Nobilissima (10 page)

“It’s an outrage that they would take Rome, Septimus. I’m sorry you are also a captive but I’m glad to see a friend here. Have you heard anything of Marcus?”

He shook his head. “Nothing of our Magister. In fact, I haven’t even seen a Roman soldier since the attack. They must all be dead or gone by now.”

I paused, trying to ignore my growing fears for Marcus’s safety.

“And are we all the Romans who are being taken?” I asked and Septimus said that he knew there were several other groups of captives being held in different places.

“My brother and nephew were taken from their villa on the Esquiline Hill,” he said, “and are being held with a number of other families from that area.”

We moved a few steps away from the group. “Do we have any hope of escaping before they march us out of Rome?” I asked quietly.

“Not a chance,” he replied. “There are tens of thousands of Goths and we have no weapons.”

A disturbance in the crowd distracted him and I looked up to see a priest pushing his way towards me. I sighed. It was Alanus. The young man’s hair was unkempt and his robes were blackened with smoke and soot.

“Nobilissima, I am Alanus and you did me the honor of allowing me to conduct Mass for you recently.”

Before I could speak, he continued. “Nobilissima, I have tried to convince the barbarians that I am a priest and cannot be held hostage but they choose to not understand me. Perhaps you could intercede on my behalf and ask them to let me go?”

“I would be happy to speak on your behalf, Alanus, but as you can see, there is no one here to talk with. We must wait for Alaric or his brother to come. Meanwhile, perhaps you would like to assist some of those here who are frightened or hurt. That poor lady has lost her daughter.”

I pointed out Justinia, who was leaning on the arm of Aurelia, still crying uncontrollably. “I’m sure your prayers would offer some comfort,” I said.

Alanus glanced at the woman, clearly unhappy with the task he had been given. “Please, Nobilissima, do what you can for me. I’m not fit enough to face the rigors of being a hostage, and I have work to do at the church that requires my urgent attention.”

“Really, Alanus? I’d be very interested to know what it is that you could do in the church that would not be better done here, where there are people who need you. I’m sure the candles can go unlit on the altars for a while longer. As for being a hostage, I’m sure you are better able to face a little hunger and exercise than some of these poor citizens.”

I ran my eyes over his well-fed form as I spoke. He flushed and bowed, backing away from me and hurrying towards Justinia.

“An unusual sort of priest,” commented Septimus.

“A very aggravating young man,” I agreed, turning towards the procession of carts, scanning the road in both directions for any sign of Alaric or Ataulf.

I ran my hands through my hair, pulling its weight up from my neck, which was damp with perspiration. The sun was climbing steadily and, although its rays were muffled by the thick smoke that still hung in the air, the temperature was rising.

More than an hour had passed since we were taken from the villa and nerves began to fray as the heat built up. The hostages grew more frantic, conjecturing on their chances of escape or of rescue, recounting stories of the night of the attack, and crying for other members of their families. I felt overwhelmingly tired and realized that I was also very hungry. It was almost noon when a guard yelled at us to be quiet. Alaric rode up on a powerful black horse, towering over us as we stepped away from the beast’s prancing feet.

“Nobilissima, I regret the delay,” he said. “Please follow these two guards and we’ll soon be ready to move out. Ladies and gentlemen, we will do all we can to make your journey comfortable. There will be horses for some of you. The rest will have to walk.”

As suddenly as he had come, he pulled his horse’s head around and rode away.

The two guards beckoned me to join them and I pushed Aurelia and Sylvia forward. One soldier hesitated on seeing three of us together but seemed to change his mind and carried on walking. Using a stick to push people aside, he carved a passage through the crowds and I saw the imperial carriage, its gold paint and purple trim looking garish and out of place in the midst of the chaos. One of the barbarians motioned to us to get into the carriage although no one helped us to do so. When Sylvia began to climb in, one of the men pulled her back.

“Not you, he said. “The carriage is for the ladies. You can walk with the rest or find a lift on a wagon if you are lucky. I’ve heard that there are men willing to give a lady a place on a cart in return for a favor.”

Sylvia slapped the soldier hard across the face and he glared at her, bunching his fist as though he would strike her.

“She will ride with us,” I said, “and I’ll report you to your king if you dare to touch her again. There’s room in this carriage for another person. Bring that woman. She can ride with us.”

I pointed at Justinia and watched as the men escorted her to the carriage. I climbed in, slumped against the pillows and closed my eyes. Next to me, Aurelia clasped the bundle she had brought with her. Sylvia edged close to me, trembling so violently that the carriage shook. A Goth soldier slammed the door shut and, with a lurch, we moved forward, joining the procession as it made its way out of the city.

I pulled the curtain away from the window and looked out. Fires had wrecked many buildings, and those that were not destroyed were ransacked. The fountains were now full of discarded relics of the looting. The street was lined with the poor people of the city, who watched in disgust as the caravan passed them. They shouted and jeered at the Goths, shaking their fists and making obscene gestures, but the noise of the carriages, the horses’ hooves and thousands of men marching drowned out their cries.

I realized that we were heading south, towards the Appian gate, away from the worst of the smoke and destruction. My heart was heavy at the thought of leaving the majestic city. I felt as though I was abandoning a broken ship ready to sink under the waves.

Chapter 12

All day, the massive procession made its way south, leaving Rome behind and heading into rough countryside. Some meager crops grew in the fields carved out of the hilly land, but I saw no livestock and very few people.

“It seems that all the pigs and sheep have already been killed and eaten,” said Aurelia. “Alaric will not find much to sustain his nation-army in these poor fields.”

I agreed. It was clear that the country folk had suffered the same deprivations as the city dwellers. These once prosperous farms were rundown or abandoned.

