Hope of Earth (51 page)

“You sure were! That thing is beautiful.” He meant in terms of riches, not art; Avar raiders didn’t care about art.

“But it’s pretty heavy. Be a burden to carry all the way home. I see you don’t have that problem.”

The Avar laughed. “Right! My booty is mobile. But you got the better deal, Slav. You don’t have to feed your gold.”

Sam glanced at the prisoner, as if only now becoming aware of him. “I don’t know. Sometimes they have skills that bring a good price on the slave market. Where’s he from? He doesn’t look Roman.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask him. He speaks some foreign language.”

“Maybe I can find out. May I question him?”

“Sure.”

Sam addressed the prisoner. “What are you?” he asked in Slavic.

There was no response. “Answer him!” the warrior snapped, jerking on the rope.

The prisoner winced; it was clear that the rope chafed his neck, and he did not want more punishment. “Frank,” he said. That meant that he had understood the Slavic words.

Sam spoke a little Frankish, learned from his wife.

“What is your skill?” he asked in somewhat halting Frankish.

“I am a trader.”

“What’s he saying?” the Avar asked.

“He says he’s a trader.”

“He’s probably lying. Traders are smart.”

“A trader?” Sam asked the prisoner. “How did you get taken captive?”

The Frank grimaced. “I was in the wrong place, the wrong time.”

Sam translated that.

“For sure!” the warrior said, laughing. “Still, it would be nice if he is a trader; better price. Can you verify it?”

“I’ll try,” Sam said. “A trader should be able to put a fair price on this vase. You judge it, and we’ll see if his price matches.”

The Avar squinted at the vase. “May I heft it?”

“By all means.”

The warrior picked up the vase, and tapped it with a knuckle before setting it down again.

“If you are a trader,” Sam said to the Frank, “you should be able to price this vase. What is it worth?”

“Four bushels of wheat,” the man replied promptly.

“But you didn’t even heft it, or really look at it,” Sam protested.

“Ask the Avar,” the Frank said.

Sam turned to the Avar. “He says four bushels of wheat.”

The man was surprised. “By Svarog, he’s right!” the Avar said, swearing by a Slavic god. “That’s how I priced it.”

“How could you tell, without hefting it for weight?” Sam asked the Frank.

“I know my business. I have handled many such vases. I know such goods well.”

Evidently so. “Are you literate?” Sam asked.

The Frank looked thoughtfully at him. “Are you pricing me?”

“My wife’s Frankish.”

The Frank nodded, understanding Sam’s interest. A captor with a Frankish wife would likely be a better master than one who didn’t even know the language. “Yes, I am literate.”

Sam turned to the Avar. “He says he’s literate, and has handled many such vases. That’s how he knows the value.”

The warrior nodded. “I heard.”

“You understand his words?” Sam asked, surprised. “Then why did you have me translate?”

“To see if you were straight. Want to trade? Him for the vase?”

“Yes. We could use a literate man. But he may be worth more than the vase.”

“Are you?” the Avar asked the Frank in Avarish.

“Yes,” the Frank replied in the same language.

“He may be lying,” the Avar said.

“A literate trader who speaks three languages? He’s worth a lot.” For now Sam was sure the Frank knew both Slavic and Avarish.

“Maybe to you, if you manage the sale right. He’s too smart; he makes me nervous. When will I sleep, with a cunning prisoner? I’ll settle for the gold; it’s sure.”

“Done,” Sam said.

“Done.” They shook hands. Then Sam picked up the vase and proffered it, and the Avar handed him the end of the rope.

“When they were on their way back to Sam’s village, the Frank spoke again. “Why did you want me?”

“Are you trustworthy?”

“No trader is trustworthy. He has to make a living.”

“To your friends.”

“You are not my friend. You are my captor.”

Sam handed him the end of the rope. “I swore to my wife not to abuse any Franks. I love my wife. I give you your freedom, asking only that you repay me your value if you ever have opportunity.”

“You surprise me, Slav.” He considered. “I accept your bargain. I will call you friend.” He picked up a clod of earth and set it on top of his head, in the Slav manner. This made the oath binding.

“Then go, friend,” Sam said, impressed by the way the Frank knew the Slav culture. But of course traders made it their business to know about those with whom they dealt. The oath might not mean as much to a Frank as to a Slav.

