ALL ROADS MAY have led to Rome, but since the Imperial Court was moved to the marsh-flanked Ravenna, the fastest way to move across country from there was by boat.
After the formalities of Hagan swearing the sacramentum militare oath for the second time in his life to rejoin the Roman Army, he had little time to gather belongings for the journey before he and Zerco were led by bodyguards of General Aetius to the port where they boarded a ship of the Roman navy. There was no longer a need for Hagan to be guarded: Arminius had got his reward for bringing him to Ravenna. Now Hagan had sworn the oath of allegiance, if he did not carry out the will of General Aetius he would be a deserter and bring down on himself all the dire punishments associated with that. Besides all that, Aetius was sure Hagan was now committed to the task.
The boat was a small coastal vessel that mainly ferried supplies up and down the coast of Italia. As when he’d first sailed into Ravenna not that long ago, Hagan was stunned by the beauty of the sea they sailed over. It was still early spring, but the water was bright and clear and such an intense azure colour that it dazzled the eyes and enticed him, siren-like, to dive in. The knowledge that it was likely to be freezing cold stopped him.
They sailed north-east, crossing the Mare Hadriaticum, passing beaches with white sand and many towns and fishing villages. It looked like a pleasant area to spend time and Hagan hoped he could return there one summer. He was sure he could find some sort of work and perhaps spend his evenings lounging on the sandy beaches and enjoying the local wines.
Observing Hagan looking wistfully at the coast, Zerco reached up and nudged his elbow.
‘If we find that treasure,’ the short man said in his lisping voice, ‘maybe you’ll be able to buy a nice villa here, eh?’
‘The only reward I seek from this journey is to be reunited with my kindred,’ Hagan said.
Zerco grunted.
‘So you say,’ he said. ‘But the general told me you refused to have anything to do with this trip until he mentioned the gold. That and the king’s sister. You can protest all you want, my idealistic friend, but you’re just like everyone else. At the mention of wealth or a nice pair of tits you become a slave, just the same as me.’
Hagan gave him a sharp look.
‘I am not a slave,’ he said. ‘I am a free-born Burgundar and warrior of my tribe. And I am also now a milite arcanum. I’m a Roman soldier.’
‘Warriors and soldiers are just the slaves of their generals and kings,’ Zerco said. ‘Their lives belong to men like Aetius who do what they want with them and throw them away when they need to.’
Hagan frowned and walked away. Zerco somehow made him feel uncomfortable. At first he had felt bad that perhaps he was reacting to the man’s deformed appearance. Now he realised that it was Zerco’s character that irritated him. Perhaps it was the hard life the short man had no doubt endured, but there was something rotten within him, like his spirit was as twisted and dark as his unfortunate body.
When the ship arrived at Aquileia, Hagan and Zerco disembarked. They wandered through the large, beautiful city, Hagan marvelling at the architecture. With its wide squares, life-like sculptures and elegant fountains, fine cathedral, big houses and busy port, it was easy to see why several emperors had maintained palaces there.
Much as he would have liked to, Hagan knew that they could not dally there. Every day that passed meant one day less Aetius would be prepared to wait for his answer. Besides that, Hagan was eager to once more be among his own folk… though if they found out he was there at the behest of Rome how would they react? He could well find himself swinging from a noose thrown over the nearest tree.
Using letters of authority from Aetius, Hagan and Zerco procured horses from an official Imperial stable. They set off along the main road that led away from Aquileia, the Via Posthumia. This road went directly west across the north of Italia, through Tarvisium, on to Vicentia and then on to Verona. Every major part of the journey was ticked off at regular intervals by milestones, the road markers that ultimately led all the way back to the Golden Milestone that stood at the heart of Rome.
Hagan mused that it was these milestones and roads that were the ultimate markers of Roman civilisation. They ran right to the limits of the Empire and then stopped. Beyond was barbarian territory. Where the borders of Rome had previously extended further, the roads were still there but falling into disrepair. Every Roman knew that when the roads ran out, you had reached the edge of the Empire.
Hagan was surprised that, despite his very short legs, Zerco was able to ride a horse well. The little man explained that four years living among the Huns had taught him everything that could be known about how to ride.
