Raptor (136 page)

The man in charge of this segment of the line was a Latin-speaking centurio regionarius named Gudahals, of oxlike build and oxlike torpidness and evidently oxlike intellect. But then, what better sort of man for the dreary job of supervising a static, tedious, interminable siege? Or that is what I thought until—after he and I and Lentinus had lounged for some while on the pillows in his tent, indulging in congenial conversation, wine and cheese—Gudahals said complacently, for about the eighth time:

“Absolutely nothing goes into Ravenna, Saio Thorn,” then added, just as complacently, “Except the salt.”

Those words hung in the air for a moment, while Lentinus and I regarded them in stunned astonishment. Then he and I said in breathless unison, “What?”

Blithely not noticing our fixed stare, Gudahals said, still with utter complacency, “The mule trains of salt.”

The navarchus and I were now sitting rigidly upright. I waved a hand for Lentinus to leave this to me, and I said, but only casually, “Tell us about the mule trains, Centurio.”

“Why, the ones that come down from the Regio Salinarum of the high Alpes, and come hither along the Via Popilia. It was for their convenience that the Popilian Way was built, or so I am told by the drovers. They bring salt from the mines up yonder, as they have been doing for centuries, to be shipped abroad by the merchants of Ravenna.”

Gently, as if talking to a child, I said, “Centurio Gudahals, the merchants of Ravenna are no longer doing business.”

“Right enough!” he exclaimed, with a comfortable chuckle. “We are seeing to that, are we not? So, since the salt can no longer be shipped out of Ravenna, the mule trains go right on through there, to Ariminum instead.”

Because Lentinus had gone so red in the face that he looked ready to imitate Papa Felix’s apoplexy, I let him speak. To his credit, he too kept his voice under control. “Meaning that the trains come first through your siege line here, of course.”

Gudahals looked puzzled. “But of course, Navarchus. How else would they proceed onward to Ariminum?”

“These trains—how many mules?” I asked. “How much do they carry? Do they come with some frequency?”

“Fairly regularly, Marshal. About twice a week since I have been here. The teamsters say that is normal traffic.” He paused to tilt his wineskin above his open mouth and imbibe a long squirt from it. “Twenty to thirty mules in each train. But I could not pretend to estimate the total weight of their load in librae or amphorae. A formidable amount, to be sure.”

Lentinus, as if he could not believe what he had heard the first time, said again, “And you and your men have let every one of those trains go through your line here—without argument or impediment.”

“But of course,” Gudahals also said again. “I would never think of disobeying the orders of my superiors.”

“Orders?!”
Lentinus croaked, his eyes bulging.

Gently, as if talking to a child, Gudahals explained. “When General Herduic posted us here, he instructed me, as commanding centurio, most particularly
not
to do or allow my men to do certain things. Looting, raping, pilfering, any such activities prejudicial to good order. We are outlanders here, the general said; we must gain the respect of the natives, so they will look kindly on Theodoric as their new king. The general also said that we were not to do anything that would disrupt the native peoples’ occupations and livelihood—except those people in Ravenna, of course. Well, the mule-train drovers tell me that salt has always been one of the most profitable commodities of Roman commerce.”

“Liufs Guth…” I breathed, appalled.

“It is true, Marshal! Ever since the Romans first discovered those rich mines of salt in the Alpes, Rome has strictly, jealously kept possession of that salt trade. Naturally, I am most eager to do whatever I can to assist my King Theodoric in winning the affection of his new subjects. I am likewise careful not to do anything that would lower his esteem, such as offending the Roman people by obstructing their commerce in salt.”

Lentinus had buried his face in his hands.

“Tell me, Gudahals,” I said with a sigh, “when those mule trains come back this way—from Ariminum—do they carry any goods procured in exchange for all that valuable salt?”

