The Songs of Slaves (32 page)

             
“Let me do the talking.”

             
And with that the four entered through the open flap.

             
Connor was immediately surprised by how orderly and comfortable the inside of the tent seemed. There was an unlit lamp hanging from the center post. There were a wooden table and chairs, and a heavy trunk nearby. Connor did not need much imagination to
figure out what that might be. In one of the corners was a stand that held a set of polished plate armor and a tall-crested Roman helmet, as well as a shield that
–
like Valia’s
–
had been well hacked. But all this Connor took in quickly, for the tall man standing behind the table commanded all attention.

             
“Good evening,
Stratygos
,” Valia said. Connor detected that Sarus was being treated as the superior and addressed by the Greek term for a high general; but there was no servility in Valia’s voice, only an almost long-suffering politeness.

             
“Greetings, Lord Valia,” said the dark haired man in a quiet, low voice
–
almost like the growl of a bear. “I
trust your patrol was
un
harried
and uneventful.”

             
“Almost,” Valia said. “Until the end, when we met with a small number of
bacaudae
.”

             
“How many?”
Sarus said
,
stepping out from behind the table and drawing close to speak to Valia
–
a strange cultural habit Conner had noticed in Goths before. Sarus was older
–
perhaps in his early forties, with gray hairs in his black beard and mane of black hair. His frame was nothing short of m
assive, with muscles larger than any of Montevarius’
celebrated heavy lifters. Though at ease in his tent, he still wore a
coat of chain mail that was torn in a few places and rusting in
others,
and from his belt hung the longest sword Connor had ever seen. It was plain, with a hilt almost like a letter I, and easily as long as a man’s leg
–
too long to be even be considered a
spatha
. Connor wondered at the iron smith who had the skill to make such a sword, as well as the strength of the man who w
ielded it in battle. But Sarus’
age and position, as well as the marks on his shield and scars on his face and arms showed clearly that he wielded his hero’s sword well.

             
“Only a few less than a dozen, mounted and well-armed,” Valia exaggerated.

             
“All dead now?”

             
“No witnesses,” Valia answered. “Thanks largely in part to our new friend here. I present to you Connor.”

             
Sarus drew near to Connor, eyeing him
–
almost glaring
–
sizing him up. Connor bore the gaze as best as he could.

             
“You are no Goth,” Sarus said.

             
“No,
Stratygos
,” Connor offered.

             
“Are you one of Constantine’s men?”

             
“No,
Stratygos
.”

             
“Lying does not become a man,” Sarus returned.

             
“His actions become one, though,” Valia said.

             
Sarus backed away, resuming his place behind the table and pouring himself a bowl of wine.

             
“Indeed. Well, if you vouch for him, Lord Valia, then he shall be my guest as well. Though we have enough mouths to feed, and there are enough assassins on the road without bringing them into our own camp. We may free every Gothic slave in Gaul, as your kinsman Alaric wishes, but do we need strays?”

             
“A warrior is always worth his pay,
Stratygos
.”

             
“True.
Which brings me to my next question.
”

             
Valia produced a small bag and tossed it down onto the table.

             
“The
bacaudae
dead rendered this silver
and gold
, which I offer you,
Stratygos
, in a sure sign of our continued accord,” Valia said.

             
“Thank you, Lord Valia, for this and every service. Now I pray you, go and take food and rest. I want an early start tomorrow.”

             
Valia and the others bowed, with Connor hastily following their example. The left the tent, as Sarus sat down to look over his tattered map.

             
“Does
he think that is all the money
?” Connor
asked when they were out of earshot of the sentries.

             
“Eh? Oh
–
I doubt it,” Valia answered. “We both have to keep up with appearances, though, don’t we?”

             
“Would you bloody-well look at him?” Gaiseric said as they came up beside the others. With a nod of his head the wiry
Visigoth
indicated a column of about twenty riders entering the edge of the encampment. They were cavalrymen, dressed and equipped like Valia and his men, but the shields that hung on their saddles were green with a gold-painted design around the iron bosses. Behind the column they pulled a wagon laden with what appeared to be provisions – crates and amphorae, some piles of clothing or blankets, and various other items. But Connor’s eyes were drawn to a young woman, her hands bound, mounted on a spare horse tethered behind the leader. Her hair and complexion were dark, like
Lucia
’s, and perhaps that is what made the sight of her tear-stained face and torn dress distress Connor even more than the sight of another innocent prisoner may have. Overwhelmed horror and despair clouded the beauty of her features. Connor knew that look well. Unconsciously, his hand found the hilt of his
spatha
.

             
“We are out every day scouting – putting
ourselves at greatest risk – while he is out foraging,” Henric said, and spat on the ground. The sound of his voice brought Connor back to his senses. Draw a sword in this crowd and you would not live long enough to help anyone at all.