“But I have not yet repaid you my value.”

“You haven’t had the chance. We may meet again some year.”

“And we may not. I prefer to remain with you until I make the repayment.”

“As you wish. My wife will be glad to meet you.”

“I would be helpless alone, without money or weapon.”

Sam reached for a knife to give the man, but the Frank demurred. “I am already too much in debt to you. I’ll manage.”

Sam shrugged. He hoped he had done the right thing.

The Frank put his fingers to the rope, but the knot did not readily yield. “Will you help me with this?”

Sam drew his sword. He put it carefully to the rope by the man’s neck, and sawed until the strands separated. The skin beneath was red and raw from the chafing.

Sam brought out a small jar of balm he carried in ease of injury, and proffered it. The Frank scooped out some and smeared it on his sore neck. “I thank you, friend.”

They walked on toward the village. When night came, Sam shared the last of his traveling food, then lay down to sleep. The Frank lay a reasonable distance away, and did not stir. Sam could sleep lightly when he chose, and he trusted no one completely when out on a raid; associates could be almost as dangerous as enemies. But the Frank made no effort of treachery. He was being true to his oath of friendship.

The next morning they arrived at Sam’s village, which was nestled in the protection of a dense forest. Several clans were there, their family houses set close together. They wçnt to Sam’s family house—where little sister Lin spied them. “Sam!” she cried, loudly enough to alert the others, and flung herself into his arms.

Then she looked at the Frank, turning abruptly shy. “I am a friend of Sam’s, owing him a debt,” the Frank said. “I am glad to meet you, pretty maiden.”

Lin blushed. Her long braid and bare head signaled her status as maiden.

Snow appeared, and embraced Sam ardently. “You are uninjured,” she said with evident relief. “What did you get?”

“Nothing, this time,” Sam said.

“He got me—and freed me,” the Frank said.

Snow stared at him, surprised. “You are—”

“Another Frank,” he said. “A trader, captured in a raid, enslaved, freed for the price of my value—which I have yet to repay. But I assure you, I will repay it.” He did not pay her a compliment, because her kerchief and short hair signaled her married status, apart from her obvious relation to Sam. A compliment to another man’s wife could be taken as desire for her.

After that, the Frank became part of the family for a time, while his neck and bruises healed. Flo gave him a piece of amber to trade, and a day later he brought her back a fine copper necklace. Ittai gave him a larger piece of amber, and he returned with a healthy sheep. Uncertain about the legitimacy of this, Jes had him take her along the trading chain he had managed, and discovered that all those he had traded with were satisfied. The Frank was simply very good at judging values, and at persuading others that they needed what he had to offer. The right item at the right time could be worth more to a particular person than it seemed.

Soon the Frank was managing the family trade, and the family prospered. The size of the family collection of cows, sheep, horses, goats, pigs, dogs, and chickens doubled. Everyone came to know and like the Frank. But the Frank, meanwhile, adopted Slav attire. He donned a coarse wool shirt, leggings supported by a rope belt, and leather sandals. He shaved away his beard, but kept his mustache. Women found him attractive, and he found them attractive, but he avoided any suggestion of interest in any woman of Sam’s clan. In short, he behaved well.

The family had come upon difficult times, because their tribe was not closely allied to the powerful Avars, and was forced to pay tribute of barley, wheat, millet, rye, and oats—a hefty share of everything they were able to grow. If they did not produce enough, and pay enough, Avar raiders come and take it by force, and perhaps take a few of their women too. Ittai had once been a Roman, but had moved to these hinterlands when he married into the family, and his wealth had been leached by the raiders. That was why Sam had had to turn to raiding himself; it was better to join the raiders than to be raided by them.

Sam tried to suggest that the Frank had repaid his value, because of the improvement of family circumstances brought about by his flair for trading. But the man demurred. “You gave me my freedom; I owe you yours.”

“I am free,” Sam protested.

The Frank did not argue, but neither did he depart.

In due course they built a house for him, square in the conventional manner, submerged more than a meter into the ground. The walls were wood, and the roof was covered with sod for insulation. It was mainly a single room, with a stone hearth in one corner. It was said that a number of fair women shared nights by that hearth.

