Druids (21 page)

Roman towns called themselves cities if they were of any size

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as. all. Though they were built of stone and masonry and ornamented with flowers and fountains, they could not disguise their spiritual ugliness. There were beggars in the streets.

Among the Celts no person had to beg. Everyone earned a living through his contribution to the welfare of the tribe or, if totally helpless, was cared for by his clan. But in the Province people begged, and threatened to call down the wrath of the Ro-man gods upon any who refused them. Unlike Hanesa with his stories, they gave nothing in return for what they got. They were not even honest bondspeople working off debts.

I did not like the towns. But we had to have food and wine and fodder for the mule, and warmer clothes for crossing the mountains, so when we reached the next town I led my little band through a maze of streets and alleyways, looking for the market square.

We arrived just in rime to see a slave auction getting under way.

The pavement of the central square was crowded with pens and stalls. At intervals there were wooden pillars swagged with chains, holding men too powerful to be kept any other way. Slavers bawled at their merchandise in a hundred tongues. Around the edges of this noisy, odoriferous mass of people were curtained litters con-taming the wealthiest buyers. An occupant occasionally twitched a curtain aside to peer out or to bark an order to a litter bearer to move into a patch of shade.

Impelled by curiosity, I began elbowing my way through the crowd. Rix was just behind me.

I kept my amulet well concealed inside my clothing-Not only were druids outlawed in the Province, but all towns swarmed with thieves. As if beggary were not bad enough, many men born with nimble fingers that would have delighted a craftsman turned their gift instead to less prideful purposes. In free Gaul a man wore his wealth proudly. In the Province he must hide it for fear of losing it.

We came to a halt just below the auction platform. The stench was terrible. Slaves waiting to be sold had no place to relieve themselves but around their own feet, and the area swarmed with shiny green flies as large as hummingbirds.

“Ho, barbarians’ Have you come to offer yourselves on the block?” a rough voice shouted at us. I had to grab Rix by the arm. “Don’t start anything,” I muttered under my breath.

One end of the auction platform was shielded from me sun by a red-and yellow-striped awning suspended between two poles. Prospective purchasers milled like cattle as they waited for the

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next lot to be offered, or visited the adjacent pens to inspect slaves being held for later sale.

The merchandise was of every type and race. Giant Germans, prized for their size and strength, were kept in chains and shackles. A pair of dwarfs of Ethiopian origin, according to their seller, was costumed in silks and plumes and would bring the high price of exotics. Weather-beaten laborers and field workers stood in a sullen group, rubbing their calloused hands nervously against their thighs or staring out at the crowd like mindless animals.

A half-dozen women were brought forward and pushed onto the platform.

Beside me, Rix growled—

Fair women, white-skinned, blue-eyed, flaxen-haired, and freckled. Celtic women with pride still alive in their eyes. In free Gaul each tribe had its own face, and I recognized the iook of the southern Boii on these women.

Stripped naked, they stood in the piteous glare of the southern light. The dealers handled them like cattle, pinching their breasts, estimating their breeding potential and more subtle charms that could bring a higher price.

“They were stolen from free Gaul!” Rix exploded. “They are free people, our people. Buy them, Ainvar! Let’s get them out of here!”

“Be quiet, Rix! Someone will hear you. Besides, we have only enough Roman money to last us until we’re back in Gaul. I can’t buy all those women.”

“You will,” he replied in a voice so commanding I almost obeyed him in spite of myself.

“Look around, Rix,” I whispered desperately. “These people are here to do business. If we cause a scene they won’t thank us for interrupting them.”

“You don’t have to cause a scene, just buy the women.”

“If I made an offer sufficient to pay for them I could not produce the money to cover it, and I suspect we wouldn’t live to get out of the square. We’re barbarians here, remember?” As I spoke, I was scanning the crowd for some sign of Hanesa and Tarvos to help me, but all I saw were hard-bitten faces and lustful eyes staring past me at the Celtic women.

The auctioneer was speaking more rapidly than Hanesa in full spate-1 clung to Rix with both hands, trying to keep him under control until I heard the cry “Sold!”

