The Longobards gave up once they reached the last dry patch of land in front of the open lagoon. It was essentially a small flat peninsula delimited by reeds and open water ahead. They saw Polo floating south, and now they began taking more precise shots. One arrow hit Polo in the calf, essentially nailing him to the log. Polo screamed in pain. Then, another Longobard armed with a sling shot, after several trial-and-error misses, managed to hit Polo in the back of the head. It was a distant shot, hard enough to render Polo unconscious for the second time in one night, but not enough to mortally wound him.
Adalulf observed the floating and motionless Polo. He found a small stone structure to sit on. He was a bit puzzled to find some stones placed as to make a throne in the middle of the marshland, but he sat on it regardless, and stared southward toward Polo. The sky was beginning to brighten up, anticipating a dawn with clear sky, and Adalulf addressed the others trying not to sound too resigned:
“He is probably dead… It irritates me not to know for certain, but there is no way for us to find out for sure… He will end up in the open sea and turn into fish food one way or another… Let’s go back!”
Primo was climbing frantically up the steep hillside. Below it was still dark, but he had already gained at least six hundred yards of altitude, and the morning sun was illuminating the hilltops. Not much farther down, Castald, Warin and Faruald were relentless. Castald was not a warrior that gave up, and he was going to avenge Wido. Primo was wounded and tired, but his will to live appeared to give him supernatural endurance.
In the meantime, not much further above, a few mysterious slim figures were leaping toward the ongoing chase. It was not easy to spot a full view of these individuals. It was possible to catch a vanishing glimpse of their swift movements here and there. A few details emerged. They did not wear sandals like Primo, but they appeared to wear comfortable boots made out of soft fur, laced up with leather strings. Their clothes also appeared to be made out of leather. The headgear resembled the animals living in those alpine woods. The first one wore a fox’s head, the second sported deer antlers, the third one had cow horns on, the fourth wore a wolf’s head, and so on. They could have been mistaken for forest elves, and they appeared to be not too old, about Primo’s age.
Primo was exhausted and was about to collapse and die, like Wido’s horse at the bottom of the hill. He managed to complete a steep climb and crawl onto a flat surface, when his head got locked down by a forked wood club being held by one of these mysterious mountain men. The same man shouted at the top of his lungs, making his presence known to the three Longobards below. The scream echoed loudly as if the entire plain could hear him, all the way to the sea.
Other mountain men appeared spread out along the edge of a bushy cliff. They all started to chant with a crazed stare:
“Tzimbar Lan! Tzimbar Lan! Tzimbar Lan!”
Primo had given up. He had no more strength. He was at the total mercy of these strange people, with customs completely different from his. Down below the three Longobards, tired by the climb, and feeling vulnerable due to their lower ground, they decided to stop and reassess the situation.
“Castald, who are these people!?” asked Warin.
“I don’t know… but they certainly are no Latins… nor Greeks!” Castald replied.
“Tzimbar Lan! Tzimbar Lan! Tzimbar Lan!” the chorus continued, now accompanied by drums and horn sounds. All the bushes were shaking. What appeared to be just five or six individuals, now perhaps it could have been hundreds of these scary savages. At least that was the perception from the Longobards’ perspective down below. The few mountain men had instead spaced themselves out and, holding ropes from one another, they were shaking all the bushes in between. Faruald took his bow and arrow out and began to aim at the central figure, the one that had captured Primo. Faruald had not let go of the arrow, when he was tomahawked by a flying ax. It hit him smack in the middle of his forehead, and Faruald fell down dead with a thump.
“Warin! We are outnumbered! We must retreat!” Castald yelled.
“What about the Latin farm boy? What do we say to Adalulf?” replied Warin, less afraid to face those unknown savages than to have to return to Adalulf empty handed.
At that moment, the head mountain man who was holding down Primo, noticed the arrow piercing Primo’s arm. Without much delicacy, he broke the arrow and ripped it off the flesh. Primo screamed as if he were being skinned alive. To shut him up the mountain man thumped his club on Primo’s temple, rendering him unconscious. The surroundings were now silent.
