Hope of Earth

by Piers Anthony

  “The Roman cavalry is coming here. We had better get clear in a hurry.”

  “But we can’t go! Mother said—”

  “She’ll have to look out for herself. We’re in trouble. Come on; jump off the wagon and flee away from the Romans. Both of you,” she called, including the other princess.

  “I’m not going,” the other protested. “We can’t lose.”

  “Then come on, Wildflower!” Lin cried, tugging the princess along with her as the horses charged up.

  The two of them ran as fleetly as they could, hearing the thunder of the horses’ hooves. Soon, breathless, they paused to look back.

  The Romans were overturning the wagons and carts. The women were running and screaming, but they weren’t being chased. That was another sign of a disciplined army: no plunder or rapine along the way. They were intent on winning the battle first. But why did they want to prevent the women from riding away?

  Then it came clear. The Celtic army was now in confused retreat. It surged back toward the wagons—and couldn’t pass them, because Roman archers were firing at them from the cover of the wagons, and the horsemen were patrolling immediately behind. It was a deadly trap.

  A woman screamed. Lin looked, and saw her fall. The Romans were killing the women too!

  “We must get away from here!” she said, and half dragged the princess into a second run.

  They were not pursued, and soon Were able to slow to a walk. They were safe, for the moment. But where were they to go now? No place would be safe for the princess, now that Rome had triumphed.

  The decision was as swift as the question. “You must stay with me,” Lin said. “We must get male clothing. When night falls, I’ll take you to Centurion Ittai. He will protect you.”

  Vacant-eyed, Wildflower nodded. Lin realized that the princess had just suffered a second shock, perhaps as bad as when she had been raped and seen her mother flogged.

  They were able to find clothing at a nearby deserted house—possibly its master had been killed in the battle, or merely fled the dangerous scene—and after dark Lin took the princess to the Roman camp. A guard challenged them, but she called out the password, and they were admitted.

  “Lin!” Ittai cried, recognizing her as soon as she came in sight. He was not even wounded. “I feared for you.” Then he paused, looking at Wildflower. “Who—”

  “Another boy, just like me,” Lin said quickly. “I promised sanctuary.”

  “Just like you,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Then he had better stay close to you, until we return home in a few days. The family will decide.”

  By that token, he indicated that he knew the identity of the princess, and would allow her to seek sanctuary with the family. He had not approved of her raping, and would not approve of her killing. And Lin was sure the family would not turn her away, knowing that there would be no safe place for her in Britain. Any more than there would have been any safe place for Romans, had the battle gone the other way.

  But there was something they needed to know. “What happened to the queen?” Lin asked him.

  “She got away. We don’t know what happened to her daughters; they may be with her.”

  Lin saw Wildflower relax a trifle. At least she knew that her mother still lived.

  The Roman historians reported 80,000 Celtic deaths, compared to 400 Roman deaths, and a greater number of casualties. The rebellion was over. The remaining pockets of resistance were hunted out and exterminated. The Iceni Queen Boudica escaped, but died soon after; it is uncertain whether she poisoned herself or was taken by disease. The fate of her two daughters is unknown; they may have died, or may have faded into anonymity. Rome maintained power in Britain until the Roman Empire fragmented in the fifth century A.D. The Angles, the Saxons, and the Jutes then invaded, and it became Angle Land, or England.

  Chapter 13

  SLAVE

  In the sixth century A.D. the Roman Empire feü apart and was settled largely by “barbarian” tribes. But the Eastern Roman, or Byzantine, Empire survived, extending its hegemony over most of the eastern Mediterranean region. The westward surge of Mongol and Turkish tribes continued, and Slovenoi or Sclavini tribes moved west and south.

