by Rane, April
When they mounted again, she noticed that they were now following the Marta River leading west. Was it possible they were headed for the seaport of Tarquinia? Since it was an active seaport and a city with thousands of people where, surely, selling slaves would be no trouble, that would make sense. When they had skirted around the city of Bolsena, she thought it had been because it was too close to Volsinii perhaps, and the warriors feared some of the sheep ranchers from the area would recognize one of the girls. Their captors from the North came from the upper Po Valley, which was north of the great cities of Etruria.
The warriors from the Po Valley felt they owed no allegiance to the original twelve cities of Etruria. In ancient times it was believed that the twelve cities were sacred and that hence no one would dare to attack one of them because all would retaliate. It was also understood that the oracles would know who the bandits were and that they would not be safe anywhere. Although those beliefs had lessened over time, Aradia noticed that the men from the Po Valley did seem to be taking some precautions to hide what they had done, but more to protect the goods they had stolen and the profit they would get from the girls than for any other reason.
Aradia cringed as she thought of the girls and how much they had suffered already, and every time she thought of the family she had so cruelly lost, she ached inside. A vivid picture of the desecration of her city, preoccupied her thoughts. The remembrance of the heavy reek of blood, the aroma of flowers and the smell of fear as she rode away from the only home she had ever known, haunted her.
In order to keep herself from drowning in sadness, Aradia tried to distract herself by naming the twelve cities. The first was Tarquinia, which she thought in ancient times had been called Tyrrhen, after the brothers who had founded it. The story of how the cities of Etruria were founded had always fascinated Aradia. So she busied herself remembering what her father had told her about the beginning of each: Veii, Bolsena, Vulci, and Arezzo…
After her self-induced history lesson, which was, she realized, simply putting off the inevitable, she steeled herself to what had to be done. Riding close to Zantaunt, she spoke to him in a low voice.
“I am of the same blood as King Torintia, who is a direct descendent of the great King Tyrrhen,” she said. “King Torintia will pay well for my recovery, but I will not cooperate if you do not free all of the girls. I will tell you exactly how to present yourself to the king’s court so that you may get an audience. But this I will not do, until you see to it that all the girls are free. I care not how you accomplish this. When this is done, then I will tell you what you need to know. My decision has been made. I will speak not a word if you do not release all of us. You can torture me but it will not work for I would rather be dead than to have the blood of these girls on my hands.”
“I will think on this,” said Zantaunt. “I need to have one other man with me. I will see who I can trust, as this is not an easy matter. The Capitan watches us like a hawk.”
“I see that this is true, but you will outsmart him. I know that you are very strong and brave, and deserve much favor. I will tell the king how you rescued me, and may’ hap he will have a place for you. Would that itself not be worth your trouble? The rewards can be so great!”
Leering at Aradia’s breast, he said, practically drooling with lust. “You could reward me with a taste of you.”
“Then I would not be worth much to the king,” Aradia told him, daringly. “All for nothing, wouldn’t you say? He would not reward you for tarnished goods.”
Her mind was in a jumble as she thought of the horrors inflicted on her people. Shaking with rage, she could see on the faces of the girls that they carried a deep shame from the dishonor they had suffered at the hands of the soldiers.
Aradia could not understand how she had escaped without being raped! The girls could not look each other in the eye. They cowered each time one of their captors went near them. She hated to see these vibrant young women, who had once felt equal to all men, trained to speak on any subject, in the sad state they were now in. Her heart ached as she looked around at the girls. Their hair was wild, and their clothes, torn and dirty, barely covered them. Each girl had unfathomable shame in her eyes, and their hearts seemed devoid of all feeling. Aradia knew that she must not evade her duty to them. She must set this right.
Zantaunt came up beside her again. “I have one soldier that I can trust. He is the one responsible for feeding the girls. He told me that you have not been eating.”
“That is true. I care not for food at this time. We will break bread once this is over. So let us expedite our plan as soon as we get to the city.”
“Yes, there is a plan in motion at present,” he told her, glancing at a man with a tousled dark beard who was watching them with a look in his eyes which told Aradia that his weakness was young girls. He liked it when they were tied up.
“You must see to it that he does not rape them,” Aradia spoke boldly, seeking out his eyes.
“This matters not. The damage has already been done! No sense locking the gate after the bull is out,” he argued, raising his voice a bit and laughing in a vicious manner. “That was not part of our bargain. They are no longer virgins, so it matters not what happens, as long as they go free.”
“Did you promise him his pick, or all of them?”Aradia demanded furiously through clenched teeth. “Well, tell me!” She demanded, as he leered at her.
“No, it is off!” she hissed. “They will not be abused anymore! I will go to your captain and tell him what you have planned!” With a brazened toss of her head Aradia began to turn her horse toward the captain.
He stopped her in a panic. “No, no! I will see to it that they are harmed no further. I will go with him when he has charge of them, and offer him coin from what I receive from my gain. Is that to your liking?” he whispered angrily. “I can tell from your arrogance that you are of royal lineage. You think that I am beneath you and I won’t have it!”
