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  Chapter 1 – Exile (Oct 244 AD)

  Hostilius gazed across the wide water, made grey by the overcast sky. His eyes settled on the southern bank, more than a Roman mile distant.

  He laughed a cold laugh, deprived of humour, and spat into the Danube. “To Hades with them”, he said, and turned his back on the lands of Rome.

  I sat on the rotting bole of a long fallen oak, beset by a dark mood, meticulously running a whetstone along the blade of my gladius.

  Segelinde was asleep in the tent, covered with furs. Thirty paces downriver, Aritê, now three, played with her doll next to the trees. The howl of a wolf split the silence, nearly causing me to topple from the log.

  An apparition materialised from the mogshade five paces from the little girl, his elongated skull emphasized by swirling blue tattoos. In his right hand he carried a war axe, still covered with bright blood. A strung bow was slung over his shoulder.

  The little girl screamed with joy, ran to Gordas and hugged his leg.

  During our flight from the farm, following the murder of my father, Aritê spent most of her time riding with either myself or Gordas, as we were the best horsemen. Needless to say, even with the language barrier, they took to each other from the start, leaving me with pangs of jealousy every time my daughter ran to him.

  From a leather satchel the Urugundi warrior produced a growling wolf cub.

  “Uncle Gorra, you got one, you got one!” she yelled and jumped up to reach it, her golden hair contrasting starkly against Gordas’s dark aura.

  He placed the snarling cub on the sand between them. “He is hungry, Princess”, he said in Scythian.

  The Hun champion produced a furry package of animal skin.

  Aritê all but grabbed it from him and unwrapped it to reveal small chunks of bloody meat.

  The wolf sniffed the air cautiously, but soon he was gorging on the meat. Afterwards he licked the blood off Aritê’s hands, to her obvious delight.

  “What is his name?” Marcus asked.

  My daughter answered without hesitation. “His name is Nik, because he loves me.”

  Nobody replied, as the wounds were still raw. I had to swallow back emerging emotions of loss, self-pity, anger and hate.

  “Primus Pilus, walk with me”, I said and gestured for Marcus and Cai to join us.

  “So what’s your plan, Domitius?” Hostilius asked when we were out of earshot.

  “I don’t have one”, I replied.

  I held up my hand to stop his retort. “But I have this.”

  I produced the small scrap of parchment given to me weeks earlier.

  “When we were camped on the plain south of Carrhae, the legate of the Third Gallica gave me this. Just before we were exiled by the Arab.”

  I handed it to Marcus and he read out loud. “You saved us all. We will not forget. You have friends.”

  Marcus said: “The legate of the Third is Publius Licinius Valerianus. He has a son, Gallienus, who is about my age. They descend from a well-respected senatorial family. Both are military men at heart.”

  Hostilius growled in reply. “Well-respected my arse. Most of these men, who sacrifice the lives of thousands of the common soldiers to line their own pockets, are ‘well-respected’. I, for one, am done with Rome.”

  I looked at Marcus to solicit his view.

  He sighed. “I would prefer to return, but alas, I do not think it is possible.”

  I turned to Cai for his opinion, but he returned my gaze with the blank stare of the easterners.

  I could not return to my mother’s people, the Roxolani. I had given an oath to Octar, the king of the Urugundi Huns, that I would not. Thiaper invited me to stay with the Carpiani. In the same manner, both Kniva and Roudolphos offered us sanctuary with the Thervingi Goths and the Heruli.

  Kniva, my brother-in-law, was well-liked by us all. Even Marcus and Hostilius had befriended the Gothic iudex.

  “Then the choice is obvious, we will go to the Thervingi Goths.”

  Hostilius asked the question we all wanted the answer to. “Will they expect us to fight by their side if they war with Rome?”

  I replied: “Remember, Primus Pilus, Rome and the Goths renewed their peace when they signed the foedus agreement a year or two ago. Rome pays them an annual tribute so there will be no fighting. Same goes for the Carpiani.”

