“She has handles, then,” the captain mused. “We can make that work for us. I’m sure of it.” He frowned at the Tribune. “What is your plan?”

“I’m going to give the men a couple of hours rest, then we’ll start again. We’ll cross two more bands of croach before we get back. I’m expecting more vordknights to be in position to intercept us.”

“Don’t let them.”

“No, sir,” Crassus said.

The captain nodded. “Good work, Tribune.”

Crassus’s eyes flashed at the compliment, and he slammed a fist to his heart in a sharp salute. The captain returned it, then passed his hand over the image. Within seconds, the water from which it had formed returned smoothly and silently to the pool.

The captain sank onto a camp stool and pressed the heels of both hands against his forehead.

“Sir,” Marcus said. “You should rest.”

“Presently,” the captain replied wearily. “Presently.”

“Sir,” Marcus began, “with all due respect you sound just like—” He barely caught himself in time to avoid betraying himself. Just like your grandfather. Valiar Marcus hadn’t been a close professional colleague of Gaius Sextus. He couldn’t know what the First Lord had been like in private. “Just like a new recruit trying to tell me he’ll be able to finish the march just fine, even though the soles of his feet are one big blister, and he’s got a broken ankle.”

A faint smile touched the captain’s mouth. “Right after we’re done, then.”

“Very good, sir. How may I help you?”

The captain lowered his hands and eyed Marcus. “What do you know about Marat courtship customs?”

Marcus blinked slowly. “Excuse me?”

“Courtship among the Marat,” Octavian said wearily. “What do you know about it?”

“I’m sure Magnus would know more than me, sir.”

The captain waved an irritated hand. “I asked him already. He said once he’d learned about how they would occasionally devour their enemies, he knew all he needed to want nothing to do with them.”

Marcus snorted. “Certain amount of sense in that, sir. The Marat can be dangerous.”

The captain scowled. “Tell me about it. After you tell me what you know about their courtship.”

“You figuring on keeping the Ambassador, then?”

“It’s not that simple,” the captain replied.

“Should say not. Lot of Citizens aren’t going to like that idea.”

“The crows can have them,” the captain replied. “The only people making this decision are me and Kitai.”

Marcus grunted. “I’ve heard stories.”

“Like what?”

Marcus shrugged. “The usual. That they mate with their beasts. That they participate in blood rites and orgies before battle.” He suppressed a shudder. He’d seen that last with his own eyes, and it was the material of nightmare, not fantasy. “That their females are beaten until they submit to the will of a husband.”

The captain let out a loud snort at this last.