Dreaming the Bull by Manda Scott Read Free Book Online Page A

the god. He seems well, however, for which I am duly grateful. Without a horse to fight, what would a man do in the long days of the governor’s peace?”
    It was a test, of sorts, and was recognized as such. The foreigner’s mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile. “Polish his armour, perhaps? And await the call to war?” The answer was a safe one, saying all that was needed. Neither was about to compromise himself before the other in a way that could be considered treasonous, but each hated equally the tedium and inactivity of life in the fortress.
    Valerius walked on to the next stable block in which the horses of the second troop were housed. They were notstrictly his responsibility, but he did not fully trust the one who should have cared for them, the one who was clearly still asleep, unaware that it had snowed through the night. He reached the first box and gave the last of his corn to a roan gelding who liked him.
    He was halfway down the line when the foreign horse-master caught him up. The second half of the wager remained outstanding. It was part of Valerius’ pact with himself that he could not ask any question outright. He said, “You are with the cavalry unit that came over with the new governor—yes? The one camped in the annexe alongside the bath house. Are your horses settling in after the sea crossing and the ride here?”
    The foreigner shrugged, loosely. “They’re settled and resting although they weary of the cold, as I do. In Thrace, it snows, but the air is not so wet and the cold does not eat so at one’s bones. And we were told it would not snow here for a month.”
    In Thrace? Hah. Thracian!
It had been an unsettling night but the day was proving better. Valerius had won a brief skirmish against the Crow, or at least had not lost; had unequivocally won the wager he had set himself, and the god had kept his horses from ruin in the snow. Feeling better than he had since waking, Valerius said, “It doesn’t usually snow this early. This is unfortunate.”
    “Or perhaps fortunate? The gods have sent it as a gift to the new governor. The natives will be as cold as we and will not press their rebellion.”
    They were walking together, with an ease of old comrades. Without thinking, Valerius said, “If it is a gift then it has been requested of their gods by the tribal dreamers andgranted by them as evidence of good will. Have you ever been in a native roundhouse?”
    “Not such as you have here.”
    “No, well, you will have to believe me when I say that we may have brought them civilization in the form of freezing barracks with four men to an unheated room, but the natives will have slept the night in a roundhouse the height of ten men, with forty families within, and a fire that was banked high and gave heat all night. They will have slept with their hounds at their backs and their lovers close and they will not have needed to wrap up in their cloaks, or even to wear a second tunic, to have slept well and woken rested. They will have risen this morning to warmth and food and the companionship of their families and, if they choose not to read the signs sent by their gods the night before, they won’t know it has snowed except by the smell of the air and only then as they lift the door-flap. I wouldn’t say this is a gift from Roman gods and it will certainly not quench the fires of rebellion.”
    He stopped, biting his tongue. The Thracian stared at him thoughtfully. Another man might have asked how a junior officer in the Gaulish auxiliary had come to be so familiar with the interior of a native roundhouse in winter, or at least would have asked the questions that confirmed the rumours or denied them. This man rubbed the side of his nose a moment and said only, “I have heard that you lived for a while amongst the Eceni. Is it true that their women lead the warriors into battle?”
    The charge from the west was led by a woman. The name they are calling is Boudica, she who brings