Death of an Empire by M. K. Hume Read Free Book Online

and sweetmeats for the guests.
    Ranus was a short, thickset man with a colouring and a greasy toga that shouted a mixed Roman heritage. His eyes were very black, like his dusty hair, and were too close together for him to appear trustworthy. A single bushy eyebrow wound above them like a rather nasty caterpillar. His feet in their rough cobbled sandals were none too clean, although his hairy fingers were covered with large rings that had eaten into the puffy flesh. A costly pin of northern workmanship held his toga and tunic in place, while his hair had been forced into a series of curls that trailed across his forehead in an unsuccessful copy of the epicurean style.
    Before business began, Ranus insisted that his guests take a draught of Spanish wine in real glass goblets. From Ranus’s airy, casual use of the glass, Myrddion saw that the horse trader was inordinately proud of his imported possessions. Cadoc almost choked when he took a deep quaff, and only managed to swallow the vinegary liquid with difficulty. Wisely, Myrddion forced himself to sip his wine and praised Ranus on the quality of his choice. The Roman flushed with pleasure and thrust a salver of sticky honey concoctions upon his guests, who managed to eat without revealing their distaste.
    ‘So you will need four carthorses rather than mounts for yourselves. You’re lucky, young sirs, for I don’t have a horse suitable for riding, no matter what price you offered me. All the young warriors have purchased any beast that is even remotely battle-ready so that they can join Flavius Aetius in his campaign against those damned barbarians. The gods alone know what’ll happen ifAetius fails. I suppose our skulls will be decorating Attila’s hall.’
    Ranus paused dramatically, hawked, and then spat onto his pebbled mosaic floor. Myrddion tried not to wince, or to betray his ignorance of local politics.
    ‘At any road, I can sell you some carthorses that are too damned slow for battle, but quite capable of towing the heaviest of wagons. They’re not young, mind, but they’re not likely to die on you either. You have my word on it.’ Then Ranus named a sum that left Cadoc gape-mouthed.
    The horse trader quickly explained. ‘You can search through Gesoriacum all week, my fine sirs, and you’ll not do better. A man would be a fool if he didn’t take advantage of the times. As my old father used to say, only an idiot ignores supply and demand, so it’s up to you. But if you wait too long, these beasts will be sold to a cook from the kitchens who’s anxious to make a name for himself.’
    ‘Show us your horses then, Ranus. I’ll not buy any animal sight unseen,’ Myrddion said. His dark brows were drawn together and Ranus saw a flicker of irritation lurking at the edges of the healer’s eyes.
    ‘Certainly, young sir, come along with me. I never cheat anyone, least of all young lordlings such as you. It’s bad for business, for a start. Mind the step! Horses are mucky creatures, all told, and their real talent is turning fresh hay into horse shit.’
    Ranus led the two Celts through a series of small storerooms into a tumbledown stable where two young stable hands had made themselves comfortable in the straw and were playing at dice. With highly descriptive and colourful oaths, Ranus drove them out into the yard to bring in the four carthorses. This task took some little time, for the animals had no desire to be penned into narrow stalls after the relative freedom of the muddy yard, with its supply of nettles and long grass that had been left to grow near the fence posts.
    Once the horses were in place in their stalls, Myrddion and Cadoc checked them from head to hock and were pleasantly surprised to find them to be in good condition. Ranus hadn’t lied, and although the animals were a little grey around their muzzles their eyes were clear, their yellow teeth were sharp and strong and their hairy hocks were sound.
    ‘We’ll take them. Now, do you have