War Raven: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume One (5 page)

Guntram snatched a look at the great expanse of water that he guessed was the
sea
. It was the first he’d seen. Shivering, he peered into the murky distance, wondering what lay out there. Far from home, severed from everything familiar, he felt very alone.

When he finished his hasty ablutions, Guntram was paraded before a
lanista
, the slave agent who he came to know as Luba. Guntram instantly disliked him – the stained tunic, his greasy hair and rotten teeth. His breath stank like an old dog when he examined Guntram. When Guntram instinctively flinched away, the slave agent’s brutish retainers dealt him sharp blows with their wooden clubs.

After, Guntram’s leg and arm muscles were squeezed in turn, his teeth inspected and then his rear for the worms that weaken men. It was a shameful thing that he endured in silence, later watching his fellow captives suffer the same cattle-like probing.

Examinations complete, the retainers herded them onto a waiting trading ship, ready to catch the morning tide. Thick mist rolling in from the sea shrouded Guntram’s view of his surroundings as they were hastened towards a gaping deck hatch.

In the lead, he was the first to stare down the narrow flight of steps into the gloom of the ship’s hold.

Guntram’s heart sank.

* * *

Chapter IV

BAY
OF
POMPEII

“They change their sky,

not their soul, who run across the sea.”

Horace

The trading ship ploughed through the blue water of the bay towards port.

From its deck Guntram stared at the great mountain that commanded the view of the coastline, realizing that his journey from Gaul was almost at an end. As the ship drew nearer to land he saw that the mountain’s upper slopes were wooded, whereas its base was dotted with hundreds of what appeared to be houses scattered amongst fields and groves.

What fate now awaits me?
he wondered.
Execution? Or maybe I’ll be put to work for these Roman dogs? Gods, and there are so many houses. If Strom and Jenell are in such a place, how would I ever find them
? Uneasiness rippled in his guts, and he turned to look out to sea
.

He watched the bright sunlight glint on swell after swell. The breeze whipped across his face, providing welcome relief after another night spent breathing the stale air in the ship’s bowels.

He’d always believed that nothing could be bigger than the forest that covered his homeland, but his first day above deck had changed that. The watery plains stretching to the distant horizon left him in awe, also helping to ease away the grim memories of the wagon journey through Gaul and the slave-pen.

The ship bucked a wave, spray washed his face and his thoughts jolted back to the present. They approached a vacant mooring bay and a host of ships of differing shapes and sizes seemed to cram the harbour. Some were like the fishing boats and transports that plied the great Rhinus, only larger, and others were wooden giants that could surely transport a whole village on their decks with room to spare.

Two were unlike their companions; their silhouettes sleek, sides bristling with oars, with long metal rams spearing forwards from their prows just below the bobbing water-line. There was no mistaking their design and purpose. They were ships for war. Impressed, he watched as their busy crews scurried up their riggings and across their decks like termites.

Then, his ship was docking, its timbers creaking as it rose and fell on the swell of the tide, the briny smell of the harbour strong in Guntram’s nostrils.

Already positioned on deck, his group was the first to go ashore. Each man was shackled at wrist and ankle.

Guntram stepped onto solid ground and his legs felt strangely shaky. There were great numbers of people everywhere, and the warm air was full of smells – freshly cut wood mingling with fish, livestock and strange spices.

The greasy-haired slave agent, Luba, then arrived with the two guards who’d provided for their basic needs on the sea journey. Short swords were slung at their waists and they carried the familiar metal-tipped lashes and wooden clubs that they used freely and without warning. Guntram hated them.

Wasting no time, the guards ushered him away from the sea-front, and glancing back, he saw that the ship’s crew was already unloading cargo.

He was quickly swallowed by a world of jostling activity. He gaped at people of varying size, skin colour and dress that hustled and bumped all around him. Traders bickered over goods, sun-blackened sailors shouted at dock workers and overseers bellowed instructions to employees. Handcarts pulled by men in ragged tunics and others hauled by plodding oxen, dragged cargo from the dock-side to large square buildings that stretched away in both directions from the waterfront. Many of the open-fronted buildings seemed to be either selling food, drink, or both. The whiff of roasting meat reached him on the breeze, and his stomach gnawed at itself. He thought he would kill for a decent meal, yet doubted that he had the strength to put up a decent fight, having lost so much weight on the journey here.

