by George Green
The tall man gestured to them to sit down. ‘My name is Balant. I am a visitor here. Have you travelled far?’
Serpicus saw no point in lying. ‘From Rome.’
Balant looked at him for a long moment and sat down beside him. ‘Really?’ he said mildly. ‘You must be tired after your journey.’ A thought seemed to strike him. ‘Have you come all this way, just the three of you?’
Brutus looked back over his shoulder towards the entrance. ‘There are more of us up in the hills.’
Balant looked at him appraisingly. ‘You left them out there while you came down to the village on your own? They are not Germans then?’ Brutus hesitated and then shook his head. Balant stroked his chin while looking at them appraisingly. ‘Romans, perhaps?’
‘Some,’ said Serpicus. ‘A mixture. Germans and Greeks as well.’
Balant stood up. ‘I see. I suggest you go and fetch them. They will be cold and hungry.’ He looked enquiringly at Hansi, who seemed unable to move.
‘Bring Romans? Into the village?’ asked Hansi falteringly.
‘Of course,’ said Balant. ‘Rome is our friend.’ He looked at Brutus. ‘Is she not?’
Brutus smiled. ‘I can’t vouch for Rome, but I can promise you that if someone brings those men on the hill down here and gives them a hot meal they will happily swear eternal brotherhood with the whole village.’
Balant returned the smile coldly. ‘Then the sooner you bring them here the better. Hansi will accompany you.’ Brutus hesitated, then realized what Balant intended. He gestured to Decius to come with him and went out, with Hansi bringing up the rear.
Balant indicated to Serpicus that he should sit, and took the chair facing him, a wide seat with high arms shaped like an inverted stirrup. As he sat the silver fur cloak fell open, revealing a smoothly muscled body. The body of an athlete. A thin white scar with a jagged turn at one end ran right across his chest, and several other smaller ones marked his torso. He had seen battle. Serpicus found himself wondering how he would manage in the arena.
Balant dipped a horn cup into a metal bowl beside the fire and handed it to Serpicus. It held a spiced liquid, heavy and warm, tasting of honey. Serpicus recognized it immediately. German mead, the sweetest battle-axe to the brain a man could experience. He hadn’t tasted it for seven years. He drank, and the warmth of the remembered past flowed down his throat.
Balant sat back in the chair. He took a small cup of mead himself but held it cradled in his hand while he watched his guest drink.
‘So,’ he said. ‘You’re here to buy our animal.’
Serpicus blinked with surprise. Somehow he had supposed that the secrecy that surrounded their expedition when they were planning it in Rome was general.
‘We’re here to collect it, yes,’ he said.
Balant rolled the stem of the cup between his fingers, and seemed to hesitate. ‘There may be a… difficulty. Concerning the arrangement.’
Serpicus took a deep breath. ‘I wish I could say that I am surprised,’ he said.
Balant cleared his throat and concentrated on looking at the cup, as if performing a slightly unpleasant duty. ‘I should point out that the arrangement to sell the animal was made between Cruptorix and Blaesus. The agreement was concluded over a year ago. Many things can change in a year.’
‘For example?’
‘Perhaps most importantly, Cruptorix is no longer Chief of Gelbheim.’
Serpicus thought for a moment. When he left the village Vonones had been chief. It wasn’t the time to find out what happened to him. Serpicus could remember Cruptorix. A big man, fleshy rather than fat, with a loud laugh, a truly heroic moustache and a capacity for beer like a bottomless bucket. He had never seemed to mind his daughter’s friendship with Serpicus, but Serpicus had always felt intimidated by his size and vigour and stayed away from him when he could. But men always spoke well of him.
‘Is he dead?’
Balant nodded. ‘The summer solstice celebrations. He led the revels from the front as always. He was the last man standing at the end of three days and nights. He picked up a barrel of beer and drained it then fell down dead. The druid says his heart just burst.’
Serpicus looked solemn. ‘I am sorry to hear it.’
‘It was a good life, and a happy death,’ Balant said. ‘But it does put your purpose in jeopardy.’
‘Why so? Can we not just renegotiate the agreement with the new chief?’
