Naulobates was seated on a simple wooden chair. His courtiers sat in no discernible hierarchy on the ground around him. Naulobates was dressed no differently from them: a simple leather coat, trousers and boots. His hands were in his lap, hidden in a plain leather bag.
‘ Zirin,’ Ballista said, as an envoy should on the Steppe. He placed the palm of his right hand flat to his forehead.
Naulobates did not reply.
‘ Zirin,’ Castricius said, as Ballista’s deputy. He also made the gesture of respect.
Still Naulobates said nothing.
The King of the Heruli had the deformedly high forehead of the Rosomoni. His dyed-red hair was sparse, ill-kempt. His dyed-red beard was thin and straggly. His face was narrow, fine featured under the red tattoos. But it was his eyes that held Ballista. They were grey and possessed the unwavering moral certainty of the zealous convert armed by a fierce deity with complete faith and untrammelled force.
‘Dernhelm, son of Isangrim, son of Starkad, the cruel man of blood.’ Naulobates spoke in the language of the north. His voice was soft, unexpectedly high-pitched. ‘God, in his providence, has brought you across Middle Earth to the camp of your hereditary enemies.’
All there were silent. Birds sang in the trees.
Ballista cleared his throat. ‘I come to the Heruli as Marcus Clodius Ballista, Legatus extra ordinem Scythica of the Imperator Publius Licinius Egnatius Gallienus Augustus. The emperor of the Romans prays for the health of you and your men. He has sent me with gifts.’
‘ Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes,’ Naulobates said. He recited the Latin of Virgil with a northern accent, before reverting to the language of Germania. ‘Unlike the Trojan Laocoon, I do not fear the gifts of the Greeks. But then neither do I need them. Should my warriors desire more cunningly wrought silverware for their tents, I shall lead them again into the imperium and they will take whatever pleases them.’
‘My Lord Gallienus requests to ransom those of his subjects in your power,’ Ballista said.
‘We took his subjects in war. It was the will of God. If Gallienus desires them back, he should come and put the issue before God on the field of battle.’ Naulobates gestured to one of the men seated at his feet. ‘Having tasted true freedom and brotherhood among the Heruli, many, like my brother Artemidorus, would not choose to return to the slavery of the imperium.’
‘We have made a long and dangerous journey so that those who do wish might have the chance to return with us,’ Ballista said.
‘Dangerous in the extreme.’ Naulobates shifted his gaze above Ballista’s head. ‘I have observed the trials; yours and those of my Heruli. I was with you every step of the way. Brachus, my tauma, moved among you.’ Naulobates, seeing the word meant nothing to Ballista, smiled. ‘You might call it my daemon.’
Ballista could think of nothing to say. He sensed both Castricius and Hippothous stiffen.
‘My tauma observed everything. The treacherous attacks of the Alani, and the treachery within your own party.’ Naulobates was not smiling now. ‘The murderer among you is subtle. His daemon hid from Brachus in devious ways. I would let him know his fate should he disturb the peace of my campfires.’
At a sign from Naulobates, a bound man was brought forth. The prisoner struggled wildly. Through his gag he made incoherent sounds. Four young Heruli manhandled him off to one side, towards where the trees formed the rustic arch.
‘This despicable criminal is a traitor to the God-given customs of the Heruli. A thief and a murderer, he sought to appropriate for himself what is the property of all. When another man went to the woman, this sacrilegious wretch burst in and struck him at the moment a man can least defend himself.’
The four young Heruli roped the man to the tied-together branches of the two bent trees. Ballista had heard of such things, but never expected to see them.
‘Let the murderer among your party see what will become of him should he let his daemon indulge itself in the camp of the Heruli.’ Naulobates nodded.
One of the young Heruli swung an axe. It sheered through the ropes binding the trees together. With the vigour of youth, the saplings sprang apart. Where there had been a man, now severed body parts hung like badly butchered sides of strange, unpalatable meat.
XXIII
After the dismemberment, Naulobates had told the Romans to produce their diplomatic gifts. The consular ornaments had survived the vagaries of the journey reasonably well. Naulobates studied the white toga with the broad purple stripe; the nasty bloodstain on the lower hem had come out quite well. He had peered at the boots with their many, complicated laces which were reserved for Roman senators. The Herul had seemed especially struck by the twelve fasces; the rods symbolizing the power to chastise, bundled around the axes representing the right to kill. After musing over these ornamenta consularia for some time, Naulobates had looked over the heads of the embassy, out beyond the remnants of the dead man in the trees, beyond the things visible to normal men, and had announced with deafening certainty that one day he would indeed be Roman consul; and that not in token but in reality. No one, Maximus included, had so much as smiled.
The silver dinner service, embossed with scenes of Roman heroes killing barbarians, had not held the attention of Naulobates. Sharing it between members of his entourage as gifts, he had dismissed the embassy from his presence. That had been four days before. They had not seen him since.
Andonnoballus had taken them to the lodgings provided. They consisted of four round nomad tents at one end of the camp. These were more than adequate, given there were but seventeen left in the embassy. Maximus was in the largest, situated at the western end of the row. He was in with Ballista, Calgacus and Tarchon. In the next one were Castricius and Hippothous, with the interpreter and the two remaining members of the official staff: a scribe and a messenger. The three soldiers and their two freed-slaves were billeted in the next adjacent. At the far end was Amantius. The two remaining slaves had no say in sharing with the eunuch. That was just as well, because no one else wished to share with him.
Maximus had no trouble settling into the life of a temporary nomad. Given some of the places they had been forced to sleep over the years, this was close to luxury. The tent was about thirty foot across, and each man had ample room for his bed roll. It was constructed of a framework of curved poles, over which felt hangings were stretched. An ingenious arrangement of cords allowed the hangings to be raised independently of each other to admit whatever breeze was blowing. The Heruli had brought food, a joint of mutton, strings of horsemeat sausages, and lots of their fermented mare’s milk. Maximus was developing a taste for the latter, and Calgacus, although still hampered by his arm, cooked the former outside.
You could not fault the hospitality of the Heruli. The very first evening they offered their guests some slave girls, attractive ones at that. For whatever reason — they muttered something about privacy — Ballista and Calgacus declined. Which was fine by Maximus. With what he deemed consideration, he took Ballista’s along with his own down to the riverbank. He chose what he thought was a secluded spot. Despite his long-enforced celibacy, everything went fine. After a time — a creditable time, if he said so himself — when it was finished, he discovered he had been wrong about the seclusion. A group of three Herul women washing clothes had appeared near by. They had giggled. Far from seeming shocked, Maximus had thought they looked rather impressed.
The following day, things had improved still more. In the tent, Ballista had immersed himself in reading. Unfortunately, he had taken to reading out and elucidating passages from Tacitus’s Annals. Neither Calgacus nor Tarchon making a particularly receptive audience, the comments had ended up directed mainly at Maximus. After a brief time, to escape the relentless political insights and literary sleights of hand, Maximus had gone out.