After a short walk, they were brought to halt at the start of a road that climbed gently towards a huge settlement surrounded by a high, stone wall. The wall was breached by two massive arched gateways, through which people and animals entered. It was bigger and stranger than anything Guntram had ever seen.

Brief minutes passed and a company of four males approached. The one in the lead was dressed like a woman. He was shadowed by a man with the shoulders of an ox.

Guntram’s unease returned.

*

“Welcome back Luba,” Gordeo greeted.

In turn, the agent responded with the most extravagant of bows.

Middle-aged, Barrius Gordeo carried himself with an air of importance and dressed accordingly. A single, loose tunic of the deepest blue fringed in gold fell to his knees, and his short, black hair was styled in tight ringlets. Stocky and sallow skinned, he resembled many of his Roman countrymen. He was accompanied by two armed guards and a third bull-like individual.

“Here at last, and I hope with something better than the rubbish that you’ve been serving up of late,” Gordeo continued in a more serious tone.

“You jest of course, my lord,” Luba snickered, smiling.

“Your reputation as the most discerning of
procurators
is well known both here in Pompeii and throughout Campania. I but try to present you with -”

“Enough!” Gordeo cut in. “Your horse-shit is wasted on me Luba. You’d crawl over your own mother to get at your grandmother for a single coin’s profit. So, enough dallying and show me what you’ve got.”

Luba swiftly gestured to the nearest of the shackled men. “This pair of hardy Gauls was sentenced to death for thieving from a local magistrate. Not overly impressive to look at I grant you, but, with a little work and effort, I’m sure they can be taught to die well.”

“Gauls are as common as fleas. And, I agree...they are unimpressive,” Gordeo complained, shaking his head. “Need I remind you that the last pair of spineless Gauls you sold me died badly, despite the kiss of the irons?”

“Next, something better my lord. A Spaniard who’s fast, with the heart of a lion.” His smile stretched wider. “His crime was that his cock ruled his brains, and he was convicted of rape. As the gods are my witness, he has promise!”

“A colourful tale,” Gordeo quipped. He caught a trace of the agent’s breath and his stomach rolled. “And you wore out the names of our gods long ago. So cease your irritating fencing and tell me if they have any skill with the sword and lance? Any experience of battle?”

“I was about to discuss these very skills.”

“Then get on with it, and do not think to feed me goat for venison. Belua will soon discern their worth...or not,” the procurator warned, indicating his brutish companion who stood in close attendance, before adding, “Don’t forget that you are one of the many who creep to my door for a living.”

Luba swallowed hard. “The Spaniard was tutored as a youth in the use of the
gladius
, a weapon his countrymen are well acquainted with. As a result, he has good skill with the sword.” Luba paused, gauging the impact of his words, then went on, more confident. “Also, he has some education and his Latin is good.”

“Tell me about the others.” Gordeo dabbed a scented handkerchief at the sweat that seeped from his hair-line onto his face and neck, and damp patches were appearing on the front of his tunic, the fabric clinging to the tacky flesh of his paunch.

“A conquered people,” Luba responded, “the Gauls’ skills are now those of the hunter. Skills that will stand them in good favour in the arena, against men or beasts.”

Gordeo yawned, before pointing directly at the tallest of the group. “Tell me about him.”

“Lastly, something special.” Luba placed his hand on German slave’s shoulder.

Gordeo watched the slave flinch, then tense his muscles as if he was about to strike.
He has spirit
, thought Gordeo,
even in such grim circumstances.

“A rare specimen from the wilderness of Germania, he is one of the savage Cherusci,” said Luba. “His people were all but wiped out in a raid into that black land beyond the Rhinus. This tiger claimed the lives of two of our brave soldiers before he could be subdued, and by all accounts was lucky to avoid crucifixion before I purchased him on the Gaulish frontier. He’s young with a great future!”