  The Romans were as adept at playing barbarian politics as were the Chinese in the east. The emperor in Constantinople incited the Avars into action against other tribes that were harassing the borders of the empire. The Avars, nothing loath, quickly conquered the Bulgars, who were descendants of the Huns, and assimilated them into their own horde. Then they moved against the Antes and the Slavs. They defeated the former, but rather than war against the latter they made peace, because their real objective was to raid the richer Frankish kingdom beyond. Thus the Avar power extended through the large Slav territory, amicably. The Avars met the Franks to the west, but the Franks, under Sigibert, defeated them in battle. The Avars, under their new Khagan Boyan, beat the Franks in a second pitched battle, but Sigibert fared well enough to negotiate a peace and obtain Boyan’s agreement to withdraw beyond the Elbe River.

  The Avars then focused their attention farther to the east, allying with the Longobards (Lombards) to destroy the Germanic Gepid tribes in the modern region of Hungary. The Lombards then migrated into Italy, while Avars and Slavs filled in their former territories. Meanwhile the Slavs were raiding and looting Byzantine settlements in the Balkans, north of modern Greece, so the Roman emperor persuaded Boyan to march against his sometime allies. Boyan first asked them to submit willingly and pay tribute, but they rejected the notion and killed his envoys. This was of course asking for trouble. The Avars crossed the Danube and sacked several Slav villages. The Avars were horsemen, and the Slavs, fighting on foot, could not match them. But they avoided heavy losses by fading into the marshes and forests.

  Later the fickle nature of politics made the Avars and Slavs allies again, as they raided Byzantine provinces. Some Slav tribes were independent, while others were treated as tyrannized subject peoples. Overall, they were definitely in the shadow of the Avars, forced to give way to them and pay tribute. It was not a situation the Slavs enjoyed, in the early seventh century. But what could they do?

  The setting is just north of the Adriatic Sea, at the fringe of what is nominally the Eastern Roman Empire, in the mountains of what came to be modern day Austria, in the year A.D. 623.

  THE FIRST THING SAM NOTICED about the prisoner was that he was a Frank. He was bedraggled and downcast, of course; he wore a collar of tough rope and his hands were tied behind him. His Avar captor would have yanked the rope tight enough to choke, at any sign of resistance. Captives learned very quickly to behave, or they died.

  Sam himself had a nice gold vase, his booty from the successful raid on the Byzantine town. He had learned to be choosy, taking only what he could conveniently carry some distance home without tiring. Gold was the best for that. So he was well set.

  Now he did something stupid. He joined the Avar, whom he did not know personally; Slavs as a rule did not cultivate the acquaintance of Avars, though they were nominally allies. “Mind if I share your fire a moment, before I trek home?”

  The Avar looked up with annoyance, then his eye measured the size and muscle of the intruder. “Suit yourself, Slav.” The Avar was chewing on dark bread.

  Sam set his vase carefully in front of him, in the process turning it so that it reflected the light of the flames. He dug out his own dark bread and began to gnaw.

  The Avar stared at the vase. “Where’d you find that? I couldn’t find any gold.”

  “I poked into the crevices of a burned-out house. I thought something good might be hidden there, and I was right.”

  “You sure were! That thing is beautiful.” He meant in terms of riches, not art; Avar raiders didn’t care about art.

  “But it’s pretty heavy. Be a burden to carry all the way home. I see you don’t have that problem.”

  The Avar laughed. “Right! My booty is mobile. But you got the better deal, Slav. You don’t h
ave to feed your gold.”

  Sam glanced at the prisoner, as if only now becoming aware of him. “I don’t know. Sometimes they have skills that bring a good price on the slave market. Where’s he from? He doesn’t look Roman.”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask him. He speaks some foreign language.”

  “Maybe I can find out. May I question him?”

  “Sure.”

  Sam addressed the prisoner. “What are you?” he asked in Slavic.

  There was no response. “Answer him!” the warrior snapped, jerking on the rope.

  The prisoner winced; it was clear that the rope chafed his neck, and he did not want more punishment. “Frank,” he said. That meant that he had understood the Slavic words.

  Sam spoke a little Frankish, learned from his wife.

  “What is your skill?” he asked in somewhat halting Frankish.

  “I am a trader.”

  “What’s he saying?” the Avar asked.

