Patrick Read Online Free

side of his face; Fillipio, a squat, square-headed, bluntly good-natured trooper; and Audager, a large brooding lump of a man, a Saecsen and member of one of the many auxiliary cohorts which now supplied the British legions.
    We had seen them before and diced with them on occasion. “Hail, Legioni Augusti!” called Rufus when he caught sight of Darius stooping under the lintel. “Come! Bring your cups and sit with us.”
    We made room at the table, and the soldiers joined us. “So,” said Fillipio when he had settled himself on the bench, “the ala of Bannavem honors us with its exalted presence.” He looked at each us in turn. “What are you doing here?”
    â€œWhere else should we be?” answered Rufus. Of the four of us, he most imagined himself a legionary—a general perhaps, or the commander of an elite cavalry troop. “A fast ride in the hot sun raises a thirst which nothing but the Black Wolf’s best will slake.”
    â€œYou heard about the trouble at Guentonia.”
    â€œWe heard,” said Rufus. “What of it?”
    â€œTwo cohorts departed as soon as word reached the garrison,” Fillipio said. “They have not returned.”
    â€œSleeping off their wine beside the road, I should think,” offered Scipio.
    â€œGuentonia is a fascinating place, of course,” Julian said. “Perhaps they decided to stay and take in the cultural amenities.”
    The soldiers grunted and dashed down the contents of their cups. I took up the jar to pour them each another drink, but Fillipio stood. “No more. We are back on patrol soon.”
    â€œWell, then,” I said, still holding out the jar, “just a small one to keep your tongues wet.”
    Audager took the jar from my hand and placed it firmly on the table. “You should go home.” His words were thick in his mouth, but the warning was clear.
    â€œWhen we feel like it,” Rufus replied, rising to the implied threat, “and not before.”
    The big Saecsen looked at him, then turned on his heel and walked away.
    â€œAudager is right,” Darius told us. “You should not be on the road after dark.”
    â€œGo home, lads,” said Fillipio, moving away. “If you leave now, you can be back in Bannavem before nightfall. We will drink and dice another day.”
    We watched the three soldiers out the door, and then Rufus said, “Afraid of their own shadows.”
    â€œObviously,” replied Julian. His agreement lacked force, I noticed, and Scipio did not voice an opinion at all.
    â€œAre we going to let them spoil a good night’s roister?” I said, pouring more beer.
    In the end, however, the revel was spoiled. Although we waited long, few people came to the inn: just some merchants and a heavy-footed rustic or two stopping for a drink before heading home from the market. There were no more soldiers and, to my particular disappointment, none of the local girls of easy favor whose company we often purchased for the night. Even the promise of Magrid’s bountiful charms failed to ignite our damp spirits.
    As dusk fell, so, too, did a pall. The effort of forcing mirthand merriment into the increasingly dull proceedings grew too much at last. Julian disappeared after a while, and the rest of us sat clutching our cups in the gathering gloom as a dank uneasiness seeped into our souls. Finally, I grew weary of the squalid drear and rose. “Friends,” I said, “let us bury the corpse of this stillborn night.” I drained my cup and tossed it aside. “Misery and woe I can get at home for nothing.”
    I called for our horses and bade farewell to Owain, who said, “The rumors have everyone frightened, is all. Come again another night, and you will find us jolly enough.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” replied Scipio, “we’ll return another day to redeem this misspent night.”
    â€œUntil