The Songs of Slaves (48 page)

Connor parried high as a young, broad-shouldered
bacaudae
attacked with an overhand sword swing. Riposting off the man’s blade Connor struck him hard across the side of the helmet. Without drawing back, he slid
Archangel
down the man’s left arm, biting into the hand that held the oval shield by the single wooden handle. As his adversary dropped the shield, Connor thrust his blade through his center, punching through the leather armor and out the young man’s back. Clearing the blade he risked taking his enemy’s shield off the ground. He stood up tall, ready for the next foe. His eyes seemed to see everything. His lungs were full of the breath of life. He shook with energy. He had no thought for the past or the future. He no longer felt fear, just the rush, the
furor,
the battle frenzy. All he wanted in that moment was to fell another enemy, and another, and another, and another.

But the next foe that came – a boy barely in his teenage years – simply ran by them, making a wide berth well clear of Connor’s reach. Connor fought back
the urge to chase him, holding the line against the others. But the next one fled by as well. Through his ecstasy Connor again became aware of the shouting, the chaos, the crash of weapons; and he realized that something had changed. The
bacaudae
were now all aware that they were being attacked from all directions as their homes burned, and they were fleeing back to their fort in panic. Valia and the others cut them down as they fled, but the
bacaudae
had lost their will to fight – they now ran for their lives.  

Beside him, Henric was laughing as their would-be killers parted around them. With a flick of his wrist Tuldin shook the blood off of his sword.

The Goths were almost upon them, and Connor braced himself for defense should anyone
mistake
them for the enemy. Titus has always emphasized that this was common in battle, and that the history of the
Imperium
was replete with men who had died at their brothers’ hands simply because they had dropped their guard too soon. Connor recognized the battle frenzy on the faces of Valia’s men and realized just how easy that might be. Valia and a few of the others were slowing their run as they prepared to meet up with the three; but
most seemed to just be pursuing their victims the way a dog pursues anyone who runs from it. Valia’s booming command called most of them down. The nobleman’s sword was bloodied, but his eyes at least seemed calm. Connor nodded his head – it must take a special type of person to be open to the battle frenzy and be able to keep a calculating mind as well. 

As Valia reached them and the Visigoths came up to reform their lines Connor ventured a look back to the enclave. Flames climbed high in the air, threatening to spread as burning material were carried on the air currents. Chaos reigned there. When the fire was first noticed everyone in the enclave had rushed out to get water, but the sight of the Goths attacking had sent most of them back inside the palisade. Now as their warriors reached them it seemed as if most did not know whether they wanted to fight the fire or shut the gates against their unexpected enemies. Just outside the palisade, about ten or fifteen of the
bacaudae
formed a shield wall, perhaps planning to engage the Visigoths while the others got water. Connor could see the men returning in equal panic from the far side of the ravine. He could see the chaos intensify as these men saw that
the situation at the palisade was even more desperate than the one they had fled.

“We teach them what happens when they steal from Visigoths!” Valia suddenly shouted, raising his sword in the air. The men around him bellowed a war cry in response as they locked shields in their own shield wall. The battle cry was echoed from the other side of the ravine, as the Goths there took it up. Black smoke was billowing from within the enclave, and as the Goths shouted the
thatch
roof of the first longhouse collapsed with a great crash and eruption of flame. Seeing this, the Goths went mad with howling and beating their weapons. Unprompted, they began to advance as one on the palisade. 

Connor could not deny the excitement, the swell of victory that washed over him – but now that the danger had been removed his
furor
had receded. He looked at the burning ruin that had been a longhouse, knowing that it could have served as
shelter for the
bacaudae
families,
a barn for their animals,
storehouse for food, or repository of their stolen treasure
–
or all of these things. Now it was burning, and the whole village within the palisade may very well burn with it unless
the flames were extinguished. He had been part of the attack. He had brought in the intelligence of the enclave’s existence. He had helped plan how they could best assault the
bacaudae’s
trap and how they could use the enclave as the essential distraction. He had led the way to this place and even handed Tuldin the arrows that started the fire. He had prayed that the buildings were empty of people, and planned the attack so that they would be, but there was no su
rety in that. Now this army of Visig
oths was marching on the palisade and the people trapped within. The Goths knew only one thing, it seemed – fighting, especially fighting for revenge. The threat that this people had offered, regardless of how severe or benign the actual affront might have been was all the provoc
ation the Goths needed to fight;
and now that they were fighting they were going to win. And Connor knew what winning meant to the people trapped between the palisade and the fire.

“Valia, my Lord, we have already won,” Connor said quietly.

Valia strode
forward at the helm of his men. His eyes stared straight ahead, as if he did not hear. His worn shield was up and his bloodied sword ready. His
horsetail crest and wolf mantle were blown by the wind that brought heat, ash, and smoke towards the marching Visigoths.

“Remember the plan,” Connor said, marching beside him. “We care about the crossing of our people, not these brigands. These enemies are done. Why waste time and lives for treasure we cannot carry?” 

Valia stopped, holding up his shield arm to halt the advance of his men. It took a few steps, but Connor saw that the column of Goths approaching from the far side of the ravine halted too. The main body of men, the women, children, and supplies should be mostly through the ravine by now.
Lucia
would soon be safe.

Valia stepped forward.

“Where is your leader?” he shouted, his trained voice of command sounding easily across the distance, though within the burning enclave it was probably inaudible. Some of the outlaws looked at him in fear and expectancy, but none stepped forward. Valia knew that their leader was already dead behind him.