When he struck her, the sound echoed loudly and the captain’s second in command, Phesoj, came up beside them and demanded to know what was wrong.
Aradia was silent, not knowing how to deal with this development. She could continue with her plan and take the chance the girls would be abused again, or…
“Capitan, e dos, estru ta danya. I wish to speak to you.” said Aradia, her diction flawless.
Phesoj noticed her horse was not tied to Zantaunt’s.
“Come, follow me,” he spoke sternly to Aradia, and ordering Zantaunt not to break formation, took her aside and asked her how she had learned his language.
“That is not important,” said Aradia. “I have something of the utmost importance to tell the Captain!”
Regarding him with a slow measured look she noticed he was quite handsome, with firm smooth skin that held no beard or moustache. He was tanned and vibrant, but did not have dark ruddy skin as the others did. His dark hair, almost black, was cropped just below the ears. His eyes, a warm chestnut, were gazing at her with an unexpected kindness which she found disarming. Medium height with a muscular build, he appeared slightly older than she.
Aradia had been taking stock of him since they had left Volsinii when he rode in with the horses. She had watched his interactions with the men, observing that they seemed to respect him. He had stayed alert to signs of quarrelsome behavior amongst them, and would intervene in a way as to disrupt the tension before it could escalate. When he was not taking care of the horses, or seeing to the needs and comforts of the men, he kept to himself. He had kept his distance from her and the girls, which had made it hard to talk to him before now.
She spoke again in his tongue, deciding to take a chance on the things she had observed about him and on her intuition.
“You do not belong with these animals. It is not in you to rape, and I believe you would only kill if your life was threatened. How did you become second in command to such a tyrant who rules an army of savages?”
“How do you know of my
nature?” Phesoj said, clearly surprised at her courage. Aradia could also tell by the way that he looked at her, that he was fighting the impulse to take her in his arms.
“You could be mistaken. Anyway, it does not matter,” he added gruffly. “I will ask the questions. And with that he demanded that she tell him what had been going on as he approached her and Zantaunt.
For moment, Aradia looked at him with an affixed stare but did not answer. Then her gaze began to soften, her breath becoming even and light as she very slowly went into a trance.
When she began to speak, it was in his mother’s voice. His mother had been dead a long while, and he still missed her and now here was this beautiful young woman with her red gold hair and sea green eyes, speaking of things that she could not have possibly known about him. At first he was completely dismayed, and then, slowly his head began to nod up and down and a tear formed in the corner of his eye.
In his mother’s voice, Aradia told the soldier that he should not be responsible for the slavery of these girls and that he must listen to his heart in this matter. Through Aradia, his mother told him he was her favorite child, and that he must flee from these brutal men for they did not worship the goddess.
Aradia spoke with a soft rhythm, while tears poured down her lovely face.
“T’is sorry I am that I had to leave you my son. The next time ya hear someone sing of sea-maidens, think of me swimming with the best of them, and know that I am free.”
Phesoj was a child again, waiting for his mother to finish baking so that they could walk to the sea and search for shells and listen to her talk of graceful sea-maidens. His mother had come from a place of emerald beauty where the goddess reigned and all spoke with a lilt in their voice that could charm the hardest of brutes. It was this he heard coming from the mouth of Aradia and it left no doubt that his mother had spoken through this fascinating girl. He was right, destiny was calling.
When Aradia awoke from her trance, she could see that this man had been shaken to the core, although she did not know what she had said. Still dazed, she slowly began to tell him the bargain she had struck with Zantaunt, and why she had changed her mind. She told Phesoj she was only a distant cousin to King Torintia, but the king would embrace her nonetheless. Once again, she made it clear that the most important thing was to see that all the girls go free.
“I will help,” he assured her. “I have sisters and I understand.” Phesoj let her know that when he first joined this group, it was very different. Back then, he told her, the leader was a good man. Though they sometimes plundered small towns, they never raped, and only killed if it was necessary. Now, however, this one was in charge because their leader had been killed, and things were different. Phesoj had become second in command, albeit begrudgingly on the captain’s part, due to his knowledge of the territory, and the fact he was able to speak many other dialects beside his tongue of the Upper Po Valley. He also knew horseflesh. Phesoj hoped that this might be in their favor, as this could help with their plan for escape. “When we get to town,” Phesoj said, looking around to make sure no one was listening, “I will slip away and have the king send troops back with me.”
Phesoj hung his head in shame as he continued to speak. Barely able to look her in the eye he said, “It … it was I that brought the horses into town when … when it was all over.”
She watched him closely as he appeared to be gathering his courage before raising his head to look her fully in the eyes.
“I saw you on the ground,” he said. “You had picked up a knife and I was afraid you were going to kill yourself. I quickly hit you on the back of the head, knocking you out, and then took the knife, which I still have. After that, I carried you to the main hall and left you with the other girls.”
Aradia looked at the aura surrounding Phesoj which was the color of a cloudless sky except for the gold and violet around his head, and knew that he had spoken the truth. This was a man she could trust. Clearing her throat she quickly wiped her eye as if the problem was a bit of dust. She wanted desperately to take his hand in friendship, but knew she could not. “You are a very good man. I so wish we had met under different circumstances.”