Imperial messengers could cover up to two hundred miles a day, but Hagan and Zerco could not ride as fast as them. Nonetheless the documents supplied by Aetius allowed them to make use of the same network of official hostelries where they could change horses or rest for the night, so Hagan still expected they could cover the four hundred or so Roman miles of their journey in days rather than weeks.
Hagan found himself thinking that had there not been uncertainty and perhaps serious danger waiting for them ahead, and the time Aetius was prepared to wait slipping away, the journey would have been most pleasant. The weather was mostly rainy, but on these cold, grey days he was getting the chance to see some of the greatest cities in the world, all at the expense of the Imperial purse.
At night, if they were in a city, they stayed in mid-range stabula, which provided accommodation and stables for the horses. They drank good wine and ate decent food. Hagan was able to visit the bathhouses, something Zerco declined on the basis that he did not want people staring at his unusual body. Hagan appreciated wine but Zerco always drank too much. He was also always trying to bribe or coerce female slaves to sleep with him or do other unpleasant favours for him. If nightfall found them still on the road and outside a town they stayed free of charge in one of the rather comfortable mansiones.
At Verona they changed roads to the Via Claudia Augusta which they followed as far as Comum, ticking off the milestones as they went. This city sat beside a huge lake, beyond which they got their first sight of the Alpes, the great mountains that rose like a line of jagged teeth against the horizon. That was where they were heading. As they joined the Via Helvetica, the main road that would take them most of the way to their destination, they also began to see more and more evidence that all was not well in the Empire.
There were many Imperial messengers on the roads. Several times Hagan and Zerco arrived at a mansio to find all the fresh horses had been taken. The talk around the dinner tables at these hostelries in the evenings was all about calamities in the north. The Huns, it seemed, were still rampaging across Gaul, destroying everything in their path. Anyone who tried to stop them was slaughtered. Cities had begun to surrender without a fight, preferring to submit to humiliation and looting than the certain annihilation resistance to Attila inevitably brought. It was only a matter of time before he turned south to attack Ravenna. Lots of soldiers were also in transit, whether returning from cancelled leave in Italia or on their way to new postings. Everyone was heading north towards the gathering storm.
Hagan could see the Romans were genuinely worried. They wondered aloud in tones filled with dread about what would happen if the Imperial capital fell to barbarians for the second time in a century. Could the Empire even survive such humiliation?
As they travelled north towards the mountains it got colder. Hagan began to look with growing consternation at the ragged peaks that seemed to get taller and taller the closer they rode. Winter was not long gone and the snow reached well down their rugged sides. He began to wonder if they would be able to get their horses up such steep inclines, and even if they did, they would need to find heavier clothes if they did not want to freeze to death.
‘Perhaps we should think of going around the mountains by the coastal route,’ Hagan said aloud as they trotted towards the ever-higher looming crags.
‘That will add weeks to our journey,’ Zerco said. ‘Why wouldn’t we take the direct route?’
Hagan sighed. The slower route would eat even more into the allotted time Aetius had given him, but that was irrelevant if he and Zerco were both dead. He gestured towards the snow-sheathed mountains.
‘Look at that,’ he said. ‘At this time of year, crossing terrain like that could be suicidal.’
‘You’re scared?’ Zerco said with a scoff that made the hairs on Hagan’s neck bristle. ‘I’ve been this way before. Several times. Besides, the Roman Empire doesn’t grind to a halt because of a bit of snow. You were in the Army. I’m surprised you don’t have more faith in Imperial logistics.’
A little further along the road Hagan found out what Zerco meant. At the very foot of the mountains there was a Roman fort and a small town. There they also found a mansio where not only could they change their horses for rugged little mountain ponies but also obtained the thick fur clothing, dried rations and other necessary equipment for their journey through the mountains, all provided by the mansionarius, the officer in charge.
‘It will be hard going, no doubt about it,’ the mansionarius said. ‘But you will make it alright if you stick to the road.’
He explained to Hagan’s surprise that the Roman road continued up into the mountains until it reached a narrow pass that was the only possible route through to the other side without going over the top of the towering peaks. At that time of year, attempting any other way across was simply impossible. Hagan still wondered if they were biting off more than they could chew.
