by Sean Poage
Late in the day, a man was admitted, shuffling his way towards the throne with his bare head bowed. He was dressed humbly in worn clothes but did not appear impoverished. He was introduced as Bonitus, a farmer from Dolens, a village to the west. He had requested a hearing with the king to air a grievance and carried a letter that helped gain his admittance.
Arthur greeted the man and took a moment to read the short letter. After, he frowned, sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose before looking up and observing the man a moment.
“You are well connected for a man of such modest means,” Arthur remarked kindly, if wearily. “How many of your slaves were taken away?”
“Six, my lord,” Bonitus answered, in his oddly accented Latin. “Five men and a woman.”
“Are you certain they were taken by Britons? Did you see, or speak to them?”
“I saw them pass, my lord,” Bonitus spoke quietly, trembling slightly. “They questioned me and said that they were men of your army. The next day they passed my farm again, returning the way they came. I didn’t see them, but my old slave woman, Afra, saw them speak to my slaves and then leave with them.”
“What did she hear?” Arthur asked him.
“She was nearby, my lord,” the man said. “But they spoke a language she did not know.”
“Where is this slave now?”
“She’s outside your palace, my lord,” Bonitus answered. “I dared not let her feet foul your sanctuary.”
“It is clear that resolving this will require more than my questions here will reveal,” Arthur said, tugging on his beard. “At the moment my resources are stretched… But I believe I have the right man for this task here at hand.” Arthur smiled and looked over at Gawain, who was just stifling a yawn. “Gawain, approach.”
Surprised and a bit apprehensive, Gawain crossed the floor to stand to the side of Arthur’s platform. He bowed and wondered if he had breached etiquette by yawning.
“Bonitus, I am assigning a trusted member of my household, Gawain, the son of Gwyar, to conduct an enquiry into this affair,” Arthur said. “As my representative, he will carry my authority, and I will expect his report within three days.” He handed the letter to Gawain and asked him, “Is this understood?”
“Yes, my lord,” Gawain said, uncertain of how he would complete the task.
“Very good,” Arthur nodded and returned his gaze to Bonitus. “Gawain will escort you from the hall. You may expect my judgement three days from now.”
Outside, the wind gusted with a stinging chill. Gawain went to the entry of the praetorium and asked Drem for the use of his small room beside the gate so that he could ask Bonitus and his slave some questions.
Afra, who had been huddling in her cloak against the wall of the building, was brought in, very grateful to be out of the cold. She was elderly and thin, with large black eyes and strangely course grey hair that was streaked with black and pulled back from her face. Her wrinkled skin had the look of dark leather and Gawain could only assume she was from distant Africa, where such people were said to live. She smiled toothlessly at Gawain’s courteous greeting.
Gawain asked for a moment to read the letter and get a better understanding of his task. In the dim light of the single oil lamp, Gawain could just make out the words.
From Sidonius, Greetings to his friend Riothamus,
I. Let us continue the friendly tone of our conversations, not wishing to mix complaint with greetings so that the opening may be respectful while the content is disagreeable, but because things always happen which a man who stands in my position would face disapproval for mentioning, but would be derelict if he were to remain silent. But we recognise the burden of your honour, which was always so modest that you are embarrassed by others’ crimes.
II. The man who brings this letter is a poor man, with no reputation, and even unworthy because his inaction has brought him damage. He claims that his slaves have run away through the secret enticements of the Britons. It is unclear to me whether the charge is valid, but if you wisely untangle the facts given openly, I suspect that you will find that what this hard-working man claims is correct. That is, if this unarmed, wretched countryman, a poor stranger, can be heard thanks to your fairness and goodness alone, above the noisy vexatious accusations from this strong and numerous group who refuse to appear in court. Farewell.
Gawain considered the wording for a moment. He did not recognise the author of the letter’s name, but this Sidonius spoke in familiar terms while showing deference by using the Latinised form of Arthur’s title. So he was probably not a ruler; perhaps a bishop or high Roman official. His Latin was courtly, almost difficult to follow. Gawain was not sure how to proceed, so he looked up at Bonitus, who stared at him expectantly. Shrugging inwardly, he turned to Afra.
“I’ll do what I can to help. Do you understand what I’m saying?” he said to her, speaking in the British tongue. Afra looked at Bonitus, and both looked back at Gawain, bewildered. “I see that you don’t.” Gawain smiled, then said in Latin, “Does that sound like the language the soldiers spoke?”
“Oh, perhaps,” Afra said in a crackling voice. “I heard only a little, but it might be. Your accent is like theirs.”
“Did your companions, the other slaves, speak to the soldiers in Latin, or in the other tongue?” Gawain asked.
“They seemed to understand the soldiers,” she answered. Bonitus had relaxed and nodded encouragingly to her.
“How many soldiers did you see?” Gawain asked her.
“There were nine,” she replied.
“When did they leave with your slaves?” Gawain returned his attention to Bonitus.
“It was,” Bonitus thought, ticking off his fingers, “a score… no, two and twenty days past.”
Gawain had them describe the slaves and soldiers as best they could, then handed Bonitus a piece of charcoal to draw a map of where he lived on the back of the letter. Whatever he learnt from Bonitus, he would need to find the men who were at his farm nearly a month before.
