In the morning I said my farewells to Guntiarus, the king. As I mounted my horse, I glanced back for a moment. The prisoner was sitting on a horse between two guards. Her bare feet were roped beneath the horse’s belly, and her hands tied behind her back. She was a bedraggled looking creature, not much improved by a gag of some dirty cloth which concealed the lower part of her face. She stared at me with sullen hatred.
“Is that necessary?” I asked, pointing at the gag. I could see that it had been tied tightly, so that it cut into her flesh.
“Yes, sir. She’ll scream her head off, given half the chance. And they may be out looking for her. She’s tried to escape twice already.”
“Very well. If she tries again I shall hold you responsible.”
We rode off and I returned to my forts and my problems. For us there was no rest and little relief.
On the west bank nothing had changed. The soldiers still worked at their duties by day; building the palisade, digging ditches and improving the defences of the forts. The armoury was filled to overflowing with carefully made arrows and throwing spears, and the armourers grumbled at my insistence that we must have more and more—and still more. Each day the sun blazed in an unclouded sky, and our stock of drinking water had to be rationed, for the waters of the Rhenus were not safe in summer and men, before this, had died of fever after bathing and drinking there. The young cygnets that we had watched in the spring, paddling on the water, had grown large and were a darker colour now. Soon they would change altogether and be as white as their parents, who hissed angrily still, each time I threw bread to their inquisitive young. Quintus was fond of roast swan but these we did not take and eat. They had become our mascots and, like the soldiers, we believed that so long as they stayed they would bring us luck. And, all the while, the sentries patrolled the river bank in groups, stood in pairs upon the towers, leaning upon their spears, or tramped the firing platforms, wrapped in their thick cloaks (it was cold at night) and kept a soldier’s watch upon the dark, swirling waters of the Rhenus.
Rando’s daughter had been given a hut to herself, with a woman to look after her and a sentry at the door to see that there was no interference. I sent for her one morning, being curious to see her and perhaps learn something about her people.
She came, escorted by the sentry, and I waved the man out of my office so that we might be alone. She was a tall girl, with fair hair down her back, and she wore a blue, sleeveless gown, cut low across the breasts. It was girdled about the waist and very tight fitting about the body, as was customary with women of her race. She was very lovely. I shut the door and motioned her to sit down. She refused, with a shake of her head.
“Do you speak Latin?”
“A little. Can you speak Aleman?”
I said, “It is I, my girl, who asks the questions; not you.”
“And what will you do if I refuse? Beat me?”
“If I did so myself my motives would be open to misunderstanding.”
“So?” She looked puzzled.
“My centurions are experienced enough.”
“You would not dare. I am the daughter of a king.”
“The last time my people flogged a royal woman, her tribe rose against us. This time the tribe has risen without provocation, so the flogging is overdue. Are you being looked after properly?”
She was startled at the question. “Yes.”
“Have you any complaints?”
She laughed, bitterly. “Only the usual one of all prisoners. I want to be free.”
“You will be free on the day that your father gives me his assurance that no tribe will try to cross the river.”
“He will never do that.”
“That will be unlucky for you.”
“Why? Do the Romani still eat their prisoners?”
I laughed. “Not these days. Besides you are too skinny for our tastes.” I knew to what she was referring. Years before, two war leaders of the Franks, captured in battle, had been given to the wild beasts in the arena; and the story was a familiar one on both banks of the river.
She said in a low voice, “What will you do with me?”
“I could get a good price for you in the slave market at Treverorum.” I put my head on one side. “On the other hand, you would fetch more if I sent you south to Rome. They pay twenty solidii nowadays for an unskilled woman.” She flushed at the insult. I went on: “There is a demand for white-skinned girls there. And then again, you would fetch a better price still in Mauretania.” I paused. “Or I might keep you for myself. I could do with a woman in my house; and I shall need servants when I retire from the army to my villa.”
“If you did I would kill you when you were sleeping, and escape.”
I smiled. “I believe that you would.”
“But you—you would not dare to sell me. We are not at war so I cannot be a slave.”
“So you know our law, do you? You are a clever girl. Yet you are wrong. Yours is a race with whom we now have no friendship and no hospitality. If you capture a citizen of ours he is your slave, as you are mine.”
She was very white. She said in a whisper, “But there is a treaty, made by your general, Stilicho.”
“I agree. But you were taken in an action of war. Marcomir is an ally of ours. So you are still a slave for that reason.”
She was silent.
I said, “How many sisters have you?”
“Three.”
“Are you the eldest?”
“Yes.”
“One will not be missed over-much.”
She began to cry. I stepped forward. “There is no need. No harm will come to you if your father is sensible. I want you to write him a letter. I will have it written for you, and all you will have to do is to sign it.”
“He cannot read,” she muttered.
“There will be someone in his camp who can. Sign it and I will see that no harm comes to you.”
She cried again and swayed forward, sobbing, so that I was forced to hold her. I looked at the roof of the office.
I said, “There is nothing to worry about. Don’t cry, my child.”
She raised her face. “I will be your slave, if you wish.” She pressed her body against me, and her lips parted. She was young enough to be my daughter; but she was very beautiful, and I was still a man. I began to push her gently away. Then her arm moved from her cloak and I felt a terrible pain in my shoulder. I staggered back, shouted, and then half turned and fell across the table. The door burst open and the sentry ran in as she clawed at my face, trying to reach the dagger that was still inside me.
“Get a doctor,” I said. I tried to reach the dagger but it hurt too much. The room was full of people now; I was sitting on a stool, blood all over me; and the girl, a great bruise on her face where the sentry had hit her, was standing in a corner, her arms twisted behind her back; the sentry holding her as though he would like to cut her throat.