‘Get an early start,’ the mansionarius said. ‘Leave no later than first light. If you think you aren’t going to make it then it’s a tradition that you say a prayer to old Jove. He’ll get you to the top.’
Hagan was surprised to hear a Christian Roman advising invocation of the pagan Jupiter, but nevertheless they took his advice, setting off in the crisp, cold morning just after the sun had peeked over the horizon.
It was a hard climb. Roman roads were renowned for being straight, covering the shortest distance between two points. As they climbed higher this road began to twist and turn in a series of extreme bends that allowed travellers to traverse the mountainside at a more achievable incline than if they had attempted to go straight up. Hagan was glad of the road as the surrounding terrain became rocky – then they turned a corner and all was coated in snow. They stopped to rest the horses and changed into the heavy fur clothes they had been given then set off again, climbing ever higher on the twisting road. All around disappeared under a white blanket, though the sun still shone and they could make out the path the road took, even if its surface was buried deep beneath the snow.
Just over a mile further on Hagan had to dismount. His horse was plodding through knee-deep snow already and with his weight on its back it was sinking further. Zerco made no such impression and remained mounted.
Hagan began to wade through the deep snow himself, leading his horse by the reins. Despite the snow and the freezing air that turned his panting breath to clouds of steam, he was soon sweating as much as he did in a sudatorium.
Several times Hagan looked up and thought they had reached the summit, only for another twist in the road to reveal there was still more to go. When they stopped and looked back the way they had come, the view was astonishing. Hagan found himself able to see for miles, with the rolling foothills then flat plains stretching off into the misty distance. There were tiny specks – people and cattle – that could just be made out moving on the road far below.
‘This must be what God sees when he looks down from Heaven,’ he said, his voice breathless both from the effort of the climb and in awe at the spectacle before him.
‘Probably,’ Zerco said. ‘And he probably knows as much about – or cares as much – as we do for those people down there.’
The early spring day wore on and the sun began to dip towards the horizon, lengthening the shadows the mountains cast across the landscape. Ominous blue-grey clouds were gathering on the horizon and Hagan began to fear that night would fall, leaving them out in the open to face the freezing temperature that would come with the darkness.
‘Now is when we offer a prayer to Jupiter,’ Zerco said, as if sensing Hagan’s concern.
There was a smile on the little man’s lips which reminded Hagan that Zerco had said he’d travelled this route before. Perhaps he knew something Hagan did not?
When they rounded the next bend Hagan found it hard to believe his eyes. The road made a final short, steep climb then levelled onto the top of the pass. Mountains towered on either side, but what surprised Hagan was the sight of a church, its walls banked up with drifting snow, a forlorn cross on its roof struggling to peek above the gathering drifts. A short distance from it, almost completely buried in snow to the roof on one side, was a mansio. Outside it, on a stretch of road cleared of snow, was the inevitable Roman milestone.
To Hagan’s further surprise, the buildings were not empty. The mansio was staffed. A welcome fire blazed in the hearth and there was a mansionarius, staff and slaves who leapt to their feet when Hagan and Zerco stumbled through the door, wiping snow from their clothes. The stables were even full of fresh horses for their onward journey.
Before long Hagan and Zerco had been given their rooms, got changed into dry clothes and were sitting beside the roaring fire, where they joined the ruddy-faced priest from the church next door. He was an older man with a ring of grey hair around a bald crown and Hagan judged that the twinkle in his eyes was more to do with the goblet of wine he nursed in both hands rather than any sense of jollity. From the familiar way he interacted with the slaves and others in the mansio it was clear he spent most of his time here rather than in his church. This was understandable. In this remote, lonely place there was probably not much of a congregation to tend to beyond the odd thankful traveller.
‘The church was originally built as a temple to Jupiter,’ the priest said. ‘On reaching the pass safely travellers used to give thanks to the god. It’s dedicated to the One True God now but the rascals still sometimes call on old Jove. I still find little trinkets, votive tablets and such left by travellers in honour of Jupiter. It’s sad to think some of those folk die as they continue their journey and such actions will have damned their soul.’