“We shall tell Adalulf that some mountain savages finished him off…” continued Castald. “Now let’s go!”
Castald and Warin began running down the mountain as fast as they could, fearing for their lives.
It was mid-morning and two young women, Aurelia and Paulina, were on the inner shore of a sandy bank that separated the lagoon from the open sea. They were gathering cattail leaves to use for their weaving. Aurelia noticed something strange floating not too far from them… it was Polo.
“Paulina! Look over there! Is that… is that what I think it is? Is it a corpse?”
At that moment, they noticed a slight movement. Polo was half-conscious, as the larger waves and the sea breeze were waking him up.
“Oh my God, Aurelia! He is alive! Run!”
Paulina began to run in the opposite direction. Aurelia instead was already knee deep into the cold water.
“Wait! He might need our help!”
“Aurelia! We are here alone, the men are away fishing, we have ventured quite far from Equilium! Stay away from that man! I am scared!”
“Paulina… go back to Equilium and call for help. I am going to save that… that boy…”
Aurelia was slowly moving into the deep, and she could not touch the sandy bottom anymore. She was swimming with determination toward the wounded, half-conscious Polo and soon reached the floating log. She was now somewhat scared. She noticed the arrow piercing Polo’s leg, and some blood around his head. There were gnats all over Polo’s face and leg. She swatted them away by splashing some water over Polo’s body. Then she grabbed the log and dragged it to shore.
She reached the sandy bank and pulled the log up enough so that it would not float away again. Polo slowly opened his eyes halfway. He was aching everywhere, but Aurelia’s beauty was soothing and reassuring. He felt safe. Aurelia washed away the blood and the sand with the salty water she carried by cupping her two hands together.
“Hello stranger… looks like you had a rough night…” Aurelia spoke softly, with long pauses. “Don’t worry, you are safe now. My name is Aurelia, and my cousin has run to get help at the village. Soon we will take you to comfort…”
She kept washing Polo’s wounds. Compared to the dreadful night he had, this surrounding was so peaceful: the sea breeze, the waving reeds, weary seagulls above, and Aurelia sitting next to him as the two bonded without exchanging words. Time passed, and finally a small slender boat approached with two men and Paulina on board.
Equilium was nothing more than a village of five extended families living in half dozen huts in what could be described as a quasi-island. The sea on one side, and a very wet marshland on the other, this was the barren and desolated wilderness surrounding Aurelia’s home. Inside one of those huts, Polo was now resting with a bandage around his calf, and a bandage around his head as well. He was surrounded by Aurelia, Paulina, Aurelia’s mother Eleonora, and two older men: Aurelia’s father Bruno, and Aurelia’s uncle, Elio.
“Bruno, we have to let the Tribune of Heraclia know that Licio’s farm has been raided by Longobards… We could be next!” said a worried Eleonora to her husband.
“We are safe out here. We are on an island, and I haven’t seen a Longobard capable of governing a boat, yet…” Replied Bruno, not particularly troubled.
“And even if they could navigate,” added B
runo’s brother, Elio, “they don’t know where the shoals are, and they don’t know what to avoid during low tide…”
“Anyway, Eleonora…” Bruno continued, “This boy is traumatized. He needs to rest. He can stay with us while he recovers, and then we will take him to the Byzantines in Heraclia to give a detailed account of what exactly happened.”
“I think that my brother might still be alive…” Polo uttered, “I need to find him… his name is Primo…”
“You need to rest now Polo… Polo of Licio…” Eleonora immediately soothed Polo.
Eleonora, Bruno and Elio exited the hut to continue their conversation in private.
“I remember when Licio and his family established themselves in Altinum…” began Elio. “It was an abandoned land since the last raid. A promising and fertile land, but not as secure as here in Equilium.”
