The Songs of Slaves (31 page)

             
Connor looked up as he pulled the blade free. He turned around, his sword leveled. Three of the strangers
–
all unscathed and still in their saddles, had him surrounded. The dark-eyed man again had an arrow leveled at him. It was then that Connor realized he was still screaming. He stopped, and tried to swallow, but his throat was raw and his mouth beyond dry. He looked down again at Lorentius, who lay in an
ex
panding pool of blood and brain
; and Connor noted for the first time that the young man was unarmed.

             
“Easy there, friend.”

             
Connor jerked his head up to see the blue-eyed warrior approach. The man was on foot, leading his horse; but he still had his worn
spatha
in his forward hand. Blood covered the blade and had dripped down to the man’s fingers.

             
Connor leveled his sword. He turned to the four men
–
all that remained
–
and the fire and fury returned to his face.

             
“Hold where you are!” he shouted defiantly.

             
The horsemen closed in a pace or two, but the one on foot raised his hand.

             
“I will not bow to anyone ever again,” Connor hissed.

             
“Indeed,” the stranger said. “I can see that.”

             
The blue-eyed man relaxed his stance.

             
“I do not know who you are, friend, or how you came to be here. But you killed that man as he was charging for me. As fortune would have it, my horse had stumbled, and I was vulnerable. So it seems I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

             
He took another step forward.

             
“I am Valia,” he said. “These are my kinsmen, Gaiseric, and Henric; and this is Tuldin of the Huns.”

             
“You are Goths?
” Connor said.

             
“Visigoths.”
Valia corrected. “Yes. Except for Tuldin of course, but he is our blood brother now. And you are?”

             
“Connor.”

             
“From?”

             
“Far away.”

             
Valia laughed.

             
“A diplomatic answer,” he said. “And it pays to be diplomatic these days, doesn’t it? Well, Connor of Far Away, maybe you know who these men were?”

             
“No, I do not,” Connor said. “I think they were
bacaudae
. They chased me from the east road. I do not know why.”

             
Connor saw the four men exchange glances. They did not believe him. He was far from out of danger yet. Who were these men, and why had they attacked his pursuers so readily instead of running away?

             
“Indeed,” Valia said. “These are dangerous times, are they not? The roads are full of desperate men
–
outlaws, runaways, even deserters from the various
armies of the
Imperium
.”

             
He seemed to say this last category with emphasis, and Connor thought he saw the others nod slightly in understanding. Of course
–
Connor had a Gaelic accent, and they had seen him kill. The easiest assumption would be that he was a deserter, probably from Constantine’s army. But where would that put him with them? The price of deserting was no longer crucifixion, but it was still certain death.

             
“And that is not even to mention the traffic from armies of displaced barbarians,” the man called Gaiseric said. Henric chuckled. Connor noticed with some small relief that Tuldin the Hun had put away his bow.

             
“Yes,” Connor said. “These are dangerous times.”

             
“Well, Connor. We owe you a service. And the day grows old. You say you are from nowhere. Perhaps you are going nowhere as well?”

             
“I am en route to Massilia,” Connor said.

             
“Massilia?”

             
“Seeking passage back to Britannia perhaps?” Henric said.

             
“Good luck with that,” Gaiseric said with a
toothy grin.

             
“Well, stay with us and share our bread and wine tonight, and continue on tomorrow if you wish,” Valia offered.

             
“Thank you,” Connor said. “But I wish to travel alone.
Despite the risk.”

             
“I see that you are a hard man,” Valia said. “And you are a great fighter. I respect that. So I will not mince words. We cannot let you go tonight. You see, we are not alone. The others will be here soon, and we cannot allow anyone to go away and betray us to local militia. Not that I believe that you would do that, but I have women and children depending on us for safety.
So you will break bread with us tonight, as our guest, and we will celebrate our victory over these
–
young and well-dressed
bacaudae
.”

             
Connor bridled. It seemed that he had fallen into another trap. But what was the right thing to do? He needed to be off on his own, and yet he was starving and thirsty, and these men
–
while so threatening in their nature and appearance – had certainly saved his life. But he could not trust them. He could not trust anyone.

             
“You will be safe with us tonight. I owe you a debt of gratitude
–
regardless of who you are or what
business you are on. You have my oath for your safety, as I am a
Balti and a
Visigoth,” Valia said.

             
There was something in his demeanor that made Connor believe him. He was hard and gaunt and splattered in fresh blood, but Connor could see that Valia was a true warrior; and nothing is more important to a true warrior than his honor.

             
“May your gods hold you to your oath,” Connor said.

             
“Exchange a gift with me,” Valia said.

             
“What?” asked Connor, instantly wary
again.

             
“That is a fine sword.”

