The Last Roman: Vengeance

by Jack Ludlow

  ‘Didn’t take Senuthius long to set these particular dogs on us, did it? Happen that boatman set the riverbank afire, spreading alarm with talk of evil spirits. I should have killed him.’

  Flavius did not want to dwell on that, or to say that had Ohannes tried he would have endeavoured to stop him. Why kill a man for the mere fact of his being in the wrong place?

  ‘I wonder what has been offered for our heads.’

  ‘It will be a price hard to resist.’

  The movement was felt rather than seen, that and the sounds of Ohannes tapping the walls, the injunction soon issued that Flavius, like he, should look for something loose, a thick branch or a stone that they could employ as a weapon.

  ‘If we are to be given food, then it will be handed over by one of the men he has left to guard us.’

  ‘Who will be expecting us to try something,’ Flavius replied, the pitch of his response less than encouraging. ‘It might be best to wait and see what that Dardanies discovers.’

  ‘You would put your fate in the hands of a Sklaveni?’

  ‘He does not know what to do with us, which means that even if Senuthius has offered a sizeable reward, there are people unwilling to take it. My father dealt with these people—’

  The interruption was sharp. ‘That I know! Did I not accompany him?’

  ‘I never heard him claim them as bad and I doubt you did. To his mind they were more sinned against than wicked.’

  ‘If he’d had the men he needed your papa would not have crossed the river to talk.’

  ‘If he’d had the men he needed he could have reined in Senuthius.’

  The wicker panel was pulled aside, flooding the hut with light, but only long enough for the pair to see a wooden board with bread and a hunk of cheese upon it thrust in, then sent across the packed earthen floor by a foot, that followed by a hand setting down a jug right by the entrance. Then it was back in place and they were in darkness once more.

  ‘Might as well eat,’ Ohannes said, the gloom in his voice obvious. If that was the way they were going to be provided for, the chance of catching the giver off guard was near impossible.

  Time soon lost all meaning, even if they could see through the gaps in the roof, and the shifting brightness, the way the sun moved in the sky. Having found nothing that would aid them to escape, both sat on the floor in quiet conversation, Flavius learning more of the older man’s past and the service he had seen with his father than he had been gifted hitherto, it being a story, he suspected, replicated all over the fringes of the empire.

  Life could be harsh for the folk that lived within its borders, yet Ohannes was sure it was worse without. As the youngest son of a large brood, and with uncles who were less than fond of anyone that might split what little the family owned, horses and cattle, there was nothing for him to inherit when his father died, which left the choice of labouring for others or crossing into the Roman Empire and once there taking service as a soldier.

  ‘For your citizens are too soft to do what fighting needs done on their own.’

  ‘Tell me about serving with my father.’

  ‘What’s to tell, Master Flavius? That he was a good soldier, yes, that he did not rise as high as he might, that he had occasion to use his whip on my back more than once?’

  ‘He whipped you?’

  ‘As he did to anyone who deserved it, an’ there were many of that ilk.’

  There was a sense in the tone of Ohannes’s voice that had Flavius ask him if he was smiling.

  ‘I am, as I ever do when I recall some of the mischief I got up to when I was a young buck. What man can resist women and wine, Master Flavius, for I never could and the fellow who had to keep us up to our mark was the likes of your papa. He was only a decanus then, mind – once he got a leg-up to a higher rank using the sapling himself did not go with his dignity.’

  ‘You sound as if you hold no grudge.’

  ‘Why would I, me being the sinner, as all soldiers are, given half a whiff. Your papa was fair, and there is not much more you can ask than that, for there were others of his rank who used the whip for pleasure and there was many another punishment they could mete out if they were so minded, which meant they had to worry about a spear or a sword in their back when we got into a close and busy fight.’

  ‘Their own men would kill them?’

  ‘Didn’t happen often, but happen it did.’

  Ohannes kept talking and Flavius kept listening, for there was nothing else to do, and given his years, not much for the youngster to relate. The pitch of the voice changed, depending on whether Ohannes was talking of fond memories or things that had upset him. He did not object to being questioned, as when he related the fights he had taken part in, Flavius eager for detail on the two major campaigns in which he had served.

  ‘What can the likes of me tell you? We are told to march, so we march, we are told to camp so we make camp. If you’re in the front rank as you assemble for a battle you see your enemy right enough, into his eyes as you close, but most times you don’t know what you’re doing or why. It’s what I said to you afore. Staying alive is what matters and let the folk that have to worry about what it’s all for …’

  The hut was again flooded with light as Dardanies entered, followed by a trio of much older men, who judging by the torques and ornaments with which they adorned themselves, were of a higher tribal rank than the man who had taken them captive.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  What followed was a very obvious argument and one in which neither Flavius nor Ohannes were part; there were clearly divided opinions about what to do and the disagreements were fierce, all carried out in their native tongue. The only indication of which way matters were swaying came from the looks aimed in their direction by Dardanies. Sometimes they were gloomy, at other times curious, the sole exception being when he became part of the discussion and was seen to be protesting.

