The Bones of the Earth (The Dark Age) (26 page)

Javor looked uncertainly at the strange furniture that was offered: it seemed like a cross between the bed in his sleeping quarters and a chair. Photius lay down on his side, propped up on one elbow, and started picking up food from a plate that a slave put in front of him. “Oh, Legate Valgus, you needn’t be so modest with three simple travellers. This is the best supper we have had in months!”

Javor tried to lie down like the Photius. It was uncomfortable, and his side and neck cramped. Danisa, he noticed, did not seem to have any such trouble. Soon, he sat up and put a plate on his lap. But the food was delicious. He tore into it. “Remember to chew, Janus,” Valgus chuckled.

And no matter how much wine he drank, someone kept refilling Javor’s goblet. Soon, he just sat, hunched forward on his couch, listening as Photius and Valgus talked and joked and laughed with the other officers. He chewed absently on chicken and veal and strange dishes that tasted like fruit he had never eaten before, until he couldn’t eat another bite. Gradually, as he drank more wine, the whole room began to sink into a pleasant haze until he woke to find Photius coaxing him to drink a big cup of water. “Trust me, my boy, you’ll feel much better in the morning if you drink this now.”

Danisa was tipsy, too. After the sun had gone down, she asked to return to her quarters. Gallantly, Javor accompanied her, but all he could think was
Why is she so cold to me, now?

At their quarters, Javor touched Danisa on the shoulder. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

She ignored him and went into the bedroom; Javor followed. “Ever since we made love, you’ve acted like I have a disease,” he said, following a script he had rehearsed in his mind. “You know I love you, and you love me. So why are you acting this way?”

She just glared at him and tried to shut the door, but he blocked it. “Danisa, what is wrong?”

“
You do not even know who I am!” she snarled, retreating to the back of the room. “I am the daughter of a
king
! I am a
princess
! What are you but a simple farmer!”

He was ready for that one. “And what is a king but the toughest farmer? I am the seventh son of a seventh son.” That did not seem to impress her. “I love you, and you love me,” he repeated.

She laughed so he took her in his arms. She pushed back, but she could not break his grasp. She pushed and cried out a little, but then his mouth found hers and she kissed him back, hard.

They fell together on the bed and soon they were naked. They made love intently and sweetly as the moon rose higher outside the window.

Later, she rolled on top of Javor and he marvelled at the sight of her naked breasts in the moonlight through the window. She moved back and forth, eyes squeezed shut, then froze at knocking on the door.

“
Danisa?” It was Photius’ voice. “Danisa, are you there?”

“
Don’t come in!” she said in her haughtiest voice.
How can she do that now?
Javor wondered.

“
Have you seen Javor?”

“
What am I, his keeper? Go away—I need my sleep!”

Under her, Javor stifled a giggle, but snorted through his nose. Danisa leaned down until her lips were touching his ear. “Quiet!” she hissed. Javor bit his lips and held his breath until they heard Photius going out again. Danisa stayed motionless above him, until Javor craned his head to kiss her nipple. She did not pull back, but stayed attentive for noise until she could not help moving on top of Javor again. He could not hold back for long. They fell asleep in each others’ arms.

Danisa woke Javor before dawn with soft, quiet sex, covering his mouth when he made any noise. She bit her lower lip and held him still, hand over his mouth as he climaxed. And when the sky greyed, Danisa pushed Javor out of the bed, threw him his tunic and pushed him out the door. After she saw him collapse onto his straw bed beside Photius, she closed her door in relief.

Javor woke with the sun falling full and hot on his face. His mouth felt full of straw and his eyes felt heavy. He looked and seemed to be in the middle of a cloud: everything was white and blurry. He blinked and sat up, then groaned.

“
Well, good morning, sleepyhead,” came Photius’ voice. Javor blinked, and gradually the room came into focus. He was in Didius’ quarters again, lying on the bed. Photius was standing in the doorway, smiling.

Did that happen last night, or did I dream it?
His head was starting to hurt.

“
I should have warned you about drinking so much wine at once.” He sighed. “Still, I suppose that every young man has to go through his own first hangover. Experience is the best teacher.”

Javor felt awful: sick to his stomach, sore in the head. His tongue felt thick and dry. He tried to drink water, but that just made him vomit. Fortunately, Photius had placed a bucket near the bed.

Javor spent the day lying in his bed, trying to stay in the shade as much as possible. At Photius’ urging, he occasionally drank water as long as it didn’t make him feel too sick. Eventually, he ate some dry bread. Every so often, Danisa would come into his field of vision and give him a look of distaste.

When Javor’s stomach settled enough, Photius gave him a mild potion. By suppertime, he felt just well enough to eat some bread and cheese and one glass of red wine.
I’ll never drink that much wine at one time again,
he vowed. And to his credit, Javor never did.

Chapter 15
: Dragon attack

To Javor, the fortress, rough by Imperial standards, was the most luxurious, civilized place on earth. All he had to do for days was stroll the dusty grounds, drink wine and take steam baths every evening.

