Burning Shadows (3 page)

There has been notice sent to us from Thracia that reports on another series of fearsome raids and the information that the Huns are stealing horses and food. Virginius Brolanor, a merchant from Odessus who had just left Serdica when the attack began, claims he would not be surprised to see more raids in winter than the Huns had ever made before. His house in Odessus was burned to the ground, and most of his family has vanished. Brolanor has declared that he will walk every road in the old Empire if it means he will have his family back. His father-in-law has promised Brolanor a new house so long as Brolanor 
brings back one of his grandsons; he has sworn an oath here that
whether he lives to see that goodly day or not, the sum for the house
will be settled in the Church of the Evangeloi, to be held against the
restoration of Brolanors family. We are encouraging those with land
or gold to put them in trust to the Christian Church so that there will
be a chance to salvage some of the valuables and treasures that supported our way of life before the Huns arrived.

This is being carried by seventeen members of my family: my
two younger brothers and their wives, six children of theirs, four
children of mine, my widowed sister, my wife, and my half-brother,
whose mother died last winter; he is very young.
With them are such
servants as are required for this journey. I ask you to receive them
well. Furthermore, I hope that you will allocate housing for them,
and see that they make a place for themselves in Viminacium, unless
the region becomes over-run, in which case, pray send my family
south to Narona or Aquileia. The Church has funds in trust for such
travels.

I will soon depart for Illyricum and Macedonia, and plan to
stop and visit with you in about a year. Whatever remarkable pieces
I have found I will offer you at minimal profit for me, to show my
appreciation for the kindness my family has enjoyed, thanks to you.
In such uncertain times as these, it is a great relief to know that the
old standards of Roma can still be found in such a man as you.

Demetrios
Maius

merchant of Dacia

region of Porolissensis
town of Porolissum

four days after the Summer Solstice in the 438
^th
year of the Christ

1

“Why should I leave if you refuse to?” Atta Olivia Clemens stood with her arms folded as she faced Feranescus Rakoczy Sanctu-Germainios across her withdrawing room, her features set with determination, her hazel eyes snapping; she knew she was being unreasonable, but she also did not care: she would not admit to fear or misgivings, not even to her oldest, most trusted friend. “This place is as much my home as it is yours.”

“We might say that of a dozen towns,” he remarked. “You have a good number of holdings where you may go.”

“You know what I mean,” she said in an uncompromising tone. “But look out there. Summer is glorious here, in spite of everything. If I can’t be on my native earth, this is a very pleasant second choice—the more so for you.” The Latin they spoke had a heavy admixture of Greek, and a sprinkling of words borrowed from the local Germanic tribes, as well as a little Dacian.

He gave a single, sad laugh. “To reach my native earth, you must travel east along the Danuvius toward the bend in the mountains and then turn north at Durostorum Minor: it is a good deal closer than Roma, but it is still distant.”

“How literal you are,” she said, tweaking his sleeve.

“You are not safe here, Olivia,” he said somberly.

“Probably not,” she conceded. “But I still think it would be best to remain.” She brushed her fingers together as if to rid them of dust; she was staring directly at him, daring him to contradict her. “Think, Sanctu-Germainios, what would be the point of leaving Porolissum? The roads are dangerous and we would not be welcome in many Roman towns, not with so many people trying to find protection.”

“The point would be that you would not have to fight the Huns,” he said bluntly. “I cannot believe that you would want to engage them in battle, not with so much to lose to them.”

“You needn’t remind me of my risks, but leaving Porolissum is no certainty that I won’t have to fight the Huns,” she said, and then, in an attempt to shift the subject, she looked at his silver-and-black paragaudion and his diamond-patterned Persian femoralia of the same colors. “Very handsome. Elegant without gaudiness, and not so elaborate that everyone must point you out. Gravitas, beyond question. Has anyone tried to rob you of the silver?”

He smiled and reached out to brush her cheek with his hand. “You will be safer in Aquileia, Olivia. Ask Niklos, if you doubt me; he still has ties in Thracia and Moesia, and he knows where the Huns are active, and what they have done,” said Sanctu-Germainios, annoying her by refusing to fight with her. “Better to leave now, in accordance with your own plans; that way you won’t be cast adrift in a crumbling world. Since you have another horse-farm on the west side of Aquileia where you can continue as you do here, with the advantage of being in Roman-Gothic territory, and therefore protected.” She gave him a wide, insincere smile. “You make it sound as if this move is a step up in every way.”

“It is better than trying to reinforce your fences with stones high enough to keep the Huns out—assuming you have time enough and masons to build the walls before winter.”

“So you think I may have to lose my estate if I remain here; it is much more certain that it will be lost to me if I leave, isn’t it?” she challenged him. “You don’t believe there will be enough reinforcements provided for these towns and fortresses to stop the attacks. Why are you so convinced of it?”

He still would not be lured into open argument. “This is more than a simple matter of fighting off a band of marauders. Where your land here is concerned, you may have to make swift arrangements to keep your herds from being decimated by neighbors as well as Huns; the Huns are stealing more horses, and yours will be much sought-after by them. If it becomes necessary to leave hurriedly from Aquileia, you can take to the sea. The Huns are not known to be sailors.” He made a minimal bow and then smoothed out the small tablion on the front of his paragaudion.

“I don’t like the sea any more than you do,” she said brusquely. “Running water and tides.” She shuddered to make her point.