“I’ll begin looking for an answer for you immediately,” Gawain said to Bonitus. “Where may I find you if I have other questions?”
Bonitus thanked him profusely and described a house in the city where he would be staying. When they departed, Gawain leant against the table and thought for a moment, until he noticed Drem leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
“Only the mounted patrols travel that far from here,” Drem said. “And Cei is responsible for the lands to the west.”
“Thank you, Drem,” Gawain smiled, rolled the letter up and threw his cloak around his shoulders. Drem nodded and opened the door to let Gawain back out into the frigid gloom.
Returning to the hall, he found that Arthur’s court had adjourned for the day and only the servants remained, cleaning up. He went out and crossed the courtyard to Cei’s apartments and knocked on the door. He was admitted by the houseboy into the sitting room, where Cei sat on a couch pulling off his boots.
“Not affording me a moment’s rest, I see,” Cei grunted as the second boot came off and was tossed in the corner. “What is it?”
“As you know, the Rigotamos tasked me with learning what happened to Bonitus’s slaves,” Gawain began.
“You’re of the household, and with a member of the household,” Cei interrupted. “You may refer to him as Arthur. As for the task, I wouldn’t waste much time upon a Gaulish farmer and his handful of slaves.”
“Perhaps,” Gawain said, pausing. “However, these are my orders.”
“Yes,” Cei chuckled, leaning back on the couch. “You wouldn’t want to upset your reputation. What do you need of me? I have no knowledge of the incident.”
“I’m looking for the men who passed his farm,” Gawain replied. He unrolled the letter and showed him the map on the back. “I’m told that your alae patrol to the west.”
“For that area, it would be Greidawl’s ala,” Cei mused. “If you’re intent on finding those men, it’s he you should see next.”
Thus began a long process of steadily working his way down the chain of leaders to find his handful of men among the thousands. He was only able to get so far that evening but by late the next day he was able to track down Succat, the Decurion of the men who had been on patrol in that region on that day. Succat assured him that it would be looked into immediately.
That evening Succat arrived at Gawain’s quarters with Anhun, the leader of the cavalry line that visited Bonitus’s farm. After introductions were made and Gawain had served them wine, they discussed what had happened.
“As you must now be aware, a complaint was made to the Rigotamos that his soldiers have been luring away the slaves of some of the farmers,” Gawain spoke in Latin. “He has charged me with finding them and getting to the truth of the matter.”
Anhun looked quizzically at Succat, who replied to Gawain, “My lord, Anhun does not speak more than a few words of Latin. May we use Brittonic?”
“Of course,” Gawain said, having confirmed what he suspected. He repeated his statement in their native tongue.
“We did not steal those slaves!” Anhun burst out. A sharp look and a hand on his arm from Succat quieted him.
“You were at the farm that day?” Gawain asked him.
“Yes,” Anhun replied, distressed. “We were returning from a patrol to the west. We stopped at the farm to see if they had any news or food to sell. Their master wasn’t there, so we spoke to the slaves. That’s when we discovered they were Britons.”
“Britons?” Gawain was not surprised. “All of them?”
“No, my lord,” Anhun faltered. “The males are. The girl is a Hun, but she followed us and cried so piteously. We didn’t have the heart to send her back.”
“Did you compensate the farmer for the slaves?”
“Well, no… He wasn’t there,” Anhun looked abashed.
Gawain stared at him a moment to let that sink in.
“But these were Britons abducted from their homes!” Anhun protested. “We couldn’t abandon them to this fate.” He looked pleadingly at Gawain, who remained silent, gazing into his cup.
“I may have acted much as you did,” Gawain said, finally. “But we have no right to deprive a freeman of his property. How can we be certain that these slaves were abducted, rather than sent into bondage for crimes or debt?” Anhun nodded, eyes downcast.
“I must give my findings to the Rigotamos the day after tomorrow,” Gawain said. “You must be there, is that understood?” Both men agreed. “Good,” Gawain continued. “It would be better for all concerned if the missing slaves were also there. Where will I find them?”
“The girl and one of the men have remained with our turma as servants,” Succat answered. “The other four wished to join our army as spearmen, so we directed them to leaders of the infantry.”
They discussed finding the others and having them all at the praetorium at the appointed hour, then the men departed. Gawain jotted down some notes before setting aside work to clean up, eat and go to sleep.
The next day Gawain went looking for the other four missing slaves. It took some time, but he eventually found three, and their commanders agreed to have them at the praetorium the next morning. The fourth could not be found and was assumed to have left the city.
The next day they assembled at the court. Gawain stood at the back of the hall to await his summons, while the others waited in rooms nearby. Like other days, it started with Arthur receiving reports on the status of the army, the grain imports, which elicited a look of frustration, and other mundane administrative topics which obviously bored him. Next, he received obeisance from a delegation from a town to the south of Biturigas, then settled a dispute between a pair of merchants. Finally, Gawain and his party were called upon.
“Gawain, you have had your three days,” Arthur began. “Have you discovered the truth about this man’s slaves?”