  “He says he’s a trader.”

  “He’s probably lying. Traders are smart.”

  “A trader?” Sam asked the prisoner. “How did you get taken captive?”

  The Frank grimaced. “I was in the wrong place, the wrong time.”

  Sam translated that.

  “For sure!” the warrior said, laughing. “Still, it would be nice if he is a trader; better price. Can you verify it?”

  “I’ll try,” Sam said. “A trader should be able to put a fair price on this vase. You judge it, and we’ll see if his price matches.”

  The Avar squinted at the vase. “May I heft it?”

  “By all means.”

  The warrior picked up the vase, and tapped it with a knuckle before setting it down again.

  “If you are a trader,” Sam said to the Frank, “you should be able to price this vase. What is it worth?”

  “Four bushels of wheat,” the man replied promptly.

  “But you didn’t even heft it, or really look at it,” Sam protested.

  “Ask the Avar,” the Frank said.

  Sam turned to the Avar. “He says four bushels of wheat.”

  The man was surprised. “By Svarog, he’s right!” the Avar said, swearing by a Slavic god. “That’s how I priced it.”

  “How could you tell, without hefting it for weight?” Sam asked the Frank.

  “I know my business. I have handled many such vases. I know such goods well.”

  Evidently so. “Are you literate?” Sam asked.

  The Frank looked thoughtfully at him. “Are you pricing me?”

  “My wife’s Frankish.”

  The Frank nodded, understanding Sam’s interest. A captor with a Frankish wife would likely be a better master than one who didn’t even know the language. “Yes, I am literate.”

  Sam turned to the Avar. “He says he’s literate, and has handled many such vases. That’s how he knows the value.”

  The warrior nodded. “I heard.”

  “You understand his words?” Sam asked, surprised. “Then why did you have me translate?”

  “To see if you were straight. Want to trade? Him for the vase?”

  “Yes. We could use a literate man. But he may be worth more than the vase.”

  “Are you?” the Avar asked the Frank in Avarish.

  “Yes,” the Frank replied in the same language.

  “He may be lying,” the Avar said.

  “A literate trader who speaks three languages? He’s worth a lot.” For now Sam was sure the Frank knew both Slavic and Avarish.

  “Maybe to you, if you manage the sale right. He’s too smart; he makes me nervous. When will I sleep, with a cunning prisoner? I’ll settle for the gold; it’s sure.”

  “Done,” Sam said.

  “Done.” They shook hands. Then Sam picked up the vase and proffered it, and the Avar handed him the end of the rope.

  “When they were on their way back to Sam’s village, the Frank spoke again. “Why did you want me?”

  “Are you trustworthy?”

  “No trader is trustworthy. He has to make a living.”

  “To your friends.”

  “You are not my friend. You are my captor.”

  Sam handed him the end of the rope. “I swore to my wife not to abuse any Franks. I love my wife. I give you your freedom, asking only that you repay me your value if you ever have opportunity.”

  “You surprise me, Slav.” He considered. “I accept your bargain. I will call you friend.” He picked up a clod of earth and set it on top of his head, in the Slav manner. This made the oath binding.

  “Then go, friend,” Sam said, impressed by the way the Frank knew the Slav culture. But of course traders made it their business to know about those with whom they dealt. The oath might not mean as much to a Frank as to a Slav.

  “But I have not yet repaid you my value.”

  “You haven’t had the chance. We may meet again some year.”

  “And we may not. I prefer to remain with you until I make the repayment.”

  “As you wish. My wife will be glad to meet you.”

  “I would be helpless alone, without money or weapon.”

  Sam reached for a knife to give the man, but the Frank demurred. “I am already too much in debt to you. I’ll manage.”

  Sam shrugged. He hoped he had done the right thing.

  The Frank put his fingers to the rope, but the knot did not readily yield. “Will you help me with this?”

  Sam drew his sword. He put it carefully to the rope by the man’s neck, and sawed until the strands separated. The skin beneath was red and raw from the chafing.