The buyer’s agents stepped onto the platform, wrapped cloaks around the merchandise, and led it away.

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Rix turned a bitter gaze on me. * ‘What good is all your druidry if you can’t prevent that?” He jerked his head toward the platform.

A lull fell until the next lot was brought up. Rix began arguing with me again and I realized the crowd was turning its attention on us. I tugged at him, trying to lead him away, but he threw off my hands and doubled his fists as if he would hit me. To my dismay I noticed two soldiers in bronze breastplates bearing down upon us, looking grim. The authorities did not like disturbances during an auction, it was not good for business.

The auctioneer began droning away again. Rix was becoming more agitated. The two soldiers were almost upon us. My head presented me with an appalling image of Rix and myself, two strong young barbarians, seized and shackled and auctioned off with the other slaves. Merely part of the day’s business …

Business!

I waved one arm in the air, trying to catch the auctioneer’s attention. The two soldiers hesitated.

I waved even more frantically. With the other hand I held up my leather bag of money.

“Sold to the tall man in the second row!” cried the auctioneer.

The two soldiers halted. They knew better than to interfere with trade. Rix looked from me to the platform and back again, wearing a baffled expression. I took my first look at the slave I had just bought to save ourselves from a’similar fate.

Fortunately it was just one slave. She stood alone on me platform, ignoring the jibes of the spectators. “A fine dancing giri, well trained in the seductive arts,” the auctioneer assured me as he pushed her toward me.

I saw a woman past her prime. Her eyes and her breasts were tired, she was mottled with bruises, there was a layer of doughy fat around her waist. Olive-skinned, daric-haired, she might have been attractive once, but that was a long time ago. Now she looked a dozen winters older than I.

Aghast, I met her eyes. They pleaded with me.

The soldiers were still watching us. I flashed them what I hoped was a convincing smile and said in a loud voice, in my best Latin, “She’s what I’ve always wanted.” Vaulting onto the platform, I led my purchase away.

I did not dare look at Rix.

We descended by steps at the side of the platform. The auctioneer’s agent was waiting for me at the bottom with his hand out and quickly relieved me of most of our money. The woman ducked

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under the platform and reclaimed a few scraps of clothing from me pathetic heap stored there. She was dressing herself as Hanesa and Tarvos finally came pushing through the crowd to join us.

Before they could ask questions, I ordered my band to close ranks and we made our way from the square, taking the woman with us. Rix said nothing until we reached a side street. Then he rounded on me.

“I wanted you to buy the Celtic women, Ainvar, not this, this …” He waved his hands, at a loss for words.

I could have wrung his neck quite cheerfully. Thanks to him we were now lumbered with an overage dancing giri and our money was gone. “You’re to blame!” I shouted.

“/am?”

“You are rash and reckless and a danger to us all.”

“But I thought—”

“After this leave the thinking to me, Rix. I’m trained for it!” I spun on my heel and showed him my back.

In return for our money I had been given a parchment scroll. While the others stood waiting, I unrolled it and struggled to read the Latin, which claimed that the possessor of the scroll also possessed one woman called Lakutu, to use for whatever purpose said owner saw fit.

The thing sickened me. I rerolled me parchment and resolved to throw it on the next fire we passed.

The frightened way the woman was cowering against the nearest wall made things worse. “What am I going to do with you?” I asked her as gently as I could.

She essayed a timorous smile, revealing rotten teeth.

When I continued to stare at her she rotated her hips and thrust her belly forward. She was old and her grace was gone; she stank of rotten fish.

Suddenly Rix laughed. “She’s all yours, Ainvar!”

I called him a name in Latin that I hoped he did not understand. There are advantages to knowing more man one language.

The woman presented me with sizable problems. There was never any question in my mind about taking her with us; had we left her, she would soon have been on me auction block again. Having seen the look in her eyes, I could not subject her to that fate. But she would make us more conspicuous than ever—and she had cost us practically all of our money.

