The Songs of Slaves (36 page)

“Disgusting that they disturb the peace in front of the women and the children,” Henric muttered.

“The slave should accept her fate,” Gaiseric said. “It would go better for her if she did.”

“What?” he protested, catching the glare that Connor shot him. “I do not like Arastan and his gang any better than any of us do; but for her own sake the girl needs to realize that her fortune’s changed. She’s not father’s little princess anymore.”

It was at that moment that the realization finally hit Connor. It had been at the edge of his mind for the past hours – perhaps since even before he had reached the camp – like something in his peripheral vision that seemed to be gone every time he looked for it; but now he could see it clearly. And it was suddenly as big as a mountain.

“Arastan forages ahead of the group,” Connor said, as if to
himself
. “He targets the rich villas, killing those who oppose him and taking whatever he wants.”

“Yes, while we take all the risks,” Gaiseric said.
“Filthy bastard.”

Connor looked at Valia. The young nobleman was returning his stare, a patient inquisitiveness in his blue eyes, weighing Connor.

Connor continued, as if chanting out the sentence of cold fate: “And you are heading east.”

XVI

             
Connor could sense
the ghosts of Lorentius, Merridius
, and the others as he rode through the site of yesterday’s battle. Some rust-colored blood still remained on road stones. Connor wondered if animals had yet disturbed the young men’s shallow graves. He pulled his wool cloak closer, but it was not the morning air that chilled him.

             
Valia’s dark
charger paced fluidly ahead. The Gothic nobleman had been talkative at the camp that morning, visibly excited at the day’s undertaking; but now that the game was in play
Valia
was al
l business. The column of thirty
cavalrymen followed their leader’s example
–
one hand on the reigns, the other loosely at their weapons; the rhythm of hooves the only sound.

             
Valia
halted the column when they came to the cross roads. Connor was surprised – even a little wary – that the intersection seemed so deserted. But then he realized that it was Sunday; and with the herald of an impending winter in the air and the lands astir with
travelling mercenaries and
bacaudae
, who would be on the road who could avoid it? Connor peered
eastward,
down the wider road he had travelled. Arastan’s men were nowhere to be seen. While
both parties had left the Visigoth
encampment at the same time in the morning and took the same route,
Valia
saw to it that their pace allowed his rival to develop a lead, or at least the impression of a lead. If Arastan surmised their plan their hopes of success would be spoiled, and perhaps an unwanted confrontation would follow. So far, there had been no sign of that; and if any of Arastan’s men noticed that
Valia
was bringing a considerably larger scouting party than he normally did, they had not seemed to question it. “They ride out clamorously, like bri
gands; not in order, as warriors
should,
”
Valia
had muttered to Connor. By the look of derision on the young lord’s face, Connor knew that
Valia was ready and committed to
his task that day, and that he believed that Connor had offered him
the perfect opportunity
.
Valia
, Gaiseric, Henric, Tuldin, and the others that followed them were ready t
o take Arastan down a peg or two
.

             
Valia
turned back towards his men.

             
“We split here,” h
e said, the morning sun catching his mail. “We have our fox hunt for today, but security for the main body comes first.
Feodric
, you and your four scout west. Give it about three miles; then come back.
Ansturval
, your four stay here and wait for the column; then rejoin with
Feodric
and follow us east. At any point that we leave the road, we will post a lookout for you to follow. And don’t worry – I’ll see to it that you all receive an equal share tonight.”

             
The groups that were splitting off saluted
Valia
with a fist over their heart, in the Roman style.
Valia
turned his horse and spurred it back to a trot.

             
“And don’t worry,
” Gaiseric added, as if to the men but only loud enough for
Valia
and Connor to hear him. “If this goes poorly, you will all have deniability when Sarus comes after you.”

             
“Losing your nerve?”
Valia
asked.

             
“Never,
” Gaiseric said with a
grin.

             
They were now heading east, trotting along the road that Connor had trudged just the day before. He had sworn that he would never come back this way alive. Every step he had taken was a measure o
f
distance away from that place and that past
he was determined never to return to. Nonetheless, here he was. Connor cursed his foolish
ness.
He now believed that
Valia
and the others would have let him go on his way that morning, with the horse,
sword, clothing, and silver
he had won the day before
. He could have ridden on to Massilia, arriving
there
by nightfall, perhaps. His coins were
not enough
to buy Dania from her captors – even if he could find her
–
or even enough to book a passage to Britannia for himself; but he may have been able to acquire more
money
.
But how?
And
how long would that
have taken? Connor could suddenly see himself as an old laborer, toiling away in the slums
of Massi
lia, having spent decades trying to scrape together enough money to buy an old woman out of her slavery.
He allowed t
his macabre fantasy
to play
in his mind longer than it should
before he finally shook it off
.