  ‘These people must be able to speak some Latin,’ Flavius whispered: that had to be the case, based on their having lived so long and in such close proximity to the border.

  ‘Daresay,’ Ohannes replied, his voice normal, as Dardanies shot him an irritated look for having the temerity to speak, ‘but why should they? Satisfying us is not what this is about. They are seeking what is best for their own tribe.’

  Back and forth it went; sometimes it seemed to the pair watching as if one or two of these tribal elders might come to actual blows, so fierce were the physical gestures. At times hands shot out pointing in different directions, which Flavius interpreted as the choice between the Huns and Senuthius, while seeking to work out what option was gaining ground.

  On it went until finally it seemed two of the trio had worn down the arguments of the one most voluble and dramatic in his gestures, another turning to Dardanies to bark at him, which had the recipient shaking his head, not in any kind of refusal. Their captor looked, if anything, miserable and it was, naturally, he who spoke.

  ‘A decision has been reached.’ He paused and addressed his superiors once more in his own tongue, giving the impression of wishing to confirm something before he spoke. ‘They are not as one.’

  ‘Tell that in any language,’ Ohannes hissed.

  Dardanies responded furiously. ‘It would do you well to hold your tongue.’

  ‘Best obey,’ Flavius responded, nudging Ohannes and giving Dardanies a look of understanding, before adding, ‘He does not wish you to think he is fearful.’

  ‘Just as well, for he has no cause to be, not that I think what has been decided is right.’

  ‘It would be a kindness to tell us what that is.’

  ‘You are to be taken back over the river.’

  ‘No kindness there,’ Ohannes spat.

  ‘Not to be given over to Senuthius Vicinus, which is the course I would adopt, but to be sent on south to a point where you can make your way without fear.’

  ‘Not the Huns?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Am I allowed to a
sk why?’

  That got a sigh bordering on resignation. ‘Our elders think it beneath us to send you back to a certain death and a painful one, while to just sell you into slavery would demean the memory of your father, who, even if he was Roman, tried to keep in check the worst instincts of those who wished to profit from our weaknesses.’

  He gestured to the trio of elderly men, still scowling, but from time to time, as Dardanies spoke, including him in their disapproval. ‘You will not know this, but many times, when our hotheads disobeyed the decrees of our tribe and crossed the river, they fell into the hands of your family.’

  ‘I know that,’ Flavius replied.

  It had hardly been a secret in his house when the cohort had some success, just as it had been acknowledged that the achievements had been against numbers insufficient to really trouble a body of professional soldiers.

  ‘It was said your father only killed when he had to.’

  ‘No Roman would do otherwise.’

  The reply was sharp and it was clear by their expressions that the elders did speak some Latin, certainly enough to understand the statement made by Flavius, as well as the pride with which it had been delivered.

  ‘How little you know of your own kind, but boys, I suppose, must be allowed their dreams.’

  Two nods, one furious shake of the head, then a remark from one of the elders that was clearly an instruction to get on with it, possibly that explanations were not necessary. Dardanies, however, seemed determined to keep providing the rationale for what had been concluded.

  ‘Sometimes, when he could, your father sent them back to us as a gesture of peace.’

  That Flavius did not know; as he tried to disguise his surprised reaction, he was sure the Sklaveni, all four of them, had picked up on it. Somehow it seemed to please them.

  ‘So, it would be dishonourable for us to choose a way of proceeding that would harm you.’

  ‘And me?’ Ohannes demanded, still with a tone of defiance that was not appropriate.

  ‘You matter only in that Flavius Belisarius is too young to be set free without help.’

  The youngster glanced at the Scythian to see if he was rendered grateful or annoyed; there was no evidence of either and he was required to look away. Dardanies was still speaking, this time in a tone of voice that utterly lacked cheer.

  ‘For the same reason I have been given the task of seeing you to a place of safety.’

  ‘How will you deal with Senuthius?’

  ‘It has ever been our approach to deal with that swine as little as is possible.’

  A stream of instructions issued from one of the elders, to be countered with objections by Dardanies, yet as an argument it lacked any vigour until, abruptly, the older men left. That they did not go far, or that their dispute was far from laid to rest was obvious, given they could be heard still arguing through the soft sod walls, this as Dardanies explained what they had planned.

  ‘The longer we wait the more chance that word of your capture will get back to Senuthius. Therefore we will cross the river as soon as we are sure it is safe, with enough of an escort to deal with any patrols the senator has out. That done, I will carry on with you until you are well away from danger.’

  ‘Where will we cross?’ Flavius asked.

  Dardanies seemed surprised by the question. ‘Where it is safe to do so.’

  ‘There is something on the southern shore I must collect.’

  It was Ohannes who objected. ‘There’s no time for searching.’

  ‘If there is not time for that then I will not go until there is.’

  ‘You will go,’ Dardanies snapped, ‘when we say you will go.’

  ‘I will not!’

  That produced on the face of the Sklaveni warrior a smile larded with curiosity. ‘If I tell that to the men who have just departed it may alter their decision.’

  ‘So be it.’

