Maximus felt somewhat better. He had persuaded Calgacus to cook, and he had eaten a great deal in the morning. If only there had been some bacon. He had dozed most of the rest of the day. Now, he was little worse than weary. Before they left the tent, he had drunk a cup of unmixed wine to liven himself up.
They came to the trees around the meadow, dismounted and tethered their horses. Even in the heat of August — Maximus made it eight days before the ides, but he was far from sure — the meadow was still green. The flowers had gone, but the grass was verdant. There had to be a spring or watercourse just below the surface. A quick look up confirmed that the treetops contained no miscreants, live or dead, to spoil the idyll. Perhaps his overwhelming victory had mellowed Naulobates. Still, they had better be careful. The gods alone knew what insane instructions for the First-Brother Brachus might bring back from the world of daemons.
A broad, roofless chamber of screens had been erected under the spreading oaks. They belled out in the steady northern wind. There was much activity around the cooking fires downwind.
At the entrance, they were greeted by two Heruli in the fine accoutrements of Alani noblemen. Both guards smiled, put their right palms to their foreheads.
One by one, they were announced. Somehow, Maximus’s thoughts were still not sharp. He was the last. Waiting, he noticed the screens were of fine linen and the sort of ornamented hangings the Greeks and Romans prepared for a wedding.
Inside, Naulobates sat alone on a couch at the far end. Two lines of chairs, most occupied, ran the length of each side towards the First-Brother. Maximus was given a silver cup to make his prayers. He was not a man given to bothering the gods, but he knew what was expected. He composed his face into what he considered a suitably pious expression, emptied his mind and drank the wine in one. It caught a little on the back of his throat and was unwelcome in his stomach. Thanks to the earlier livener, he neither spluttered nor brought it back up.
A Herul showed him to where the Romans were seated. Ballista was first, on the right of Naulobates, then Castricius, Tarchon, Biomasos and Hippothous. Maximus was seated between the Greek and the Herul leader, Pharas. Checking, Maximus could see no obvious danger. He was only a few paces from Ballista, and they were all armed. He must try not to get too drunk.
The space was lit by torches. Dark clouds scudded over the swaying branches above. Maximus realized that Naulobates was not alone. At one end of his long couch sat Andonnoballus and a boy of about seven or eight. Looking at the opposite line of chairs, Maximus saw Peregrim, the nephew of the Urugundi King Hisarna. More startling, next to him was Aruth. The Herul looked thin and badly sunburnt. Either Naulobates had shown uncharacteristic clemency, or Aruth had survived nine nights and days in the cage.
A servant poured two cups of wine in front of Naulobates, and took one to Ballista. The First-Brother and Ballista drank to each other. The next cup went to Peregrim, the third to Castricius. There were thirty men on the chairs. It went on a long time. The cups passed out glittered silver in the wavering torchlight. Naulobates’ was plain wood. Each guest downed his; Naulobates merely sipped.
The toasts concluded, tables were set up and food put out. Again, Naulobates paraded his unconcern for luxury. On the wooden platter placed in front of him were some simple cuts of cooked meat. The guests ate elaborate dishes off heavy silver. The cooks had to be captives from Greece, probably from Ionia.
Maximus asked Pharas who the boy with Andonnoballus was. The Herul looked uncomfortable, and leant close to reply.
‘It is a prophecy the First-Brother received on one of his daemon journeys. He was told that after he had sacked the city of Athens he would relinquish his rule of the Heruli when he was translated simultaneously into both master and slave. Andonnoballus would succeed him. When the latter fate befell Andonnoballus, the boy Odoacer would be the chosen, who would lead the Heruli to a better place.’
‘What better place?’
Pharas shrugged.
‘And Naulobates believes this?’ asked Maximus.
‘Naulobates believes this,’ Pharas said in a flat voice.
‘And you?’
‘The First-Brother has the mandate of the deity.’
After the first course, there was another round of toasts. Maximus was feeling much better. He had no problem at all downing his cup to the First-Brother.
After the second course, there was no more food except nuts, cheese and dried fruits. There was a lot more drink. Maximus was warming to the occasion.
A bard stood in the middle and sang a song of the glorious victory of the Heruli over the Alani. The singer concentrated on the martial virtues of Naulobates, but included graceful compliments to his ally Hisarna of the Urugundi, and to Ballista and Tarchon. The slaying of the evil Saurmag was a good verse. The audience was rapt. Some Heruli were moved to tears. Castricius and Hippothous, not knowing the language of Germania, appeared less involved. The little Roman had his eyes on the trees above, lost in thought. The Greek had his eyes fixed on a young Herul opposite. It had better be physiognomy, not lust, Maximus thought.
The song ended with a flourish. Naulobates took a thick gold band from his arm, and gave it to the bard. Then he stood, and the only sounds were the splutter of the torches and the snap of the screens.
‘We have won a great victory, but not yet the war. Like a viper, Safrax has slithered back to his nest. We killed many, and many of his riders, but many remain. The Croucasis will see hard fighting. In the mountains, the great-hearted infantry of the Urugundi will come into their own.’
The Heruli cheered and yipped. Peregrim, although rather flushed, made a face full of dignity.
‘But tonight is a celebration.’ Naulobates paused, looking out over the hangings at the racing blackness of the night.
When he resumed, his voice was thoughtful. ‘A man can have only three blood-brothers. It is our law. I have Uligagus, Pharas and Aruth.’
Naulobates gestured. Three armour bearers stepped into the middle. They carried a spear, a buckler and a gorytus bound in white leather. Behind them a man led in a great red horse. At the noise, the stallion rolled its eyes and tossed its head.
‘It is permitted a man to have many sons-in-arms. Tonight I will give the honour to Dernhelm, son of Isangrim, son of Starkad.’
Maximus, along with everyone else, looked at Ballista. The Angle’s face was completely without expression. Ballista got to his feet. He went to the stallion and, with slow, open movements, he took its bridle. Speaking softly, with no hurry, he calmed the animal. Eventually, he brought his face close to its nostrils, talking all the time he needed, letting his breath mingle with that of the horse.
Returning the bridle to the handler, Ballista stepped before Naulobates. He buckled the bowcase to his belt, the small shield to his arm, and took the spear in his hand.
Ballista got to one knee. He placed the spear upright in front, both hands around its shaft.
Naulobates cupped his hands over those of Ballista. ‘From this moment, you are my son. Wherever you go, my daemon Brachus will watch over you.’
The horse was led out, and Ballista took his seat again.
Naulobates had not finished. A servant appeared, carrying a cup that flashed gold.
‘Tarchon of Suania, you killed Saurmag, the would-be tyrant of your people, the crooked advisor of Safrax. When you drink, all will remember your valour on that day. It is a custom of our people.’
Tarchon stood and took the cup. Now Maximus could see it was a gilded skull — the skull of Saurmag.
Tarchon was beaming with straightforward pleasure.
Naulobates turned to Ballista and smiled. ‘Your gorytus is bound in his skin.’