“Yes, it was about fifteen years ago…” remembered Bruno.
“But I recall that at the time he had only one son, and what I remember was that the other boys were the sons of an Istrian nobleman… what was his name?” Elio was wondering. “But we rarely saw Licio’s family… we almost forgot they were there!”
“Are you suggesting that this Polo might not be from Licio’s farm? Do you think he gave us a false statement?” Eleonora began to worry again. “Perhaps he is hiding something?”
“No, this boy is speaking the truth,” reassured Bruno, “but we had better check ourselves, both back at that farm in Altinum, and also with the authorities in Heraclia.”
Primo began to wake up as he was being rocked back and forth in a makeshift cot made out of two straight branches and a woven rope. He was being carried by these mountain men that were actually no older than he was. They were tall, slender, and spoke among themselves an incomprehensible Germanic tongue. But they did not appear to be Longobards… He realized there were only six of them, while earlier in the morning they made the noise of a hundred.
They were walking through an alpine plateau. The pine tree forest was thinning out and they emerged in a vast meadow. Primo could see goats grazing, but also cows and sheep. ‘Many cows and sheep! These people must be rich if they can afford to have so many cows…’ Primo was thinking, as he admired the vast plateau and the small village in the middle. This community was called Sleghe, and it was made up of about a dozen huts.
The six young men approached the dwellings, carrying their wounded prisoner. Two very tall mustached men were waiting for them. One was Boiorix, the town leader, father of Lugius, the one who clubbed Primo unconscious. The other was Gaesorix, another well-respected elder.
“Lugius, my son!” shouted Boiorix in their native tongue, incomprehensible to Primo. “When you boys left so early this morning that it was still dark, I thought you were hunting for deer! I did not know you went hunting for Latins!”
“We were, father… but we encountered three Longobards chasing this Latin peasant up the hill… so I figured we must defend our hunting grounds from others, no matter the prey…”
Boiorix could not help smiling at his son’s sarcasm, but he immediately became serious, because he knew Longobards were unpredictable and it was better not to provoke them.
“So you fought them? It appears that none of you fellows are injured…”
“We scared them off, and yes, I personally split a Longobard’s forehead in half! It was a fine ax throw… you should have seen it!”
Lugius displayed the ax he had recovered, still with Faruald’s blood on its blade.
“You did well, Lugius, I would have done the same, but this poses a risk. Longobards are a delicate matter. We have always managed to trade with the people from the plains, and now they are the new lords down there. Trade has come to a halt because of the chaos of late, but we need to reconnect, and this incident does not help…”
“What about this Latin boy?” Gaesorix jumped in. “What do we do with him now? What is your name, Latin?”
Primo was alert, and he understood that Gaesorix, probably the biggest man he ever saw, was talking to him, asking him something. But he did not comprehend a word of this Germanic or Celtic tongue being spoken in this plateau. He shrugged his shoulders and figured he might as well say his name, and so he did, pointing to himself with the arm that was not wounded. Primo spoke in a corrupted form of Latin:
“Uh… me nomen est Primo…”
“Good, that much of Latin I know. His name is Primo, and like all peasants from down below, he does not understand a thing we are saying… Boiorix, what are we going to do with this… Primo?”
“Well, it seems like he had a rough night. Look at that gaping wound on his arm… his left foot does not look too good either… and he has blood on his back as well,” Boiorix replied.
“Yes, his back is badly scraped, but nothing deep,” Lugius added.
“I tell you what, Lugius, bring him to your mother to get his wounds medicated, and then have him rest comfortably. He will be our guest… I guess,” Boiorix concluded, sending Lugius on toward Sleghe.
Lugius and the five other young men left Boiorix and Gaesorix, and continued toward the village carrying Primo.
“Boiorix… what I meant was not what we are going to do about his wounds… What are we going to do next with him? Shall we just send him off down the slopes of the mountain?”
