The Songs of Slaves

by David Rodgers

  “Indeed,” Valia said. “How many cities survive months or even years under siege?”

  “Indeed. But Rome, in its incredible complacency, overburdened by a people with a creed of entitlement and used to others suffering for them, was brought to the bargaining table in a matter of weeks. Though when they came, they came arrogantly.”

  “How so?” Valia said, checking his horse as the grade became steeper. They were descending deeper into the valley. The winter sun was low in the sky, shining pale white through the branches of the trees. The air was turning colder as it blew in from the icy mountains they had left behind.

  “The senate met with Alaric outside of the walls. They rebuked him for attacking the Holy City and told him that all the citizens were armed and had been drilling constantly, preparing to rush out and attack his thousands of Visigoths and foederati defectors.”

  “I hope he laughed in their face,” Valia said.

  “Oh, he did. And he said, of course, ‘The thicker the grass, the easier it is mowed’. They asked him what his demands were, and he said that his armies would withdraw once they were paid all the gold and silver in Rome, all the movable property, and the release of every barbarian slave in the city.”

  Valia and the others laughed their approval of the king’s demands. This was the type of story they loved – a man like them standing up to the pompous authorities of the Imperium. Connor was silent, surprised by the harshness of the demands. If you want peace, why not offer the other party something they could accept?

  “So when the senators in their best togas drew themselves up in indignation and said ‘What would we then be left with?’ the King smiles and says ‘Your lives’.”

  Valia and his men shook in their saddles as they laughed.

  “High bloody time,” Gaiseric said.

  “So what did they do?” Connor asked.

  “What could they do?” Ataulf said. “What do you do when tens of thousands of warriors demand money at sword point? You pay up. The terms were sketched out, and the Senate delivered five thousand pounds of gold, thirty thousand pounds of silver, four thousand silk tunics, three thousand sheets of scarlet-dyed leathers, and three thousand pounds of pepper.”

  The men crooned as each of these amounts were mentioned.

  “And to think, at that time we were shivering our arse off chasing around Briton legions and Frankish war bands through the thickets of Gaul,” Gaiseric said. There was a murmur of unhappy assent.

  “Pepper?” Connor said.

  “Pepper. You know – rich people put it on their food. Makes things taste better,” Ataulf said.

  “But why would we want it – I mean, why could they use it to pay us?”

  “You see – the payment wasn’t just a payment,” Ataulf explained. “It was a statement to the whole Imperium. Think about it – the Romans think that they are superior and that we are just barbarians. The only good use for those of us who come from outside of their conquered lands is as fighters or slaves. The payment defies that – we too are worthy to walk around in silk and fine leathers as they do and to eat good food instead of the dog carcasses they gave our fathers. It says that we are equal to them and deserve their respect.”

  “So that was it, then?” Connor said. “They got the payment, and their kinsmen were released from slavery. You said all of this happened a year ago.”

  “Ah – from here the story gets complicated; much too complicated for me to go into it all now. We will be home soon – none too soon from the look of this sky. The payment – massive and symbolic as it was – does not solve our underlying problem. We need a treaty with the Imperium, the same treaty more or less that we have always asked for. The siege was lifted for three days while the Senate tried to get Honorius to sign it. During that time the people of Rome resupplied their city. Their starving time was over for good – we all thought. But we were to be proven wrong. When the Senators arrived in Ravenna they found Honorius celebrating a personal anniversary in grand excess. He had apparently lost little sleep over them. The witless young man refused the treaty, vowing to never make peace with us.

  “Over the months that followed there was a lot of back and forth political maneuvering going on. Near the beginning of this year, Honorius finally had the balls to try to do something about our people. He sent five legions of Dalmatians, alleged to be pretty battle-hardened, to attack Alaric’s armies near Rome. But the fools marched down the fucking Flaminian Way – a road well known to us, of course. It was an easy matter for the King to just ambush them in a mountain pass. Of the six thousand soldiers that marched, only a hundred reached Rome. They rushed inside and huddled there in fear like everybody else.”

  Again the newcomers hooted and cheered.

  “Oh, the next attempt was even more pathetic,” Ataulf continued. “My men and I arrived here in Italia in the spring, coming from our campaigns in the east. Near Portus Pisanus we were attacked by Olympius – the chief eunuch of Honorius’s court, the same viper who orchestrated the betrayal of Stilicho and so many of the other things that brought all this about. He only had three hundred Huns. Now, his Huns did well – though he had no idea what he was doing – and attacking us in our sleep, as vipers do, they killed a number of good men. But when the sun came up they realized how many of us there were and they fled. Soon thereafter, Olympius was recognized for the diseased sack of filth that he was and cast out of court. He fled for Dalmatia, not realizing that my men are patrolling this whole area. God damn his bones.

