The Songs of Slaves (44 page)

             
Connor found the stream that he had heard earlier. Frigid water was rushing vigorously by, a few paces wide and about knee deep. Connor could see
from the lay of the ground that during spring time this stream must become an intraversable torrent as it swelled with melting snow. He no longer needed to wonder where the
bacaudae
camp was, he only needed to follow the stream.

             
Taking his time, Connor picked his way across the slippery, moss-covered river stone. If he fell not only could the sound betray him to the enemy and the saturation make him even more vulnerable to the cold, but also that the current could make it difficult for him to get up again. The strength of rushing water was easy to misjudge, and Connor had known men to be killed by so simple a thing. Once on the opposite bank he began to run. Time was passing, and every minute that went by was a minute that his friends were still in harm’s way. If he took too long they would be forced to leave him, and Connor did not care to contemplate a cold night alone on the threshold of a camp of thieves and murderers.

             
He reached the wooded slope of hillside and slipped within the tree line. His confidence was growing with time and with the distance from where he expected any camp to be. Still, all it would take would
be a lone man hunting or someone merely trying to get some privacy from the camp and he could be caught. Half-way up the slope, he looked out towards the stream, but still could not get the view he needed. Connor soon found a suitable tree and began to climb. He could now see the stream below. The mist was starting to dissipate as the rain was falling harder. He could pick out the sentries far off towards the pass, but felt safe in his cover. He picked out four more further along the ridge, and reasoned that there must be an equal number on the other side of the gauntlet. Tracing the stream further east he finally saw what he was looking for – the camp; or at least enough of it. Rising out of the remaining fog, partially shielded from the pass by another hillside, were seven low, long
roves
. Connor let his breath out through clenched teeth. When he had heard there may be bands of thieves he had assumed that meant a small number. He had heard of
bacaudae
along the roads operating in groups as small as two or three to as big as ten or even twenty; but this camp could possibly house around a hundred. Smoke breathed lazily from several smoke holes in each of the long houses. From what Connor could see they were constructed of raw timber. They reminded him of some
of the longhouses he had seen amongst the Jutes, Saxons, or the Angles, but the similarity was probably more one of purpose than of culture. The details no longer mattered. He had the information that he had come for, and that information was not encouraging: the Alps on the edge of winter, with a hundred or so cut-throats occupying high ground that they must pass through. 

***

             
“Hold!” the Visigoth sentry ordered, leveling his spear. The three others next to him leapt to their feet and drew their weapons.

             
“It’s us,” Gaiseric said, nudging his horse forward into the torchlight. Connor and the others followed and brought their horses up beside him. The grim sight of the Gothic encampment, its cramped tents erected in defiance of the wind that had pushed off the rain, its people huddling around their sparse, smoky fires as they tried to gather what warmth they could,
was a great comfort to Connor after coming so close to the enemy.  

             
“We were starting to worry about you,” the old warrior said.

             
“We were delayed.
” Gaiseric said.
“
We found something.”

             
“
Bacaudae
– a hive of them,” Henric added. “Not three miles away from here. We’re just lucky that we saw them before they saw us, thanks to Tuldin’s good eye and Connor’s good running.”

             
“That is lucky,” the old man said, pushing his wet, greying hair back from his scarred face. “This comes at a bad time.”

             
“You brothers stay alert, and go easy on the ale,” Henric said, inadvertently interrupting him. “The
bacaudae
have a disadvantage in numbers that they more than make up for in terrain. They will make us come to them, but nonetheless watch close for trouble. Perhaps Valia and Sarus will even decide that we should assemble and ride out there tonight, where we would be in place to attack them at dawn before they are aware of us.”

             
“That would be a wise course,” the old warrior said. “But we are unlikely to get any such combined order to
night. Valia is still in Sarus’
tent. Things do not seem to be going well.”

             
“What do you mean?” Henric asked.

             
“As you know, there have been some problems. There always are whenever two companies travel, and those problems are times ten whenever you add women and children. Sarus said this morning that he wanted t
o discuss the issue of his man that stabbed our man
. We didn’t have much issue with that – even Valia said that the bastard had it coming
for making eyes at the fellow’s wife
. I know I
never had much use for him
. But Valia went over there shortly after you and the other scouting parties left. By the time we were all packing up we heard raised voices coming from the tent. We were alarmed, as the voices became louder and
more angry
– to the point that men on both sides went and armed themselves. People got close, trying to hear what was going on, and all day long all we’ve heard on the march was one theory after another.”

             
With this last statement, the old warrior rested his gaze on Connor, but then quickly looked back towards Gaiseric and Henric.

             
“Anyway, as we made camp tonight, Valia – who was in a foul mood all day, and barely had a word for anyone – got a few men together, along with his little Roman lawyer captive, Scarbo, and one of our priests,
and then went back into Sarus’
tent. They’re still in there now.”

             
“The enemy is out there, not in here,” Henric said.

             
“Indeed,” the old warrior nodded. “Let’s hope cooler heads prevail.”