Balant shrugged. ‘Perhaps. I am sure that, when the hunting party returns, you will be able to raise it then. But there are other issues to consider. Some members of my village – in fact not just from our village, but several of the neighbouring ones as well – have decided that the white bear is sacred to the god Wodan.’ Serpicus’ heart sank inside him, but he tried to look merely interested. Balant hesitated, as if waiting for him to react, and then continued. ‘The druids have yet to pronounce on this, but you will appreciate that if the druids decide that the bear is sacred then it will be difficult for us to let you take it.’ Serpicus worked to keep his face impassive. ‘No chief to sell us the bear, and the tribe turning it into a god. Is that all we have to worry about?’
Balant permitted himself a smile. ‘You will know that there is a revolt against Rome in parts of Germany. The Treveri have not joined the revolt, but neither have they decided what their position is.’
‘If they are not at war, then there is no reason why the bear should not be sold.’
‘Some of our people feel that the idea of selling anything at all to Romans – and for entertainment most especially – when many of our brother tribes are at war with Rome is, shall we say, inappropriate? You will know that even if the Treveri decide not to join the revolt, they are unlikely to support Rome.’ His gaze met that of Serpicus. ‘I would be less than honest if I did not tell you that, even before we find out where the druids stand on the issue, there is already a good deal of resistance here to the idea of taking the bear away.’ He made an open-handed gesture and looked at Serpicus with the politician’s expression which takes for granted that an intelligent man of the world like Serpicus would – naturally – understand his position.
Serpicus felt a wave of exasperation roll over him and waited until his self-control returned before replying.
‘May I be honest too?’
Balant smiled. ‘I have tried to be, I would expect the same from you.’
‘I shan’t try and persuade you by pointing out that we had a business arrangement.’ Balant smiled again. Serpicus was getting a little tired of his smiling. Balant reminded him of one of the men who walked around the arena during the intervals between events, smiling and shaking hands, accumulating favours and influence. Not bad, exactly, but ambitious and sometimes dangerous. ‘Nor, I suspect, does the fact that we have travelled a long way and lost good men to get here mean much, nor that we will probably lose more good men on the way home whether we have the bear or not.’
Balant made an apologetic gesture. ‘All this is no doubt true, but as you say, it is regrettably unlikely to carry much weight.’
‘I thought not.’ Serpicus leant forward. ‘Then let me tell you what my situation is, and you will perhaps understand why I cannot let anything come between me and taking that bear back to Rome. My wife and family are under Blaesus’ protection.’
Balant opened his mouth while raising his head slightly. ‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘That explains it.’
Serpicus looked serious. ‘It was made very clear to me what my family’s fate would be if we failed to carry out our commission. I tried to make plans to get them out if this trip went wrong, but Blaesus has his spies everywhere. They are trapped, and thus so am I.’ Serpicus looked at Balant and gave him his smile back. ‘So, now you understand my position.’
Balant looked thoughtful. ‘Then,’ he said, ‘for everyone’s sake we must hope that the druids say they have got enough sacred objects to be getting along with, and that the people are in a mood to be persuaded tha
t entertaining Romans is something to be supported.’ He stood up. ‘And now we should go and greet your companions from the hills.’
Serpicus stood up, wondering how it was that a man from Glaudern was deferred to in Gelbheim, and where the power lay in the village. As usual, things weren’t as simple as he had hoped.
Chapter Twenty-Three
They left the house, taking the guard with them. At the gate, they stood in the shelter of the ledge that ran along the top of the palisade to wait for the rest of the expedition to arrive from the hill. The guards leant casually but alert against the palisade base, chewing on some dried meat as they watched Brutus and the others approach. Hansi was walking proudly beside them and so came in for some ribald comments which he pretended not to hear. Balant met the group of men inside the gate and greeted them. They gathered in a tight group as Serpicus made introductions.
‘This is Severus.’ He was about to say more, then stopped. Severus was a military man, that was obvious. The rest of the explanation could wait. Balant held out a hand. The centurion’s hesitation was so slight that it could have passed for nothing, but Serpicus saw it and knew Balant saw it. The two men clasped hands and looked at each other appraisingly, like two boxers before a bout, respectful but without backing down.