“Do you see what happens when you steal from Visigoths?” Valia thundered. “Do you see what
happens when you steal from Valia, Horse Lord of the Visigoth
s; and from Alaric, our mighty K
ing?”

The
bacaudae
outside the palisade still stared at him silently. The roof of the second longhouse collapsed, and another miserable cry sounded from within the enclave.

“Men of the mountains, I, Valia, leave you your lives. Fight your fire and live. Follow us and we will cut you down like the dogs you are.”

Valia turned and strode back towards his men, his sword and shield both lowered. Connor sighed as he followed him.

“Strip the men you have killed,” Valia called.

“We’re letting them go?” one of the men protested.

“We have them!” another added.

“Yes, we do,” Valia offered. “And we have lost none of our own men. We need to keep it that way. Do you want to face desperate men caught between sword and flame as they attempt to save their wives and children; all so we can be slowed down with more
useless baggage carts?
Much good would our treasure do us when we are buried in the winter snows.
If you want that you should have followed Sarus – for this cohort fights for greed; while we march to join Alaric at the walls of Rome! Do you want the scraps in a
bacaudae
rat’s nest or do you want the treasures of Rome, Ravenna, and Mediolanum?”

There was a cheer from some of the men, though Connor noted that more than a few still looked skeptical and sullen at the last-minute deprivation of what they considered their due.

“Now, strip your kills,” Valia said.
“Quickly.
Then reform over there with the main body.”

Connor saw the wisdom of this order as the shield wall broke up. Valia’s oath men were loyal, but even so the distraction of some valuables was useful. The Goths covered the field, taking what few goods there were to be had from the
bacaudae
dead. There was not much, as the outlaws had been fighting just outside of their homes and so had only brought their weapons and armor – most of which was inferior to wh
at the Goths already possessed.
Nonetheless, there were some sounds of approval as some knives, a few
rings or silver chains, or purses of coins were found. Connor turned his back on the scene as he waited for the men to march towards the head of the ravine. He knew the group was safe, but as always, he wanted to see for himself. He watched the
bacaudae
fight the fire with buckets run from the stream and with hand tools, as a few of their men kept an uneasy watch on the two lines of Valia’s warriors. The third house was now on fire, but Connor hoped that they might be able to get it under control and save the rest. To be burned out in winter was next to a death sentence.

“Again, I do not know if you are just too soft-hearted, or if you are so wise that you are above daily concerns,” Valia said, coming up behind him. “Had I not seen how you kill, I would think you were a weak man.”

“It is just good sense,” Connor said. “They cannot pursue us if they are trying to save their homes.”

“Oh, no – I agree with you. That is why I stopped the men. If they ever get this fire out they will then probably squabble over who is now leader; and by that time even if their hate or remnant of bravery
returned we will be completely unreachable. I just wonder if wisdom is all it is, my friend.”

“
Love thy enemies, and pray for those who persecute you,
” Connor quoted.

“Ah,” Valia said, and then repeated the verse in Gothic translation.
“One of Saint Wufila’s favorites.
Though we have another saying, an older one:
Be rich and safe, and then practice virtue.
”

A small commotion behind them interrupted their conversation. Two of the Goths were quarreling over how the
bacaudae
chieftain’s rings, weapons, and chains should be divided.

“Stop!”
Henric called. “Connor slew him, not you two greedy bastards.”

“With Tuldin’s help,” Connor added, looking over to the Hun who stood impassively with his arms crossed.

“Well, then Connor and Tuldin split it,” Valia said, looking at Connor with renewed surprise.
“As is the way.”

“Let Tuldin take what he will,” Connor said, though Tuldin seemed to have already taken whatever he may have wanted while no one was noticing. “Let my share be put in the treasury. I love my own sword and my own coat of mail, and do not care for this man’s ghost following me through his possessions.”

Connor meant it. He was proud of keeping his people safe, even proud of his bravery and fighting skill – but as he watched the villagers try desperately to fight the fire he wanted no reminders of this place. He wanted no reminders of any of the men he had killed, he thought, as an image of Lorentius gasping in blood shot before his eyes. But no sooner had this thought been chased out then he realized his mistake – he should be collecting as much gold and silver as he could to have enough money to get
Lucia
to Asisium and then get Dania home. Still – the money would come if death tarried. He
did not need to strip
bodies like a carrion bird.

“Hail Connor, our warrior ascetic,” Valia said, smiling. “You’re a strange man, but I am glad to call you brother.” 

XXII

             
“If we ever come across him again – no, when we catch up with him – I will kill him,” Valia said.

             
There was a murmur of assent from the warriors gathered, but Connor just stared into the fire. He remembered Aristotle’s
Historia Animalia
that he had borrowed months ago from Montevarius, and how the philosopher had stated that different creatures are suited perfectly for the environments for which they lived. He envisioned Sarus, his great stature and strength, the cruel eyes calculating beneath the impassive countenance, the cunning of his designs, the resolve and fortitude. There was a man who had faced a lifetime of enemies – the Roman abuses before Adrianople, the wars on the Dacian frontier, the Battle of Frigidus; who had attacked Radagasius, Stilicho, and Constantine the Third. Time and time again this man with the body of a bear and the mind of a fox had cut his way in and out of harm’s way with the edge of his long, long sword. It seemed that if any creature was perfectly suited for this age of violence and upheaval it was Sarus. Valia would not easily be able to keep this vow.