             
“We need to tell Valia what we have seen,” Gaiseric said. “Seems we need to go to Sarus’s tent and wait our turn.”

             
“Maybe it will help them both to remember what is important,” the old warrior said. “Good work today, brothers.”

             
Connor, Gais
eric, and Henric returned his sa
lute and the four moved on into the camp.

             
The tension in the camp was palpable and impossible to ignore. Many of the women and children were already huddled in their tents, staying out of sight. The men around the fires still wore
their swords, and some
wore
their armor, as if ready for the other half of the camp to attack them. Perhaps the extra vigilance was good in light of their proximity to so many
bacaudae
, Connor mused. Just this morning, relations in the group had seemed a little raw but essentially alright. The road and the weather take their toll but now the change in the mood was drastic. Where there would normally be talking and drinking and even singing there was now only worried looks and silence, as everybody see
med to stare intently at Sarus’
tent. 

             
“What the hell?” Gaiseric said. Henric nodded in response.

             
“I need to go check on something,” Connor said.

             
“Just hurry back,” Henric responded. “Valia will want all your details.”

             
Leaving his horse with one of the grooms, Connor made his way through the maze of tents and campfires towards his own. He was anxious to see that
Lucia
was safe. As long as he was Valia’s oath man then his woman would have protection. This was especially true considering how high profile he and
Lucia
had become in such a short time. Everyone in the camp knew her by sight as the woman whom Arastan and the drifter had battled over. As such, everyone knew that to lay a hand on
her
would bring wrath from one direction or another. But Connor wondered if that was now no longer a given. If Sarus and Valia were quarreling, Sarus may in fact target
Lucia
– as Homer’s Agamemnon did Briseis. Finally picking his tent out from all the others, Connor pulled the flap and ducked in. He drew a sigh of relief as he spied
Lucia
sitting on the ground with her knees drawn up to her chest, though he knew to expect the usual cold reception.

             
Lucia
barely acknowledged his entry. She gazed into the tiny flame of the lamp, watching it ripple in the cross-currents that drafted through the tent. She had her small wooden case hugged to her breasts – the case that held her idol and the accoutrements of her cult. Connor thought back to the night he fought for her. She had asked for that box then, but he had refused.
He returned to Lorentius’
chamber that night to find
Lucia
clutching it tightly, as she did now. She had risked her life to find
it, taking it from her pillaged room when all backs were turned. Connor had wondered how she got to her room without being seen – if she had perh
aps risked crossing from terrace to terrace
, or if perhaps there had been a secret passage – but he never ventured to ask her. Those two days she had seen her life as she knew it end – her family killed, her property stolen or left waste, and her future changed irrecoverably. She had watched from the window as the few slaves who were brave enough buried her father, as within the house the roar of hundreds of Goths feasting and singing filled her ears. Connor had stayed beside her through all of it, and never spoke of it again.

             
“Are you not cold?” Connor asked.

             
Lucia
nodded that she was, but did not move to cover herself any further.

             
Connor found the basket of provisions that had been rationed them for the night – a loaf of bread to share, some hard white cheese, and a few olives, along with a flagon of sour brown ale. He tore into it, trying to replenish some of the energy he had spent shivering through the long day. He forced himself to slow as he drank a gulp of ale. They may be going out again, if
Valia took his suggestion. If that happened Connor would need the full measure of his skill to catch the sentries unawares and kill them before they heard a sound. He had been thinking of this the whole perilous journey back to the camp. If it played out that way, this would be the first time he had ever killed anyone who was not directly threatening him or his loved ones. But if he did not kill them then he and his loved ones would be at their mercy. What was the difference? But nonetheless, it felt different.

             
“You look very weary,” Connor said, seeing the way the firelight played on
Lucia
’s cheeks and her eyes, allowing himself the luxury of gazing at her.    

             
“I’m sorry of my look does not please you,”
Lucia
snipped.

             
“What I am asking is why have you not eaten any of this food?”

             
“My
Dominus
must eat first.”

             
Connor shook his head in exasperation, but then took another look at
Lucia
in realization.

             
“You are fasting?”

             
Lucia
looked up at him, perhaps surprised that he knew anything about her faith. Connor actually did not, but he knew the tools of mystics well enough – fasting, rhythms, potions that give dreams, repetitive prayers, sleep deprivation, self-inflicting pleasure or pain, exposure to the elements, or maintaining solitude; just some of the ways man tries to get a god’s attention.

             
“I know that you are not trying to kill yourself,” Connor said. “You would have done it already.”

             
“The Mother will not permit me,”
Lucia
said.

             
“How long will you continue this fast?”

             
“Until it is time to break it,”
Lucia
shrugged

             
“I do not expect you to obey me,” Connor said, keeping his voice low and gentle. “But I would ask you to c
onsider this: we are in the mountains
now. The road ahead is very difficult and winter is upon us. We need to keep up, and we need to keep strong. We have to be ready to protect ourselves and we have to be ready to take our chances when they come. If you do not eat and drink now then you will get sick and die. Is that what your goddess requires of you?”