  Sam brought out a small jar of balm he carried in ease of injury, and proffered it. The Frank scooped out some and smeared it on his sore neck. “I thank you, friend.”

  They walked on toward the village. When night came, Sam shared the last of his traveling food, then lay down to sleep. The Frank lay a reasonable distance away, and did not stir. Sam could sleep lightly when he chose, and he trusted no one completely when out on a raid; associates could be almost as dangerous as enemies. But the Frank made no effort of treachery. He was being true to his oath of friendship.

  The next morning they arrived at Sam’s village, which was nestled in the protection of a dense forest. Several clans were there, their family houses set close together. They wçnt to Sam’s family house—where little sister Lin spied them. “Sam!” she cried, loudly enough to alert the others, and flung herself into his arms.

  Then she looked at the Frank, turning abruptly shy. “I am a friend of Sam’s, owing him a debt,” the Frank said. “I am glad to meet you, pretty maiden.”

  Lin blushed. Her long braid and bare head signaled her status as maiden.

  Snow appeared, and embraced Sam ardently. “You are uninjured,” she said with evident relief. “What did you get?”

  “Nothing, this time,” Sam said.

  “He got me—and freed me,” the Frank said.

  Snow stared at him, surprised. “You are—”

  “Another Frank,” he said. “A trader, captured in a raid, enslaved, freed for the price of my value—which I have yet to repay. But I assure you, I will repay it.” He did not pay her a compliment, because her kerchief and short hair signaled her married status, apart from her obvious relation to Sam. A compliment to another man’s wife could be taken as desire for her.

  After that, the Frank became part of the family for a time, while his neck and bruises healed. Flo gave him a piece of amber to trade, and a day later he brought her back a fine copper necklace. Ittai gave him a larger piece of amber, and he returned with a healthy sheep. Uncertain about the legitimacy of this, Jes had him take her along the trading chain he had managed, and discovered that all those he had traded with were satisfied. The Frank was simply very good at judging values, and at persuading others that they needed what he had to offer. The right item at the right time could be worth more to a particular person than it seemed.

  Soon the Frank was managing
the family trade, and the family prospered. The size of the family collection of cows, sheep, horses, goats, pigs, dogs, and chickens doubled. Everyone came to know and like the Frank. But the Frank, meanwhile, adopted Slav attire. He donned a coarse wool shirt, leggings supported by a rope belt, and leather sandals. He shaved away his beard, but kept his mustache. Women found him attractive, and he found them attractive, but he avoided any suggestion of interest in any woman of Sam’s clan. In short, he behaved well.

  The family had come upon difficult times, because their tribe was not closely allied to the powerful Avars, and was forced to pay tribute of barley, wheat, millet, rye, and oats—a hefty share of everything they were able to grow. If they did not produce enough, and pay enough, Avar raiders come and take it by force, and perhaps take a few of their women too. Ittai had once been a Roman, but had moved to these hinterlands when he married into the family, and his wealth had been leached by the raiders. That was why Sam had had to turn to raiding himself; it was better to join the raiders than to be raided by them.

  Sam tried to suggest that the Frank had repaid his value, because of the improvement of family circumstances brought about by his flair for trading. But the man demurred. “You gave me my freedom; I owe you yours.”

  “I am free,” Sam protested.

  The Frank did not argue, but neither did he depart.

  In due course they built a house for him, square in the conventional manner, submerged more than a meter into the ground. The walls were wood, and the roof was covered with sod for insulation. It was mainly a single room, with a stone hearth in one corner. It was said that a number of fair women shared nights by that hearth.

  Ned became friends with the Frank, who openly admired Ned’s intellect. The Frank made no claims to being the smartest of men, but he had a power of persuasion that was at times uncanny. Ned was in turn fascinated by this. “The man is a genius in getting along,” he said.

  Then the Avars came. It seemed that the clan tribute was not enough. The levees had been raised, leaving the clan in arrears. They had to give up half their stores for the winter. They would be hungry long before spring.