  “Now we have patrolled northern Italia for the year, as Alaric wished; but no more troops have come, besides Sarus. Any troops Honorius has are fighting Constantine – which makes no sense because Constantine was fighting the Germani invading Gaul. But Honorius is more worried of losing the Purple to a usurper than in protecting his own people and saving the honor of their spiritual home.”

  “So it was several days ago that Sarus passed through?” Valia asked.

  “Yes. It was three days. I just wished I had known what you told me earlier. The bastard – he was always envious of us and our family, Alaric most of all. He told me that you had separated and that he did not know where you were.”

  “You let him through?” Valia asked, dispassionately.

  “He and his men are Visigoths. He is one of us. I had no reason to mistrust him.”

  “There is no sense in worrying about it now, brother,” Valia said. “You could not have done differently.”

  “And there is no sense in you trying to follow him further,” Ataulf said. “You cannot take revenge on him now. Not for the time being anyway. He will be in Ravenna long before you catch him. Perhaps he left the fight against Constantine at Honorius’ summons and never intended to join us.”

  Valia nodded. “Let us hope that their arrival does not embolden Honorius.”

  Ataulf laughed. “I don’t see how it could. You should have seen them. They were much the worse for wear. When Sarus rode out of Pannonia to follow that campaign some years ago he had several thousand men, and looked like the hero of a bard’s song. The few hundred I saw the other day were just glad to be alive.”

  “So the rest of the year has been quiet?” Valia said, changing the subject.

  “In terms of military action it has been quiet,” Ataulf corrected. “In terms of political action it was anything but. There was at least one other treaty hope, which again ended in the petulant fool Emperor denying us and insulting us. Then last month something occurred that was the last thing that any of us would have expected a year before. Pushed too far, denied at every turn, Alaric decided that the best way ahead would be to depose Honorius. Alaric forced the Senate to appoint a new emperor of Rome. The Senate has no such authority of course, so the new Imperator – a senator named Priscus Attalus – is a usurper.”

  “Now there are three emperors of Rome?” Connor said.

  “Four. You forgot the late Arcadius’ son, Eutropius in the East – who is easy to forget as he has played no part
in any of this. So you see, you are now riding in the cohort of the official Roman Cavalry – at least according to the Senate of Rome.”

  “So what you are saying is that though we have had many victories, we are playing a game with madmen and so we are no closer to success than before,” Valia said.

  “That is one way of looking at it,” Ataulf smiled.

  Big flakes of snow began to fall. Connor watched them settle on to his cloak and sit there. It was just a few flakes at first, but then it began to fall steadily, sticking to their hair and gently stinging their red faces.

  “Just a little further, brothers,” Ataulf said. “Home is just over that hill.”

  ***

  Snow crunched under Connor’s boots as he walked across the agora. Sounds of music, loud voices, and laughter wafted on the wind from the east quarter of the tiny town. Valia was not the only one who had been reunited with family and old friends, and even those who were strangers to each other celebrated the coming of reinforcements – redundant as they may strategically seem at this point. Ataulf had thrown the best banquet for Valia and his warriors that his stores could allow, with bread, pork, soup, hard white cheese, apples, and abundant ale. After the weeks in the mountains, it was a feast fit for the gods. Now, instead of going home to the houses in which they and their families were boarded, most of the men were patronizing the town’s bars and brothels. The snow storm would ensure that there were no patrols to ride the next day, and so all were taking advantage of the rest. Connor had left after Valia had retired to Ataulf’s home for more reunions with family. He was anxious to make sure Lucia was alright. The mood amongst the Visigoths may be good, but though these men had not been without women they had left most of their families behind either in Pannonia or with Alaric. Connor did not want to test their goodwill by leaving the new beauty in town to herself on a night when the men’s spirits were high and their discipline low.