  Kniva and the rest of our companions arrived back at the camp after their hunting excursion. My brother-in-law speared a huge boar and the Huns felled a young deer.

  Soon we had a roaring fire going.

  Aritê was sitting on Kniva’s knee. “Tell me about the hunt again, Uncle Knee.”

  Kniva patiently repeated the happenings of the day and re-enacted the way he speared the boar. Little Nik was content, lying close by, his stomach filled with fresh meat.

  Segelinde was the one to tell Kniva. “Brother, we have decided to take you up on your offer of hospitality. We will not be a burden to you as we have brought enough coin to pay our way.”

  Kniva smiled. “I was hoping that you would.”

  He drank from his cup and continued: “You are the sister of the king, Segelinde. For you to pay for anything would be a slap in my face. What is mine is yours.”

  We wanted to protest, but he waved it away.

  It turned out to be a fine evening. I drank a bit too much wine and fell asleep the moment I lay down.

  I rode Simsek across the Sea of Grass, the Danube at my back. In the distance, to my left, I saw the camp of the Roxolani and pulled on the reins to head that way. But a warrior on a monstrous horse appeared from behind, nudging his horse between me and the camp. He did not look in my direction. His muscles bulged underneath his silver scale as he rode like the wind. I became agitated and drew my jian to force my way through.

  Without breaking stride he met my gaze, his blue eyes shining with the brightness of the sun.

  I recognized the god and wished to sheathe my sword, but he shook his head and grinned. He spurred his scale-clad horse, and we entered the forest without slowing down.

  The warrior placed a silver arrow on the string of his magnificent bow and drew back to his ear, aiming at the Gothic village, but at the last moment he wheeled his horse with his legs and released. The arrow flew back the way we came.

  I was confused, unsure of what to do.

  Arash smiled then and took the reins of my horse. I let him, surrendering to his will.

  I woke with a start. At peace.

  The god of war and fire had spoken.

  We struck camp early the next morning, heading north and east, towards the winter camp of the Roxolani.

  For the first time in weeks we had a destination. We were not just running away from the killers of my father, we had a purpose.

  After days on the road, we finally met up with a patrol of the Roxolani, led by none other than Elmanos.

  We clasped arms. “Lord, king Bradakos is sick with worry. For you and for his adopted daughter.” He looked at the little girl sitting on the horse in front of Gordas. “And you have brought his granddaughter.”

  Segelinde explained to Aritê that we were on our way to stay with her grandfather, but that we would visit with another grandfather along the way. My father had doted on her, so her expectation of a grandfather was firmly set in her mind.

  I was not sure how Bradakos would react to the presence of Kniva, so when we came close to the camp, I left my companions to rest and rode with Elmanos to speak to the king.

  On my arrival at the camp, I was escorted to the tent of the king without delay.

  Bradakos was waiting outside and waved away his bodyguards’ attempts to disarm me. He embraced me, clearly relieved to find me alive and well.

  “Elmanos told me what had
happened at Rhasaina in the aftermath of your victory.”

  He handed me a silver cup filled with red wine. “Now tell me what happened since.”

  I told him all. How we rode for weeks to save my family, arriving less than a watch after the speculatores of Philip the Arab had attacked.

  “We killed them all, Bradakos, but it was too late for Nik. A few of the assassins managed to gain entry to the compound. Nik saved my family, but he paid the ultimate price.”

  I could see the sadness rise in Bradakos. “He died as it befits a warrior. He is feasting with his friend Apsikal”, he said, and pointed to the sky.

  Bradakos drank deeply to dispel the sadness. “I will speak to Octar. You will stay with the Roxolani.”

  I shook my head. “It is not the will of Arash.”

  Bradakos looked at me quizzically, but held back his retort. He searched my face for any sign of deceit. After what felt like a watch, he nodded. “Just make sure you visit.”

  “There is one other thing, Bradakos”, I said, and smiled awkwardly. “I have the iudex of the Thervingi waiting outside the camp.”

