The Mark of the Horse Lord Read Online Free Page B

aurei. No, sword-play was the only trade for him; he could probably get himself taken on by a fencing-master somewhere in one of the Southern cities, and end up teaching the more showy and safest fencing-strokes to young sprigs of the town. The prospect sickened him.
    There was a movement in the crowd, and a shadow fell across his hand holding the winecup, and he looked up quickly to see that a young man had risen from a near-by table and checked beside him. Phaedrus knew him by sight, Quintus Tetricus, the Army Contractor’s son, and recognized one or two others among the faces at the table, all turned his way.
    ‘See who sits drinking here alone!’ Quintus said, clearly speaking for the rest. ‘Ah now, that’s no way for a man to be celebrating his wooden foil!’
    ‘I fought for it alone, and I may as well drink the Victory Cup alone – the wine tastes just as sweet,’ Phaedrus said harshly, ‘and snore alone under the table afterwards.’
    ‘Come and drink with us, and we’ll all snore under the table afterwards,’ Quintus said, and the men about the table laughed.
    ‘I do well enough where I am.’ In the mood they were in, if a showman’s sad bear had shambled in through the door they would have called it to drink with them, and Phaedrus was in no mood to dance to their whim.
    ‘Even with an empty cup?
Na, na
, my Red Phaedrus! Come and drink off another with us; we’ve got a flask of red Falernian – Eagles’ blood!’
    Other voices were added to his; the rest were shifting closer on the benches, making room for one more.
    And suddenly, because nothing mattered much anyway, it was too much trouble to go on refusing. He shrugged, and got up, and not quite sure how it happened, found himself sitting with Quintus and his friends, the cup brimming with unwatered Falernian in his hand. Flushed faces grinned at him round the winedabbled table. A complete stranger with hair bleached lint-white as some of the young braves among the tribesmen wore it – it was the fashion just then to be very British – leaned forward and clapped him on the shoulder, shouting, ‘Here he is then; let’s drink to him!
Aiee
, my lucky lad, that was a pretty fight!’
    Cups were raised on all sides: ‘Red Phaedrus! Joy and long life to you!’
    Phaedrus laughed, and drank the toast with them, gulping the cup dry. It would be good to get drunk. ‘A pretty fight. You saw it?’
    ‘Wouldn’t have missed it for all the gold in Eburacum’s mint!’
    ‘I thought the Gaul had you with that low stroke,’ another said.
    ‘I thought so, too.’ Phaedrus drained his cup and threw the lees over his shoulder, where they lay dark as the grains of old blood on the dirty floor. ‘What’s a friend after all? I’ll drink again if anyone asks me.’
    Presently, he had no idea how many winecups later, he realized that the place was emptying, and the serving-girl and a couple of slaves were gathering up empty cups and mopping spilled wine, while at the far side of the room, benches were being stacked one a’top the other. ‘Shutting up, by the look of things.’ A plump, dark youth who had been quieter than the rest of them all evening looked about him somewhat owlishly. ‘S’tonishing how quick an evening runs its course in – good comp’ny.’
    ‘Ah now, who says it’s run its course? I’m shtill –
still
thirsty.’ Quintus flung himself back against the wall behind him, and beckoned imperiously to the girl. ‘
Hai!
Pretty! More wine.’
    The girl looked up from her task. ‘We’re shutting up now.’
    ‘Not while I’m here, we’re not.’
    She glanced towards the wine-shop owner, who came waddling across the room towards them, his paunch thrust out beneath a dirty tunic stained with old wine splashes. ‘We don’t keep open all night in the “Rose of Paestum”. This is a decent house, sirs, and we need our sleep same as other folks.’
    Quintus lurched to his feet, flushing crimson, his hand fumbling for his knife,