by Alex Gough
‘Odo,’ he said. ‘Where are you taking us?’
‘Would you like me to speak, sir?’
‘Yes, speak freely. Where are we going?’
‘Somewhere safe, sir. You’ll see.’
‘How far?’
‘Just round this hill.’
Silus looked around him. The countryside seemed too open for an ambush, but he still didn’t like the fact that this young barbarian was leading him to an unknown place. After all, something had happened to Atius and his group. Might not the same happen to him?
They rounded the hill, and Silus saw, nestled in a small valley, a collection of stone outbuildings congregated around a central house that would not have been out of place in the more salubrious regions of Campania.
Silus stopped. ‘What is this place?’
Two dogs that had been lying near the house on the track lifted their heads, and in a flash were racing towards them, barking furiously. Silus tensed, hand on the hilt of his gladius. Not only were the occupants of this farm now alerted to their presence, the dogs themselves looked vicious – huge, wire-haired brutes with lolling tongues dripping saliva.
Odo stepped forward and they leapt as one, hitting him full in the chest and bowling him over backwards. Silus drew his sword, ready to strike, to rescue his guide, if he could just work out where he should stab among the chaos of ball and flesh.
It took him a moment to realise the sounds coming from Odo which he had taken for distress were hearty chuckles, and the dogs, far from savaging him, were licking him profusely, as if he were smeared in honey.
‘Ran, Modi, calm down,’ laughed Odo, pushing them off him so he could regain his feet. He wiped his dog-spit-covered face on his sleeve, and fussed both dogs around the ears.
‘Silus, meet Ran and Modi. They are brother and sister. Modi’s name means courage, but it is his sister Ran here that is really in charge.’
‘And what does her name mean?’ asked Silus, sheathing his sword.
‘Thief,’ said Odo.
Silus grinned in spite of his anxiety of moments before. ‘I have a dog who deserves that name.’ Issa was a terror for leaping into your lap at dinner time, grabbing a morsel from your plate and running into a corner with it, growling at anyone who came near until it was gone.
‘So I ask again, Odo, though I have a feeling I already know the answer. What is this place?’
‘This is home. Come on, Silus, meet my family.’
By the time they reached the end of the path, a small party had gathered to greet them. A broad, weathered man a little older than Silus stood with his arm around the shoulders of a girl a little older than Odo, willowy and tall but with a thin, fine-boned face, wearing a Roman-style stola and palla and a plain silver bracelet. Beside them was a boy, maybe a year or two younger than Odo, who was trying to keep his features composed. And just as they arrived, a plump, matronly woman dressed in a blue stola came bustling out of her house, patting her hair, which was styled in the waves and ringlets that Julia Domna had made fashionable throughout the Empire, into place.
The matronly woman rushed straight up to Odo and threw her arms around him, then stepped back with her hands on his shoulders.
‘Look at you,’ she said. ‘You’ve grown again.’
‘Mother,’ chided Odo. ‘I’ve only been gone a month.’
‘And look at your beard,’ she said, stroking his chin. ‘You’re becoming a real man, aren’t you?’
‘Mother, please. I have brought a guest.’
Odo’s mother turned to Silus, looked him up and down once, then hugged him tight, crushing the air from his lungs.
‘A fine Roman man, I see,’ she said, ‘in spite of this attempt to look like a barbarian.’ She gestured at his clothing. Silus winced internally. So much for his subtle disguise – she had seen straight through him. He made a mental note to avoid close contact with other Germans on their journey, and he would just have to hope it was convincing from a distance.
‘Come on then, Odie-boy. Introduce us.’
‘Please don’t call me that, Mother,’ said Odo, and Silus couldn’t help but be amused at the delicate shade of red highlighting his cheeks.
‘I am Silus,’ said Silus. ‘I’m a trader from Britannia.’
‘No you’re not,’ laughed Odo’s mother.
‘I am,’ protested, Silus. ‘Shall I show you my wares?’ He had a few silver trinkets and copper cooking utensils in his backpack in case he needed proof of his cover story. But she took his hands in hers and turning them over, palm up. ‘Look at those calluses on your sword hand. You fight for a living, whatever you are carrying in your pack.’
