The Songs of Slaves

by David Rodgers

  Arastan nodded, this time emphatically. Connor released him.

  Connor rose to his feet, kicking Arastan’s weapons further away and grabbing Archangel. He wiped the blade on his tunic, and turned in a circle so that he could see all the men. The Goths – both those of Arastan and of Valia – were all staring at him. None seemed to have expected him to survive.

  Then Valia strode forward, smiling broadly. He began to speak well-chosen words, commending the bravery and skill of both fighters; assuaging the hostilities of Arastan’s men and attempting to turn the focus in a direction of accord.

  Connor heard none of what was said. His sword still in his hands, he moved towards Lucia. The two men who had held her were quick to back away as he neared them. Lucia gazed up at him, her green eyes intense in the fading light, her lips open in shock. Without a word he lifted her to her feet, took her by the arm and drew her quickly away.

  XVIII

  Connor released his grip on Lucia’s arm as he pulled the door shut behind them. The girl collapsed on the floor, resting her head on the nearby upholstered bench. Connor listened to her quiet sobbing as he slid the bolt and then barricaded the door with a heavy trunk. He looked around the room before smirking bitterly with the realization that this must be Lorentius’ bedchamber. Clearly, God must be trying to punish him.

  He shook the thought off as he surveyed the room in the gray light of dusk. There was a massive bed in the center, draped with thin muslin to keep the biting insects away. Beside this there were two large wardrobes. In the opposite corner there was a writing desk and chair, though no signs of any books or parchment. Near the door was a dresser with a washing basin on top of it. Though the slaves had cleaned it, as they did every day, the room had a distinctly lived-in feel; as if Lorentius could return at any moment. It almost smelled like him, and the small items lying around the place gave testimony to the nature of their master – reminders to Connor of the young man that had persecuted and pursued him until the day that Connor struck him down.

  Connor strode towards the double doors that led out to the small terrace. He glanced out, ignoring the table and two chairs that stood near the iron railing and taking in the lay of the land beyond. It faced west, the direction of any flight. The terrace was one of the features for which Connor had picked this room as he was quickly looking for a place to shelter Lucia and himself before the Goths might have any untoward change of mood. The second reason was that it was a corner room, and so Connor reasoned it might offer slightly better options in case he had to make a swift escape. But all this was completely unclear now. God, he needed some time to think! He shut the doors on the terrace and drew the bolt.

  Lucia was still weeping as he approached the dresser. There was water in the pitcher. He poured some into the bowl and began trying to work the blood off of his hands. When this had been accomplished at least to some level, he opened the drawers and found some new clothes he could put on. He turned towards Lucia, but the girl’s face was buried in her hands and she did not seem to be watching him at all. There was no sense in being shy – whatever happened, she would be seeing a lot of him over the next few days. He stripped his clothes off and washed off with the rest of the clean water. As he scrubbed his body with a wet cloth he looked himself over. He had been scratched and cut by his escape through the forest, and bruised by the beating several days ago and by Merridius’ surprise attack; but of the two battles he had fought in two days he had hardly a scratch. He was born for this – born to fight. Why had he fled from it for so long? After hastily drying, he pulled on Lorentius’ tunic and breaches. Though the cool tiles felt good under his tired feet, he pulled a pair of riding boots on and refastened his baldric. He had to be on his guard.

  Golden light shone on the walls as Connor lit the lamp. He crossed the room to the bench and sat down beside Lucia.

  “Lucia,” he said as gently as he could, but Lucia would not answer him.

  “Lucia,” he said again, resting his hand on the sobbing girl’s shoulder.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  Connor stood to his feet, not sure what to do next. At first it seemed that she would say no more, but then she seemed to collect herself enough to look up at him.

  “You brought them here!” Lucia accused. “It is because of you that my father is dead!”

  “They came here on their own. They were marching this way long before I ever ran away. I only came back to protect you. And protect you I have.”

  “Liar! Why would you want to protect me? You hate us. That is why you ran away. My brother went to bring you back, but that man you ride with killed him!”

  “Valia did not kill your brother,” Connor said.

  “You are a liar! He did. I would recognize my brother’s sword anywhere. He loved that sword. You run away and then he rides off to find you. Days later you turn up with a gang of murderers and one of them has my brother’s sword. You think that I cannot see what this is? You have brought these men here for revenge. Are you going to rape me now? Is that it? Or did you think that now that you are here all big and acting important that I am going to just lie on the bed and give myself to you? Isis curse you! You are no better than those men down there. You are a wolf and a barbarian! My father was a fool to love you as he did.”

  At the mention of her father, Lucia’s vehemence flickered and she began to weep once more. Connor stood, momentarily speechless.

  “Listen to me and listen to me well,” Connor said finally. “I will not stand here and argue with you, nor will I answer you as a slave – no, not ever again. I am not your slave any longer.”

  “Is that what this is all about?” Lucia spat. “This is the motivation behind your betrayals?”