             
“Is he foraging, or pillaging?” Gaiseric chimed in. “He’s stolen another girl. Who knows what else he is taking for himself and his lackeys?”

             
“Patience, friends,” Valia said, as Connor took a better look at the man in question – the leader of the column of newcomers. The man was young – between Connor’s age and Valia’s – and Connor was again surprised to see one so young leading
men
who were older and obviously battle-hardened. Though Connor was not an expert, he could see that the young man’s mail, black cloak, and boots were newer and in better repair than Valia’s or any of the others. His stature was tall and broad shouldered, his bearing was proud, and his coloring dark like the charger he was riding. Connor was about to ask who he was, but even then the man saw the group and rode towards them, leading the hapless girl’s horse behind him.

             
“
Salve,
Valia,” the young cavalryman said. His voice was cheerful and even, but was overlaid with a
smugness that was hard to ignore. Connor noted that while Sarus had called Valia “Lord” that this man did not bother.

             
“
Salve
, Arastan,” Valia answered.

             
“How was the patrol? Didn’t run into any trouble?”

             
“None.
We should rest safely tonight.”

             
“Excellent,” Arastan replied, turning his gaze to Connor for the first time. “Who is this?”

             
Connor looked past the arrogant face of the warrior to the girl who wept quietly right behind him, and then back again. He tried to conceal the contempt that was stirring in his chest, but flatness was as close as he could get.

             
“Connor,” he said.

             
“Conner of Nowhere is our new comrade in arms, for a time,” Valia said.

             
“Another drifter for your ranks, Valia, Master of the Masterless,” said Arastan, risking a quick glance to Tuldin. “Our foraging party was quite successful, as you can see.”

             
A quick pull of his wrist brought the prisoner’s horse forward a step, as if Arastan was uncertain if Valia’s men could properly see her before. The girl
gasped, fearing some new abuse. Behind them, some of Arastan’s men laughed.

             
“An aristocrat’s daughter
–
was, anyway. The villa was too far from the road and too few miles from yesterday’s camp to make a proper stop for tonight; but we got plenty of what we needed there.”

             
Connor swallowed hard. More murderers, rapists, and thieves – he knew the type so well by now. He was standing in a brood of vipers. He glanced at Valia out of the corner of his eye. He had started to like the young nobleman. He had seemed to be honorable. What was he really, and what would Valia expect of him? 

             
“I’m sure our people thank you and the other foraging parties for providing another night of food and supplies,” Valia said. His voice had changed – it was still evenly paced and polite enough, but there was a hard edge thinly disguised in it now.
“But attacking villas, slaughtering aristocrats, and kidnapping their children draws dangerous attention to us.”

             
Arastan looked as if Valia had slapped him, but he quickly recovered the same arrogant expression. He handed the tether to one of his henchmen, who led the girl back a few paces as some of the other riders closed
in. On foot, as he and his new “comrades in arms” were, Connor did not miss the threat.

             
“You would rather I sack farmhouses?” Arastan mocked. “That might take all day.”

             
“Of course you must target the villas,” Valia said when the laughter of Arastan’s cavalrymen died down. “But our opportunity lies in that the forces of Honorius and the forces of Constantine are tying each other up. Do you want to create a situation in which one or the other answers the appeals of their rich subjects and has part of his force break off to pursue us? We have a handful of fighting men. We absolutely require speed and stealth if we are to reach the others intact.”

             
“Are you suggesting I just go up to the villa door and ask them for a handout?” Arastan jibed, again enjoying the laughter of his men.

             
“Are you suggesting that you arrived with twenty mounted fighting men and met real resistance?”

             
“Resistance?
Yes, he gave us some resistance – when he saw us with his daughter!”

             
Arastan’s men thundered their approval of their captain’s wit.

             
“Why do you care anyway? Have you forgotten what these people have done to us? Good night to you,
Valia,” he said, and turning his horse led his men away, their prisoner in tow. 

             
Valia let a full breath of air out slowly between his teeth.

             
“I hate that fucker,” Henric said.

             
“He isn’t the General’s son, is he?” Connor said.

             
“Good eye,” Valia said. “He is his youngest son, though his looks favor his mother more. And don’t be deceived – Sarus is not like Arastan in that he has wisdom and experience, but he is much like Arastan in that he knows what he wants and does not hesitate to use what force or cunning he may need to. Do not underestimate either of them.”

             
“Because if you do underestimate them, you may wind up hemmed in behind the walls of Valentia,” Gaiseric joked.

             
Valia started to walk and the others followed him.

             
“I am confused,” Connor ventured.

             
“Again?”
Gaiseric jibed.

             
“You are
foederati
.”

             
“Yes we are – or were and will be again,” Valia offered. “There’s my tent, thank God. I need to wash this dust and blood off and have a drink.”