Damn this woman. She was perceptive. If Odo had half her astuteness, he could see why Oclatinius rated his skills.
‘Besides,’ she said. ‘My son works with the Roman legions in Colonia. Why would he be in these parts escorting a trader? But don’t you worry.’ She patted his hand condescendingly. ‘Your secrets are safe with me. Now, I am Ada, Odo’s mother, as I’m sure you guessed. This is my husband Boda, my son Ewald and my daughter Ima.’
Boda, a big man no longer in his youth but still formidable-looking, stepped forward and gave Silus a bone-crushing handshake and a clap on the back.
‘Can I see your sword?’ asked Ewald in a squeaky, pubescent voice.
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Silus. ‘It’s not a toy.’
‘I know that,’ said Ewald. ‘I use an axe in battle.’
Silus raised his eyebrows to Odo, who gave a subtle shake of the head.
‘I see,’ said Silus. ‘Then you should stick to the axe. If you start to handle a sword, it will throw out your balance, and your aim with your axe will be off. That can be life and death in battle, as I’m sure you know.’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ said Ewald. ‘I’ll stick to my axe.’
‘Come inside, both of you. Boda caught a deer yesterday, and it has been roasting on the spit all afternoon.’
Silus caught a whiff of the cooking venison and his mouth filled suddenly with saliva, just as his stomach reminded him it was empty. He followed Ada inside, and was surprised to find himself in a small atrium complete with impluvium, in which a couple of fish swam lazy circles. A young boy with an iron anklet and a livid brand on his upper arm took Silus’ cloak and backpack wordlessly.
Ada ushered him through into a room in which three couches had been placed in the shape of the Greek letter pi. The couches were generously strewn with plush cushions and the ceiling was supported with fluted columns. He was in the triclinium, he realised, yet this was unmistakably a German house, with a small altar of animal skulls in one corner, and frescoes representing, to Silus, unknown gods of sky and forest.
‘Will you dine with us tonight, Silus?’ asked Ada.
‘Of course, it would be an honour.’
She showed Silus to the top couch, in the place of honour, and she reclined on his left, while Boda took the space to his right. Odo and Ewald took the next couch down on Boda’s right, and Ima took the couch on Ada’s left.
Ada called out something in a Germanic dialect that Silus didn’t understand, and two young slave girls appeared bearing cups of wine and plates of bread, nuts and slices of steaming hot venison. Silus took a plate, and as soon as he saw Odo begin to eat, he tucked in voraciously. A day’s walk definitely worked up an appetite, and it was good to fill your belly without dipping into your supplies. The venison was juicy and tender without being over or underdone, and it was flavoured with herbs that Silus couldn’t identify.
‘This meat is amazing,’ said Silus to Ada. ‘You have a cook?’
Ada shook her head. ‘We have a small number of slaves to help around the house and the farm, but I oversee all the meals in this house myself. The recipe for cooking deer was taught to me by mother, and her mother taught it to her.’
‘Your slaves, they are all German?’ Silus found it hard to keep the note of surprise out of his voice.
‘Of course,
’ said Boda. ‘Where else do we get captives taken in battle?’
Silus glanced at Odo. Had he already discussed their mission with his family? But his face remained blank as Boda continued.
‘Our people, the Alamanni, and the tribes that make up the confederation, have been at war with other German tribes since time began. The boy who took your cloak was from a tribe of the Saxons, taken with his mother while he was still suckling at the breast after some raid by the Chatti, and then traded to us. The girls are sisters from the Burgundi tribe in the east. We even have an Alamanni slave who helps in the fields. He was sold into slavery when he could no longer afford to pay his gambling debts.’
‘You don’t keep Roman slaves?’
‘It is not, how would you put it… politic. We wish for closer relations with Rome, not to anger her.’
Silus nodded, and took a sip of the wine. He was no connoisseur, but it tasted good, sweet, a long aftertaste. ‘I can’t help but notice you are all quite… romanised.’
