The Songs of Slaves (61 page)

The gates of Asisium were open, but a guard of six legionaries in full kit watched them as they entered. Connor was aware of more, armed with bows
and javelins
, eyeing them from the gatehouse battlements.

The officer stepped forward, a short man with broad shoulders, dark eyes, and olive skin. He regarded Connor who sat high in his saddle, his hair long in the manner of barbarians and his chain mail bright. Connor noted the officer’s eyes rest on his
spatha
, pugio,
slung shield, and gold chain. The
furor
was a touch away from Connor. Allowing himself to get pushed into
trouble
would not meet his purposes; but he naturally attracted attention and could not allow himself to be disarmed or – far worse yet – held. He had hoped that the gates would be crowded to help defray the guards’ attentions, but he was not that lucky. He was aware of the eyes of all the men on
Lucia
, lustily drinking in the sight of her no doubt; but they could not be so stupid as to miss the signs of a highborn Roman woman, despite the dust of the road and weariness of the journey.

“These are dark times, friend, but the
Pax Romana
still stands in Asisium,” the officer spoke carefully but firmly. “State your name and your business, then leave your weapons with us.”

“I
am Titus Vestius
Laterensis
,” Connor said, feeling suddenly unworthy of the name though he forced authority into his voice. “I am
bucellarius
to this
domina
,
Lucia
Montevaria
Corvina
. As such it is my right to carry arms for her protection.”

“Is that so,
Domina
?” the officer asked
Lucia
. Connor reasoned that he took Connor for a barbarian or
bacaudae
who meant to ransom his captive. Had it not been for
Lucia
’s jewelry and even his gold chain, the officer may have even inferred worse. Regardless, Connor’s life lay in
Lucia
’s hands.

“It is as he says, legionnaire,”
Lucia
said.

“What is your
business, Titus Vestius
Laterensis
?” the officer asked. It was improper for him to address a noblewoman unless necessary.

“I am taking the
D
omina
to her uncle,” Connor answered. “Lucretius Montevarius
Corvinus
. Would you be kind enough to point the way?”

There was a nod of recognition at the name, and Connor saw some of the legionaries glance at each other. So the man was
known,
and most likely quite rich. Connor could almost see the guards consider how they might turn this to an advantage. He could not drop his guard. Sensing his uneasiness, Fingal pawed the air with his right foreleg.

The officer cast one more glance on
Lucia
, then answered.

“Go to the
agora
then take the left way, uphill. It is the last villa you come to. Two of my men will see to it that you do not get lost.”

“And what is your name so that I might remember your kindness to Lucretius Montevarius?” Connor asked as two of the guards fell in behind them.

“Legionnaire Quintus
Ancilo,”
he said. “And remember Titus
Vestius, that
part of the city – this whole city, in fact, is well-guarded. If my men have any trouble from you they need only shout.”

Connor nudged Fingal forward with
Lucia
beside him. The two soldiers followed on foot as the guards at the gatehouse looked after them.

Connor was by now familiar with some of the hill towns of Italia and Gaul, but Asisium was different from any place Connor had ever been. Houses and buildings drew up close to the flagstone streets, shielding them from too much sun and giving the place an almost labyrinthine feel. All of the buildings – from the smallest townhouse to the municipal buildings were made from well-cut gray stone that shone with a rosy hue from the natural quartz within. The roof tiles were of fired clay, but also shone almost pink in the late afternoon light. Small trees and ornamental shrubs grew in urns outside of the doors, and flowers filled window boxes beneath the painted shutters. The town was built on undulating terrain, with all the streets rising or descending steeply. Even the
agora
in the center of town rose, though at a much more gradual and even pitch than the rest. Connor and
Lucia
passed the bubbling fountain and rode on past the towering temple of the goddess Minerva; whose magnificent carved doors stood closed behind the high Corinthian columns at the order of Theodosius. Another victim of the winds of change, Connor thought, the marble grandeur of the old being replaced by the simpler, more accessible, more rusticated new. Likewise, in a few short days the
greatest city in the world may be bled dry by homeless, dispossessed warriors from the mountains and steppes of nameless lands. Was it a triumph or was it a tragedy? Whose side was he on? Connor looked back to
Lucia
who seemed less interested in her surroundings than he did, though this was to be her new home. He fought the urge to pull her onto his horse and ride away; to hide in the mountains until all this passed away and she understood his heart once more. Setting his gaze more firmly, Connor took the left road as he had been instructed and started to climb.

They went about another half mile. The townhouses, workshops, markets, and municipal buildings were gone, replaced by larger dwellings and more open space. Connor could see over the well-fortified walls out into the Umbrian hills and valleys. There were mountains still clad in dark forests, and open farmlands of pastures and vines. Despite the troubles of the times, despite even the proximity of Alaric’s army probably only a few dozen miles away, this town felt peaceful, secluded, quiet, and even melancholy. A church bell tolled, just out of sight ahead of them, telling the fifth hour past noon.