I bought supplies with what we had left, and that night we made camp beyond the town. The woman attached herself to me with

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a slavish devotion. When I lay down to sleep she curied herself into a ball at my feet and stayed there all night.

Rix thought it hilariously funny. He began referring to her as my wife.

“Her name is Lakutu,” I insisted. “It said so on her docu-ment.” Which I had burned.

I could not turn around without bumping into her. When I squalled to relieve myself she tried to wipe my backside with moss.

She did not appear to understand Latin or any of the dialects I knew. I had to communicate with her by gesture, and even then she did not always know what I meant. She seemed unable to recognize my efforts to push her away. I began to dread the trip home.

“You’re going to have to repeat your storytelling wherever we can next gather a suitable crowd,” I told Hanesa. “We have enough food to last us a day or so, but we have a long walk ahead of us yet, and we will need adequate supplies before we go through the mountain passes.”

“Rely on me,” promised the bard.

We found a promising place beside a busy roadway and Hanesa began attracting an audience. Tarvos collected few coins, but someone gave us a chicken and someone else offered fodder for the mule. I preferred barter anyway; it was our customary method of payment in free Gaul. Coins were for traders and were considered as much ornamental as pecuniary.

While Hanesa plied his art the rest of us stood to one side and listened. When someone laughed and threw several coins not to Tarvos but at the bard’s feet, Lakutu widened her eyes. She ran forward to stand beside Hanesa, clawing her fingers through her greasy hair. Then she began fumbling with her threadbare clothing, tightening it in some places and loosening it in others.

People watched, elbowing each other. Hanesa started to put out a hand and restrain her, but intuition spoke to me-

“Leave her alone, bard,” I said aloud.

Lakutu began to dance-She was too old and too fat and no luster remained on her skin. But when she began to move she was transformed. To the accompaniment of her own snapping fingers, Lakutu swung her shoulders and patted her feet against the earth. There were old stains of carmine dye on her toes. Watching, I noticed for the first time how small and high-arched her feet were, and how graceful her hands.

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Lakutu swayed from side to side. With a deft flick of her fingers she bared her belly. The roll of fat she exposed did not bounce, it rippled, revealing the sinuous play of unguessed muscles. Her flesh undulated with exquisite control. Her feet moved faster. She closed her eyes and began to spin, humming to herself, me tiny feet pattering in rhythm.

I was wrong about her being too old and too fat. In her dance she revealed a lush, ripe opulence, a round richness like sacks of grain bursting with corn.

She twitched away more of her gown. Her sagging breasts had large, wine-colored nippies. As I watched in disbelief she began to rotate her breasts in two opposite directions.

Even a druid could not do that kind of magic.

Rix was leaning forward, the laughter wiped from his face. Tarvos was breathing hard and Hanesa was murmuring appreciatively, with little clucks and exclamations of pleasure. Even Baroc was standing on tiptoe, peering over our shoulders.

The natives were shouting and applauding.

When she had amassed a larger pile of coins than Hanesa’s, Lakutu made one final pirouette, bent down and picked up the money, and brought it to me. She held it out in her two hands and offered me a shy smile to go with it.

None of my training had prepared me for this.

As I hesitated, Rix said out of the comer of his mouth, “Take tile money.”

It seemed an excellent suggestion.

That night when Lakutu curied up at my feet, I could not sleep

for awareness of her. At last I sat up and took hold of her arm. She flowed toward me like water, settling down against me with a little sigh.

In the dark she might have been beautiful.

How I wished I could talk with her! But we had only the language of the flesh; our minds could not meet. With hand and hip I studied her, and by dawn I knew her as well as I ever would.

Rix started to tease me that morning, but something he saw in my face stopped him. He treated Lakutu with grave courtesy thereafter, even helping her to mount the mule when it became obvious she could not keep up with our walking pace.

Though I had admitted it to no one, Briga had frequently been in my mind. But only in my mind; Lakutu was now in my bed. I did not have to seek her out and work to win her. She was simply there, like a wife. I discovered mat eaten bread is soon forgotten and I paid little attention to her from sunrise until sunset, yet when