“Do you prefer the Lux Perpetua Chapel and monks around you day and night?” He asked it lightly enough; he knew she found the Christians stultifying and that it was the only part of the local monastery where women were allowed to shelter.

“Certainly not—I want to stay here, in my house, on my land. I like Porolissum. I don’t mind the Gepidae, or the Goths, nor do they mind me.” She started to walk away from him, then relented and came back to his side. “If I could remain here without danger…” He did not quite smile even though he felt relieved. “But for the sake of your household, you will go to Aquileia, out of harm’s way. Please do it, Olivia. Your servants will appreciate your concern on their behalf. They have no wish to stay here to be taken as slaves or killed by the Huns, and who can blame them. You have the option of returning to Roma, whether the Goths are there or not. Since you are a Roman, you cannot be denied the right to return to Sine Pari.”

“How am I to travel with so many? Won’t that make us all the more vulnerable to attack by robbers, if not Huns?” It was a genuine concern, for she had lost a fair amount of money to robbers in the last six months, and the need to carry large sums on the road made her uneasy.

He took a pouch of coins from his belt, extending it to her. “Something more that may make your present circumstances less straitened: if you want to pay your household’s wages before you leave, you may return me the sum when you like, or use it for lodging and food. I would not like to have you become a mendicant, not with so many in your care. Use as much as you need and when you have harvests and herds, then requite what I tender.” He knew her well enough to know she would only agree to use his money if he were willing to have her return the sum.

Olivia accepted the pouch, saying as she did, “Thank you. This will be most useful. I have to admit that I’m much obliged to you for your kindness. It would be awkward, after my courier was taken by the Huns and my semi-annual payments from Lago Comus along with him, to have to compensate the entire household as well as the drayers and muleteers from my strongbox, thin of gold as it is. This will make my situation a bit easier, and provide a modicum of sustentation during our travels.” She sighed in exasperation. “But since you continue to insist that I leave, I suppose it’s fitting that you help me arrange it.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, knowing that her overbearing manner hid her increasing anxiety; his blue-black eyes were shining with relief.

“I imagine that Niklos worries almost as much as you do on my behalf. It’s kind of you to be concerned for me, even though you insist on my departing.” She said this as if by rote while she fussed with the maniakis where it fanned out over her shoulders. “It’s the very devil being a widow this last century. No entertainments. No bright clothes. No jewels beyond pearl mourning-rings, and moonstones for earrings. And a dark ricinium over my hair, so that I will not be thought a loose woman.” She turned her palms up in a show of helplessness. “How I long for red and ruby and amethyst and luminous greens, or brilliant yellow and gold. But no, being a widow, I must perpetually mourn; the Bishops require it. That I should mourn for Justus!” She made an emphatic gesture at the mention of her depraved husband, executed during the reign of Vespasianus. That his name could still distress her after nearly four hundred years!—she turned toward the upholstered bench under the window, thinking as she did that her long, loose-sleeved tunica was much the same color as the clouding sky beyond the opening. Over the tunica she had wrapped a trabea of dull-blue Antioch silk, darker than the maniakis, and secured it with a pearl- encrusted pin. “We’ll have thunder and lightning before day’s end.”

“Very likely,” he said, and waited for her to go on, letting her persuade herself.

She pursed her lips in thought. “How am I to watch after my estates if the Bishops keep limiting what I am allowed to do? I am mandated, as the owner of the land, to ensure it is in good heart, but that means going against the Bishops’ strictures, inspecting the herds and the flocks and the fields, but that means being seen about my land without the escort the Bishops compel widows to have. It is most inconvenient to have to accommodate the demands of the Church. You may be guardian of this region, but you are also a successful merchant, and the Bishops do not impose upon you as they do me.”

“I would be as disheartened as you are, were I in your position,” he said with genuine sympathy.

“I’m not disheartened, I’m furious,” she said calmly. “The Bishops are martinets, to a man.”

“That they are,” said Sanctu-Germainios, who had spent much of the previous day trying to persuade the Bishops of Porolissum to allow the farmers of the region to be permitted to use some of the more remote monasteries as look-out posts; two of the Bishops refused absolutely, for it would turn a religious building into a military one.

“None of them will be party to lessening the restraints they impose on women,” she said, unable to keep the disgust out of her tone.

“Surely you can appeal to the local officials to modify your constraints,” he said, but found himself doubting that Olivia would be made an exception to the rules the Bishops had instituted. “If you were in Apulum Inferior, I would lift all your restrictions, since you are a land-owner, but my authority does not extend to Porolissum.”

“And our Praetor here is a Bishop as well as our district administrator. It’s useless to appeal to him.” Her stern gaze softened and she said conciliatingly, “I know, my oldest, dearest friend. I am expecting trouble and that makes me contentious. I have to arrange to do what I can to see my horse-farm remains intact, whether I am here or not. Those of us here in Porolissensis who intend to preserve our lands, one way or—”

“Most of the people here are Gepidae, not Roman,” Sanctu-Germainios reminded her. “They are dependable enough in their way, but they will be preferential to kin.”

“That is the way of the Goths, as well,” she said dismissingly. “All barbarians are like that.”

“For no Roman ever showed preferment for his clan,” Sanctu-Germainios said, making no excuse for his sardonic tone.

“Of course we did, and do. But we value the Empire as much as we value our families. Or we did.”

Sanctu-Germainios smiled enough to show he was not deceived. “You learned your conduct in another time.”

“So did you,” she said back to him; she glanced toward the door. “Niklos,” she called, “will you ask the household to meet with me in an hour?”