I was startled. I crossed the room and swung her round. “What is that you are saying? Is that true? Did he touch you before I brought you away?”
“Yes,” she cried. “He did. And though I hate him for it, he, at least, is a man. He is not like you. You are only a Roman.” She wrenched herself free and fled from the room. I did not understand. I went back to the table and sat down. I picked up the map of the area and studied it. Maps were easy to read.
The weather broke at last. The sun and the blue sky vanished and we had days of fine, driving rain that left the fields sodden, and which brought with them a cold wind that made us reach for our cloaks each time that we stepped out of our huts into the open. It was on one of these days that a messenger arrived from Bingium. He had ridden all night and he stood dripping water all over my office while he apologised for the delay due, so he said, to a loose horse-shoe. The letter from Fabianus explained his urgency. “Come quickly to the camp of Marcomir,” he wrote. “Only you can prevent a great disaster.”
I left Quintus in charge, took ten men as an escort under Barbatio, and reached Bingium in a little over two hours. There, a boat was waiting for me and, on the east bank, under guard of a group of Fabianus’ men, fresh horses to carry us the remainder of the way. It was still raining when I reached Marcomir’s berg; the stockade was full of armed men, and alarm and anger were the signs I recognised on all the faces that I met. Fabianus, his cloak dripping, met me outside the prince’s hut. Two dozen horses or more were standing there, fully saddled, and many of the men on guard were Alans as well as Franks.
“Well,” I said. “Tell me what is wrong that I must put right.”
He said, in a dead voice, “A party of Vandals raided the berg three nights ago. They came secretly and they went secretly.”
“If it was not a war party what did they want? To spy?”
“They cut the throats of the few guards, but that was all. They went to the women’s side and took the wife of Marcomir from her hut.”
I blinked. “Go on.”
“They had a two hour start before the affair was discovered. Marcomir was away at the time visiting a post that had been attacked the previous day.”
“That was clever of them.”
“Yes. I was in camp. I followed them with two sections and men from the prince’s war band. But we never caught them. The trail ran clear, through a litter of murdered sentries and wiped-out patrols.”
Fabianus wiped the rain from his face. He said, “She was very popular. It was a good match—a fine marriage. It is an insult to be wiped out only in blood. The whole tribe is arming now.”
I said, “He cannot be allowed to go on the war trail. That is what they want. They will destroy him, and then us. And none of it will help his wife.”
“I told him all that. He would not listen to me.”
“Will he listen to me though?”
“That is why I sent for you, sir.”
“Where is he now?”
He jerked his head sideways. “In his hall, holding a council.”
“I shall not see him there. Is he armed?”
“Not yet.”
“I will talk to him in his hut when he arms. It will be best to see him when he is alone. Now get me a dry cloak and some wine. I am very tired.”
I waited under shelter by the stables while men ran past with war-harness and gear, and more and more clans poured into the stockade from the outlying districts. It was cold and I was wet through but it was best that no-one saw me, so I put my cowl over my head and told my men to do the same.
Fabianus squelched through the mud. “Quick. He has gone. Now is the time.”
I nodded and went with him. Outside the hut, with the rain dripping off the porch a light flared suddenly and a bulky figure moved and stood before me. I dropped my hand to my sword and then saw who it was. “Fredegar.”
He nodded, his face streaked with wet. “You have come,” he grunted. “That is good.”
“Have you spoken with him?” I asked.
“Yes. I was at the council meeting. It is all decided.”
“And so?”
“Blood has been spilt. It must be re-paid.”
“I have come to stop him.”
“So. You will be lucky. He will not listen to me.”
“He is mad.”
“Of course.” He glanced at me ironically. “Men are always mad where women are concerned. They let their bellies rule their heads.”
“But you will go with him?”
“Yes. It does not matter what I think. He is my lord and my prince. Your officers would do the same for you.” He smiled with bared teeth.
“Have you no influence? You know what will happen?”
He spat sideways and shook his head so that the rain drops flew from his beard. “Of course. Yet I have ridden too many years at his side not to know that I cannot change the path his horse walks. He goes where he chooses; I follow.”
“What about her father? Does he know? Will he help?”
He shrugged. He said, “She is of us now. It is our matter. Besides, you are here; you will aid us.”
I glanced at Fabianus and saw him looking at me expectantly. I said, “I am a soldier, not a husband.”
“So.” He stepped aside. “Go in then and let each do what he must.”
I nodded and went in. I pulled back the skins covering the entrance to the inner room and stepped inside. He was standing in the centre by his great fur-lined bed, his arms held out, while two young men dressed him in the apparel fitting to a war lord of the Franks. His face was cold, remote, expressionless, like the stone face of a god upon an altar. Only the black marks round his eyes betrayed the reality of his grief.
I said, “I have heard your news. I would share your sorrow if it would help, oh my brother.”
He said, “You have come to help us. I am glad. Fabianus will have told you.”
“You are going to make war?”
“Yes. I am going to make war.”
I said, “It is best to fight when one is cool. Men who are angry make mistakes.”
“I am not in the mood for making anything but war.”
I sat down upon the bed. I said, slowly, “You made a pact to serve our emperor, whose general I am. It was agreed between us that no attack should be made without my permission. Do you mean to betray my trust in you?”
He said, “It is not your wife who is in their hands.”
I said, “That is understood.” I watched his face, saw him adjusting his sword belt with deliberate care, and realised that he was in the grip of a cold rage that nothing could penetrate.
I said, “You realise what you are doing?”
“Yes. I and my people know.”
“What is your plan?”
“We shall try to rescue her first, secretly. If that fails, then we shall attack the camp.”
“The daughter of Rando is our prisoner. I will be glad to use her as a bargaining counter. That is what I would do in your place.”
“But you are not in my place. She is an Aleman and Douna—my wife—is in the hands of Godigisel. The Alemanni and the Vandals will not help each other in this matter.”
“If you fight, you will destroy yourself and your people.”
He said, “Your men took one prisoner out of their raiding party. He had twisted an ankle and they had left him behind in their haste to escape. You will find what is left of him upon two poles behind this hut. When I have the Vandal king in my hands I shall make him feel that he is dying.”
I said, “I am your friend in this matter, as in all other matters. But I must warn you of one thing. Do not ask me to help. If you go out against the Alemanni and the Vandals I cannot support you with even one man from my legion.”