‘We thought you dead.’
There was not really an answer to that, so Ferox said nothing.
‘Then come.’ The warrior turned and raised a hand to the others. A moment later they were streaking away down the far side of the ridge.
Vindex was puzzled.
‘He said to follow,’ Ferox called, forgetting that Vindex spoke no Greek, and then set off in pursuit. The scout followed and caught up after a few hundred paces.
‘Talkative buggers, aren’t they?’
‘When they are riding they only speak when they have something worth saying.’
‘Oh aye,’ the scout said, ‘that could take some folk a lifetime. And what’s this about cack.’
‘It’s what they call me.’
Vindex roared with laughter, and said no more. The path was easy to follow, and more riders appeared to look at them before riding off. None came close enough to speak, although now and again they called out ‘Kakos!’ Vindex laughed a lot.
The camp was not a large one, with about a dozen waggons, some tents, and a few hundred horses and ponies, with half that number of goats, the bells on their collars tinkling as they moved. There was a great fire burning in the centre of the main ring of waggons and tents, and at the head a canopy beneath which rugs were spread and three people sat in high-backed chairs.
‘Do as I do,’ Ferox said and put his helmet back on. This one had been made in the workshop at the fort and had crosspieces over the bowl and the crest holder above that. He dismounted, so Vindex copied. A servant, clad in simple tunic and trousers and barefoot, appeared and led the animals away. A lot of people stood in their path, mainly warriors, but women and children as well, all with the same rigid stare.
Ferox walked straight towards the canopy. Men, and one or two young women, barred his path, sometimes sticking out their tongues, but he did not check or slow. At the last moment they moved out of the way, apart from one fair-haired youth, and the centurion barged him out of the way with his shoulder, and pressed on.
Two men and a woman sat under the canopy. All three were in armour, the men a shirt of bronze scales and the woman in mail, there were swords at their sides and conical helmets resting on their laps. The woman looked about forty, black hair streaked grey, skin lined, jaw firm and grey blue eyes clear and cold as the sea. The man on her right was older, bald apart from a fringe of grey hair, but with a thick beard dyed red, and the one on the left was younger, with fair hair and beard. None of them smiled.
‘It is true then,’ the older man said, again using Greek. ‘I did not believe it when I was told.’
‘I did.’ The woman had a deep voice. ‘I saw it in the stars.’ She changed to Latin. ‘The Bad Flavius has returned.’ Like the young woman, her face was dotted with little markings, as were the backs of her hands.
Ferox could almost feel Vindex stifling a laugh.
‘I do not come in vengeance or anger,’ Ferox said, using Greek since it was more likely that they understood enough. Since arriving here he had started to use the language more than for many years, but his speech was slow and careful, matching his hosts. ‘I leave to you whether there is anger or vengeance in your hearts. If there is, then I will face it, but this man is my friend,’ he indicated Vindex, who understood not a word, ‘and I ask that he be allowed to do what is necessary afterwards.’
‘That is for the dawn after next,’ the older man said and the other two nodded. ‘Now you are our guest.’
The feast was already in preparation, the smell of roast meat growing as carcases were roasted over the fire – sheep, goats and cattle. There were blankets on the ground around the long fire, and guests came and went, sitting for a while, talking, eating and drinking. Few spoke to Vindex in any language he could understand, but laughter and gesture made him welcome. Ferox was with the leaders, sitting on a stool only a little lower than theirs and whenever Vindex glanced in that direction they were deep in talk.
‘It is fitting,’ a man said to him in Latin, and flashed a broad grin, the whiteness of his teeth all the brighter because his skin was a deep shade of brown unlike any of the others in the camp. ‘Chieftains talk and tell stories and will ask the Bad Flavius where he has been and what he has done.’
‘Why the bad?’ Vindex asked, but the man had already gone, called away by a scowling warrior. Another warrior, his sword belt and scabbard a deep red colour, matching his long tunic, offered the scout a bowl filled to the brim with milk, so he took it and drank, before passing it back and smiling in thanks. The young woman appeared and held out a smaller cup, this time filled with a bitter wine. Vindex drank deeply, for this was a welcome change, only handing it back when the giver must have begun to worry that none would be left. He gave the girl a big wink and she ignored him, heading off. A servant brought a platter of cheese and cuts of meat, so he took some and ate for a while. He began to pick up a few of the words for food, but otherwise the talk flowed past him. As the sun set and the stars filled the sky, there was more wine as well as mead and beer and as far as he could tell little of the conversation made much sense anymore. He saw the dark warrior a few times, but never close enough to speak. Ferox was still with the chieftains, and if they had drank as much as the rest it did not seem to have fuddled their wits for they talked on and on.
Vindex must have passed out like so many of the warriors, for he woke the next morning inside a tent. His head throbbed and he had no great urge to get up, so he lay there for some time until Ferox appeared.
‘Time to go,’ he said. ‘There is to be a hunt and we are invited as guests.’
Vindex groaned.
To his relief, the hunt began at a leisurely pace, and seemed more about taking a ride than pursuing game, as forty or so set off. The warriors rode horses decorated with ribbons, and many had donned their armour and wore swords on their hips. All had bows, and some carried quivering spears ten foot or so long.
They went south and west, heading away from the road and saw no sign of Romans. There were plenty of farmers, but none challenged the riders as they crossed over their land. Ferox rode at the head of the party, with the chieftains, while Vindex was gently led to the rear, where he was pleased to see the dark-skinned warrior.
‘How are you feeling?’ the man said, with another broad grin. ‘My head’s like thunder and I ought to be used to it by now.’
Vindex groaned, prompting a big laugh. Two other warriors, one with a golden beard and the other with a long brown moustache joined in, as did Vindex, rubbing his forehead in mock pain.
‘You are honoured, I think,’ the man said.
‘No, I’m Vindex,’ the scout replied, blinking as if still half drunk and confused. The warrior translated and the others roared with laughter once again.
‘My name is Ardaros,’ he said.
‘You don’t look as if you are from around these parts?’
‘This is my home and these are my people. I would not now exchange them for any in the wide world. I have horses and children, a wife and my own tent. And I have brothers and sisters of my clan and they have me.’ Some of the phrases came with difficulty, and Vindex guessed that Ardaros rarely spoke Latin and struggled for the right words.
‘Then you are a fortunate man,’ Vindex said, sensing the pride with which the man had spoken. ‘But I take it that it was not always so.’
Ardaros sighed. ‘The past has faded. Once I was a child and had another family who loved me. The Garamantine slavers came and took me and many others. They sold me to a Roman who sold me to a Greek, who sold me to another Roman – or at least a man who claimed that he was. He sold trinkets to fools, and his path led him – and me – to Moesia and his death. Warriors of the Golden Ox clan were on a raid and they killed him and took me as a slave. My new master was the best I had ever known and one day his tent was attacked while he was away and I fought off the enemies, killing two, though I took great hurt in the deed. My master helped me heal and made me free and his brother, and so Ardaros was born and lives as one of the truly free. The stars have blessed my path and the wind guided me.’