‘What do your men need?’ he said simply.
Severus nodded acknowledgement. ‘A good wash, food and sleep, in that order,’ he said.
Balant smiled. ‘Hansi will show you to where you can sleep. I will have food brought to you soon.’ He started to say something then looked over Serpicus’ shoulder and fell respectfully silent.
‘I owe you a debt of thanks.’
The voice was familiar. Serpicus turned around. A long face with a silver beard was looking at him. A boy stood close behind the old man, balancing a hooded hawk on his arm.
‘I am Bocalas. You were on the trail yesterday.’
Serpicus took the outstretched hand in his own. The old druid’s grey eyes looked through him into his thoughts, as they always had. ‘Yes.’
‘You warned us about the Romans. They would have caught us if you had not given them away to us.’ Bocalas’ voice was clear, as Serpicus remembered, but softer and with a dry edge, like the wind pushing autumn leaves over flat stones.
‘It was just luck that we happened to be there.’
‘Nevertheless. I am in your debt.’ Bocalas moved his head in salute. There was a pause. Serpicus waited, but nothing more came.
‘You don’t remember me,’ he said.
The old man raised an eyebrow. ‘Should I? You speak our language, you are from our tribe, but I…’ A smile began at one corner of his mouth and spread across his face like a cloud revealing the sun. ‘Alraic? Is it you?’
Serpicus smiled, feeling almost bashful. ‘It’s been a long time.’
Bocalas took Serpicus’ hand in both of his. ‘But why did you not come back? We thought you were dead.’ Serpicus shrugged and smiled, hoping the old man wouldn’t pursue his reasons. He didn’t care to go into them. He gestured towards Brutus, who grinned and strode towards them. Bocalas looked far more surprised than he had when he realized who Serpicus was. ‘Carvanus, from Glaudern? You here too?’ Brutus nodded and they clasped hands in the same way.
Serpicus saw Galba behind Bocalas giving him a wry look over the druid’s shoulder. He mouthed ‘Alraic? Carvanus?’ silently at him. Serpicus indicated Galba to Bocalas.
‘This is Galba, a friend from Rome. Unfortunately he does not speak our language. And he knows us by our Roman names, Serpicus and Brutus.’
Bocalas nodded to Galba. Serpicus heard a sound behind him, and turned. Decius was looking at Bocalas eagerly.
‘And this is Sigmund, from Praunberg, now more usually called Decius.’
Bocalas looked startled. ‘Sigmund? Who I used to chase out of my house? Who never stopped asking questions and who had three more questions for every answer?’ Decius blushed and looked at the floor. Bocalas took his hand. ‘I see it is you. Welcome home.’
Word had spread through Gelbheim of the arrival of a group of Romans. The villagers gathered to watch. Serpicus could see people nudging their neighbours and pointing at himself and Brutus, and eyeing the arrivals speculatively. Serpicus had to admit that his men were an unprepossessing sight: travel-stained, unshaven and weary. The two groups of people stood and looked at each other. A number of the villagers were carrying swords. Although Brutus had had the foresight to tell the men to disarm before they came down the hill, presumably their arms were close at hand in their packs or under their cloaks. The villagers were looking at them curiously. The men didn’t look anything like Roman soldiers, but they didn’t look much like Germans either. They didn’t speak the language, and it was only a matter of time before a villager heard some of them talking and recognized it as Latin.
Balant stepped forward and raised his arms. ‘We welcome our guests from the south,’ he said in a loud voice and with a welcoming smile.
‘From the south, eh?’ chuckled Brutus to himself. ‘Who’s he fooling?’
‘Just look happy,’ said Serpicus out of the corner of his mouth, at the same moment that he caught sight of Cato, still in his blanket. If anything the man’s face was more mournful than before.
Balant spoke quickly to two men who went off in different directions. He gestured after them to Serpicus.
‘They have gone to bring everyone to meet in the Hall,’ he said. ‘I shall explain what is happening. We don’t want any sort of misunderstanding.’