Ned became friends with the Frank, who openly admired Ned’s intellect. The Frank made no claims to being the smartest of men, but he had a power of persuasion that was at times uncanny. Ned was in turn fascinated by this. “The man is a genius in getting along,” he said.

Then the Avars came. It seemed that the clan tribute was not enough. The levees had been raised, leaving the clan in arrears. They had to give up half their stores for the winter. They would be hungry long before spring.

“Something must be done about this,” the Frank said angrily. “You are being treated like slaves. I have a notion what that feels like.”

He surely did. But what could anyone do?

“We can’t beat the Avars,” Sam said. “Hunger is better than death.”

“But independence is better than hunger.”

“For sure!” Sam agreed. “If only we could achieve it.”

“We can achieve it if we unify.”

Sam shook his head. “We Slavs have never been able to do that.”

“I believe it is worth trying. Failure would leave us where we are now. Success could benefit us greatly.”

Sam laughed. “Persuade Ned.”

The Frank nodded. “I shall.”

And to Sam’s amazement, he did. That same day, Ned asked Sam and Ittai for a family meeting.

“The Avar strength in this region is slight,” the Frank said. “It is Slavic force that prevails, if we but knew it. We serve as allies to bolster the Avars, answering to them. Yielding the bulk of our winnings to them. If we unified and reserved our forces to ourselves, we could profit from our own power.”

“Are you speaking of Slavs or Franks?” Flo asked.

“Of Slavs. My origin is Frank, but now I am Slav.”

“It does happen,” Snow remarked, and the others smiled.

“Listen to him,” Ned said. “He may be able to do us much good.”

“I would like to go to the leaders of the other clans and tribes,” the Frank said. “To persuade them that if we can unify, we can oust the Avars and rule ourselves. But I can’t do it alone, because—”

“Because they won’t listen to a Frank any more than they will listen to a Roman,” Ittai said. “Unless supported by a native Slav leader.”

“Sam,” Snow murmured.

And so Sam found himself traveling again with the Frank, and with Ned, to make the case to the leaders of other Slavic tribes of the region. Sam was not good at public speaking, so he yielded that job to Ned, nodding as Ned spoke, and Ned introduced the Frank.

They went first to the leaders of the Visians, the tribe to which their own clan belonged. Sam’s family was in good repute there, so it was not hard to gain an audience.

At first the others were cynical. “What is your name, Frank?”

“I speak for Sam,” the Frank said. “My foreign name does not matter.”

“Then we shall call you Samo, in lieu of Sam.” A chuckle went around the circle. They were not taking him seriously.

“Call me Samo,” the Frank agreed with a smile. “Sam gave me my freedom. It is a name I honor.”

They did not argue with that. He had answered well, without either taking or giving offense.

Then the Frank spoke of the power of unity, and the inherent greatness of Slavs, and the indignity of taking orders from any foreign power. His persuasiveness manifested, and soon they were nodding, and agreeing. He played upon their prides and their prejudices with an art that Sam could only envy from the depths of his inability to speak similarly.

In the end, they yielded to the Frank’s vision. “If you can get other tribes to join, the Visians will stand with you, Samo,” their leader said.

“I hope they are as perceptive as you are,” Samo replied. There were smiles; they knew he was idly flattering them, but the dream was catching hold.

They went next to the Moravanians, the most powerful Slav tribe of the region. This was a more difficult audience, but in the end it was the same. Later they managed to bring the leaders of the Czech, Slovak, and Polabian tribes together for a common meeting, with a Moravanian leader attending, for news was spreading, and the Frank persuaded them all. They would unite and throw out the Avars.

But who would lead this effort? The Slavs suffered from the-same problem as always: they could agree on no single one of them to govern others for more than a single battle. There were too many rivalries and resentments.

“You must speak,” Ned told Sam. ‘.’It is the only way.”

Sam knew what to say. He was shaking as he stood before the group, for he was a man of action, not speech. “I am Sam,” he said. “I am no leader. But I know one who is. It is the Frank. He has no history with us; he has not fought against neighboring clansmen. He was a trader. But he knows what to do. Follow him.” He stopped, knowing he had spoken clumsily. He hated that.