  The east quarter may be brimming with firelight and laughter, but the agora – indeed, even the rest of the town, seemed almost deserted. Plumes of wood smoke wafted from the many chimneys, but it was clear that most of the town was truly vacant. One of the cavalrymen had explained to him that Ataulf’s Visigoths had found it this way. The nameless town had been simply abandoned, as any of the innumerable invasions over the past fifteen years had taken toll, through the combinations of sword, famine, plague, and fear. Connor had heard that there were many such places in the north of Italia now, and that the great number of survivors had fled to Mediolanum, Portus Pisanus, and other fortified cities where they could be safe behind buttressed walls of thick stone. Connor looked at the fine architecture all around him – not just the church or the courthouses, but the big houses of the rich, the arched bridge over the dark stream, even the empty storehouses. They lay silent, dark, and empty, the haunt of the ghosts left behind.

  A sentry shifted on the walkway atop the palisade, looking to the white world outside. He ignored Connor, though he could not have failed to hear him coming. Connor was glad that he did not have to pull watch on such a night – though in truth, cold as it was, it was nowhere near the icy chill of the Alpine pass. He moved ahead to the house just ahead. It would have been a small house by the standards of the villa owners of Provincia Nostra, but comparing it to others here Connor guessed that it would have belonged to someone in the equestrian or even senatorial class. Now it housed four families, one in each of the wings. Connor had been given the use of the south wing, and had installed Lucia and his few possessions there shortly after arriving a few hours before. Connor was glad to have the other families there – they would be more eyes to discourage unwanted intruders. The house was close to the agora where the warriors were to assemble daily, and close to the stables where his horse now rested. Connor smirked as he fit the key to the rusty gate and turned it – if Dervel could see him now, a man with his own key to a fine Roman house. The smile faded, as Connor thought of what Dervel would think of how he got there and where he was going from here.

  Connor kicked the snow off of his boots. He entered through the door into the vestibule, stopping to remove his cloak and shake it off outside. He watched the snow land on the step and realized once more how close they had come to being trapped in the mountain passes. Connor decided it was best to think no further of that fate. He walked down the corridor towards the south wing, leaving wet footprints on the mosaic floors. There was some sort of fresco on the wall, but Connor could not make it out in the darkness. It must be later than he thought, for the house was surprisingly quiet. He fumbled for his second key and let himself in to his living quarters.

  Light was shining from the next room. Hanging his cloak on the peg and kicking off his boots, Connor entered to find Lucia sitting at a writing desk. The light and wonderful warmth were coming from the log burning in the small fireplace in the corner. Where he came from, a house had a single smoke hole in the center of the roof. Much of the smoke would find its way out there – unless the rain put the fire out first – and the rest would stifle in the room. This place had a fireplace with a chimney in each of the bedrooms in the secondary wings, leaving the air clean, dry, and warm. Connor could not help but be amazed, for even here in a nameless, abandoned town there were such wonders as these. What palaces the Romans had for themselves! But he dared not say anything about it, lest Lucia be reminded of the gap in their origins.

  Though if Lucia was disparagingly comparing this apartment with her villa she did not show it. She looked to Connor as he came in and smiled openly. How beautiful she looked when she smiled, Connor thought. Her hair appeared slightly wet, making it even more black and rich. The glow of the fire played on her smooth skin, her white teeth, her lips and her sparkling eyes. It cast mischievous shadows on her body, which for the first time since they had left the villa was clad in only a simple white dress.

  “You changed your clothes,” Lucia said.

  “These are my Sunday clothes,” Connor jested.

  “They have a bath in the house,” Lucia said, barley containing her excitement. “A real bath that you can heat. I had despaired of finding one again before we reached Asisium.”

  “Well, I needn’t ask you what you’ve been doing for the past hours.”

  “You should try it.”

  “I went to the public bath house,” Connor said. “You Romans may find us barbarians a filthy lot, but I could not eat supper with nobility and then move into a civilized house with weeks of mountain air and dirt on me. It was good to melt the frost in my bones, that’s for certain.”

  “I’ve never been to a public bath,” Lucia said. “Though in many cities women go there all they want. The reputation of a city is often made by its baths.”

  Connor sighed as he tried not to torment himself by thinking of Lucia in a women’s pool at a bath house. He tried to distract himself by taking off his sword and placing it beside his mail in the corner, within easy reach of the bed.

  “It was an unusual experience,” he said. “It took some getting used to, but it was well worth it. I felt like a pheo – a pheonis….”

  “A phoenix?” Lucia laughed.

  “That’s the one,” Connor smiled. “Did you get enough to eat? I’ve brought you some food.”

  Lucia waved it off. “I’ve eaten. So how long do you think we will be here?”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “I’ve told you – it has a bath in the house,” Lucia said. “And it has a fire and a roof over our heads and we are not dying in the mountains, by the grace of the Goddess.”

