THE SEA VOYAGE finally ended at Arelate on the southern coast of Gaul. The ship sailed up a wide canal to a fortified harbour packed with ships from all over the known world, from Greek and Egyptian trading ships to several huge naves longae, warships of the Roman navy. They had not been in port long before a delegation of Roman officials arrived. They were looking for Gunderic.
The welcoming committee were civil servants and senior military personnel sent by the Magister Militum to ensure the king of the Empire’s newest foederati made it safely to his new kingdom. If Gunderic had been tight-lipped on Gunhild’s marriage plans and the treasure of their father on the voyage, he was silent as a stone now they were surrounded by representatives of the Roman state.
Indeed, Gunderic appeared more Roman than the Romans themselves, grumbling about politics and the crumbling state of the Empire with the civil servants and swapping old war stories from his time with the Army with the soldiers. They stayed one night in the thriving port and Gunderic even insisted they attend the venationes and beast fights at the amphitheatre.
‘There was a time when we could have seen gladiators fight here, but not these days,’ he complained as they sipped wine and ate dainties. He sounded like some old senator, dismayed at the steep decline in Roman virtus the current age had brought.
The next day they set off north on the Via Agrippa, the main road that would take them towards the province of Maxima Sequanorum, where the new lands of the Burgundars lay. Letters provided by the officials allowed the Burgundars to use Imperial horses they collected from a stabula on the edge of the city. A military escort in the form of two turma units of cavalry accompanied them along the long, straight road.
The passports they had been supplied with allowed them to stay in mansiones. This network of hostelries run by the state allowed those travelling on Imperial business to change horses or rest for the night. They were comfortable enough, though functional rather than luxurious, but compared to the rat-infested hall of King Half with its leaking thatch, each mansio was like a palace to Gunhild.
The commander of the cavalry was gruff with his own men but polite to Gunderic and Gunhild. The Roman and Burgundar contingents of warriors maintained a respectful distance from one another, even in the evenings, but it was never left in any doubt that it was the Romans who were in charge.
Gunhild believed her brother about the seriousness of the consequences if the Romans found out whatever it was he was up to, so she did not mention it on the journey. They were never alone so there was little chance to press the matter anyway.
It took six days to reach Lugdunum, the capitol of Maxima Sequanorum, then they turned east on the Via Vienne Aust, the Roman road that led to Geneva.
Craggy mountains, their summits covered in snow, rose to the north as they travelled on. A mighty, wide river wound its way back and forth beside the road. It rained every day and the horses’ hooves sometimes skidded on the paving stones of the road. The countryside looked fertile but the further they travelled, the more deserted it appeared to be. The farmsteads they passed became further and further apart. Eventually, all the settlements they rode past were abandoned and falling into ruin.
‘Where are the people?’ Gunhild said as they rode along. ’I presume someone lived here before General Aetius was so generous as to give it to us.’
‘The Allobroges tribe lived here since the days of Julius Caesar,’ Gunderic said. ‘But the Alemanni draw ever closer from the north-east. They raid into these lands and life on the borders has become too dangerous for ordinary folk. Most have moved away.’
‘Driving out the Alemanni will be your first job, Lord King,’ Lucius, the cavalry commander said. He used a respectful title but his tone of voice left no doubt that he was conveying the expectations that rested on the Empire’s new allies. ‘It won’t be easy. The Alemanni are tough bastards. But that’s what the Magister Militum put you here for: to stop the Alemanni from bothering the good citizens of the Empire.’
‘And it leaves plenty of room for our folk to move into,’ Gunderic said to Gunhild.
As they moved further into the territory, signs of that movement began to appear. The occasional abandoned farmsteads and settlements began to show signs of repair and new habitation. They were ringed by newly dug defensive ditches and palisade fences, their freshly sharpened tops still white. Smoke drifted from within into the clear blue sky. Fields around them showed signs of cultivation. There were flocks of sheep and herds of cows. Gunhild’s heart quickened when she saw wolves, lightning, sun wheels and even black eagles painted on the gates of the palisades. They were crude but unmistakable: the emblems of the clans of the Burgundars.
The road led towards a very large settlement at the point where the wide river ran into an enormous lake, quite easily the largest Gunhild had ever seen. If it were not for the outlines of ragged mountains visible on the far shores she would have sworn they were riding towards the sea. The town had a wall of stone which the Romans must have been involved with building. There was also a great wooden bridge stretching across the river’s mouth. It joined the main town to some sort of offshoot of it on the lake shore across the river. There was a large harbour in the lake filled with boats. Their masts made a little forest beside the water.
