The Songs of Slaves (37 page)

             
“What kind of fool gets back on the road in the dark, especially alone and unarmed as you were, my friend?”
Valia
asked. As usual, the tone was friendly enough, but the implication of distrust was clear. Connor felt his guts twist even tighter as he once more compounded his lies.

             
“The rich man denied me hospitality. He refused to even let me sleep in one of his barns. For honor sake, I could not sleep outside of his wall like a beggar.”

             
“Y
ou should have gone t
o the house of a poor man first,” Gaiseric offered
. “They would not have judged you, but probably given you a corner of floor in exchange for some work.
Unless they had a pretty daughter, of course.
Ha! Perhaps these days there are enough young widows in this countryside that you could have found a better arrangement than that! Instead you chose to walk half the night.”

             
Connor forced a smile as
Valia
and Gaiseric chuckled at his expense.

             
“Well, this rich man will certainly regret
his harsh dealings with you now,
”
Valia
said. “What did you say his name was?”

             
Another difficulty.
Between the villa of Montevarius and the crossroads, Connor
had seen no other estates of much
significance. Connor knew that
Lorentius
’s friends that had followed him into death had been the sons of petty landholders – just wealthy and aristocratic enough to meet
Lorentius’
approval, but not rich enough to provide the one-stop treasure troves Arastan was targeting. Their properties would not have made the same type of oasis f
or the several hundred Gothic nomads
Arastan was hoping to support after he had taken his cut. Based on what Connor had seen from the road and heard from his months on the estate was that there were really only two such places in this immediate area. Those were the estate of Lucius Montevarius; and the bigger, even better endowed estate of the reprehensible Paulinus Effacus. Which one of these Arastan discovered first was purely a matter of chance at this point. Presumably, since the prime
directive was to move the whole group east as quickly as practicable, the foraging parties would not take the time to plunder both. But if Connor gave
Valia
a name that turned out to be wrong, it could complicate matters later.

             
“I do not remember. It was hard to catch it. Lucius
Paulinus,
or something like it.”

             
Valia
shook his head.

             
“Connor, my friend, if this plan works out tonight, and I
am
sitting around the fire with you
–
good wine in our goblets and new gold in our pouches
–
then I will forgive you for your many oddities.”

             
Connor tried to return his benefactor’s patient smile,
appreciating
the implied message that the converse was also true. He turned his head to see Tuldin staring at him, the usual unreadable expression on the Hun’s scarred face.

             
The cavalrymen resumed their si
lent vigil, and Connor returned to
his musings. It had occurred to him during the night that the most expedient solution to his problem would have been to bypass
Valia
altogether and present himself to Arastan, telling the greedy young
warlord about the wonders and wealth of Paulinus Effacus; thus detouring them away from Montevarius, and perhaps saving
Lucia
from her unwanted betrothal when the Goths murdered that i
nsufferable son of his. But that
route was far too ruthless for Connor; though the real reason it had been swept off the table was because Connor thought of it after he had already acted. By the firelight, with emotions stirred by the wine and the victory of that day, and with fresh offence given by Arastan, it had been an easy matter to recruit
Valia
and his followers. All Connor did was tell them of the wealthy estate that he had seen, and that Arastan would have first picks on the very next day. Gaiseric, Henric, and
Valia
did the res
t, working each other up into almost indiscreet enthusiasm. Soon they had a
plan to catch Arastan in the act of thievery, to restrain his bloodthirstines
s, and in essence spoil his fun.
They would get a choice bit of the plunder on their own, and steal some of Arastan’s credit with the people. Connor had not sold anyone out, he told himself. Arastan would go where fate led him; Connor was only seeing to it that he would be there too. If they came to Paulinus Effacus, Connor planned to simply ride away. Obviously, if they came to Lucius Montevarius, the
Dominus
would lose
much of his wealth. A bigger blow yet, he may lose much of his wine. But if Connor could somehow mediate between them and if he could influence
Valia
to restrain Arastan’s violence, then he could save the lives of Lucius,
Lucia
, Philip, and the others. Connor si
ghed – there were far too many variables, far too many “if
s
”
. Was he not more likely to fail completely? Or to perhaps even wind up exposed and back in slavery? And how could he face Lucius Montevarius or
Lucia
after striking
Lorentius
down like a dog in the road? Would
Valia
not see the runaway slave, and beautiful
Lucia
not see the fresh red blood on
his hands? What a hopeless measure. What a fool.

             
All at once they were there. Connor recognized the trees, the bends in the road,
the
slope of the ground. When they rounded the corner they would see the first glimpse of the walls, and the willows by the
iron gate
. His heart began to race. His breathing quickened.

             
Valia
brought his hand up and the column halted. The tall, blonde
-haired
warrior turned to his men.

             
“Arastan is close.” 