  Connor smiled, but then his smile faded. “I don’t know. We won’t be going anywhere with this snow. It’s slowed, but the sky is still full of clouds. Valia plans to winter here, joining our forces to Ataulf’s until Alaric instructs otherwise or until something happens. Better to shelter here then to join tens of thousands camped outside a city. As for you and me, we will just have to wait for our opportunity.”

  Lucia stood up and slowly turned away
. The firelight cast strange shadows on the wall, but the log was burning down and the room was darkening. Outside a gust of wind rattled the shutters.

  “Lucia, I will get you through this,” Connor said. “I will get you to somewhere that you can be safe.”

  Lucia turned back towards him. Her eyes were glistening, but Connor could not tell if it was with tears or just a trick of the light.

  “I know you will,” she said.

  Connor reached out and touched her hand gently. Lucia squeezed his hand back. Connor felt how small her hand was in his, how delicate. But as he returned her gaze he could see how strong her spirit was. He stepped forward, still holding her hand, and traced her cheek with the back of his fingers. He heard her breath quicken as he pushed his fingers into her hair. He could feel his own heart pound. He expected her to recoil, expected her to rebuke him any second. But instead, Lucia pushed her body into him. Connor wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. He rounded his shoulders to envelope her lithe body. She latched on to him, as if afraid to let go. He could feel her breathing coming faster. Then she stood on her tip toes and cast her head back. Connor did not wait, but kissed her. Lucia clung on to him, balling his tunic in her fists, kissing him desperately. Connor moved away from her mouth to her cheeks and forehead, and then to her neck. He buried his face in her jasmine-scented hair. Lucia pulled at him, kissing his shoulder and his chest. She tried to move his tunic collar to reach more of him. Connor wrestled his tunic over his head and dropped it. He took Lucia back in, kissing the crown of her head as she ran her lips over the muscles of his shoulders and arms and chest. Connor backed her up to the bed. Lucia sat down, casting her head back but staring straight up into his eyes. Her arms were back, her legs slightly apart. Connor pulled the knot of the fabric belt and pulled it from her waist. Her stolla came loose, hanging off of her left shoulder. The sight of just this made Connor lose any restraint he may have had. He pulled Lucia to her feet and kissed her again. The girl’s tongue darted into his mouth as he pulled her left shoulder free and then her right. The dress fell to the mosaic floor. Connor felt her young breasts and hardened nipples pushing into his chest. His hands roved over her, trying to experience her and explore her as if he only had seconds to live. She was kissing him wildly now. Connor broke free just long enough to pull back the blankets. Lucia lay down as Connor struggled with the knot on his breeches. A small gasp escaped Lucia as she saw Connor in the firelight. She may have glimpsed him before, Connor thought, but she had not seen him like this. All he wanted was her. He had no thought for anything else. She opened her legs as he climbed into bed with her. He could smell the delicately sweet smell of her arousal as he drew near. Lucia gasped outright as he gently pressed into her. Maddened as he was, he still knew he could not go deep yet. She moaned and threw her arms around his neck as he began to rock her gently; moving in small movements as her body slowly welcomed him. Connor stopped as Lucia winced. He backed up, and was about to pull out entirely, but Lucia grabbed him and pulled him closer. She cried out as he broke her maidenhead. Connor stopped again, gazing at her as Lucia bit her lip and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. Then all at once she seemed to recover; rhythmically rocking, drawing Connor deeper in. He rolled on his back, pulling Lucia over on top of him. Her shadow danced on the wall. Connor fought to control himself as their passion intensified. He struggled to control his breathing. “Control your breathing and control your body” the words came back to him. Lucia was moving faster and faster. She threw her head back and then brought it down to kiss him in turn. Her breasts moved with her motion. Connor’s hands were on her hips, guiding her. He could feel the heat deep inside her. Lucia was breathing raggedly, her moans turning to cries. Her body started to shake uncontrollably. Connor was sweating. Lucia’s reaction was almost too much for him, but somewhere in his head the very last operating portion of his reason was screaming at him not to release into her – they could not risk that. Lucia buried her face in Connor’s chest to muffle her voice. She shook violently, then graduated into full, rhythmic spasms. Then trembling gently, her motion subsided. Connor turned her on her back and pulled out, finally letting go. The room seemed to pound with his heart beats. His whole body shuddered. His throat hurt, and then he realized he had been growling and screaming in turn. Lucia lay on her back – his Lucia. He bent down and gently kissed her, relishing the feel of her lips and her tongue.