  “Enough!” Connor said. “You will listen to me. There is no time for this. I am not your slave any more. But I have made an oath to your father. I fled the injustice of this place and the cruelty of your brother, but when I saw that you were in danger I returned to protect you. If I had made it here sooner I would have protected your father also. But now you and I are in a hard position. You have to trust me and I have to trust you if we are going to get out of this.”

  “Trust you? I will never trust you! My family is destroyed! My home plundered. My whole life is being stripped away from me even now because of you! I will never trust you. You are with the men who murdered the brother I loved and the father that I loved! You are my eternal enemy.”

  “This place is being plundered because your proud ancestors built it too close to one of the roads east,” Connor shot back. “They thought that they would always be the ones in power; but things change. Your dear brother was an evil man, who raped my friend and tried to kill me.”

  “Liar!”

  “As for your father – did I not just risk my life fighting the man who killed him? A fight to save you!”

  “A fight to dominate me,” Lucia retorted. “And you did not kill him, so that proves that you cared nothing for my father. You would not even avenge him when it was in your power to do so. And now his soul cannot rest, as he is unavenged and unburied!”

  Lucia again broke down into inconsolable weeping.

  Connor turned his back and walked away towards the terrace. He opened the doors once more and looked outside. Night had fallen, but there was enough moonlight to see the contours of the land. Keeping a low profile against the wall, he strained his eyes and ears for all the information he could gain. He could hear the Goths celebrating inside the villa. Occasionally he would here the clatter as they knocked over some furniture or shelving as they became impatient in their quest for plunder. They would find the wine cellars soon, if they had not already. But Connor noticed that there was a number of Goths standing sentry, not only in the entrances of the villa, but also at strategic points throughout the grounds. They were watching, highly vigilant for any counter-attack from the slaves, or the more unlikely arrival of local militia. Connor looked out further, towards some of the slave quarters. He was thankful that
he as yet saw no signs of fire or destruction. Chances were that his old friends had fled and were hiding in the woods either inside or outside the estate walls. Earlier Arastan had come in with a lightning-swift show of force, riding through and cutting down as many men as he could and scattering the bucellarii, so the slaves would probably never risk an attack. They were unarmed and inexperienced at fighting, so how could they hope to stand against seasoned cavalry? But beyond that, why would they want to? Had they not been trained to accept whatever might come, quietly and without complaint? That was what their whole lives had been about. And it was unlikely that any notions of fealty towards a system whose treatment of them ranged from studied disinterest to flagrant abuse would suddenly turn them into heroes now.

  But the sentries created a bigger problem for Connor. Under so many watchful eyes, how could he get out? Connor did not know if Valia was still angry with him or not; but even assuming that he was not, he would mistrust such a sudden flight in the night. As for Arastan’s men – Connor need not question what they would do if they caught him sneaking around. But even if there had not been the threat of so much ill will, how could anyone move through the estate grounds under the current circumstances without being taken for a foe by one group or another? If Arastan’s men did not shoot him at twenty paces, the fearful slaves might club him to death. Even if he dared to try another escape, how far would he get with Lucia in tow? Even alone, Lorentius had caught him in twenty-four hours. Connor sighed deeply and rolled his shoulders, trying to shake the weight off. Again he closed the terrace doors and slid the bolt.

  He moved over to the bed and sat down.

  “If we are to escape we will need resources – money for bribes, money for supplies. Where did your father hide his gold?”

  “To Hell with you! Isis curse you to eternal frost! You will never find it. None of them will!”

  Bad timing, perhaps, Connor mused. He struggled to keep his tone soft.

  “Do you have family in Massilia?” he asked. “We have to get you somewhere safe.”

  “I’m staying here.”

  “That is not an option. Hundreds of Goths will be here by tomorrow. They will stay at least overnight. They will clean this place out until there will be nothing left. After they leave, how do you know the slaves will be loyal to you? And even if they are, the bacaudae will come, picking the place over like carrion birds after the wolves have eaten.”

  “I don’t care. I will take my chances. I will trust the Mother.”

  “Do you have family in Massilia?” Connor asked more firmly.

  “No.”

  “Where then?”

  Lucia was silent.

  “Listen – there are forty other men out there. You can go to any of them and see if you will get a better offer. Now listen to me and heed what I say. Where is your family?”

  “I have no family around here,” Lucia said. “My mother’s family was small and reduced further by plague. Some lived north of here, but their lands have fallen into Burgundian hands – filthy barbarians, like you. My father had two brothers. One is dead. The other lives far to the south in Italia.”

  “Where in Italia?”

  “Asisium.”

  “Where is that?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I’ve never been there. It is in Umbria. I think in the middle of that land, northeast of Rome.”

  “You have met this uncle?” Connor asked.

  “Once, some years ago.”

  “And he seemed a good man?”

  “Of course. Better than you.”

  Connor ignored the insults. He rose up and started looking through the two wardrobes. They would need travel clothing.

  “I suppose the obvious thing to do would be to lay low until the Goths move on and then take you to Paulinus Effacus,” Connor mused aloud.

  “You can’t do that!” Lucia said, standing to her feet and balling her fists.