‘It is common among our people,’ said Boda. ‘You Romans call everyone beyond your border barbarian. And yet here, we live in stone houses, drink wine, listen to music, appreciate art.’
‘And speak Latin.’
‘Quite. Of course we can communicate in Germanic languages, but we find Latin to be a better way to discuss the finer things in life.’
Silus looked around the welcoming family, and finally felt himself relaxing, that knot in his stomach that had been there almost without him realising since Odo took the track off the main road loosening and unravelling.
‘So your people seek an alliance with Rome?’
‘You didn’t know this?’ Now it was Boda’s turn to look surprised. ‘I was told our emissaries have made many representations to Rome about closer ties.’
‘Well, I’m not a politician, I’m just a simple…’ he nearly said soldier, but didn’t wish to confirm Ada’s intuitive guess, so he just said, ‘…a simple Roman.’
‘Enough man talk,’ said Ada. ‘Tell me, Silus. Have you been to Rome?’
‘I was last there just over a year ago.’
‘Oh!’ Ada exclaimed, clasping her hands together on her chest. ‘Is it as beautiful as they say?’
Silus could think of many ways to describe Rome, and beautiful was not the first that sprung to mind. Violent. Dangerous. Dirty. But he knew that his impressions were coloured by his experiences there, and that Rome did indeed have places of genuine wonder – the temples and palaces, the columns and triumphal arches.
‘It has some beauty, yes,’ he said.
‘And the fashion? Would I be considered fashionable if I was walking on the Esquiline hill?’
Silus took in her dress, her hairstyle, the gold and emerald necklace, the whitened cheeks and the kohl around her eyes. She reminded him of one of the older prostitutes in the Subura who made themselves up like Roman matrons to compensate for their fading looks.
‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘You would be the envy of many a Roman lady.’
Ada smiled in delight, and beckoned one of the slave girls to top up Silus’ wine. When she had done so, Ada told them to begin the entertainment.
The two sisters danced, and one sang while the other played a reeded instrument. Elements of Roman, Celtic and Germanic music and rhythm were intertwined, producing an experience that was enchanting and a little unsettling. He glanced across at Odo, who was talking to his brother and laughing. He seemed to be paying little attention to the slave girls, which was odd since they were beautiful in a rough, barbarian way, and Odo was a young man, with all the desires and urges that engendered. Maybe he had seen so much of the girls around the house as he grew up that he did not view them in a sexual way.
Silus had no such inhibition, and admired the display. He had a sneaking suspicion that if Ada was as good a host as he thought she was, one of the girls would be sent to his room that night. Or maybe both. And after so long on Lipari without romantic female company, he doubted he would reject them. A year or so ago, he would not have been able to allow a woman into his bed, still wracked by grief and guilt about the death of his wife. Now, as he watched the girls gyrate their hips, he thought he would cope.
After the entertainment had ended and the dinner plates were cleared away, Odo’s family quizzed him about all things Roman. Ewald wanted to know about Roman tactics in battle. Silus kept his replies vague, aware that, friendly as the Alamanni seemed, they were still outside the Empire’s borders, and who knew when alliances and friendships could change.
Ima on the other hand wanted to know about Roman culture. What were the poets writing about? What plays were being performed in the theatres of Marcellus and Pompey? Silus was happy to tell her everything he knew on this subject, which was next to nothing. He was obliged to embellish a bit, putting together what he could recall from his time in Rome, with half-remembered details about Alexandria and a sprinkling of Londinium. His bluff seemed sufficiently believable for Ima, who hung on his every word with wide, strigiform eyes.
As the night wore on, he became aware that he was a little drunk, very tired, and had to continue a long journey at first light the next morning. To the disappointment of his hosts, he announced that he had to retire, so Ada reluctantly showed him to his room.
The room was lit by a single flickering oil lamp, burning what had to be imported olive oil. The walls were decorated with pastoral frescoes, and there was a marble statue in one corner that seemed to be of a Greek-style wood nymph. His bed had a goose feather mattress that was as soft as anything he had ever slept on, and he undressed, extinguished the lamp and huddled under the blankets, feeling sleep claim him almost instantly.