  Chapter 2 – Messenger

  Exactly one moon after crossing the Danube we camped within a day’s ride from the abode of the Thervingi Goths.

  Gordas and his Huns remained with the Roxolani, while Thiaper went back to his people, the Carpiani.

  Roudolphos’s mercenary warband was still camped close to the Thervingi fort and the big Heruli left to join his men.

  I called an impromptu meeting with my companions to discuss our new life.

  “Tomorrow we will arrive at our destination, the stronghold of the Thervingi, the people of Segelinde and Kniva. I have brought you to safety, but I will not keep you in these lands against your will. I would have your thoughts on this.”

  “To Hades with Rome”, Hostilius said. “I burned my Roman clothes two days ago. All of it. I’m not going back.”

  Marcus scowled. “I was searching for my Roman garb this morning but I couldn’t find it. I remember tying it to the packhorse, right next to yours, Primus Pilus.”

  Everyone stared at Hostilius, thinking the obvious. “What are you all looking at me for? Like I would have burned your clothes as well, Tribune!”

  Following a few heartbeats of silence, he said: “Alright, alright, I may have and I’m sorry! It did seem like a large bundle. But I’m not saying it was me. Just that I might have.”

  Marcus held up his hand. “I was looking for it because I also wanted to burn mine.”

  It was Hostilius’s turn to scowl.

  “I have told you before, Lucius, it is not my wish to leave the Empire, but I have no choice”, Marcus said.

  I nodded.

  Vibius said his bit: “I am staying with you, Lucius. Just for the record, I think my Roman clothes got mixed up with the Primus Pilus’s.” He held out a bundle to Hostilius. “I think this is yours, sir.”

  Cai interjected: “I will use this experience to move closer to Dao.” I was uncertain whether he referred to our exile or the clothes burning.

  Pezhman was polishing sections of his complete set of armour that I gifted him as a reward for delivering the fake message to the Sasanians. At the time, Gordas looted the armour from a Immortal Guard who proved to be mortal.

  The magnificent set of armour was priceless, especially in the barbarian lands. The ex-Persian scout did not even look up from his toil. “I go where you go, lord.”

  Felix and Egnatius had grown close since both retired from the legions a few years before, although the former still acted as thought he was in active service.

  Egnatius stood, saluted and said: “I understand Tribune, and I will obey.”

  I sighed and Felix smiled, tapping Egnatius on the back as he sat down.

  “Umbra, I will keep looking after the horses, won’t I? As long as I have them, I am happy. Old Egnatius will give me a hand. Even Pezhman is handy around them.” He winked at a grinning Pezhman.

  I did not expect a reply from Adelgunde. She was returning home to her people, as the babysitter of the niece of the iudex. Her biggest challenge would be to come to terms with the stellar rise in her social status.

  Aritê was asleep next to Little Nik and Segelinde smiled, not wanting to wake her.

  I nodded. “It is good then. You are all family to me.”

  “I have asked Arash for guidance. He will show us the way. Of that I am certain.”

  I knew not that it would happen sooner than I expected.

  Kniva’s stint in Persia greatly enhanced his reputation. He was heralded as the returning hero by his people. Yet, he was away for long, and consequently had much to attend to. The Gothic iudex had to visit with his minor lords to judge disputes and reaffirm oaths of loyalty.

  We all enjoyed the hospitality of my in-laws, but they understood that we could not live with them for ever. Kniva arranged for us to take possession of an empty complex which belonged to the would-be usurper, Werinbert, whom I had taken care of years earlier.

  Kniva smiled. “It is fit that you should live in the house vacated by my cousin, as you were the one who sent him across the river.”

  Our new accommodation proved spacious. It consisted of a main hall, a smaller hall for my hearth warriors, as well as staff quarters. Not to mention the many stables, with a large yard hemmed in by a palisade fence.

  Segelinde and I moved into the large hall with Aritê. Marcus, Hostilius, Vibius and Cai would stay in the warrior hall and the rest each had a large room of their own in the staff accommodation.