‘Old customs live for a long time,’ Hagan said, glancing at Zerco. ‘Even when people forget what their original purpose was.’
Due to the time of year they were the only travellers that night, but Hagan was surprised to learn that another party had stayed the previous night, going in the opposite direction.
‘Imperial business takes no heed of the season,’ the priest said. ‘It doesn’t stop just because it snows. Likewise, do you think Attila cares about the weather?’
So even in this remote place, Hagan mused, they have heard Attila is on the march.
When they told the priest where they were going, he blew out his cheeks and called over the mansionarius.
‘More wine, Father?’ the man said, already raising a terracotta jug in anticipation.
‘Well, as you are here with it, and I wouldn’t want to waste your journey, I don’t mind if I do,’ the priest said, holding up his goblet. ‘But what I really wanted to say was that these two poor fools are headed for Geneva. Got any advice for them?’
The mansionarius raised his eyebrows.
‘Go armed,’ he said. He looked at Zerco then at Hagan. ‘Is it just the two of you?’
Hagan nodded.
‘I’ve seen your papers. I know you’re travelling on Imperial business,’ the mansionarius said. ‘But with no escort? I don’t want to worry you, friend, but the last Imperial party that passed through here on the way to Geneva never came back. You know the place is home of the Burgundars now, don’t you?’
Hagan nodded.
‘They’re a vicious, savage tribe,’ the mansionarius said. ‘The very epitome of the word “barbarian”. Let me warn you my friend: they don’t like strangers.’
‘Can you blame them?’ Hagan said. ‘Didn’t the Romans almost wipe them out fifteen years ago?’
He had decided to keep a tight lip about his own origins. Romans tended to become more careful about what they said when they found themselves in the company of those they regarded as not Roman.
‘I don’t know about that,’ the mansionarius said. ‘But since settling around Geneva they’ve cut themselves off from the rest of the world. They don’t allow anyone in. Don’t like people knowing their business. They’re rich, I can tell you that. They send out merchants to buy all sorts of expensive goods: weapons, armour, wine, high-end pottery.’
‘What’s so bad about that?’ Hagan said, unable to help himself from defending his own folk. He recalled that Aetius had told him something similar. This really did puzzle him. His people – as far as he could remember – had always been outgoing, sociable and willing to learn more about the world.
‘That’s one thing,’ the mansionarius said. ‘But you’ll see for yourself on your way to Geneva how they put off travellers coming in. And no one can live within ten miles of their borders without fear of being attacked. Even at that limit only the desperate make their homes.’
‘And they’re pagans,’ the priest said. ‘A demon from the east has come to possess their hearts and now they follow him on a dance to the gates of Hell. You’d better watch yourselves if you don’t want to end up a sacrifice to some infernal devil. Especially you, my little friend.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Zerco said.
‘Barbarians and other backward people,’ the priest said, ‘are especially unkind to anyone who looks a little… different shall we say?’
Hagan’s knuckles whitened around the stem of his own wine goblet.
‘The Burgundars are not heathens,’ he said. ‘They accepted Christ as their god over twenty years ago.’
The mansionarius regarded Hagan with a new look in his eyes, as if he were now noticing the other’s tall stature and blond hair for the first time.
‘Perhaps, my friend,’ he said to Hagan, ‘you may fit in there more than I or the holy father here would. But as you are on the business of the Emperor I just want to warn you. They do not welcome Romans there. It’s a very dangerous place. Get whatever it is you have to do there done and get out again as quickly as you can.’
Hagan nodded, doing his best to quell the anger at the insults to his people. There was little point in stirring up trouble here in this remote place, especially when he depended on these people’s hospitality for the night.
Food arrived: great steaming bowls of stew and fresh bread. The mansionarius brought more wine and soon they were eating and chatting about other matters: the war in the north, how it had affected the price of wine, and the scandal around the dispute between the Emperor and his sister. They all warmed to each other’s company and Hagan felt it was good to relax and enjoy the pleasure of fellowship for a while, especially after spending so much time with only the sarcastic and bitter Zerco for company.
All the same, when Hagan finally made his way to his room and bed, it was hard not to fend off a vague feeling of foreboding for what may lie ahead in the days to come.