man for a day. The fifty thousand bushels of wheat we've taken can't possibly last us two winters. But there's no more to do this year, and for that I'm grateful. Glory's a heady drink, but the bar bill's damned high.

The chiefs had accepted the decision, but they had another complaint, too. Rick had distributed the loot among the soldiers rather than giving it to the chiefs to parcel out. They felt he was trying to undermine their authority.

They were right. He'd bought the loyalty of the common soldiers and noncoms, but incurred the hatred of many of the officers. The result was that he had to wear armor and endure the itch. Considering what he'd got for it, Rick thought the price worth paying.

The cavalry escorted the Roman prefect into the camp on the third night of the march. Freshly shaved and in clean clothing, he looked very different from the last time Rick had seen him-but he'd wisely refrained from wearing jewelry. His sword had been bound into its scabbard so that it couldn't be drawn, but they had let him keep it.

"I had not thought to see you again," Rick said. "I had even thought those troops you've kept ten miles south of me might be pla

"If your information is that good, you also know I have fewer than two thousand men," Marselius said. "I have come to see if you will honor your word and release my legionaries. Also I wished to hear this curious story you said it would be worth much to know."

"Then you will not be disappointed," Rick said. "But will Caesar not have your head? Surely he will say you have not done all you could to punish us for invading his realm."

"Caesar will have my head no matter what I do," Marselius said. "He will not deal lightly with a prefect who allowed barbarians -your pardon, but that is what he will consider you-to escape unharmed with the loot of a Roman city." He shrugged and lifted a goblet of wine in salute. "But Rome will not be well served by wasting the balance of my troops. Your cavalry scouts would give ample warning of my approach, and if we could not face your longbows and longer spears before, how can we now? I have never seen weapons like those spears. You call them pikes?"

"Yes."

"An interesting weapon," Marselius said. "I have not read of its like. Although there are stories of a time when Romans fought on foot and carried throwing spears, the records say nothing of these pikes." The Roman governor eyed Rick curiously. "In our earlier meeting, you spoke of 'the Rome you knew,' as if you were not certain it was the same as our Rome. Do you know of Roman history, then?"

"More than you know," Rick said. "Rome was once a nation of free men. Its citizens were its army, and a Roman citizen did not bow to any man."

"Are you then a Republican?" Marselius asked.

"You know of the Republic?" Rick asked.

"There are tales. In books, mostly. Caesar does not encourage Romans to read those books, but I have seen copies. Livius, and Claudius Nero Caesar, and-"

"The history written by the Emperor Claudius! It survives here?"

"Yes-"

"I would pay nearly anything for a copy," Rick said.

"It is written in an ancient language few can read-"

"I have an officer who reads Latin." I'd forgotten where I am, Rick thought. A treasure like that. On Earth, Claudius's histories were lost centuries ago. I wonder what other lost documents they have in this new Rome. "Do you know that the Emperor Claudius lived on another world?" Rick asked. "That your city of Rome is but a copy, and there stands on another world lit by another sun the original city of the Tiber?"

"How do you know of this?" Marselius demanded. "I have always suspected, but the priests say it is not true, for God created but one world and anoints but one true king, who is Caesar-" he hesitated. "Christ came but once, and to but one world. The priests are certain of it. But I have never been certain that world was ours."

"It was not," Rick said. He wondered how much he should tell the prefect. If the Romans immediately began intensive farming of all their land, they could store up enough food to save part of their population. Otherwise nearly all would die.

There was no point in telling him about starships and the Shalnuksis. That still left a lot. "I come from a land far to the south and so far west that one could sail for weeks before reaching it," Rick said. "There we have many old documents, and there we know that the stories of the worlds are true. If you wish a sign, look to the skies. The Demon Star comes close, and soon there will be fire and flood and famine in the land."

The Roman's eyes narrowed. "I have heard such tales," he said. "And I have heard another, that you come from farther away than the other side of the world."

Now who's been talking? Rick spread his hands. "The old legends are true," he said. "As to the other story, I do not gainsay it, but I make no such claim. Now listen and I will tell you of the times to come. They are times to make brave men fear."

PART SEVEN:

SCHOLARS

I

Snow lay deep in the passes of Tamaerthon. Rick could hear the winds from the north scream past the walls of his lodge.

There were no palaces in Tamaerthon. Drumold's lodge home, over a hundred feet long and half that wide, with walls of earth and stone ten feet thick, was the largest structure the hill country boasted. When the army returned from the raid on the Empire, the tribesmen built a lodge for Rick within the stone fortress circle and close by Drumold's. It was nearly as large as the chief's, which meant that the great hall was nearly impossible to heat, and Rick spent most of his time in the smaller room he had built to use as an office. It had whitewashed walls he could write on with charcoal.

He had intended to work there, but he found that very difficult. There was no glass. The best they had for windows was thin, oiled parchment; there was no good light even in daytime. He began to understand why the Northmen had slept late and spent their evenings at drinking bouts and listening to bards recite. What else could they do?

He desperately needed to plan for spring, but that was difficult. No one in Tar Tageral was skilled at making parchment, and the ink was terrible. He could make notes by scrawling on the whitewashed walls with charcoal, or using his ballpoint pen to write on a precious page of his notebook. But when pen and notebook were gone, there would be no others.