And the food! The thankful Valgus welcomed the travellers to his table, and Javor stuffed himself at every meal. At least four different types of bread, cheeses of strong and delicate flavours, grapes and preserved meats, olives and cows’ milk and so much more! There were combinations of cooked food that Javor could never have imagined.

Valgus grew noticeably stronger every day. In the mornings, Javor watched the commander moving about his men, laughing and slapping them on the back.
It’s a big change since the day we arrived!

One bright and sunny day, the locals who were staying in and around the fort set up a little market in the courtyard. On tables and under awnings made of fresh-cut pine boughs, they offered apples and grapes, bags of flour, chickens in cages. One man sold cheeses, another gourds filled with wine, others handicrafts or clothes they had made. The Legionnaires and some women who had attached themselves to the soldiers milled among the makeshift stalls and made occasional small purchases. Still, everyone seemed to be speaking in hushed tones. Photius actually remarked on it: “In every market I’ve ever seen, there are at least a few vendors shouting out praises of their own wares. These people are terrified, Javor.”

Javor took a few coins he had taken from Ghastog’s hoard to the market. He bought a long, colourful scarf from a crone who grinned toothlessly when he pressed a copper coin into her hand, and a tall, pointed hat of red cloth from another man. The food looked good, but he thought he could get all he wanted for free from the Romans.

Javor bent to look over some jewelry one of the locals had fashioned out of shells from the river and brightly-coloured pebbles when he felt a twinge from the amulet under his tunic. At the same time, a soldier, out of uniform and wearing just a plain blue tunic and carrying a load of apples in his arm, bumped into him and dropped all the apples into the dust. “Now look what you’ve done,” he said in thickly accented Greek.

“
Sorry, but you bumped into me.”

The soldier’s face twisted, showing a few broken, yellow teeth. He was short and stocky, but his arms were thick like heavy rope. Except for his shaven face, every bit of skin seemed covered with black hair. His nose had been repeatedly flattened between beetling brown eyes, and scars crossed his face. A gold chain with a heavy cross on it dangled from around his neck.  “Don’t talk back to me, boy,” he snarled, spit flying with every consonant. “I paid good money for them apples, and now you’ve gone and spoiled them!”

“
I said I was sorry,” Javor protested, struggling to find the right words in Greek. “Look, they’re not spoiled, just a little dusty.” He bent to start picking them up and his face met the Roman’s boot.

Javor sprawled into the dust. “What did you do that for?” He scrambled back to his feet.

“
To teach you a lesson, brat,” the Roman yelled. “You don’t know your place, you don’t.” He raised his fists and stepped closer.

Javor stepped back and found himself backed into a vendor’s stall. The locals  yelled, protesting, telling the combatants to get away from their produce. The soldier stepped in and swung a heavy fist at Javor’s head. Javor ducked and the fist hit the vendor, who crashed to the ground. But the soldier did not take just one swing at a time—his left caught Javor on the side of the head and he, too, flopped onto the ground, smashing a flimsy table and scattering cheese.

The gathered locals tried to clear their property out of the way of the fight while avoiding fists themselves. Javor struggled to his feet when the Roman’s boot hit him in the chest, but it struck the amulet, which deflected the blow. Javor rose again to see the soldier in a boxer’s stance: fists up, elbows in, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Javor copied him. The man was at least twenty years his senior, toughened with years of drilling and war. He was a head shorter, but much broader. Thick muscles showed where his tunic parted. He clearly had the advantage over Javor, but he waited.
He’s measuring me,
Javor realized.
He’s looking at my size, my moves.
Javor lunged forward and jabbed at the soldier’s jaw.

He connected with a smack, but the Roman barely flinched. He grinned and jabbed back, catching Javor on the chest, again striking the amulet. It
clinked
and a painful grimace crossed the soldier’s face. He shook his hand, looking puzzled, then jabbed again with his other hand, getting the same result. Now he had two sore hands.

He swore and aimed a blow at Javor’s nose, but Javor dodged and struck back at the same time. This time
he
hit the soldier in the nose, splattering blood across his face.

The Roman stepped back, grinning. “Oh, ho! The brat has some fight in him!”

“
What’s the matter with you? It was just a bunch of stupid apples!” Javor shouted, dodging another swing of those heavy fists. This time, a fruit stand shattered and collapsed.

Javor jabbed again and hit the soldier’s arm, then followed up and hit him in the chest. He thought he felt a crack, and the soldier grunted suddenly, doubling forward. But he straightened and closed in, ramming his fists repeatedly into Javor’s chest. Incredibly, Javor barely felt anything. He grabbed the Roman’s head in both hands and pulled down while bringing his knee up to smash his opponent’s face.

The soldier staggered backward, mouth bloody, spitting out teeth. He looked up and grinned hideously, blood streaming down his chin, sticking his tongue out through the gaps in his teeth. He laughed, but he was enraged now.