* * *
The squeak of the door opening was not much louder than a mouse would make, but in the dead of night, it was enough for Silus to be instantly awake. But he had sufficient self-control not to leap out of bed, screaming and flailing around for his sword.
Which was just as well, since, as he had suspected would happen, it was a young girl who stood silhouetted in the doorway, dressed in a simple white gown. He couldn’t tell which of the slave girl sisters it was, and felt unreasonably disappointed that she was in fact alone. But he simply waited for her to come to him.
He heard more than saw her shed her gown in the darkness, and then felt her slide under the blankets with him. Her body was warm and smooth, but her kiss was surprisingly hesitant. He wondered briefly whether it was in fact unusual for Ada to offer her slave girls to guests, and he was getting special treatment. They were clearly Romanophiles. But these thoughts evaporated as she reached down between his legs and took a hold of him.
Soon, she moved on top of him, guiding him into her. The covers fell away and a shaft of moonlight through a high window illuminated her torso and her face.
And with a shock he realised his bed companion was neither of the slave girls, but was in fact Ima. Odo’s sister.
Oh fuck.
But it was of course way too late to stop.
Afterwards, she snuggled up to him, her head on his chest, and he stroked her hair, staring into space. Wondering how quickly he could ask her to leave, hoping to all the gods that no one came in and found them. Wondering how Odo would react if he found out that Silus had slept with his sister. Wondering if he had fucked up the mission almost before it had begun.
Ima was snoring lightly, almost a purr, like a contented cat. He shook her shoulder to waken her, and she stretched, kissed his cheek, and slid out of the bed. She collected her gown, threw it on, and disappeared out of the door, looking over her shoulder and smiling as she went.
Silus lay on his back in the bed, eyes wide open, sleep a very long way away.
Januarius 213 AD
Atius’ scouting skills were formidable. What’s more, the men selected for the mission knew how to survive in the field, each one more than able to get by on their abilities to forage and hunt, to sneak and to navigate. The only problem was the unfamiliar territory. Few
civilised men had ventured this far into Germania, and what little information Atius had was gleaned from rough Roman traders and barbarian mercenaries and slaves. Eustachys of course knew their destination, but had little navigational ability to get them there.
So they marched through forest and hill and marsh, along muddy, slushy trails of half-melted ice, hoping that the end of their journey was as near as Aldric had promised, and that he hadn’t been leading them subtly off course.
Atius was in the lead, acting as both lookout and guide, with Eustachys by his side. He looked back at the remains of his squad, straggled along the path behind, discipline and morale shattered. Toutorix and Aldric both dead now. Drustan, Memnon and Scaurus the only trained fighters left apart from himself. It was scant few to face down any enemy attacks.
‘Maybe I should go on alone,’ Atius said to Eustachys, out of earshot of the others.
Eustachys looked at him in surprise, almost stumbling as he took his eyes off the track.
‘Why would you do that?’
‘Because I’m the fastest, and the best at this. I mean, these boys are good, but they aren’t Arcani. I could move quicker without them.’
‘How would that help? You would still have me slowing you down. The least of them is faster than me.’
‘I said alone.’
Eustachys was silent for a moment.
‘You don’t know anything about my mission.’
‘You could remedy that now.’
‘There are secrets I have been entrusted with that it is vital do not fall into enemy hands.’
‘You think I would betray the Empire? You know what I have done for Rome and for Caracalla.’
‘I don’t think you would give anything up voluntarily.’
‘Oh, so you think you would withstand torture better than me, is that it? I’ve been imprisoned, beaten, stabbed. I’ve got more scars on this body than you can count. What makes you think you could keep your secrets when a German witch takes her sickle to your balls?’
‘Because I was taught by Festus.’
That sentence seemed to imply a great deal. Atius recalled what he knew about Festus, and realised that it was even less than he knew about Oclatinius. Powerful, ruthless, willing to play dangerous games. Inexplicably let off the hook by Oclatinius after the Emesene conspiracy, the plot to make young Avitus ruler of the eastern half of the empire.