“Yes, my lord,” Gawain responded. “This is Anhun, leader of that patrol, and his Decurion, Succat. I have also accounted for five of the six slaves. Anhun asserts that they only departed with the male slaves because they were Britons abducted by pagans from their homes.”
“What of the sixth slave?” Arthur asked Gawain. “And if only the male slaves were Britons, why was the woman taken?”
Gawain related the full details of what he had discovered over the past three days. When he finished, Arthur pondered briefly, then looked at Bonitus.
“Do you dispute anything that you have heard here?” Arthur asked him.
“No, my lord,” Bonitus replied.
“Were you aware that the slaves were Britons?”
“I… They told me later that they came from an island called Britain,” Bonitus visibly squirmed. “But that was after I had purchased them, and I knew nothing of the place or under what circumstances they had been enslaved.”
“And I’m certain you never expected to stand before a king of their country,” Arthur smiled. He pondered a bit longer, tugging on his beard before straightening up.
“Gawain, thank you for your efforts. You are released from this charge,” he said. “Bonitus, I sympathise with your plight, but I cannot return my countrymen to undeserved bondage.” Bonitus looked shaken and dejected. He opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur held up his hand and continued, “But it would be an injustice for you to be impoverished through no fault of your own. Because this is my judgement, I will bear the responsibility for reimbursing you for their value.”
Bonitus still looked uncomfortable and said, “My lord, that is an act of kindness that I did not expect, and I fear to protest further, but please consider, it has taken me several years to train them, and my farm has increased through their work. I will be unable to obtain new slaves and train them in time to maintain my holdings, and my creditors will not show your benevolence.”
“I understand your concern,” Arthur nodded, thoughtfully. “Because this event has so clearly proven to be true, I will offer you twice the value of the slaves. More than this I cannot do without inviting an excess of petitioners citing this precedent towards more dubious claims.”
“That is very generous, my lord,” Bonitus smiled and bowed. “Does this include the girl?”
“The female is not a Briton,” Arthur said, a hint of discomfort in his expression. “As I have no claim on her, she must be returned to you.”
“Thank you, my lord, and the blessings of Heaven be upon you!” Bonitus said, bowing again, several times.
“Gawain,” Arthur said, “Please see Bonitus out and return the girl to him. Have the males brought to this hall, as free men.”
“Yes, my lord,” Gawain bowed and turned, Bonitus following. Outside the hall, Bonitus suddenly embraced the surprised Gawain.
“I did not expect to see justice,” Bonitus smiled. “Much less such generous recompense. And I owe much to you, my friend, for believing me and working diligently to prove my case.”
“In truth,” Gawain said, “you owe me nothing. I did not work to prove your case, only to find the truth.”
“If all men acted thus, it would be a better world,” Bonitus nodded. “My family never received such justice from the Vesi before your king drove them away.”
The former slaves waited anxiously in a small room off the courtyard. The four men were scarcely old enough to be called such, and the girl did not look old enough to be considered a woman. She was also remarkably unattractive, with a wide, flat face, protruding eyes and teeth and a pimpled complexion. Gawain could understand the soldiers’ compassion in not turning away such an unfortunate creature.
The men were relieved and filed out to go to the hall. Gawain and Bonitus were left with the girl, who sat huddled on the ground, tears streaming down he
r face. Bonitus knelt and tried to comfort her, and Gawain noted that the girl did not shy away from him, so it did not appear that he mistreated her. But his heart broke for her, to see her left in this state while her only likely friends departed.
“Bonitus, will you allow me to buy her freedom?” Gawain asked, inwardly cringing at the impact on his dwindling wealth.
They both looked up at him, startled. Bonitus thought for a moment, then nodded. “If you wish,” he said. “She was an impulsive purchase that did not… develop as hoped for. A pity, as female slaves are so much more expensive than males.”
Gawain could see that Bonitus was hedging his price expectation, so Gawain suggested they go outside to spare the girl the spectacle of haggling over her existence. Within a few minutes, they had come to an agreement. Gawain was surprised that Bonitus hadn’t insisted on the same double price he had received for the others, which Bonitus ascribed to appreciation for Gawain’s efforts. But he did not sell her cheaply.
They wished each other farewell and the farmer departed. Gawain entered the chamber to find the girl kneeling on the floor, looking up at him with a mixture of hope and apprehension, no longer crying, but the tracks of her tears ran through the dirt on her cheeks.
“What is your name?” Gawain gently queried her.
“Ragna,” she replied, shaking slightly.
“How did you come to be a slave?”
“My parents sold me to pay a debt when I was very young,” she answered, with sadness, but no bitterness.
“What do you most wish for?” Gawain asked.
“To have sovereignty over my own life,” she said, a hint of defiance and anger showing.
“Not to be returned to your family?”
“I don’t know where they are, or even where I am,” she replied. “I don’t even remember the language they speak.” Her eyes began to tear up again.
“Stand, Ragna,” Gawain said. “You have your wish. Well, to the extent that any of us have sovereignty over our lives.”
Ragna leapt to her feet and threw her arms around Gawain, thanking him, weeping now for joy, rather than from fear. Gawain, discomfited, smiled and gently extricated himself from her embrace.
