hear.’
Loredan shrugged. ‘Better than the army, and you get to wear your own clothes. What about you?’
Teoclito looked about seventy; in fact, he was only five or so years older than Loredan. The last time the two of them had sat together over a jug of wine had been in a tent pitched among the ruins of a town they had reached three days too late. The next day, there had been a bit of a scrimmage with the clans; Teoclito was one of the wounded who was past helping. They’d gone back to put him out of harm’s way, but he hadn’t been where they’d left him. It followed that the clans had him. It helped not to think too hard about such things.
‘Been back three years now,’ Teoclito said. ‘I work in the dancing school, sweeping up after the young ladies. It’s a living.’
Loredan refilled the other man’s cup. ‘And before that?’ he asked.
‘Not much fun. You don’t really want to know.’ Teoclito smiled; he had five teeth. ‘They have surprisingly good doctors, but a wicked sense of humour. Eventually they turned me loose.’
‘Just like that?’
‘No room for passengers in the caravan, and they’re a superstitious bunch. Terrible bad luck to kill a cripple.’
‘And after that?’
Teoclito sighed wearily. ‘Oh, I walked to the coast, got there, found I’d been going in the wrong direction. After that I didn’t feel much like walking any more, so I stayed put.’
‘Where was that?’
‘Solamen.’ Loredan raised an eyebrow; Solamen was up on the north coast, two months’ walk from the place where they’d parted. Among other things, it was a flourishing slave market. ‘I got a job, of sorts. Unpaid. Sort of like voluntary work.’
‘Ah.’
‘Finally I ended up helping row a big boat,’ Teoclito continued. ‘And when this boat got sunk off Canea, I swam ashore, and now here I am. I’d like to say how nice it is to be back, but I have a basic respect for the truth that prevents me.’
‘You’ve been busy, then.’
Teoclito shrugged, awkwardly. ‘Like you said, it beats being in the army. Anyway, enough about that. You see any of the old crowd nowadays?’
Loredan shook his head. ‘Not many of us made it back,’ he said, ‘and we don’t have reunions. You didn’t miss much, at the end.’ He yawned. ‘Saying that, I did run into Cherson the other day, down by the city wharf. He’s running a brass foundry, doing quite well. Employs a lot of people.’
‘Never could stand the man myself.’
‘Nor me. Funny, isn’t it, the way bastards live for ever.’
Before his presumed death, Teoclito had been Loredan’s Company Commander. Every inch the hero, in a society that discouraged the type; first man into the engagement and last out. He seemed much shorter than Loredan remembered. He was almost completely bald, and there were scars across his crown. Loredan had taken over his command; to the best of his knowledge, they were the only two men alive out of that company.
Teoclito was looking at him intensely. Mostly, Loredan recognised, it was contempt.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘They do, don’t they?’
They filled their cups again and sat quietly for a while. Loredan couldn’t think of anything to say.
‘Anyway,’ Teoclito said at last, finishing his drink and standing up. ‘Can’t be too late, got to work tomorrow. Be seeing you.’
‘Clito.’ Loredan wished he hadn’t spoken; he was afraid that what he was about to say would be the wrong thing.
‘Yes?’
‘You . . . Are you all right for money? I mean—’
That look again. ‘I told you,’ he said, ‘I got a job. Go carefully, Bardas.’
‘You too.’
‘Oh, one more thing.’ Teoclito leant against the table, favouring his right leg.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m sure you had a good reason,’ he said, ‘for leaving me and not coming back. Just don’t ever try and tell me what it was.’
‘Take care, Clito.’
‘I always do.’ He walked away, his right foot dragging. His whole body had been
Loredan shrugged. ‘Better than the army, and you get to wear your own clothes. What about you?’
Teoclito looked about seventy; in fact, he was only five or so years older than Loredan. The last time the two of them had sat together over a jug of wine had been in a tent pitched among the ruins of a town they had reached three days too late. The next day, there had been a bit of a scrimmage with the clans; Teoclito was one of the wounded who was past helping. They’d gone back to put him out of harm’s way, but he hadn’t been where they’d left him. It followed that the clans had him. It helped not to think too hard about such things.
‘Been back three years now,’ Teoclito said. ‘I work in the dancing school, sweeping up after the young ladies. It’s a living.’
Loredan refilled the other man’s cup. ‘And before that?’ he asked.
‘Not much fun. You don’t really want to know.’ Teoclito smiled; he had five teeth. ‘They have surprisingly good doctors, but a wicked sense of humour. Eventually they turned me loose.’
‘Just like that?’
‘No room for passengers in the caravan, and they’re a superstitious bunch. Terrible bad luck to kill a cripple.’
‘And after that?’
Teoclito sighed wearily. ‘Oh, I walked to the coast, got there, found I’d been going in the wrong direction. After that I didn’t feel much like walking any more, so I stayed put.’
‘Where was that?’
‘Solamen.’ Loredan raised an eyebrow; Solamen was up on the north coast, two months’ walk from the place where they’d parted. Among other things, it was a flourishing slave market. ‘I got a job, of sorts. Unpaid. Sort of like voluntary work.’
‘Ah.’
‘Finally I ended up helping row a big boat,’ Teoclito continued. ‘And when this boat got sunk off Canea, I swam ashore, and now here I am. I’d like to say how nice it is to be back, but I have a basic respect for the truth that prevents me.’
‘You’ve been busy, then.’
Teoclito shrugged, awkwardly. ‘Like you said, it beats being in the army. Anyway, enough about that. You see any of the old crowd nowadays?’
Loredan shook his head. ‘Not many of us made it back,’ he said, ‘and we don’t have reunions. You didn’t miss much, at the end.’ He yawned. ‘Saying that, I did run into Cherson the other day, down by the city wharf. He’s running a brass foundry, doing quite well. Employs a lot of people.’
‘Never could stand the man myself.’
‘Nor me. Funny, isn’t it, the way bastards live for ever.’
Before his presumed death, Teoclito had been Loredan’s Company Commander. Every inch the hero, in a society that discouraged the type; first man into the engagement and last out. He seemed much shorter than Loredan remembered. He was almost completely bald, and there were scars across his crown. Loredan had taken over his command; to the best of his knowledge, they were the only two men alive out of that company.
Teoclito was looking at him intensely. Mostly, Loredan recognised, it was contempt.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘They do, don’t they?’
They filled their cups again and sat quietly for a while. Loredan couldn’t think of anything to say.
‘Anyway,’ Teoclito said at last, finishing his drink and standing up. ‘Can’t be too late, got to work tomorrow. Be seeing you.’
‘Clito.’ Loredan wished he hadn’t spoken; he was afraid that what he was about to say would be the wrong thing.
‘Yes?’
‘You . . . Are you all right for money? I mean—’
That look again. ‘I told you,’ he said, ‘I got a job. Go carefully, Bardas.’
‘You too.’
‘Oh, one more thing.’ Teoclito leant against the table, favouring his right leg.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m sure you had a good reason,’ he said, ‘for leaving me and not coming back. Just don’t ever try and tell me what it was.’
‘Take care, Clito.’
‘I always do.’ He walked away, his right foot dragging. His whole body had been
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