“Eheu, Saio Thorn!” he cried cheerfully. “You are trying to catch me out—to make me say that I have been napping.” Still cheerfully, he took another swig of his wine. “No, no. Every mule has come back through here
unladen.
What the teamsters are getting for their salt, I do not know—perhaps drafts against payment in the future. But they do not acquire other goods. How could they? If they returned from Ariminum bearing anything of the sort, my counterpart commander at the siege line in the south would halt them and strip them clean. He would not let them proceed on through Ravenna, lest they hand over those goods to Odoacer and his allies there. That would be a breach of the siege, taking provisions to the enemy. However, since every train is unladen when it comes back here, that commander is obviously also doing his job at that end. All in accordance with General Herduic’s instructions to me.”

Lentinus and I looked despairingly at one another, and then pityingly at the witless, artless, boastful nauthing who had so ingenuously been so ruinous.

“Just one more thing,” I said, almost not caring to hear the reply. “Did it ever occur to you, Centurio, to inspect the mule trains’ packs of salt before you let them pass here?”

He spread his hands and smiled. “After the first time, Marshal, the first two or three bales… well, salt is salt. And heavy, let me tell you. One feels sorry for the wretched mules, having to stagger so far, so painfully, under such burdens. After the first few mules, one mercifully desists from unloading them and inspecting and loading again. That is harder on the poor animals than—”

“Benigne, Centurio. Thags izvis, Gudahals, for the wine and the cheese and the edifying summary of the salt trade.” I stood up and reached down his belted sword, emblem of his office, from the tent pole where it hung. “You are relieved of your command and you are under arrest.” He was just then taking another squirt from his wineskin, and he choked and spluttered.

I stepped to the tent opening and bawled for the second-in-command to present himself. He was an optio named Landerit, and he moved smartly when I ordered him to secure Gudahals under guard, to turn out enough armed men to be ready, day and night, to stop and detain the next mule train that came along the Via Popilia from either direction.

“I ought to be arrested and deposed too,” Lentinus growled in self-disgust.

“Then so should I,” I said. “But how could we have known of this weak link in the chain?” I added, with a rueful attempt at humor, “Anyway, you are a neutral bystander, remember. You and I have no authority to arrest one another.”

He spat out an oath. “Shall we fall upon our separate swords, then?”

“Let us try to make the best of Fortune’s dice throw here. This is what I propose…”

Two days later: “Who sent these things?” I demanded of the mule train’s chief drover as I kicked a foot at the pile of goods—mostly pickled meats and skins of oil—that Optio Landerit and his guards had found concealed inside the salt bales.

The teamster was gray-faced and quaking, but he answered stoutly enough, “The director of the Saltwaúrtswa Haustaths.” I had already half guessed that much, but I would not have known
this
man if he had not added, with wan pride, “My father.”

I said, “I should have thought Georgius Honoratus much too old, by now, to be playing such dangerous games.”

The son looked startled when I spoke the name, but muttered, “He is still a loyal Roman, and not too. old to be brave in the service of our fatherland.”

I remembered a remark made by my fellow marshal Soas, about expatriates who meddle in their home country’s affairs from a prudent distance. But I did not bother to inquire what reasons old Georgius XIII or XIV might have for wanting to serve the outcast Odoacer. I said only:

“I do not much admire vicarious bravery. Georgius sent you to do his treason for him. And your brother also, I presume. Where is that one?”

“Who are you?” the man said hoarsely, squinting at me. “Do we know you?” When I did not reply, he mumbled, “My brother and I take turn about at leading an occasional train. We need not; there are many other teamsters. But we do it proudly… pro patria… to participate…”

“And to get briefly away from your brave father,” I suggested coldly. “Then I shall look forward to meeting your brother too. And your sister? Does she also participate in your father’s vaunted bravery?”

“Who
are
you, man?” Again I replied only with a grim stare, so he said sullenly, “She married, years ago—a rich merchant—and went away from home.”

“A pity,” I said. “She deserved better than a merchant. But at least she shed her spunkless siblings. I will wager that
you
never married, or your brother. Georgius would not have emancipated his two most abject slaves.”

Now it was he who returned no comment, but I made him blink in bewilderment when I snapped, “Take off your clothes.” I did not stay to watch that, but told Optio Landerit, “When all the teamsters are undressed, stuff them into the sacks in place of the confiscated provisions. Then top up the sacks again with salt. While that is being done, have Centurio Gudahals brought to my tent.”

