He should have been there. He was old, and his arm and shoulder were not good, but he should have been there. Calgacus felt sick every time it struck him how close he had come to losing Ballista. All these years together, and now there was the curse on the boy — Kill all his family, all those he loves — a curse on both of them. Pythonissa had prayed not for Ballista to die, but to live on in misery. But curses can play out in unexpected and awful ways if the powers of the underworld listen. Who would they heed, if not a priestess of Hecate? Calgacus was not going to let Ballista get killed out here in this alien wilderness of grass. He was not going to leave the bastard’s side until they were hundreds of miles away, not until they were safe back in Sicily, safe in the villa in Tauromenium.
As he walked with Ballista and the familia through the Heruli camp to the assembly, he turned the ambush over in his mind. It had been well planned. The Alani had struck at the right time, and in the right place. How had they known there were no sentries along the bank of the river? How had they known the battue would end there at all? Treachery was the obvious answer. Ballista had to be right; not all the Heruli were happy with the extraordinary reforms of Naulobates. It stood to reason: not every fucker wants his world turned upside down.
The market had been stripped of traders. Its open space was filling with black clusters of Heruli. As guests, Ballista and his familia wedged themselves right at the back, up against a wagon. A great drum thundered, and more tribesmen pushed in from the various alleys. The groups of Heruli coagulated into a solid, slightly shifting mass. Yet more surged in, creating small eddies in the crowd.
Naulobates clambered on to an open-top wagon on the far side. He moved stiffly, using a spear as a staff. He sat in his accustomed plain wood chair. He was on his own.
‘What is the meaning of this gathering? What do you want?’ Heruli called out from the crowd.
Calgacus smiled. The Heruli had not lost all their old equality in the God-given reforms of their king turned First-Brother. There was a spark left of the people who once killed their rulers for no better reason than they did not like them.
Naulobates raised the spear so he could be heard.
The Heruli were quiet.
‘I want your counsel.’ Naulobates’ strange, high voice carried well. It gave no sign of the wounds, or the pain he must still be suffering. Hercules’ hairy arse, but that fucker was tough.
‘Some years ago,’ Naulobates began, ‘we exchanged solemn vows of peace with the Alani. Both sides swore by anemos and akinakes, the only gods the Alani recognize. We spilt the blood of many oxen. Now the Alani have attacked our brothers who were escorting a Roman embassy. Against the laws of all gods and all men, they tried to kill the Roman envoy. Not content with such treachery and sacrilege, they ambushed us when we were hunting. They have broken their oaths. It means war. The gods are on our side. But how should we fight the war? Give me your counsel.’
The assembly buzzed like a disturbed hive. Discordant voices called out the names of those whom they wanted to speak. Calgacus knew some of them: Andonnoballus, Uligagus, Artemidorus. Eventually, the majority were shouting for one Aruth. The rest fell moderately quiet.
Aruth was a stocky man; one of the Rosomoni with a particularly pointed skull. He was fit to bursting with moral outrage. The Alani were scum; cowardly, sly bastards. His address was long for the brevity of its message. The Heruli should saddle their horses now, this very day, and ride south to sweep the fucking Alani shit from the Steppes. What Aruth lacked in oratorical skills was compensated for by his utter foul-mouthed vehemence.
The next speaker was Pharas. In more measured terms, he supported Aruth. There was no excuse for delay; what was needed was immediate retribution. They would be outnumbered, but the gods would hold their hands over the Heruli. There was laughter when someone yelled, Where had Pharas been when the battue was attacked? — he had not been so brave then. Pharas turned the laughter to his own advantage. Yes, he had gone to relieve himself. Nothing was more typical of Alani cowardice than to attack a man when he was trying to have a shit in peace.
Clearly, the firebrand and scatological approach initiated by Aruth was not to all tastes. After much bellowing, Artemidorus was summoned to address the assembly.
‘At last, my brothers, I must break my silence. Listen to the words of an old man.’
There was much hooting and laughter. It seemed the lines were not new. Calgacus got the latter dark joke. He presumed the former must have something to do with the reputation of all Greeks for talking too much.
When the amusement ebbed, Artemidorus continued in statesman-like mode. ‘The Alani have thirty thousand riders. We muster no more than ten thousand. If we go south, their sheer numbers will overwhelm our courage. The gods do not favour reckless arrogance. We should elect a war leader, have him sit on the hide and summon our tributaries and allies. But, we should not forget, that will do no more than double our numbers. We should move the herds and the main camp north. Let the Alani come to us. If we draw them out on to the endless expanse of the sea of grass, our superior discipline and skill will let us isolate and surround them.’
Some roared their approval. Others shouted that it was just the sort of backsliding advice you would expect from a Greek. More speakers followed. None added anything new to the lines of the debate.
Nearly an hour later, Naulobates had heard enough. Leaning on his spear, he rose to address his brothers. For the first time, the silence was complete.
‘Brothers, you give me good counsel, all of it expressed with the freedom of our forefathers. I am sure our brother Artemidorus will not take offence when I say the Greeks have nothing to teach us with their so-called democracy.’
The Heruli enjoyed this.
‘If you will accept it, my plan takes these trails.’
The assembly listened.
‘Artemidorus and those of his mind are correct that we should move our animals, women and children north, as far as possible out of harm’s way. Again, they are correct that we must elect a war leader and have him raise all the warriors we can by sitting on the hide.’
There were murmurs of gratification from the more circumspect.
‘However, Aruth and the others have the right of it when they say we must not be supine and wait. Our inaction would encourage the audacity of the Alani. We must take the fight to the oath-breakers. When the levies are complete, we must ride south.’
There was a happy uproar. Naulobates rode the noise, letting it play itself out.
‘One thing remains,’ he said. ‘Who do you want as your war leader?’
Men shouted for Naulobates. What surprised Calgacus was that not every Herul shouted for the First-Brother.
‘Andonnoballus!’
‘No, he has still got his mother’s milk on his lips!’
‘Artemidorus!’
‘He is not up to it — too cautious!’
‘Aruth! We want Aruth!’
‘No brains!’
‘Naulobates! Naulobates!’ The name drowned out the others.
‘Do you all agree?’
‘We all agree!’
Four Heruli climbed up on to the open wagon where Naulobates stood. Each had in his hands a clod of mud from the riverbank. These they placed on Naulobates’ head.
As the mud ran through his sparse hair, down over his face and into his beard, Naulobates thanked his brothers for the honour they did him.