  “Well, at least there’s someone you want to be with less than me.”

  “I hate him. I hate him and his son. And what makes you think that they would go through with the wedding or even honor me at all now that my father is gone? Effacus would find a way to steal this villa and make me his slave.”

  Connor nodded, knowing that Lucia was probably right. He tossed the cloak he was handling on the floor on top of some of the other suitable garments.

  “Stop going through my brother’s things, thief,” Lucia said.

  “We need them more than he does,” Connor said, as he crossed the room towards the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need more information. I need to figure out exactly what position we are in before I can figure out what to do. One thing I do know right now is that there is nowhere to run tonight. I will be back soon. When I do come back I will knock in this pattern – listen. Now when you hear that knock, open the door carefully. If you do not hear that exact knock, do not under any circumstances open the door. Do you understand?”

  Lucia stood, not giving Connor the satisfaction of a nod.

  “I could be in Massilia right now,” Connor said. “I came back here to help you. I know that you do not believe me. I know that maybe right now you are thinking that you do not need my help. You are an intelligent young woman, and you are probably formulating your own plans. But consider this – I am the only fighter that you have on your side. You may perhaps think of me as a slave; but as far as those men out there are concerned I am a warrior and you are now my slave. If you do anything to upset that image, they are going to be on both of us before we even know what is happening. Think about that before you act, and before you speak to me around them.”

  Connor pushed the trunk aside and slid the bolt.

  “And one more thing – when I come back later I am sleeping in that bed. It is a big bed and you are welcome to sleep in it too, and I promise I will not touch you – but if anyone is sleeping on the floor tonight it is not going to be me.”

  “Connor,” Lucia said, her tone softened.

  “Yes?”

  “There is a wooden box, about this big, under my bed in my room. I need it. I also need my athame. I dropped it. Could you find those things and bring them back to me?”

  “So that you can put hexes on me?”

  “Please, Connor. I need them.”

  “I think your goddess is going to have to stay here for now. I seem to be cursed enough. Now remember, don’t open the door until you hear my knock.”

  Connor pulled the door closed and waited to hear Lucia pull the bolt and push the trunk back into place. He shuddered as he heard her softly weeping on the other side.

  The courtyard was dark and deceptively peaceful. There had been no slaves to light the torches. Connor paced the walkway to the stairs and descended them as quietly as he could. He was not sure what he would say when he did find Valia. One thing he felt sure about was that he needed to be open to abandoning the lie. If he did not, he would almost certainly be caught in it. But beyond this, Valia was a man of honor. He had told him the story of his people, and it seemed that if anyone should be able to accept Connor’s story, it should be him. And yet Connor could not risk being denigrated. He could risk death, but could not risk being sold back into slavery. There simply was no good strategy, he decided. He would have to see how the Wheel turned.

  His hand rested on his sword hilt as he reached the bottom. He was alone. He walked over to where Montevarius had lain, but the body had been removed. Connor retraced his steps through the courtyard. The broken boughs marking the fighting ring were still in place. Connor was again struck by how close he had come to dying as he stepped over them. When he blinked he could see the helmeted face of Arastan screaming in bloody fury as he charged him. He reached the overturned urn where that monster and his men had pinned Lucia. Connor ran his hands over it, shaking off the wave of nausea that came over him. He had faced Arastan’s fury for her; and though she may curse him, he was glad that he did and would readily do it again.<
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  Then something caught his eye. The white ivory of Lucia’s athame dimly reflected the light of the waning moon. Connor picked it up and slid it in his belt.

  “There you are!”

  Connor turned to see Gaiseric standing in the doorway that led to the main section of the manor house.

  “Easy there! Let up that death grip on your sword! Fighting’s done for the day, and you did it all besides. I just came out here for a piss.”

  Gaiseric moved over to one of the olive trees.

  “Where are Valia and the others?”

  “Well, Tuldin is out somewhere, standing watch. He’s disappointed that he hasn’t killed anyone yet. Valia and most of the others are near the kitchen, of course. You’ll come too? We can’t be celebrating without you.”

  Gaiseric retied his drawstring and motioned for Connor to follow him. Connor tried not to let his companion sense the alarm he felt as he walked through Montevarius’s great house. Curtains were torn from the windows, cabinets were broken open, urns were knocked over – the place was already ransacked. He knew that if the corridors looked like this then what must the library or the living quarters look like? When the host of Goths arrived tomorrow they would probably go through everything more carefully – they may be travelling light, but they would be sure to take anything to replace what was worn out or that was just too good to pass up. But in the fading light of day and into the evening, while Connor had been trying to save Lucia and secure what future he could for both of them, both Arastan’s and Valia’s men had been hard at work trying to search out anything they could steal to add to their wealth.

  A flood of firelight and noise met them as Gaiseric opened the door to the dining room.

  “Look who I found skulking about,” Gaiseric announced.

  To Connor’s surprise, Valia and the seven other men who had been seated at the Master’s table stood up and bellowed their greetings. Henric and two or three others even offered a few claps of applause.