“I must go now,” he replied, flushing. “My name is Phesoj, in case I have not told you. The meaning of my name is loved but brief journey.”
Digging his heels into his spirited horse Phesoj rode away swiftly, creating a cloud of dust which helped Aradia hide the tears her jumbled emotions had caused her to shed.
Moving back into formation, she found herself wondering why he had shared the meaning of his name with her. When she again became aware of her surroundings, they were getting close to the town of Norchia where, if she remembered correctly, they would go by the next turn and head towards the city of Tarquinia.
The tombs of the town lined the left side of the road. They were so magnificent that her eyes lingered over every detail. Ornately carved lintels framed the buildings, and stately white marble columns lined the entranceways. Winged horses rode on top of each corner of the buildings. Fleet stallions in motion, allowed the mourners to feel the promise of safety and quick passage for their loved ones. The abundant faces of the gods and goddesses upon the tombs assured those left behind that their ancestors were well looked after.
Just as she thought! They had turned towards the seaport city of Tarquinia, and her heart began to pound as she realized that it would not be long now before she could attempt their escape. She was fearful of things going wrong, and knew it was a possibility. What if she were costing them their lives, instead of keeping them from slavery? To calm herself down, she began taking deep breaths.
Phesoj reigned in his horse beside her. “It has all been arranged,” he muttered. “When we get to Tarquina, we are to put you girls into a room reserved for slaves. The last auction of the day will take place in the market square shortly before sunset. As you can see, we are now picking up speed. The leader wants to be done with the sale as soon as possible. He does not want to wait another day. This will make it nearly impossible for me to get to the king, but I will try. Keep looking straight in front of you. I am giving you your knife back. I will make it look like I am angry with you. In the interim, take the knife and hide it well.”
Feeling the knife through the wrap, Aradia wondered how to disguise it. Realizing she could make it look like she had an injured arm, she placed the cumbersome blade under her left forearm. Ripping off a strip from her dirt encrusted robe she used it to cover the knife, and instantly felt safer, even though she realized she could not get to it quickly.
Zantaunt, glaring at Aradia, rounded up the girls. Her indifference to his murderous look infuriated him and he kicked the horse he was working with. He had seen to it that he and Zonoff would be the ones responsible for escorting the girls into the inner city; then they would guard them until the sale began at the slave market. Taking his eyes off her for a moment, he covertly searched the now restless warriors for Phesoj. He distrusted Phesoj, yet he had no choice but to let him in on the deal. She had seen to that, he thought, giving her another poisonous glance. If the Captain were to find out he would not, he knew, be given a second chance. He would be dead.
Zantaunt wondered why Phesoj, the do-gooder, would get involved. His eyes wandered back to the warriors and he located Phesoj busily talking to Zonoff. Phesoj… he’s a strange sort, he never really fit in. Maybe he wanted in so that he could get away from this life, one he certainly didn’t seem cut out for. No matter, he was getting too old for this. With his share of what they would get from the king he could settle down and live the easy life.
They entered the city of Tarquinia, passing under a roughhewn archway, made to entice the weary travelers with its sculpted promises of the many delights that were offered within its boundaries. It was obvious that all types of entertainment were available from street jugglers trying to make a living, to the urchins paid to tout the wares of the ladies of the evening. Hawkers announced the sale of slaves at market
, and busy taverns lined the streets where a man could slake his thirst.
A cacophony of noise reached Aradia’s ears, street vendors bartering their goods, wooden wheels on hardened dirt streets, donkey hooves echoing off the buildings, clanging bells and other sounds overwhelming her senses. The stench that wafted around Aradia was palpable. She had been craving the smell of the ocean. Instead, the ocean breeze carried foul odors, which greeted her like a brackish wall and turned her stomach.
Looking down from her position on her mount, she eagerly took a deep breath just as one of the peddlers took freshly baked bread out of the oven. Inhaling greedily, she attempted to remember its taste only to have the odor of it stifled by the smell of fish.
Leaning over as the retching started she heaved, deep dry heaves that created spasms in the pit of her stomach. Clutching her middle and gagging she tried not to call attention to herself. Murky nebulous feelings washed over her. Slowly panic threatened, as she realized she could no longer stave off her fears that their plan of reaching the king’s ear would work. She knew she needed another plan but could not think straight as a deep leaden hunger, and a thirst worse that the torment of Tantalus drained her body.
Aradia slowed her horse as a wizened old woman approached her, walking with slow faltering steps. Her plain brown garment was shabby but clean and her white hair was tied in a simple knot at the nape of her thin neck. When she came up beside Aradia, she showed her a green leaf while looking deep into the girl’s eyes. Her own held secrets and enigmatic mysteries of old flowed through her finger tips as she placed the leaf in Aradia’s hands. It tasted of mint. Smiling and nodding weakly with gratitude Aradia continued along. Taking a deep breath she realized that the mint had fortified her spirit but when she looked back to thank the old woman, she found that she had disappeared. Aradia would have thought she had been an apparition, but for the taste of mint on her tongue.