  Little Nik was growing fast and although he was meant to live in the yard, he soon became fond of lying next to the hearth fire, close to Aritê, of course.

  I expected the winter to be harsh, but to my surprise it was mild with little snow or rain.

  We were able to salvage the entire breeding herd, save one or two, in the aftermath of the attack on the farm. Felix and Egnatius immediately immersed themselves in caring for the horses, soon drawing in Pezhman as well. Using the Roman horse as a base, we had been cross-breeding them with the Hunnic horses and the Niseans, with the aim of improving their endurance, hardiness and power.

  While they played with the horses, Hostilius, Vibius, Marcus and I trained to improve our martial skills. Kniva’s men had looted some fine Parthian bows in our recent war with the Sasanians and I had no trouble procuring one for each of my companions.

  “Great shot, Primus Pilus”, I said as Hostilius’s arrow struck near the centre of the target.

  “You know, Domitius, if I had known how easy it was, I would have looted a bow years ago.”

  “Try it when a Hun is galloping your way with his spear drawn back.”

  Hostilius scowled and released another arrow into the centre of the target.

  While they practised with the bow, Cai tutored me in the way of the Dao. I was now at a level where we trained specific movements in response to the actions of the opponent.

  Cai raised his sword, held in both hands, above his right shoulder, ready to deliver an angled cut from high to low.

  “When opponent go high, lower position. Receive blade with flat of sword. Send enemy away with same move, power come from legs.”

  He attacked in the same way.

  “Meet blade, roll wrist, leave edge harmless. Move in with sweep, like harvest grain.” He demonstrated. “Hit enemy with edge. Do not cut. Edge hit with power of thunder, destroying all inside.”

  Sometimes it would take weeks before the little man from Serica was content with the position of my feet, the elevation of my elbow or the angle of my blade. But I knew by then that he was a master at his craft and I endured.

  I was bound by an oath not to impart the techniques of the Dao. When I trained with my companions, I taught them the blade craft of the Huns and the Roxolani, who were masters in their own right.

  Gordas made a small bow for Aritê and many days she would join us in practise. I was surprised at her natural ability. When I
extracted the arrows from the leather and straw target one day, I became concerned that the bow might be too well made as the arrows had penetrated the thick leather.

  Slowly the season changed and winter made way for spring.

  We honed our skills, worked with the horses, hunted and feasted. I was settling into my new life as a nobleman of the Goths. I was doing what Nik wanted me to do. I was following my destiny.

  Or so I thought until late one summer afternoon.

  Egnatius manned the gate when he came to call me. He saluted smartly, as in his own mind, he was still in the legions.

  “At ease soldier”, I said.

  “Tribune, there is a barbarian at the gate, on a lathered horse. He is rambling incoherently. Should I chase him away?”

  “He also seems to be wounded”, Egnatius added as an afterthought.

  I lit a torch with the flame from an oil lamp and briskly walked to the gate. The Thervingi warrior had fallen from his horse and was lying unconscious on the ground. He was bleeding from a wound to his upper arm.

  We carried the injured man to the warrior hall and heartbeats later Cai joined us, carrying two leather pouches.

  Cai cleaned the wound with vinegar and applied honey and a herb paste. He expertly bound it with a clean linen bandage, afterwards feeding the delirious warrior some or other secret herbal potion.

  “He lost much blood. Only talk tomorrow”, Cai said and left for his quarters.

  Segelinde heard the commotion and came to investigate.

  “I know this man, he is called Ulfilas, a trusted hearth warrior of Kniva’s.”

  She turned to me, suddenly worried. “We need to hear his message, Eochar. Kniva had left earlier with an escort of two hundred of his warriors to visit with his lords in the north. He is surely in some kind of predicament.”

  My wife and Adelgunde took charge. “We will watch over him, husband.”

  “Vibius, please help me move the bedroll closer to the fire. Marcus, I need water from the well.”

  I watched in amazement how the hardened soldiers obeyed my wife’s every command.

  Then Adelgunde turned to Hostilius. “Primus Pilus, we need some more wood for the fire.”