“Let’s hear his story first, assuming he can learn to communicate,” Boiorix replied. “He might have nothing to return to down there. It will be useful to have a Latin among us. He might come in handy in negotiating commercial ties down below.”
“You mean with the Longobards?” Gaesorix asked. “Probably all we can trade with them is this Primo’s head!”
“Longobards are just warriors, but there are still subdued Latins down there whom we can deal with. They need our wood… we need their salt. They like our cheese… our women like their fine textile. Perhaps this Primo can help… let’s wait and see.”
Adalulf, Castald, and the remaining seven Longobard horsemen were returning at a slow pace toward a main town. They were holding two extra horses without riders, and little Fabia was riding together with Adalulf, still with a rope around her neck. The town lay west of the large Brint River, which the Longobard company was now crossing at a ford. The town of Patavium was predominantly Roman ruins, but it also counted some brick houses here and there.
At the town’s edge, two Longobard guards were observing Adalulf’s group approaching. One of the guards appeared to be counting, and as soon as he finished he hurried in town to announce Adalulf’s arrival. The other guard went forward to approach Adalulf.
“Adalulf… while you were gone King Rothari has arrived in town… he is waiting for you.”
Adalulf looked preoccupied. He was returning from an unsuccessful and overall unnecessary raid. He was not looking forward to meeting the undisputed ruler of what was then known as the Kingdom of Italy.
Later that afternoon, inside the main town hall two guards were posted by the entrance, while King Rothari was sitting on a throne at the opposite end. Tiberio, a Latin elder of Patavium, was also present as a local consigliere to the King. At that moment, Adalulf and Castald entered.
“My beloved King! It is so good to see you! I thought you and your army were still in Genua…” Adalulf began on a positive note, hoping to soothe the King.
“It is good to see you again too, my dear Adalulf!” King Rothari replied. “Genua was easier to conquer than I initially thought. So, having taken care swiftly of the west, I am here to straighten out things to the east of my Kingdom.”
“With your mighty army every conquest is swift and easy, my lord!”
“Ha! Only partly true… We Longobards have it easy,” the King continued. “We ought to thank the Goths, who have decimated what was left of the Roman Empire over a century ago. They only left spineless and defenseless peasants… Isn’t it right
, Tiberio?”
An embarrassed Tiberio uncomfortably nodded smiling:
“Yes, my lord, we are worthless at war, but we are very valuable as farmers and in many other trades…”
“That is most certainly true!” The King agreed. “This land is a fertile garden thanks to your virtues as restless laborers. And that’s why you should not be slaughtered, but taken care of. Isn’t that right, Adalulf?”
King Rothari was asking Adalulf with a bit of sarcasm, because he was aware that this was the opposite of what Adalulf had just accomplished near Altinum. But Adalulf initially played along:
“Of course, my lord…”
“So, given this premise, what good news do you bring me?” The King inquired. “I have been told that twelve horses and twelve horsemen left Patavium the other day, and now eleven horses and nine horsemen… and a little Latin girl have come back. What happened? You must have slaughtered dozens of Greek soldiers!”
Adalulf perceived the sarcasm in King Rothari’s words. He sensed the rage beneath those soft words. He had to come clean immediately, as any dancing around would for sure be perceived as insulting King Rothari’s intelligence.
“My King, it has been a disaster that I am not proud of. We were only in an exploratory excursion to monitor the Byzantine’s outreach inland. My outpost witnessed a farmer providing food supplies for the Greek soldiers, and I decided to punish them on the same day…”
“…by trading three Longobard warriors and one horse for a little slave girl?” the King interrupted.
The more humorous King Rothari was, the more Adalulf feared a raging explosion. He was the strongest king the Longobards ever had. With an iron fist he had managed to put an end to rivalries among fighting warlords. He ruled all the land south of the Alps and his ambitions now looked further south beyond Rome. The Byzantine presence on coastal towns to the east was of great irritation to him. Adalulf knew that, and he knew he should admit the truth.
Venetians Page 3