‘Make ’em more suspicious not to respond,’ the old man insisted, which got a growl from their escort.
It was not long before they were on a hard earth track, the route by which those hay carts would bring their wheat to the mill, a stone building just visible through a surround of high pines. Home to a great stone driven by oxen, it had to be given a wide berth; Senuthius was the owner and such a valuable resource would be operated on his behalf by someone he trusted, as well as having an armed guard, given it was a prime spot for a bit of pilfering. A sack of milled wheat was worth real money.
‘Trusted to cheat any freemen farmers,’ spat Ohannes when this was mentioned. ‘With a threat to their gizzard if they question the weight.’
‘There are few of them left, friend, just as there is nowhere else to take your ears of corn to be milled. Senuthius owns them all for leagues around and has done for years.’
‘How did he get so much power?’
‘He’s a senator and the son of a senator,’ Flavius replied, aware that his voice had ceased to occasionally squeak, to produce that unwanted whistling sound and was now, if not even in tone, at least deep in tenor. ‘He began as a rich man and has become much more so by his crimes.’
‘There are no rich men in the Sklaveni,’ Dardanies responded with evident pride, as they left the track to take a wide circular detour round the mill.
This got a raspberry from Ohannes. ‘There will be plenty of folk scratching to stay alive, just as there are those who have meat on their table every day. Never met a tribal elder without a belly on him and by the look of your lot they were no different.’
‘That’s all you know, old man.’
‘An’ I do know,’ Ohannes scoffed, ‘for where do you think I was raised? In the same kind of kinship as you. There’s those that prosper and those that scratch an’ don’t you go telling me it’s something else inside the empire than out.’
‘The Sklaveni are different.’
‘So you say, but I take leave to doubt it.’
‘One day I will show you,’ Dardanies insisted, obvious resentment in his tone.
‘You’ll have to drag me by the hair to do so,’ Ohannes hooted, ‘an’ since you have shorn me that will take a mite of doing.’
‘Look ahead,’ Flavius said quietly, which killed off what was likely to be a long argument, as well as a futile one. ‘Do they look like soldiers?’
The mill was well behind them now, easy to avoid being sighted from, thanks to those high pines, but if the trees had hidden the stone building they had also cut off any sight of what lay on the other side and that was a clutch of men, the weapons over the shoulders of some of them very obvious, one high point of what looked like a pike occasionally catching the sun. Other weapons looked to be spears and they were heading in the same direction as themselves, though not at a similar pace.
‘Maybe we should seek some cover.’
‘If we match their stride,’ Dardanies proposed, ‘we will not overtake them.’
‘If they are armed and on the senator’s land they are bound to be in his employ.’
‘And if they glance backwards,’ Flavius added, ‘what would you do then?’
‘Wait or have a look,’ Dardanies acknowledged.
He was clearly unhappy that they might have to do as Ohannes had said but there was little choice; the last thing they wanted to face was a group of fighting men employed by Senuthius when they were on land he might own. In the end he nodded.
‘Let’s find a hedge high enough to keep us hidden from this track and we will shadow them.’
Just then, one of the men up ahead skipped forward to turn and, walking backwards, relate something to his companions. In doing so he could not fail but see them, which had him pointing and speaking, the words they could not hear. The effect was to have all five of the others spin round, to stop and stare.
‘We keep walking now,’ Dardanies said, in a soft voice as if those up ahead could hear him.
‘No choice,’ Ohannes agreed.
‘Be a hard fight, two men against six.’
‘Three,’ Flavius growled.
‘I’ve seen him fight,’ Ohannes barked, before Dardanies could scoff. ‘Saved my skin too, so don’t you go reckoning on his being a dead weight. I have seen him put a spear in a man at distance too.’
‘Well just keep your face hidden, Belisarius,’ the Sklaveni barked. ‘If they spy you and know your face they will be ready for a fight before we get close.’
‘You mean to fight?’
‘It’s that or run and where are we going to run to?’
‘Might be able to take them by surprise,’ Ohannes suggested.
‘We’ll need to old man, if we’re to have any chance.’
‘Old I might be, but I have seen more blood than you, so pick your man and tell me who, so I can pick mine – you too, Master Flavius.’
The closing gap seemed to last a lifetime, with the men ahead standing in a very unthreatening way and awaiting their arrival. No weapons were made ready, no swords unsheathed and once close enough they could see that several of the men were smiling as if they were long-lost friends. They could also see that what they had taken to be spears were billhooks on long poles, the kind used to trim trees, not proper fighting weapons, but deadly in a close contest. The pike turned out to be a pollarding tool, a saw on a pole long enough to reach the high branches of a fruit tree.
‘This is like that girl on the ladder,’ Ohannes whispered, ‘makes no sense.’
‘It’s still dangerous,’ Dardanies insisted. ‘Hold your weapons loose till we are close enough to cast. Spears will even the odds.’
Flavius was aware of the wooden shaft in his hand, as well as the sweat of his palm upon it, which threatened to make it slippery. Added to that his mouth had gone completely dry and much as he tried to work up some saliva he could not. He had picked the fellow on the end opposite him – they were moving forward abreast and the men they were approaching were spread over the track – and his heart was beating furiously as he worked himself up to carry out something he had never yet done and that was to cast a spear at his victim when not himself feeling threatened. There was no sign that his chosen target intended him any harm.
He was back in his own home again, facing those two robbers, but wondering now if he could do what was required in cold blood, as he had done in reaction to the danger facing Ohannes. Under his breath he was murmuring, telling himself that these could be Senuthius’s men, people who at their master’s bidding would not hesitate to kill him, or indeed strip him of his skin with hot irons at the senator’s command.
‘Hail friends,’ called out the fellow in the right centre with the pollarding tool, speaking in common argot Greek. He was taller and more bulky than his companions and up close slightly better clad, his clothing a padded jerkin in good condition. ‘Do you come to join us in the cause of Jesus?’
‘We do indeed,’ Dardanies called back, revealing that he knew Greek as well as Latin, before dropping his voice. ‘Another ten paces, then we cast.’
The weapon they had supposed to be a pike was then raised, but aimed at the sky. ‘We have a long march till we join with General Vitalian, but it will be a cheerier one in company.’
‘Vitalian,’ Flavius croaked.
‘So?’
Flavius ignored the enquiry from Dardanies and called out quickly, for there was no time to explain. ‘You are joining the man who commands the foederati?’
‘What man would not, who cares about one day ascending to paradise?’
‘Keep hold of your spears,’ Flavius insisted, his voice a hiss.
‘We must act.’
‘Look at these men, do they threaten us?’ Then he called out again. ‘We are on the same purpose.’