XVII

             
At first view t
he estate appeared normal for an
October Sunday afternoon. Connor strained his ears for the sound of the turmoil he expected to find within
; but he heard no clash of iron
or screams of panic. But as the column of horsemen approached the outer walls of Lucius Montevarius’s estate at a quick canter they saw that
the
gate lay open on broken hinges. Forgetting his play of innocence – as well as his caution
–
Connor spurred his horse and took the lead; entering once more the place that for so long had been both prison and home.

             
The shaded boulevard was deserted. There was no sound of work in the adjacent vineyards, no smoke easing from the chimneys of the workshops, nor were there the calls of children at play. It was as if everyone was simply gone.

             
But then, as Connor reached the top of the first rise, he spied a horse trudging
, fully tacked but
riderless
,
through the t
all grass
. The horse was not one of the Gothic mounts – the
bridle
was unadorned with lucky amulets, the saddle devoid of arrow qu
ivers or
saddlebags.
Slowing his
own mount
, Conner rode over to the animal.

             
His horse almost stepped on t
he pale body of an eviscerated man
lying in the grass
. His dead eyes met Connor as the Hibernian reached him. Connor gasped and instinctively drew his sword. Sensing his fright, Connor’s horse rear
ed on its
hind legs. Connor struggled to control him. The dead man
was one of Lucius Montevarius’
bucellarii
. Connor had spent many a day under the man’s wary eyes. Now he was slain by Arastan
’s brigands. The villa was under
attack, and Mon
tevarius and
Lucia
were in
mortal
danger.

Connor spurred his horse on towards
the villa
. Still silent,
Valia
and the other riders followed him. But unlike the Goths – ever vigilant and accustomed to the ways of war – Connor had abandoned his caution. He had only one thought – reach
Lucia
before Arastan. Heeding his urgency, his horse outpaced the others, kicking up the white gravel on the road as it climbed the cent
ral hill towards the villa
. If
Valia called to him to slow,
Connor never heard him. Ahead were the double doors of the ar
ched entrance to the villa
, and they too were swung wide open. He risked a glance to
his left and to his right, using the vantage point of the elevated ground to see the rolling hills, vineyards, fields,
arbors, and lodges of the estate
. Still there was
not the fire and clash of weapons
he had expected to hear if he had been too late. Instead there was nothing but a desolate silence.

He pulled his horse to a halt at the open doo
rs. He jumped out of the saddle and released the reins
without a thought.
Now he began to
hear the commotion from within the walls
, the
clamor of harsh voices and the mewing pleas of victimization. It was a macabre music he had hear
d too many times before. Gripping
Archangel
he rushed
inside.

Connor passed through the dim foyer and into the light of the courtyard. Suddenly, he nearly tripped as his foot caught on a fallen form. Recovering, Connor stooped down and rolled the body over. Themistocles, an old Greek
slave
who served as one of the butlers, stared vacantly at him. Connor closed the man’s dark eyes and laid his head down. His eyes were drawn to the single sword slash across the man’s belly. Last night Arastan had told
Valia
that he was only killing men who resisted. The lie now lay at Connor’s feet –
Arastan’s raiders
were killing whoever they pleased
. Maybe they would kill everyone who did no
t offer them a profit. H
is face flush
ed
in rage, but as he looked up into the courtyard his blood again ran cold. Ahea
d, at the base of the cherry
tree another form lay. Connor ran to it, knowing what he would find.

The man lay in a heap, his face down on the flagstones. Red blood, still warm, spread out from under him and covered his hands. He still held an old
gladius
in his right hand and an olive branch in his left. He lay now where the Master of the House would have stood to meet the threat – with an olive branch for peace and a sword for strength. Connor knew that there would have also been a bribe, a peace offering of gold or some valuables, but that was taken now. He lie alone, the villa’s few
bucellarii
already killed or fled, the heavy lifters scattered looking to their own interests. Connor turned the man over a
nd looked down into his former m
aster’s
deathly white
face.

Lucius Montevarius opened his eyes.

“Connor?” he rasped
.

“
Dominus
.”

“Connor!”
Lucius hissed, dropping the
gladius
to clutch Connor’s wrist. His hazel eyes, clouded only a second before, grew bright with urgency.

Connor could feel the warm blood that seeped from the open wounds reach his pant legs. He could hear the air rattle in and out of the Master’s lungs.

“Do not worry,
Dominus
,” Connor urged. “I remember my oath. I will protect her
.
I will see her restored.
”

Lucius seemed to want to say something, but his eyes grew cloudy again. His mouth opened twice, but no words formed.

“
The souls of all men are immortal,
” Connor quoted “
but the souls of the righteous are immortal and divine.”

Through the blood, Lucius smiled and seemed to nod his head once. He closed his eyes, but his grip on Connor’s hand tightened. And then he was gone. Connor lowered Lucius’s head and drew the Master’s mantle over his face.