Gordeo waved the agent aside, taking a step nearer to the slave. “A German, you say...not a common sight it’s true.” His gaze unwavering, he studied the slave for long moments before speaking. “A sturdy race, with a fierce reputation. This one, hmmm...Yes, he has good muscle tone, clear eyes. Show me his teeth.”

Gordeo saw the German’s neck and jaw muscles stiffen as the agent prised his lips apart. Satisfied, Gordeo continued, “It’s true that he’ll attract attention, but, he has an impudent look about him and there’s no mistaking the hatred in his eyes. Tell me truthfully Luba, did he try to escape or perhaps throttle one of your guards?”

“My lord, I swear he did not,” Luba professed, with a look full of surprise. “I’m sure that under Belua’s expert instruction he’d become a favourite with the crowds.” He addressed his last remark towards Gordeo’s brawny companion, who stood looking on.

“So, you’re telling me that he has some measure of restraint, which would imply some intelligence too,” Gordeo said. “An intelligent slave is certainly something to be nurtured. A cunning one is something else.”

Pursing his lips, Gordeo turned to the silent trainer. “Belua?”

The trainer stepped forwards, positioning himself directly in front of the German, and asked, “Can he understand me?”

“A little,” Luba replied, “the Spaniard’s been teaching him.”

Gordeo watched with interest as the German matched Belua’s steady gaze.

“Do you hate Rome, slave?” the trainer asked, his voice deep with a rumbling growl at the back of it. He carried a metre long vine-stick, held casually in his right hand. Lifting its tip to the German’s chin, he commanded, “Answer!”

Only silence.

Cat quick, the trainer struck the German a stinging blow across his face with the vine-stick. Bright blood welled up from his recent wound, trickling down his cheek to drip onto his chest.

“You’d like to see the colour of my blood, spill my guts wouldn’t you?” the trainer taunted.

Gordeo sensed that the German understood, but was unlikely to reply. Seeing Belua’s wrist flex, he guessed what was coming next. “Belua, if I choose to buy this savage, you’ll have ample time to educate him.” His voice was firm. “But, let’s not damage the goods before any sale has been agreed.”

“As you wish,” the trainer rasped, stepping back with a nod of the head.

Gordeo saw the look in both men’s eyes as they locked stares, each trying to beat down the other’s as if it were a sword, the challenge unspoken but acknowledged. “What do you think?” he asked the trainer.

“He is big and will get bigger, and has the sense to control his anger. He could do well,” the trainer answered confidently. “But first, like the young stallion to the bit, I’d need to break him a little, because the defiance in his eyes would hinder his progress for sure. Regardless, it can be curbed...as it can with any man.”

“Belua, I know you can break any man, but, like the blade in the forge, can you temper this barbarian without breaking his fighting spirit? Without killing him?”

“Not an easy task, but it can be done.”

“Good,” Gordeo said, relieved. Then deciding to bring matters to a close, he addressed Luba, whose edgy smile was waning despite his best efforts to keep it in place. “Luba, I’ll give you eight hundred
sesterces
for the German, four hundred for the Spaniard, and five hundred for the Gauls, and be thankful I’m taking them off your hands.” It was said with authority.

“You are generous as always my lord, but I was expecting at least nine hundred for the German, five hundred for the Spaniard and three hundred a piece for the Gauls. The cost of transport, their food, the armed escorts, sadly grows ever more expensive. For myself, I ask but little -”

Gordeo cut him short. “Granted, the German has potential, but he has a mule-like look to him. It’s a fair price for the Spaniard, as he’s probably more skilled with his cock than a sword. And, by the look of the Gauls they’ll be lucky to survive their first contest.” He dabbed at his brow. “Decide! The day grows hotter, and my offer is final.”

“I concede to my lord’s knowledge and foresight. Seventeen hundred
sesterces
it is,” Luba replied. “Shall I call at your residence for payment today my lord?”

“Yes, yes. My clerk will settle with you and issue the necessary papers. Now, I need to get out of this heat!”

“Good health my lord, and may the gods continue to watch over you and your house.” Smiling, Luba bowed low.