“It is easier to tell the sex of a prisoner whom you can force into what you want than of a free person who is trying to conceal it,” Athanaric said sharply. “And Lady Charis was a free person among the Romans. She was free when she cured Lord Fritigern’s wife, and when she tried to help your people against Lupicinus. Now we’re discussing what ransom you’ll take for a woman who was your guestfriend, whom you ought to set free without wanting money for it. Her friends are offering four hundred pounds in gold.”
Fritigern gave me that indecipherable look that I had come to hate and fear. “She is obviously of high rank, for her family and the duke to offer four hundred pounds in gold for her release. Lady Charis, who are your family?”
I pressed my hands together. “If they do not want to give you their names, who am I to betray them?”
The pale eyes fixed on me a moment longer, then moved to Athanaric, paused. Then Fritigern shook his head. “It is not enough.”
“Four hundred pounds isn’t enough for one woman?” asked Colias incredulously. “We could use that money. Take it, for the gods’ sake!”
“What do we need money for?” Fritigern demanded. “None of the Romans will trade with us, and gold buys us nothing. Our only currency is the sword. And she’s my prisoner, not yours. No. It is not enough.”
“Six hundred pounds in gold,” Athanaric offered, but I could see that he was sweating.
“They must own Ephesus!” said Colias.
Fritigern frowned suddenly. “Theodoros,” he said. “The governor. He had a sister —”
“- who was supposed to marry Festinus!” Colias finished, and everyone in the room began talking at once.
“There are many wealthy families in Asia!” Athanaric protested, but the uproar drowned his words. Ours was the only really wealthy Asian family the Goths had heard of, and that a daughter of the house was known to be missing was, in their eyes, incontrovertible proof. They craned their necks to see me, the notorious sister of Theodoros who had left Festinus brideless in his marriage garlands.
Fritigern looked at Athanaric and smiled. “I will not release her.”
I knew then that it had been pleasure, not dismay, that I felt before: I felt dismay now.
“A thousand pounds in gold!” Athanaric shouted. “I cannot offer more.
I was sure he couldn’t. Thorion would have to borrow heavily to get that.
“The most excellent Theodoros can keep it,” said Fritigern. “That devil Festinus lost his bride, and one of my own men will get her.”
“No!” I protested sharply.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Athanaric said. “Do you think Theodoros will marry her to Festinus? He hates him as much as you do!” Then he stopped, biting his tongue; he had admitted that Fritigern was right.
Fritigern took no notice: he’d been certain that he was right anyway. “Then who does he wish to marry her to?” Fritigern demanded. “Duke Sebastianus?” He watched Athanaric carefully, then nodded. “I will not hand the woman over to any of my enemies.”
“That’s even more ridiculous,” I said, interrupting again. “Sebastianus is a gentleman of the highest rank. He can do much better for himself than an army doctor whose dowry’s already spent on her ransom.”
Athanaric gave me a quick straight look, then looked away again. Fritigern grinned. “It doesn’t matter, Sebastianus or Festinus or another. The lady will not marry a Roman now. Festinus’ bride will marry one of my men and grow old among our people, a reproach to the Romans. That is worth losing a thousand pounds in gold for.”
The Goths cheered, even Colias. Athanaric went white and stood there clutching the hilt of his sword. I felt that I must do something, say something, or it would all be decided: I would be packed off to the house of some Gothic nobleman to spite Festinus, Thorion, and Sebastianus, and no one would even consider that they had done me any injury.
“Lord King!” I said, and stepped forward. Everyone looked at me, the Goths grinning as though I were some second-rate actor in a theater, come out to speak his piece. “Lord King,” I repeated, and then for a moment could think of nothing more; I felt sick. “I have done you some service,” I said at last. “I helped you and your house before this war started. You repaid me by making me a prisoner. I told you how to avoid a great epidemic, which would have cost you hundreds, even thousands, of your people, and you want to sell me off like a slave. Lord Christ Eternal! It would fit Your Honor better to return me to my home without asking any ransom.”