The only sorts of misunderstanding that Serpicus could think of all involved bloodshed on a sudden and plentiful scale, and he wanted none of it. As they walked to the meeting hall he explained in a low voice to Galba and the rest of the men who didn’t speak German what was happening. Galba saw the sense of it. He pulled Serpicus a little to one side.
‘This Balant,’ he said. ‘Whose side is he on? If the Treveri join the revolt, would he be in it with the rest of them?’
Serpicus shrugged. ‘I don’t know him,’ he said. ‘But if the whole of Germany was fighting against Rome then it would be difficult not to join in.’
Galba looked fretful. ‘All this smiling isn’t going to last,’ he said. ‘I vote we get a bath, eat all their food, grab the bear and push off back to Rome at the earliest opportunity.’
‘Suits me,’ said Severus, who was listening nearby. ‘It feels like we’re sitting on a nest of sleeping snakes.’
Serpicus said nothing. He was home for the first time in seven years, and he was still trying to work out how that felt.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The introductions didn’t take long. Balant explained that the new arrivals had come to the village as traders. He didn’t specify the nature of the trade. The Germans looked suspiciously at the dark skins and military appearance of many of their visitors, but enough of the Gelbheimers remembered Serpicus and Brutus to allow trust to overcome fear. Although no one was taking bets that it would last.
They were allotted a large comfortable barn near the village centre. They went off to get some sleep, while the villagers prepared a feast of welcome. The soldiers were up again by the afternoon. They hadn’t seen civilization for a while, and intended to make the most of it.
First, washing. Every man except Galba stripped himself naked and ran into the river. Even Cato cheered up enough to join in. Galba said the river was too cold for washing, and he looked so dirty and so miserable that the villagers took pity on him. They put several large pots of water on the fire and when it was warm they stood Galba in a large barrel and poured it in around him. The river was too cold to stay in long. When the men came running back up to the village to warm themselves by the fires they found Galba in a barrel of hot water, steam rising around his pink face and a seraphic smile upon it. He was still smiling when they had finished tipping the barrel over and rolling him around in it for a while.
Then, eating. A sheep carcass turned slowly over a large fir
e, and a huge pot of beans and pulses bubbled gently on one side. There was bread, in huge rough loaves to be broken in the hands, and game birds, fat pheasant and pigeon roasted in earth ovens near the river and brought by slaves to the party. The sun sank over the hills as the feasting began.
Then, finally, beer. Serpicus realized just how much he’d missed it. He lifted the leather cup and smelt his childhood in the wheat and hops, an aroma of the damp black earth and of his country. He liked wine as much as the next man, and the Empire produced some very fine examples, but, as Brutus never tired of pointing out, wine isn’t a proper drink for a German party. Wine whispers, beer shouts; wine sits on a couch and talks behind its palm, beer lies on the dry ground and shouts happy propositions at passers-by; wine eats with two fingers, beer uses both hands; wine brings a sour taste from the gut to the mouth and an apologetic smile, beer breaks wind in your face and laughs at you. Wine, thought Serpicus, is Blaesus and Rome, beer is Brutus and Germany.
Decius toyed with a cup and looked distant. Serpicus thought he recognized in the young man’s face the same feeling that possessed him – a strange form of happiness mixed with an unexpected uncertainty. Galba sat next to the youngster. Galba, who like most Thracians would drink anything at all so long as it had the desired effect, sat back, swallowed the contents of another cup and looked around with the air of someone entirely at home. It seemed he had forgiven Serpicus and Brutus for leaving him and the others on top of the hill for an hour while they talked in the village, and his tour of the village in a barrel hadn’t punctured his good humour either. He looked benignly down the length of the table to where the rest of the men were sitting, and then spoke to no one in particular.
‘So, where’s this famous chief then?’ he said cheerfully.
‘Out hunting, apparently,’ said Brutus through several mouthfuls of pheasant. ‘And don’t think you can be disrespectful, because if he doesn’t take your head off for it then I will.’ He jabbed the leg-bone at Galba for emphasis.