‘That’s Geneva,’ Gunderic said, pointing to the city on the lake shore. ‘It will be our new home.’
News of their arrival spread and as they got closer to the city people began to come out to line the roads. They waved and cheered as the company rode by. Gunhild did not recognise any specific faces, but they looked and felt familiar: the way they wore their hair, their clothes, and above all the tongue they shouted greetings in. They were Burgundars.
Gunhild felt tears sting her eyes and found it hard to swallow. The feeling of relief was overwhelming. She really was back among the people she thought were gone forever.
The expectation on the faces of the people also made her remember she was not just back among her own folk. She was part of the royal clan of the Burgundars, the daughter of their last king and the sister of their new one. She was a rare surviving link to their past and it was now her role to help lead them into whatever future awaited them in this new land.
There was also a physical difference in the crowds of the people lining the road and singing old familiar songs, compared to the old days in Vorbetomagus. There were a lot of young people. Gunhild felt she was older than most of them. There were a few old men and women, but very few men in their prime. It seemed most of the folk who had survived the massacre at Vorbetomagus were the ones small enough to hide, fast enough to run away, or too old to have gone anywhere near the battle. Or perhaps the rest of their surviving men were still in the Roman Army. The warriors who had accompanied them from the land of the Danes made up a small contingent. Gunhild felt a pang of worry. Would they be able to protect their new borders without a horde of fighting men?
At the gates of the city the crowds were more packed. A delegation of official-looking people stood in the middle of the road, waiting for the arrival of the royal siblings. One wore a toga, notable as it was starting to go out of fashion, even for those in public life. He was middle-aged and balding with a large belly. Beside him was a man in the robes and headgear of a Christian bishop.
They reined the horses to a halt and dismounted. Their cavalry escort remained on horseback, each trooper eyeing the crowd for any hint of trouble.
‘Welcome to your kingdom, Lord King,’ the churchman said in Latin, dipping his head to Gunderic. ‘I am Publius Salonius and I am happy to say that the Holy Father, the Pope, has appointed me as bishop of this region.’
‘Has he?’ Gunderic said. ‘How good of him. I wasn’t aware of requesting any ecclesiastical assistance just yet. I have barely sat down myself on my new throne.’
‘The Holy Father was most anxious that this new kingdom is founded in the right way, at least from a Christian sense,’ Bishop Salonius said, with a condescending smile. ‘He is aware of the Burgundar people’s previous errors of faith and their adherence to the Arian heresy. He is most keen that this rebirth of the Burgundar kingdom will from its very inception be within the bosom of the True Faith, that is, the Church of Rome. It is my joyous task to set up the Church in this land where it has been so far abandoned.’
‘Of course, of course,’ Gunderic said. ‘And I share his ambitions. I was in the Army, of course, and we were taught the True Religion there. Let me know whatever you need.’
‘Well, Lord King,’ the bishop said with an apologetic smile, ‘unfortunately these undertakings are expensive. The Church will need financial support if she is to grow here. Substantial financial support.’
‘Gaius Marcus Flavius, Lord King,’ the balding man in the toga said. ‘While Bishop Salonius represents spiritual matters I am here on state matters. I will provide you with the necessary guidance that will ensure you can set up the necessary civil apparatus to run an efficient Roman client kingdom.’
‘The Empire has been very generous to me,’ Gunderic said, smiling. ‘Now let us go to our new home.’
As the procession entered the city, the sense of dereliction there was palpable. There were many stone Roman buildings, but there were holes in their walls and roofs and many of them looked empty. The paved road petered out mere steps within the walls, its stones robbed for other purposes and replaced by wooden planks.
At the same time there were many signs of repairs. There had been rudimentary fixes to some of the crumbling walls. Thatch filled the holes in shingled roofs and the street was lined with crowds of people.
Gunhild felt excitement coursing through her. The faces of the people they passed recognisable as Burgundars, like those they had passed outside. They cheered and waved as the royal siblings passed. Gunhild noted again the looks of expectation in the eyes of those in the crowd.
In the centre of the city they came to a large hall. It was long and narrow, with great double doors at one end, but like the rest of the city it had seen better days. One of the doors was askew. It looked like it had fallen on its hinges and was now jammed half open. Birds flew in and out of the disintegrating roof, for there were many holes in the rotting thatch.