And from behind him, two more off-duty soldiers ran to his aid, carrying thick clubs. “Hey, Antonio!” called the first as he ran past the soldier and swung his club at Javor’s head.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, Javor checked the soldier’s wrist with his forearm and then kicked. He spun on one foot and kicked with the other; his foot connected with the second soldier in the side and sent him sprawling. But the first was swinging the club again.
Why did I leave my sword behind?
He dodged, jumped onto a table which immediately collapsed under him, leaving him standing on squashed fruit. A club swung, missed and landed on a table of vegetables, splattering Javor with pulp.

Javor saw a hand with a club and kicked the wrist, then seized the club as it fell. He swung it up at the other club as it came down. They collided with a bone-shaking thud that he felt all the way up his shoulder.

The new soldier was tough and brought the club down hard on the club Javor held. His hand went numb and he dropped the club. The second soldier was on his other side, grabbing at Javor’s left arm. Again instinctively, Javor jumped in the direction the soldier pulled, sending him off-balance. Somehow, Javor ended up standing on the man’s chest. He spun again in time to block the first soldier with a kick to the chin. The man staggered back, tripped and fell on his back.

But Antonio, the trooper who had started the whole fight, was still there, face bloody and hideous, snarling like a hound. Faster than Javor could think, he grabbed the young man by the tunic and pulled him close as his right fist cocked back for a brutal blow to Javor’s face. There was nothing Javor could do—the legionnaire’s grip was like iron.

“
Hold! That’s enough!” Manius Meridius strode into the wrecked market, brushed past the protesting locals, took Antonio by the shoulder and wrenched him away like a cat flicking a mouse. “You’ve done enough, Antonio. Go get cleaned up.” He turned to the other soldiers who had come to Antonio’s aid. “You two are a disgrace. You’re confined to barracks and on half rations today and tomorrow.” He looked around at the locals, who either glared at him or at Javor or the men who had been fighting him. “What’s the matter with you? You call this a market? Clean this place up now!” Finally, he turned to Javor. “How are you?”

Javor shrugged. “Not a scratch. But why did that man attack me?”

Meridius looked at Javor curiously. “Not a scratch, hey? Well, well. You’ve done better than I would ever have guessed. Antonio, here, is the best boxer in the unit.”

“
What? You knew—”

He was cut off as Legate Valgus boomed “Hold!” He and Photius, fully a head taller, rushed across the courtyard. All the villagers froze, staring fearfully at the Legate. “Are you hurt, lad?” asked Photius. Javor shook his head and stepped away from Meridius.

“
Is everything under control?” Valgus asked Meridius quietly.

“
All except those two fools, Flaccus and Brutus. They came in to help Antonio. I’ve confined them to barracks and put them on half rations.” Valgus nodded.

“
And Antonio?”

“
He’s suffered worse before. Broke his nose again, lost a few more teeth. But nothing he’s not used to.”

Valgus chuckled. “Any more matches like this and he’ll be eating only soup!” Meridius laughed, a little forcedly.

Photius was looking over Javor, pulling his head and his arms this way and that. “No bruises, even! Remarkable! Javor, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“
Two. What is this?”

Photius put a hand on Javor’s back and led him away from the market and out the front gate, which stood open on the fine late-summer day. “What happened, boy? Why did you get into a fight with our hosts?”

“
It wasn’t my fault! The fool of a legionnaire bumped into me, dropped his apples, blamed me for it and tried to hit me!”

“
Did you hit him back?”

“
Once or twice, but mostly I just dodged him. Then two of his idiot friends ran up with clubs and tried to knock my head off!”

“
What did you do to them?”

“
Mostly dodged, too. But I did manage to kick one in the chin. That put him down!”

Photius peered at Javor closely again. “Lad, are you wearing your amulet?” Javor pulled it out from under his tunic, then hid it away again. Photius nodded. “Interesting. I think, lad, the Legate asked this Antonio to pick a fight with you to test you.”

“
What!”

“
Yes. He wants to see what kind of a fighter you are.”

“
Why? Does he want me to join the Legion?”

“
I doubt that. No, he wanted to evaluate just how much of a threat you are.”

“
Threat? I’m not threatening him! I just came here with you! I thought we were going to Constantinople!”

“
Yes, we are. But how does he know that? How does he know he’s not just letting another enemy of the Empire into the borders, and a powerful one at that?”

“
But … oh, no, Photius, what am I going to do? Is he going to kill me?”

“
No, lad, the Legate Valgus is an honourable man. He wanted to see what kind of man you are. And his duty is to protect the Empire. But now he has more respect for you, as a fighter, at least. He may now try to enlist your help.”

Their conversation was cut short as they saw a large band of people, some leading animals, coming up the road under a great cloud of dust. The sentries saw them too. “Sklavenes approaching!” one called from the tower above the gate. Another blew a horn, which summoned a small troop of spearmen. They marched out of the gate, spears pointed forward, to await the arrival of the newcomers.

Even though the people were obviously moving as quickly as they could, it took nearly half an hour for them to reach the fort, for it seemed it was an entire village with old men and women, children and babies, goats and pigs and even cattle. Several of the people were weeping, many more were limping, and a number of old people were being helped along by younger comrades. Two young men carried an injured woman on a litter. Four legionnaires blocked them on the far side of the ditch.