“I am not selling you off like a slave,” said Fritigern. “I will establish you honorably in a marriage to a nobleman.”
“I will not have him,” I said flatly, and then, perhaps because everyone was watching and I felt like an actor in a play, I went on. “There was a doctor at Novidunum who wanted to take me against my will. I killed him with his own knife. I’ll do the same to any other man who tries it, and if he hasn’t got a knife, I know a few hundred drugs that will work just as well. I can’t deny any longer that I am the daughter of Theodoros of Ephesus, but I don’t see why that makes your obligations of guest-friendship, or your debt to me, less heavy. And I don’t see why that means I no longer own myself and can be disposed of as you please, just to spite your enemy, as though my own wishes were completely insignificant.”
Athanaric gave me a look of pure admiration and pride; it made me dizzy to see it. The Goths regarded me with a kind of grudging respect. Fritigern and his colleagues looked angry; behind them, Amalberga looked appalled. I saw her trying to signal her husband. I knew what she wanted to tell him: “Let it be for now, I’ll talk to Charis, you’ll never manage her by shouting at her.” She was the danger to me, not Fritigern. But on the question of marriage I didn’t think she’d manage any better than her husband.
“You brazen, arrogant woman!” said Fritigern, and then Amalberga caught his eye. He hesitated, and she hurried forward and whispered to him. He looked back at me, chewing on his mustache. Amalberga whispered some more. Then Fritigern slapped the arm of his couch. “There is no reasoning with a woman in her pride, unless another woman does the reasoning. I declare this audience to be recessed, if my colleagues agree. Cousin Athanaric, I will take no ransom for my prisoner. If you wish to discuss a truce with us, you are welcome to stay. Otherwise, I ask you to leave the camp by sunset tomorrow.”
Everyone started talking again, around me and about me but not to me. Colias jumped off the dais and ran over to Athanaric. The Gothic attendants milled about. I stood there stupidly. Then Amalberga came over and caught my arm. “You had better come with me,” she said, glancing nervously at Athanaric, who was already being escorted out. I glanced at him too; his eyes met mine, and he shrugged. I went with Amalberga.
As I expected, and as Fritigern had promised, she talked at me hard. Of course, she said, she understood my feelings, but really, what was wrong with marrying some Gothic nobleman? She understood now why I’d objected to Edico, she said; of course, he was of much lower rank than I was — but now they’d find someone really noble for me, someone Romanized. There was Munderich, her cousin, who’d traveled widely before the war started and had spent a year in Constantinople; he was thinking of marriage. He would have been considered a good match even when I lived in my father’s house. Didn’t I see how delighted the people were at the idea of my becoming one of them?
“But I’m not delighted,” I said. “I don’t want to marry into a people who are at war with my own. Why don’t you go talk to Fritigern? Don’t you see that you owe me my freedom? Why don’t you seize the chance to show your nobility by giving it to me?”
She looked down, blushing, and I saw that she did believe that I was owed my freedom but that she would never say so, even to me, because she knew that her husband wouldn’t give it to me.
“You wouldn’t kill any man who married you, would you?” she asked instead.
“Any man that took me against my will. I said it and I meant it.” I wasn’t at all sure that this was
true. It is one thing to make fine speeches, but quite another to stab or poison a real young man whose worst fault is being too stupid to take no for an answer. And to use my knowledge of the art to harm someone was flatly contrary to my Hippocratic oath. But I had said it, and there was no point in having done so unless I made the Goths believe that I might keep my word. So I looked resolute and said, “It’s true what I said about the man at Novidunum, too. His name was Xanthos; you can ask Edico about him.”
Amalberga looked at me searchingly, then sighed. “My dear,” she said, “you must see that we cannot let you go now. Even if you do not marry into our people, we cannot afford to release you. We may need help from your brother.”
I looked back, equally searchingly. “You think I should marry so that I cannot be used as a hostage,” I said. “You think that I need that protection. Would you really have me killed or tortured to get some concession from Theodoros?”