‘This was the grand hall of the king of the Allobroges,’ Gunderic said as they approached the entrance. ‘The people who lived here before. But it was abandoned with the rest of the city when the Alemanni moved within striking distance of Geneva.’
‘And does that not mean that we are now in striking distance?’ Gunhild said.
‘The Allobroges were conquered by Rome four centuries ago,’ Gunderic said, making a face. ‘They became civilised – soft. They were too reliant on Rome’s army and not on the strength of their own sword arms for protection. When the Army was stretched too far, fighting crises in the rest of the Empire and unable to protect the Allobroges, they had no choice but to move somewhere safer. We Burgundars are not like that. We are strong enough to look after ourselves. That’s why General Aetius has granted us their land.’
Gunhild looked around. There were many crowding around them, certainly enough to make the Roman cavalry nervous, but their numbers were still meagre enough, especially when it came to men of fighting age.
‘What if the Alemanni raid again?’ Gunhild said. ‘Do we have enough warriors to defend ourselves? What if they decide they want this land instead of us.’
‘They are not strong enough yet,’ her brother said. ‘Otherwise they would already be here. They will come, eventually, and when they do we will be ready for them. We must be ready for them.’
‘You better be,’ the Roman cavalry commander said with a guffaw. ‘It’s what you’re here for.’
He, the civil servant and the bishop all laughed. Gunhild caught the glowering look her brother shot in the Romans’ direction. The position and purpose of the Burgundars was clear. Gunderic might be a king of his people, but when it came to the Roman Empire, such a barbarian chieftain was still lower in the pecking order than a Roman bishop and even a civil servant.
‘And so we are now a buffer between the barbarians and the road to Rome,’ Gunhild said.
The smile faded from the face of Flavius, replaced by an unmistakable look of contempt. He cocked his head back so he looked down his nose at her.
‘Roman women know their place in society,’ he said. ‘Their opinion, especially on political matters, is of no consequence.’
‘Come now,’ Gunderic said, forcing a smile to his face. ’Let’s not fall out so soon. My sister was always a girl of strong opinions. Don’t let her irritate you. Shall we go in?’
Gunhild glared at her brother, her cheeks flushing. At the sight of it the Romans smiled again. Gunderic led the way into the hall, entering through the jammed open door. The cavalry troopers formed a line across the entrance, stopping the crowds from following.
The inside of the hall was gloomy. Deep shadows masked the corners of the long central room. The floor was tessellated but many tiles were missing, leaving gaps in the mosaic pictures of heroes, gods and twisting vegetation. There were two large fire pits filled with the mouldering ash of long-dead blazes. A long table stretched across the length of the hall, disappearing into the darkness at the end. There were wooden platters and overturned goblets on it, draped in heavy blankets of cobwebs. The occasional chair and bench sat shoved back from the table as if long ago feasters had finished their meal, left in a hurry and never returned.
The air was heavy with the stench of mould and rancid grease. Dust motes circled in the shafts of sunlight that came through the holes in the roof above. As well as the birds that flew through those holes, there also came a scratching and rustling from the thatch that made Gunhild’s skin crawl; it was the unmistakable sound of rats. At some time in the past a seed had also come through one of the holes in the thatch and taken root in the dirt floor. Now a young tree reached up, poking its branches towards the light.
‘This is quite the royal palace,’ Gunhild said.
‘One day, sister,’ Gunderic said, ignoring her sarcasm, ‘this will be the most magnificent of feasting halls. Kings will come from all over the world. Mighty warriors will hear of its fame and beauty and come here to pledge allegiance to my warband.’
He spread his arms wide and looked all around, his expression suggesting he was imagining the place far differently to what lay at present before his eyes.
‘So this is Gunhild, the most beautiful woman in the world?’
A new voice swam from out of the gloom at the far end of the hall, making all in their party turn around. He spoke in the Burgundar tongue though with a northern accent. Gunhild peered hard and saw for the first time that a man sat at the far end of the long table. He was reclining in a grand wooden chair so large and ornately carved that it must once have belonged to the king of the Allobroges. He had both feet on the table, crossed at the ankles, and his hands clasped behind his head.
He unclasped his hands, swung his legs off the table and stood up. Gunhild’s eyes widened. Flavius the civil servant frowned. The cavalry commander stiffened his back and the bishop drew a sharp intake of breath.
The man now standing at the end of the table was a giant.