  ‘Best tell him what it is,’ Ohannes said with a sigh.

  Which Flavius did, starting with the letters he had found and what they portended, which could not be anything other than beneficial to the Sklaveni: the possible impeachment of Senuthius and not only an end to his raiding for slaves but a warning to others not to take up what the senator might be damned for. He made no mention of his father’s testament, given that would do nothing to sway Dardanies, but to him it was something just as vital that he recover.

  ‘And where is this sack?’

  ‘Hanging in an oak tree, high in the branches and out of sight from the ground.’

  The eyebrows went up. ‘An oak tree where?’ The lack of a response from the youngster was eloquent enough to have Dardanies actually burst out laughing, for it obviously implied ignorance, Flavius responding quickly that he had left more than one sign as to the location.

  ‘Visible in the dark?’

  Tempted as he was to lie, Flavius had to tell the truth, which he did with a shake of the head. Even with a full moon and complete starlight he had no certainty that the sign he had left, his breastplate, would be visible and nor did he know if the group of pebbles had been found and either disturbed or removed.

  ‘Do you know how many oaks there are on the banks of the Danube?’ Another shake of the head: to even guess would be foolish, which explained the mordant tone of what came next. ‘If I blindfolded you, cast a javelin full force into a hayrick, then asked you to find it, what chance do you think you would have?’

  ‘It is vital that I have those letters.’

  ‘Being vital does not make it possible.’

  ‘I do not ask that you accompany me, what I do ask is that you give Ohannes and I the time to seek it out and recover it.’

  ‘Have you thought to ask me, Master Flavius?’ Ohannes snapped.

  ‘I hope you will aid me in this, as you have in everything else, Ohannes, but if you decline …’

  The Scythian produced an expression, the one with which he had responded to statements like that from Flavius before, aiming to tell him he was getting above himself. Stubbornness won out over being respectful.

  ‘If need be I will go on my own.’

  ‘One of these days, Master Flavius, you are going to issue that threat an’ I am going to let you do as you wish.’

  ‘But not now?’

  Ohannes looked pointedly at Dardanies. ‘Not for me to decide now, is it?’

  They exchanged a hard mutual stare for a second, before the Sklaveni exited, his voice soon joining those of the elders who were still in disagreement.

  ‘They’re off again,’ Ohannes scoffed, as the voices went up a notch.

  ‘How can I convince you that those letters are vital, Ohannes?’

  ‘You can’t, ’cause I don’t see things the same way as you. It’s all very well seeking to preserve the memory of your papa, Master Flavius, but it makes no sense, as I have sought to tell you more than once, to get yourself killed in the process. That is my opinion and has ever been. Matters will take their course an’ if you can affect them all well and good, but to do that you must have breath in your body and blood running through your veins. So staying whole is the most important thing and that is what you must set your mind to doing.’

  The two were staring at each other – it seemed as if they were silently seeking some truth as yet unstated – when the light that permitted this was doused by the re-entry, through the doorway, of Dardanies and the elders.

  ‘They wish to question you.’

  Which they did, showing that in at least two cases their Latin was of a standard that did not require Dardanies to translate. Only one struggled and he seemed the least inclined to think the letters of any importance. Yet it was obvious the other pair saw matters differently, very much in the way that Flavius had sought to persuade Dardanies. As the questions flew back and forth the youngster realised just how right his father had been.

  These people wanted peace and security and it was not from fear. Along with the decorations they wore there was clear evidence that these
grey-hairs had been active warriors and they had the scars to prove it. The notion of a body that might impeach and bring to a halt the depredations of Senuthius was as attractive to them as it had been to Decimus Belisarius. Finally, questioning over, they left the hut again, to once more continue their discussions outside, until a peremptory command was issued for Dardanies to join them. He was gone for not more than a minute and on returning he gave Flavius a look, accompanied by a miniscule shaking of his head that lifted his spirits.

  ‘These letters of yours are things my elders wish to see.’

  ‘So we must find them.’

  ‘Sadly yes, which means we must risk our bodies by seeking out the spot where you hid them, for that must be undertaken in the light of day.’

  ‘I have not felt that God was on my side since the day my family was cruelly slaughtered …’ Flavius paused then, suddenly aware that he had made no enquiries as to how many of the Sklaveni tribe had taken part in the raid that led to their deaths. ‘Were you part of that?’

  ‘Part of what?’ Dardanies asked guardedly.

  ‘The majority of those who raided across the river were, I think, Huns …’ He had to pause; Ohannes had gifted him with a sharp jab in the ribs, but he was not to be put off. ‘But not all. How many of your tribe took part?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘It matters not,’ Ohannes insisted.

  ‘It matters to me,’ Flavius said, looking right at the Sklaveni, ‘especially if I am to put my trust and my life in your hands.’

  If Dardanies was made uncomfortable, which he seemed to be, he soon found a way to deflect that with a question of his own. ‘Does it not occur to you, Flavius Belisarius, to ask why such a raid was ever mounted?’

  ‘Hun greed.’

  ‘Truly they are that, but was it enough?’

  ‘I do not follow.’