As it happened, we had caught two mule trains coming through our line almost at the same time—this well-laden one arriving from the north, an unburdened one on its way back from having unloaded in Ravenna. So we had detained, altogether, ten teamsters and forty-odd mules. When Gudahals arrived at my tent, he was walling his ox eyes back to where the captured smugglers now were uttering cries of horror and pleas for mercy as they were forced into the big canvas sacks. Gudahals no doubt thought I was going to have him salted away in the same manner, so his bovine face brightened when I said:

“Centurio, I am giving you an opportunity to redeem yourself.” He began to moo in gratitude, but I waved that away. “You will take four horsemen and ride at full tilt northward—the Via Popilia, the Via Claudia Augusta, the Dravus Valley through the Alpes—to Haustaths in the Regio Salinarum, which is where the smugglers come from.” I gave him explicit directions for finding the mine, and a description of Georgius Honoratus, as I remembered him. “You are to bring that man back with you, and deliver him to Theodoric or myself, to no lesser officer. Georgius is a very old man by now, so be tender with him. Theodoric will want that man in prime condition when he is crucified upon a patibulum. So I warn you: if you fail to find Georgius, or for any reason fail to abduct him, or if the least harm befalls him on the way back…” I waited until Gudahals began to sweat, then said, “Do not come back yourself.”

The centurio would have done his best to salute me and run for his horse at the same time, but I had a further instruction. “I do not believe the smuggled goods came all the way from Haustaths. It would have been foolish of the drovers to make their animals carry those burdens from the start of the journey. They came with the pack saddles and sacks, and some amount of salt, but the provisions would have been added somewhere much nearer here. If, on your way, you can find that place, and the person or persons responsible—or perhaps make Georgius tell, if you can do that
without hurting him
—then you will have redeemed yourself amply indeed.”

Gudahals and his four men were already pelting out of the camp and off along the Popilian Way when Optio Landerit came to my tent to salute and report:

“When the salt bales ceased their slow squirming, Saio Thorn, they were rather lumpy and contorted. So we poured in more salt to make them as neat and firm and plump as they were before, and we have lashed them across the pack saddles of ten of the fresher mules. On another ten of the fresher mules we have put sacks filled with nothing but salt. So we again have a properly laden twenty-mule train.”

“Very good, Optio. The leftover mules you can put with your own herd of draft animals; they will not be needed. Now, we must get our—shall we say—Trojan mules on their way. Obviously, even with this back-door source of supply, Ravenna has been on very skimpy, very stale rations for a very long while. The poor famished people will be anxiously awaiting every new arrival. I hope they like the salt meat they are getting this time.”

Landerit murmured, “It will be interesting to see if they are hungry enough to
eat
it.”

“However,” I said, “Odoacer’s sentries around the city are disciplined Roman legionaries. Hungry or not, they will be alert for anything suspicious. The mule train must resemble every previous mule train. That means no more than five drovers. So go and find four good men of ours who are willing to walk unarmed into the enemy’s stronghold. Have them start sorting through the teamsters’ cast-off clothing and find garments to fit.”

“Four men?” The optio grinned in anticipation. “And I will be the fifth Trojan?”

“No, I will be. That is how I planned it with the Navarchus Lentinus before he sailed southward. He will be expecting to meet
me
on the far side of Ravenna—assuming we Trojans get through it. I have something else for you to attend to. There are surely other mule trains on their way here from the north. Confiscate the goods, salt down the teamsters, just as you did with this train. Then send those trains back the way they came, with men of your own as the drovers.” I explained to him as I had done to the centurio. “Somewhere along the roads there are other persons who connived in this plot. Gudahals is looking for them; so will your men in disguise.”

Landerit looked disappointed, but he nodded. “I understand, Saio Thorn. Any such conspirators are bound to look surprised when they see their supplies returning. They will look even more so if we let them open the bales. By that we shall know them. And… we slay them?”

“Of course. I have told Gudahals to bring me the chief conspirator; I do not need the lesser fry. And here, Optio. I will also entrust to you the keeping of my arms and armor while I am gone.”