The Dog and the Wolf by Poul Anderson Page B

him had turned so thoughtful.
    2
    Most fruit trees were done with blooming, but a new loveliness dwelt in Liguria. From mountains north, south, and west, the plain around Mediolanum reached eastward beyond sight, orchards, fields marked off by rows of mulberry and poplar whose leaves danced in the breeze, tiny white villages. The air lulled blithe with birdsong. It was as if springtime would repay men for the harshness of the winter past, the brutality of the summer to come. Even slaves went about their work with a measure of happiness.
    Rufinus and Dion rode back to the city. Sunlight slanted from low on their right. The horses plodded. They had covered a number of miles since leaving at dawn. In hills northward they had had hours of rest while their riders took the pleasures of the woodland, food and drink, lyre and song, frolic, love, ease in each other’s nearness. But the return trip was long. When walls and towers became clear in their sight, the animals regained some briskness.
    Rufinus laughed. “They’re ready for the good old stable,they are! And what would you say to an hour or two in the baths?”
    “Well,” Dion replied with his usual diffidence, “it will be pleasant. And still—-I wish this day did not have to end. If only we could have stayed where we were forever.”
    Rufinus’s glance went fondly over him, from chestnut hair and tender countenance to the lissomeness of the sixteen-year-old body. “Be careful about wishes, dear. Sometimes they’re granted. I’ve lived in forests, remember.”
    “Oh, but you were an outlaw then. You’ve been everything, haven’t you? Naturally, I meant—”
    “I know. You meant the Empire would bring us our wine and delicacies and fresh clothes, and keep bad men away, and be there for us to visit whenever the idyll grew a bit monotonous. Don’t scoff at civilization. It’s not just more safe and comfortable than barbarism, it’s much more interesting.”
    “It did not do well by you when you were young. I hope those people who were cruel to you are burning in hell.”
    The scar that seamed Rufinus’s right cheek turned his smile into a sneer. “I doubt it. Why should the Gods trouble Themselves about us?”
    Dion’s smooth cheeks flushed. “The true God cares.”
    “Maybe. I don’t say that whatever Powers there are can never be bribed or flattered. Heaven knows you Christians try. I do ask whether it’s worthwhile. All history shows Them to be incompetent at best, bloodthirsty and dishonest at worst. Supposing They exist, that is.”
    The Gaul saw distress rise in his servant. He made his smile warm, leaned over, squeezed the youth’s hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was nothing but an opinion. Don’t let it spoil things for you. I’m not bitter, truly I’m not. Since I became the sworn man of the King of Ys, my fate has generally been good. At last it brought me to you. That’s why I praise civilization and call it worth defending as long as possible.”
    Large brown eyes searched the green of his. “As long as possible, did you say?” Dion’s words wavered.
    He was so vulnerable. But he needed to learn. His life had been sheltered: son of a Greek factor in Neapolis by a concubine native to that anciently Greek city, taught artsand graces as well as letters, apprenticed in the household of an Imperial courtier two years ago, assigned to Rufinus as a courtesy after the Gaul became a man whose goodwill was desirable, and by this new master initiated in the mysteries of Eros. “I do not want to make you unhappy, my sweet,” Rufinus emphasized. “You have heard about the dangers afoot, both inside and outside the Empire. We needn’t feel sorry for ourselves on their account. Coping with them is the grandest game in the world.”
    “You
find it so,” Dion breathed worshipfully. White with dread, he had watched Rufinus’s hell-for-leather chariot racing and other such sports. The first time, Rufinus could only sooth him afterward