             
Connor looked down at Lorentius’s sword that he still clutched tightly. It was indeed a fine sword
–
richly jeweled the way no military man’s sword would be, sharp, and well-wrought. But it was the sword that had goaded him into slavery, and now it was the sword
with which he had murdered his m
aster’s son and his love’s brother.

             
“I would not be unarmed, oaths or no,” Connor said.

             
“Of course not.
You are a warrior. Take my sword. It is not as pretty, but it is well-tested, and has taken a score of lives.
Death Drinker
is its name, and it
has been with me since my passage unto manhood
–
a weighty gift from my father.”

             
Valia thrust
Death Drinker
in the ground. Connor looked at it. It did seem a good sword, perfect in its simplicity. Its wood furnishings were well-worn, but the new leather wrapping o
f the grip suggested
it had been meticulously
maintained; and as the sunlight caught the notched blade Connor noticed the wispy patterns of the metal that comes from blending hard iron and soft iron together
–
the unmistakable mark of a fine weapon.

             
Connor thrust Lorentius’ sword into the ground. Both men strode purposefully forward and grasped the hilt of their new weapons. Valia offered his bloody hand and Connor clasped his wrist, in the manner of the
Imperium
.

             
“Welcome, Connor of Nowhere. You are now the guest of the Visigoths.”     

  
XIV

             
Connor watched the gold sun dip below the ridgeline, leaving the world in twilight. The twilight he felt in his soul seemed heavier by far. He pulled his cloak closer to seal out the advancing chill of the late-autumn night. Valia and Gaiseric rode ahead, with Tuldin and Henric strategically close behind Connor. He shook his head. Just that morning
–
which now seemed like such an age away
–
he had awoken alone and half-frozen on the damp earth, with nothing but the tunic on his back. He had been on the run from a murderous enemy that was very close to catching
him. But now he rode Merridius’
bay stallion, and wore one of the cloaks that had not been too blood-stained. A small bag with one sixth of the combined coins that had been taken from his pursuers hung from his belt
–
more than enough to get him to Massilia
–
and next to it hung a good sword. More than all of these things, those who had set out that morning to catch him now lay slain, naked in the forest, not far from the road; and he had murdered the man who had wanted to murder him
–
Lorentius, the
Dominus’
heir and the brother of the girl he loved.

             
But as he followed his new companions, some
things had not changed
–
he was still a runaway slave; and the future was still just as uncertain.

             
“We should be there soon,” Valia called back. “I recognize this bend in the road.”

             
“Be where soon?” Connor mused bitterly. But within moments he had an answer, though it was not what he had expected. Rounding the bend, they came to the place where Valia’s people had stopped for the night.

             
It was a full military encampment. No less than ten rows of rectangular tents were erected in ordered files to the north of the road. In the intervening distance, well-armed sentries had been posted and a hasty barrier of sharpened, crossed poles had been set up. But it was not only soldiers in the encampment
–
the village of tents was teeming with women and children hurriedly engaging in their evening work. While many of the men could already be seen sitting near the new-blazing campfires with flagons of drink in their hands, the women were busy in preparing the evening meal; and children as young as five or six were helping to tend to the sheep and few head of cattle. Hundreds of horses grazed the hillside, carefully watched by men with dogs. Connor estimated that there
were maybe four times the number of
people here as in Montevarius’ estate
.

             
“There are four hundred and seventy one fighting men,” Valia said, sensing his question.
“Most on horse.
A hundred and twenty six of them are mine. The rest are fully loyal to Sarus. But more join us every day; and as you see, the numbers of women and families grow as well.”

             
“Quite a lot of mouths to feed,” Henric added.

             
“Every day is a new challenge,” Valia nodded. “But who would have it any other way?”

             
“How long have you been traveling like this?” Connor asked, still trying to grasp the size and logistical puzzle of such a camp.

             
“We left the armies of Honorius maybe three weeks or so ago,” Valia answered. “Perhaps another month will pass before we get to where we are going, at our current rate. We need to get there before winter really sets in, obviously. Neither friend nor family are too happy to see you when you bring them many mouths in the dead of winter.”

             
As they entered the encampment, many of the men stopped their bustle long enough to shout a greeting to Valia. It was soon clear that Connor’s new
friend carried considerable weight here, despite his fairly ordinary gear and rugged appearance.

             
A young man came out to greet them as they reached a large, circular tent. Valia dismounted, and passed his reins to the blonde-haired youth. He shook the road dust from his cloak, as the others dismounted. Three more warriors emerged and took their horses. The one who assisted Connor appraised him with surprise, but said nothing.

             
“Follow me, Connor,” Valia said, still struggling slightly with the sound of the name. “We must introduce you to Sarus.”

             
Before Connor could ask, Valia was walking briskly ahead towards the center of the camp. As they drew near to a tent guarded by four sentries, Valia turned back to him.