She looked away. “We might need to sell you for grain rather than gold,” she said after a moment. “There is not much food to be had north of the Haemus mountains, and if the riding parties are kept in much longer, we will start to run out of supplies. There is plenty of grain in Tomis, and the governor could give it to us.”
“And if my brother didn’t buy me at first, you would injure me, or threaten to, to force him? Although you owe me hospitality and a blood debt for healing you?”
“If the people are starved again, we will do anything,” she returned, meeting my eyes. “Unless you are married, and one of us.”
I got up; I needed to move to calm myself. Was Amalberga telling the truth? Or was she only trying to frighten me into obeying her husband? I couldn’t believe that Fritigern would actually have me harmed. I was his guest. Besides, I was useful to them, worth a couple of hundred pounds in gold for my skill alone.
On the other hand, hunger is a terrible thing. No one can say what they will or will not do when they’re really hungry.
But the day of hunger was a long way off, if it came at all. The Goths might be soundly defeated by the winter, and I might be dead or free. Or the Romans might lose the next battle, and the raiding parties would be able to provide plenty of food. And Thorion would not be governor much longer, and it would be pointless to hold me hostage if a stranger ruled Scythia. No, I could not take the threat seriously.
“I am not going to be married off against my will,” I declared, turning back to Amalberga. “If you won’t let me go home, then leave things as they are. I will continue to treat the sick faithfully and harm no one — so long as you leave me free.”
“The one thing we cannot do is leave you free,” she said sadly. “But leave the matter for now. We can still afford to wait.”
I wanted desperately to speak with Athanaric, to find out what was happening among the Romans and how my family and friends were. But when I asked Amalberga to arrange a meeting, she refused, and I saw that I was to be isolated, cut off from anyone who might support me in my resolve. That night my shoes and clothes were taken away so that I couldn’t slip out after dark, and next morning I was led to the hospital by an escort and handed over to Edico’s supervision like a prisoner. Edico looked embarrassed.
“I didn’t realize you were a noblewoman,” he told me. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended Your Grace.”
“Oh, be quiet!” I told him irritably. “My family isn’t nearly as important as everyone seems to think; they just have money. The only thing that will offend me is if you insist on having me guarded all the time.”
“The king has said that you are not to be allowed to escape,” Edico said unhappily. “I’m sorry, but I have to make sure that someone is with you constantly now.”
I swore and went off to prepare some medicines. It was pretty much what I expected, but I didn’t like it. One of the assistants came in to watch me, so I made him work at grating the mandragora, and wondered where it would end.
Around the middle of the morning I went to check on my Caesarean patient, whom I had treated in her own home; the midwife came with me. I walked very quickly, glaring at the camp, and the midwife had to run to keep up. Just in front of the woman’s wagon I almost fell over Athanaric. He was sitting calmly by the nearest well, sharpening his sword, looking Gothic to his back teeth. I stopped short, staring at him; he looked quickly at the wagon and shook his head. I caught his meaning and pretended that I was just waiting for the midwife to catch up, and then went into the wagon.
The woman seemed to be recovering. The wound was inflamed, but not excessively so. If it was kept clean, she would probably live. I dressed it myself, lectured her family on hygiene again, then sent the midwife off to fetch some drug I said I’d forgotten. She went, and I pretended to find that I had the drug after all. I dosed the woman, then went out, alone. Athanaric was waiting.
I ran over to him, and he caught my arm and pulled me aside. “Here!” he said, and indicated a crawl space under the nearest wagon. I crept under, and he followed. We were out of sight, and as private as anyone could be in this crowded city. “Will the woman come back?” asked Athanaric.
“I sent her to fetch a drug,” I said. “She’ll probably assume she just missed me on the way, and go back to the hospital. We have about half an hour before they start looking for me.”
Athanaric sighed and rubbed his face. “And they will look for you?”
“They’ve just received orders to watch me so that I can’t escape.”
“They didn’t need to have you watched for that,” he said bitterly. “You can’t escape anyway. Not now, that is. All the raiding parties are in, half of them know me, and all of them seem to know you; I could never get you out of here. But I had to talk to you.”