His rejection of the former plan did not matter now. Connor had turn
ed from the path irrevocably. Gold was no longer
the issue. The issue would
simply be to make it back to Massilia
alive. With every step east there was
less chance of that. What a fool he was! Dania forgive him
–
for her one chance of deliverance was taking the most reckless chance of his life.
Connor’s heart pounded, and he gripped the hilt of his
spatha
for what slim reassurance it could offer.

             
And yet, what else could he do? If he had gone on
towards Massilia
alone, he may very well have been turning his back on everyone he had come to know, and even love
in this
past year. It was one thing to forsa
ke his friends
when he ran away, leaving them to the uncertainties of their lives; but it was quite another to leave them to the certainties of their deaths. Connor realized last night as he gazed at Arastan’s prisoner struggling against the men who had raped her, murdered her family, and stolen her future
that he could never
allow the same thing to happen to
Lucia
. As his troubled mind turned it over and over again through the dark night, with the patterns of his thoughts melding together with the nightmares induced by fear, guilt, wine, and
pure
exhaustion, he realized that not only could he not
abandon
Lucia
to these killers
; he could not abandon Lucius Montevarius to them either. Even though these resolutions failed against every practical argument he tested them with, they stood in his heart. He would not let Arastan and
his men hurt
Lucia
, Lucius
, or any of the slaves – not
only
because it was a matter of right or wrong, or because of his oath to the
Dominus
, or as some attempt at restitution for slaying their kinsman and heir – but because it was a
matter of honor. This imperative became what
Connor’s
people
called a
gei
s
– a
personal
rule placed on a man by spiritual powers well outside of himself that could not be disobeyed. Here was his
gei
s.
Here was his
mandata
.
He must protect the family of Montevarius until these violent barbarian fugitives passed by. 

             
“Increase
the pace,
”
Valia
called. “It’s time to start catching up with our friends.”

             
The twenty remaining
warriors hastened, matching their leader almost immediately. Connor was again impressed with their discipline as he and his horse – untrained as it was for war – struggled to fit in smoothly with the column. Connor had always heard that the barbarians were undisciplined and haphazard fighters, all brute strength and ferocity but no finesse. Whether because of their Roman training and experience fitting into Roman battle plans, or because of their native ways of war, these Gothic cavalrymen seemed to not fit that mold at all. Their appearance may be rugged with their long hair and big frames; but t
heir maneuvers were well-synchronized, their skills well-
honed
. He had
seen just four of them in action
yesterday, and they
had acted with
great cohesion, moving like a wolf pack amidst their enemies. Connor realize
d that though Arastan was playing
the brigand, that he
and his men were probably
equally trained, experienced, and dangerous. Arastan
also
had
about twenty men. B
ut the numbers did not matter –
Valia
had no intention of engaging Arastan in any type of fighting. They may be rivals – a state of
affairs that Connor had found
easy to
exploit
– but they were not technically enemies, and neither were their men. No. If
Connor was forced to draw iron
o
n Arastan he would probably
be on his own
very soon
. Worse yet, though he had practically orchestrated
Valia
’s own plan for this day, he really had no idea how these men would act when they did intercept Arastan. Connor had to admit that in his attempt to come as a shepherd to an imperiled flock he was bringing more wolves with him. 

             
Miles that Connor had dragged himself over, weak and tired, just the day before passed quickly now. The horses were starting to lather in the noonday sun, despite the crisp breezes from the mountains. The pace never slowed, and Connor knew that they must be not far behind Arastan, who was travelling without really
knowing where his prize might lie. Travelers that they passed on the road lowered their heads and got out of their way. Some even
attempted to take cover. He
spied two or three small groups of men that appeared suspicious, as if they could be robbers (or perhaps cruel men seeking out their runaway slaves, Connor thought bitterly) but faced wi
th Valia and his fearsome Visigoths
, even these men dropped their gazes and gave them wide berth.

             
“How much farther is it?”
Valia
asked.

             
“I do not know,
” Connor answered. “I started out when it was nearly dark. I thin
k I walked for a total of sixteen
hours.”

             
“Then Arastan should reach the place at about the end of the
meridiatio
,
”
Valia
said after silently calculating for a moment. “That is perfect for him, as everyone will be in central locations and should be taken by surprise; making them easy to control.”

             
The picture
Valia
’s words put into Connor’s head chilled him. He thought of all of his friends, caught unaware by
a group of armed
men
bent on violence
. He could envision beautiful
Lucia
looking out
into the courtyard as Arastan forced his way through the doors. Dear God, let his actions be enough, he prayed. Let him preserve at least something. But the ludicrousness
of his plan was quickly becoming apparent
.