In the distance, we saw small parties of barbarians riding away from the cavalcade, no doubt in search of food. Weary with hours of being jolted in the carriage, we grew quiet and I wondered when we would find food or water.

Septimus rode alongside the carriage. His horse was old, her ribs showing through her chestnut coat, but he said he was glad to have her. Many of the hostages were on foot and had already fallen far to the back of the procession.

For several days, we journeyed, stopping at sunset and moving again at dawn. Twice a day, servants distributed meager rations of cheese and dark bread. Aurelia, Sylvia and I ate and slept in the carriage with Justinia, who wouldn’t eat. When she slept, she moaned or screamed. It seemed that most of the Goths bedded down on blankets on the ground and I wondered how the other Roman nobles were faring. Septimus, under the watchful eyes of the guards, rode back and forth, gathering what news and gossip he could.

“They say that Alaric wants to put many miles between us and Rome before stopping to make camp,” he said, on the third morning, when he arrived alongside the carriage. Around us, the cries and complaints of those hostages on foot had grown louder, and the soldiers shouted loudly with more menace in their voices. In the heat of the sun, the carriage became unbearable, stifling and airless.

“Are there still no signs of Roman troops?” I asked.

“Nothing so far. They are either planning an ambush ahead of us or are still riding to catch up from behind.”

Aurelia looked up. “Have you heard anything of Marcus?”

She had refused her portion of food yet again and I was worried about the grey tinge to her cheeks.

Septimus shook his head. “I am sorry, my lady, but I’ve heard nothing. Not of our commander or of any troop movements. And, as far as I can tell, no ransom money has been received and no one released. I haven’t seen any messengers coming or going, but I’ll ride forward to see if I can find Alaric and I’ll do what I can to learn more.”

Late the following day, we heard the horns that signaled the stop for the night. At last, it seemed that Alaric felt we were far enough away from Rome to make a camp. It took several hours for the people to put up makeshift tents in a series of large rolling fields, through which a small stream flowed. Through some organizational effort I could not see, great fires were started and pots pulled from the wagons, filled with water and set to boil.

We waited in the carriage while the horses were unhitched and taken to the fields for water and grass. I was dazed with hunger and fatigue. My clothes stuck to my body and I knew I smelled of sweat and smoke. I dozed for a while, and woke at the sound of galloping horses. Looking out of the window, I saw scores of Goth soldiers riding past the carriage at great speed. The sound appeared to rouse Justinia too. She edged along the bench towards the door and looked out.

“I hate them,” she murmured. “They took my child. She’s dead, I am sure of it. My precious darling.”

Without warning, she flung the door open and leapt out. Aurelia screamed and reached out her hand but it was too late. Justinia plunged to the ground under the hooves of the speeding horses. The soldiers kept riding, trampling her broken body into the dusty soil.

I slid to the floor of the carriage, my heart pounding so hard it hurt my chest and I could barely take a breath. “My God,” I whispered. Stunned, we waited in silence until the last of the riders had passed.

“Is there any hope?” asked Aurelia. “Should we look?”

“No,” I said. “There’s no hope.”

“I’ll go out,” said Sylvia and, without hesitating, she stepped down from the carriage. I watched as she bent over Justinia and, with great tenderness, wiped dust and blood from the lacerated face and whispered a few words. She sat back on her heels for a few moments and then climbed back into the carriage, curling herself into a corner of the bench and wrapping her cloak around her.

I reached up to stroke her hand, but a Goth soldier peered into the carriage. He was unshaven and filthy, and Aurelia let out a yelp of fear.

“Come with me,” he said.

Unsure of what was happening, I opened the door and climbed out, careful to avoid stepping on Justinia’s body. I was relieved to see Aurelia following close behind me. The guard beckoned us to follow him and led the way through crowds of Goth women and children, who were intent on their chores and oblivious to the presence of Roman nobility. After a few minutes, the guard brought us to a tiny cottage, which appeared to be the residence of the farmer who had once tended the fields.

We waited at the door of a small cramped living space where Alaric was giving orders to his men for the protection of the camp during the night. As the soldiers acknowledged their orders and left, he saw us and waved us into the room.

“Nobilissima,” he said. “I regret the traveling conditions and hope that you have been as comfortable as possible.”

“The conditions are intolerable,” I retorted, “as you well know.”

“Yes, a carriage with cushions and shades against the heat of the sun must be most disagreeable,” he answered with a smile.

“I speak of the hundreds of other hostages, some of whom are being forced to march on foot with little to eat or drink. You should release us all and end this abuse. A noble lady called Justinia died just minutes ago. She killed herself, but you are her murderer, Alaric.”

“And your commander is not also a murderer?” he asked. “How many have your Roman soldiers killed to enfold a country in the brutal embrace of the Empire?”

I took a deep breath. I felt drained, incapable of any emotion, even anger. The growling in my stomach made me nauseous. “Just let the hostages go, Alaric. You have enough gold and valuables from your vicious looting of our city to last you a lifetime. You don’t need the ransom money.”

“Believe me,” he replied. “I would love to let all of you go, every last one of you. There’s not enough food for everyone. But I do need the money. I have plans to save my people, and the more I have to trade with, the better. Have you heard from your brother? Does he plan to pay your ransom soon?”

I shook my head. “I have no idea. More importantly, we’ve heard nothing of Marcus, our Magister Militum. Do you have any news of him?”

“Please sit and we can talk,” said Alaric, pointing to chairs grouped around a rough wooden table. “There’s cheese and bread here, and wine.” He hacked at the aged cheese with a dagger that seemed to have dried blood on it. I took a piece of bread but didn’t eat it.

“My soldiers overran the garrison early in the attack,” said Alaric. “I know that many Romans there were injured or killed but I’m sure that if any harm had come to the Magister I would have heard of it.”