Godegisel carelessly threw the chicken bones on the floor and wiped the grease from his chin. Fritigern gave him a disapproving look and gestured expansively. “Enjoy it as long as you can. We can’t reside here forever.”
The young Teuringian nobleman nodded. Fritigern was the judge and general, erroneously dubbed as King by the Romans, and they had followed him to the territory of the Eastern Roman Empire, battered by the onslaught of the Huns – notwithstanding the fact that a great splinter-group of those fearsome warriors has allied with the Goths and fought alongside them in the last battle. He had learned to trust his judgment, and in this case the reasons were clear: the Gothic troops – even after the battle with Valens numbering a good 20,000 warriors – and all civilians associated with them were running out of food again. As long as their status was not secured, it wouldn’t do good to start a place of settlement; also it was necessary to use the military advantage quickly. One had to march further in order to plunder and especially to try to finally conquer one of these damn well-fortified Roman cities. At the battle of Adrianople, they had been bloodied, despite their decisive victory. They had to learn a lot, and on top of Godegisel’s list was the need to build siege equipment and use it properly.
Fritigern and his close followers currently housed in a deserted country mansion formerly belonging to some rich Roman snob but abandoned by the administrator and his people once the Goths had approached. There had been food, even wine, so here the Gothic leader had opened a temporary headquarters while his lieutenants tried to keep the Gothic convoy together, preventing that too many started to explore individually. Those would constitute an all-too-easy prey for the Roman forces, whatever was still left of them.
“The Huns create problems for us, judge,” said Godegisel now. “I have talked with their leader yesterday. Today I hear that he was found dead in his tent, and a new one is now in charge. I don’t know if we can maintain an alliance.”
“How should I know? The only thing that connects us with the Huns is that they have equally escaped the attack of their main host after some … disagreements. They are rebels, we are victims. They feel superior to us. It wouldn’t surprise me if someday they return back to their leaders, especially if those continue to be as successful as they are now. I wouldn’t rely on them as allies even if they’d stop to exchange their chiefs so fast.”
Godegisel had, as so often, little to oppose Fritigern’s argument. “So I shouldn’t try?”
“Yes, yes. Talk with each new leader who comes out of their tents. Flatter them and understand their concerns. I don’t want them to turn too early against us. The Huns are fierce warriors and no fools. They will realize that they have no future within the borders of the empire without the protection of all three peoples who are united in our alliance. We need each other. If they ride off to plunder, they will eventually encounter an opponent who will crush them, especially if the Romans will get their act together.”
“Well, I’ll continue to talk with them. When do you think a new Roman emperor will emerge?”
Fritigern looked warningly at his young friend.
“You tend to underestimate Rome, my friend. You think they are without leadership? The Emperor of the West is now Emperor of all. He commands a fully intact army, which, if I have heard correctly, recently successfully defeated a full-blown invasion across the Rhine. Gratian has capable generals and seems – unlike his uncle – to be open-minded toward good advice. We have defeated one half of the moveable army, that is true. We have not taken a city, we prefer to plunder the country. While the officers of the East can rebuild a new army, Gratian can lead his troops against us, and we have … nothing. Our people are euphoric – too euphoric. As if the victory now decided everything for us. I’ll tell you what we have achieved at maximum: a good negotiating position.”
“You want to negotiate, judge?” Disbelief sounded from Godegisel’s voice.
“But yes. The Romans will send their envoys and suggest an amicable solution, once we have driven them to despair sufficiently. We will continue to plunder through their land. The rural population is terrified and will flock to the cities. Famine will break out. Their cities are safe from us, but within their walls terrible things will happen. And we need a second great military victory. One more, Godegisel, so we put the dagger to Rome’s chest and can negotiate peace terms in our favor. The threat of the Huns, which has driven us here, is also real for them.”
Fritigern leaned forward. “We need Rome, Godegisel, because we need the protection of its strong walls. And Rome needs us, because they need the strong arm of our warriors. It will just take a while for the Romans to really understand, and until then we have to prove our strength.”
The young nobleman nodded thoughtfully. “I can see much wisdom in your words, Judge. And our hostage will certainly be of great help to us also.”
Fritigern smiled. “That is probably true. How fares our guest? Let’s hope that he will soon be in a condition to represent Rome in a slightly more honorable manner.”
“Look for yourself,” replied Godegisel, pointing to the other side of the courtyard.
In the shadow of a wall was a strange construction, guarded by three soldiers sitting listlessly on the ground and engrossed in a game of dice. They were hardly to blame, because what they had to guard didn’t look too threatening at the moment.
In a solid cage made of wood struts lied a body. It was the body of a man, clothed with a thin tunic. His chest rose and fell regularly. The face was very peaceful and relaxed in sleep. His head rested on a pillow, his body was covered by a thin blanket.
Flavius Valens was asleep.
– To be continued –
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