His eyes were sharp and earnest in the shadow under the wagon. He was speaking in a whisper, in his quick, staccato Greek, so as not to attract attention. I felt a lump in my throat, and swallowed hard. “I’m glad,” I whispered. “I need . . . I am very alone here. How did you know where to wait for me?”
He smiled. “The king sent for you when I arrived yesterday. His messenger came back saying that you wouldn’t come because you were cutting a child out of a living woman. People talk about something like that, so I just listened until I heard where it was, then waited for you to check on your patient. I gather she’s actually still alive?”
I nodded. “It’s a question of where you make the incision. Amalberga says I should marry someone so that they can’t use me as a hostage.”
“Don’t,” said Athanaric. “They wouldn’t dare hurt you. And your brother is to leave Tomis this autumn: he’s been offered another governorship immediately, in Bithynia. You’d be no good to them as a hostage anyway. Would you really kill any Goth who tried to marry you?”
“Probably not,” I told him. “But I want them to think so. I don’t want anyone to try it.”
“If you can get them to believe you, you should be safe. They won’t worry about knives, but they’re afraid of poison. This war can’t last forever, and we’ll get you out somehow.”
I had told myself, and others, that there was nothing for me to return to among the Romans; I hadn’t expected my heart to race so at the thought of escape. But perhaps it was just Athanaric.
“What will happen?” I asked him. “Do you think the war will end soon? Can you negotiate a truce?”
He shook his head. “Ever since I arrived, everyone has been telling me the sort of truce I should negotiate. But I’m not officially here. I’ve been posted to Egypt. I only came because somebody needed to ransom you.
“To Egypt? But —”
“They don’t trust me at court,” Athanaric explained, giving an uneven smile. “I pleaded too hard on Fritigern’s behalf before. And they’re starting to distrust all Goths. My father is virtually under arrest. But the master of the offices values me, and so I keep my job and my rank but get moved elsewhere. I’ll be safe in Egypt, they think at court, spying on the followers of your old friend Athanasios. Is this what he
discovered about you? That you’re a woman?”
I nodded. “Won’t this trip make trouble for you, though?”
“Not too much, if I go straight to Egypt when I leave. Sebastianus and your brother can vouch for me. And they needed me to come; there was no one else they dared send into the Gothic camp.”
“Will the Goths let you go?”
“Oh, no fear about that. Colias is my cousin, and his men used to take orders from my father. They won’t interfere with me. But I can’t get you out. I’ve been up all night trying to think of some way, but with all the troops back here it’s no use; the fortifications are crawling with guards, and I’m supposed to be gone by this evening. Fritigern doesn’t trust me to stay longer. You will simply have to be strong, and wait. I’ve talked to some of Colias’ men, and they’ll try to protect you if the camp’s invaded. I only wish I could do more.”
“I will wait, then,” I said, trying to resign myself. “At least I have work to keep me busy. How is Arbetio managing at Novidunum?”
Athanaric stared at me a moment, then shrugged. “Fairly well. He’s hired another assistant. The troops all say you’re a better doctor, though. What’s this about saving the Theruingi from an epidemic?”
“I had them build drains.”
“And that stops an epidemic? An epidemic might have been useful to us.”
“It would have killed mostly the old and the children, not the warriors. I’ve been trying not to treat the men — don’t worry about that. What about my slaves at Novidunum? Do you know how they are?”
“Arbetio has been supervising them for you. He’s married that girl he bought from Valerius, and they’re all living in that new house you bought, with Arbetio putting aside some money for the rent for you. You can trust him. He wanted to offer to exchange himself for you, but Sebastianus thought that a fat ransom was more likely to succeed.”
“Did we get some more drugs from Philon in Egypt?”
Athanaric didn’t answer. “Lord God, Charis!” he exclaimed instead. “Why on earth didn’t you tell someone who you were? Sebastianus would have sent you home in a flash, and then you wouldn’t be in this mess. This is no place for you.”
The Beacon at Alexandria Page 43
