‘Have some bread and wine, then,’ Dardanies said.
He held out a torn piece of his own round of bread. Ohannes immediately proffered his wine flask and the man drank from it with the requisite constraint, not consuming too much. Still chewing he wiped his sleeve across his face before speaking again.
‘Why, that is kind of you, I feel right restored.’
‘Glad to provide for a fellow Christian.’
‘And where have you come from?’
Flavius was about to reply when Ohannes spoke to cut him off. ‘What matters where we all hail from, friend? It is the cause in which we make our way that matters.’
‘True enough, brother, true enough.’ A hand went to the soft cap on his head in a sort of salute. ‘Well, I say God’s blessings upon you and I will be heading on – with luck and your kindly sustenance I will come upon my comrades.’
‘You should not have spoken so freely,’ Ohannes hissed, as soon as the man was out of earshot. ‘And happen you should not have spoken at all!’
‘In what way do you mean?’
‘What lad your age, and at best a labourer, speaks educated as you do, has knowledge of the roads of the province, as well as how far it is to Axiupolis and can tell how far we still have to go to the general’s meeting place?’
‘Any number of folk know that, and you must have gone there with my father!’
‘I take leave to say they do not,’ the old man insisted, before addressing Dardanies, sat on the other side of Flavius. ‘You heard of Axiupolis?’
That got a shake of the head and a shrugged reply from the Sklaveni. ‘What’s done is done. Can you be certain talking to that fellow is a risk of any sort?’
‘Likely not,’ Ohannes replied, though he seemed far from mollified. ‘But best not to take a chance, best to keep a tight lip.’
‘You worry too much,’ Flavius murmured, his resentment at being checked obvious.
‘Thank the Lord someone has the sense to!’
As they had sat eating the air had grown heavy, as clouds rolled in from the north-west to first cover the sun, trapping the summer heat, then to thicken and darken, which was enough to let all know they were in for a downpour, and soon the first roll of thunder came rumbling to their ears and that meant lightning. With every post house full to bursting and likely to get even busier there was scant chance of shelter.
If it was known to be unsafe to shelter under a tree in such circumstances there was mutual agreement that it was better than standing out in the open and being lashed with rain. The clouds were turning black now and the thunder was regular, soon followed by the first visible flash of lightning cracking brightly across the sky.
‘Oh, for a shield,’ Ohannes called, ‘best thing going to keep your head dry.’
‘I have heard men being struck on the boss by lightning and killed,’ Flavius said, as the first drops of rain began to fall, large enough to bounce off the paving blocks from which the road was constructed.
‘Who’s to say it would not have done for them anyway.’
Dardanies had his sword out and was heading for the trees. ‘Time to build a shelter.’
Once into the woods, he began to slash at the thinner branches of the trees, soon aided by the others, who knew what he was about, just as they knew they had left it late to act. It was not long before they had a frame of sorts as well as the evergreen foliage with which to cover it, under which they could take shelter even if they were damp by the time it was up.
They sat huddled within this as the rain beat down, much of it caught in the trees above, yet enough falling to drip through their canopy and all the while the heavens rumbled and spat. To peer out was to see bolts of heavenly fire striking the ground, while all around the noise of thunder assailed them and the wind the storm whipped up had those under cover grabbing parts of their makeshift shelter to keep it in place.
‘Those are my gods speaking,’ Dardanies said. ‘It might do you well to listen.’
‘Never did much take to anyone shouting, divine or otherwise,’ Ohannes hooted, ‘an’ who would want to bow their head to such a temper?’
Flavius thought it politic to say nothing, especially when he saw the way the Sklaveni took the old man’s jest; it was not well received. So there they sat in silence until the sounds began to fade as the storm moved on, the rain easing until it eventually stopped. They stepped out to find steam rising from the paving, water dripping from the trees and the air still heavy and damp, with grey clouds filling the sky.
Others, who had taken similar shelter, began to emerge and if they were to a man far from dry, neither were they too concerned; it was summertime in a part of the world where clothing could dry out quickly, the only concern Flavius expressed being that the delay made it unlikely they would make the military camp near Marcianopolis before darkness.
‘Though we should keep going as long as we can, even after dark.’
‘Not with all that cloud,’ Dardanies contended. ‘Won’t be able to see hand before our face when the light goes.’
All around them parties of men were settling down for the night, disappearing into the deeper woods looking for timber still dry enough to make a fire, kindling being no problem. Flints were being plied to the small mound of still-dry leaf mould that would be the first to flame, they carried on as the light faded and the road emptied.
‘Can’t go much further than this,’ Ohannes said, holding up a hand to show that it was barely visible. ‘Let’s make camp.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was not the dawn chorus of birds that woke Flavius, but the point of a knife at his throat, in a light so dim that he could not make out the face of the man holding it, even as he leant forward to whisper in his ear, telling him to stay still and say nothing. The threat that others would die in their sleep if he did not was enough to ensure silence. Two things registered: the smell of stale wine on the fellow’s breath and the fact that, having chosen to sleep quite a distance from his companions – really from the snoring of Ohannes – he had rendered himself vulnerable.
The free hand grabbed his smock and hauled him into a sitting position, before it was laid on his back to push, a signal to stand up, which he did, all the time with the cold steel pressing on his flesh. The cowl with which he had covered his head was used now as a drag to get him away from his companions, this as shadowy shapes now emerged from behind trees to surround him.
‘What do you want?’ he croaked.
‘You, Flavius Belisarius.’
It was still warm, even in the predawn, yet he felt a chill at the use of the name and that induced silence without the need to be told to maintain it. More hands were on him now, as if seeking part possession of his being as he was hustled deep into the woods, so deep that if the light was increasing it was barely doing so here.
‘Who are you?’ he asked eventually, trying a louder tone.
‘Can’t you guess?’ came the reply, likewise no longer a whisper, which was worrying for it established how far he was from any hope of rescue. ‘We were the fellows who tipped you off that horse of yours, and those two black eyes, even if they are near to faded now, were a sure sign to any with eyes to see. Not many youngsters on the road south, even fewer with such marks on their face, who can’t keep from looking up time to time.’
‘Couldn’t help showing away, either, could you?’ said another, more authoritative voice. ‘Telling me how far I had come and what was left to go in that high-born Latin of yours, as if one of your years and a rusticus would know of such things.’
‘You are in the employ of Vicinus?’
‘Were, but the smell of coin was stronger with Vitalian. Hankered to visit Constantinople again too, only this time to come away with something to show for it instead of an empty belly. No need now, the senator will pay handsome for you, and why bother to weary ourselves marching or fighting?’