They stopped even before the guards indicated. The villa rose ahead, almost at the eastern apex of the town. It was no villa by the standards of the Gallic countryside – no massive house surrounded by extensive grounds. But in the context of the town it was a mansion; a large two-storied dwelling cut from the same rosy gray stone, enclosed by an ivy-clad wall. Cyprus trees flanked the doors and the gates. Connor turned to the soldiers, who stood eyeing him, showing no signs of leaving.

He had come all this way for this. There was no turning back now. Connor dismounted and clanged the bell at the gate.

An old slave, bald, lean, and bent, came out of the front door. When he saw Connor at the gate he almost jumped, and seemed to consider running back inside. Mastering himself, he approached the gate, forcing an air of confident distain that he must have learned from those he served.

“What do you want?” the older man said.

“I would speak to your
dominus
,” Connor said.

“Indeed. About what, pray tell?”

“I have his niece,
Lucia
Montevarius.”

The slave stole a glance at
Lucia
, who remained in her saddle. He appraised Connor once more, suspicion and contempt evident on his countenance; then disappeared into the house with surprising speed.

So the house slave thought that he could look down on a warrior because he was a barbarian? Connor glowered, but then caught himself. How quickly he was learning the arrogance that came with freedom here.

After a few minutes, the slave returned with two
bucellarii
– big men each armed with a
gladius
, but Connor was used to sizing up what really mattered
in a warrior by now and he found it lacking in both men. He wondered if they might not be lifter slaves cross-trained for the purpose.

Lucia
dismounted and joined Connor as the slave opened the gate. Her nearness threatened to distract Connor, but he locked his discipline in. It would be time to be emotional later. He had a
mandata
to complete.  He did not fear the
bucellarii
and the soldiers, but he recognized that his despair might make
him reckless, and Gaiseric’s words came back to him – “They are dogs; but enough dogs can kill a lion”.

“The
Dominus
will see you and the maiden,” the slave said.

“You will call her
Domina
, for that is what she is to you,” Connor said.

“We will take your weapons,” the larger of the two
bucellarii
– a thick man of about thirty with a shaved head and a drooping right eyelid – said.

“I have not crossed the Alps and the burning lands of Italia to parlay with slaves. Now bring me in or bring your
D
ominus
out. I will speak to him alone, and retain my weapons with which I am sworn to protect your
D
omina
.”

The slaves seemed to discuss this wordlessly; then the older man nodded. A youth came from the house
to take hold of the horses’ rei
ns. 

“If your
d
ominus
wishes, we will wait out here for a time,” one of the soldiers said. The older slave thanked him, and then led Connor and
Lucia
inside.

They entered into a foyer with a high ceiling and mosaic floors. The air was refreshingly cool, though the open windows let in ample light. Bouquets of flowers stood in painted urns.  A slave boy stood by the door holding a large bowl of water, hand towels draped over his quivering arms.
Lucia
made use of the water and towel; Connor did not.  The old butler led them on towards the courtyard ahead.
Lucia
was at Connor’s left side; one of the
bucellarii
was behind him and another at his right.  Should they try something, it would be difficult to fight with
Lucia
in the way; but Connor already had a plan should he need one.

Blue skies and wispy white clouds were again overhead as the foyer opened up to the courtyard. Connor was reminded of Lucius, for the design of the courtyard his late
D
ominus
had loved was the same – a large square with a round fountain in the center, and ornamental trees growi
ng in large urns. As in Lucius’
courtyard, the ground was covered with white stone. But this courtyard was dominated by roses – red, white, and pink, growing from large bushes or climbing up the pillars and over the railings of the second level walkway. Connor drew
Lucia
away from the armed
men to a corner where they could see most of the doors. They did not have long to wait.

The master of the house entered the courtyard.

Connor did not know why he smile
d, but he did as he saw Lucius’
brother. The man was shorter and not nearly
so
thin as Lucius had been; but his hair was the same color and cut in almost the same manner; his face rounder but similarly featured. His eyes were dark instead of gray, and the wrinkles of his face cut less deep from sun and care. Lucretius gazed on Connor with open suspicion, and Connor noted that the man’s left hand rested on the hilt of a
pugio
half-concealed within the folds of his toga. Then Lucretius saw
Lucia
, and his face opened up. Momentarily forgetting the armed barbarian in his courtyard, Lucretius rushed forward.

“
Lucia
?”

“Uncle,”
Lucia
said, her voice cracking slightly.

Lucretius had his arms out, but at the last moment remembered his decorum. Open displays of affection were considered beneath the Roman upper classes.

“I have not seen you since you were a child,” Lucretius said. “But I could not help but recognize you. You are the image of your mother. What a fine woman you have grown into.”

Lucia
bowed, still holding his hands. Connor was watching her closely. She was smiling, finally smiling; and yet her eyes were still so sad.

“
Lucia
!”

A pretty, slight-framed girl – perhaps a few years younger than
Lucia
ran out and embraced her, regardless of social decorum.

“Julia!”
Lucia
cried out. “You have grown so much.” 

“
Lucia
, who is this?”
Lucretius asked, remembering Connor.

Lucia
broke away from Julia and looked back to Connor. Connor locked eyes with her – those beautiful green eyes. He stared at her, locking the sight into his memory, willing time away, wanting to live in these last few seconds forever.