III. Revelations
Once in the town, those who had fled like deer,
Wiped off their sweat and drank their thirst away,
Leaning against the cool stone of their ramparts.
Meanwhile Achaeans with bright shields aslant
Came up the plain and nearer. As for Hector,
Fatal destiny pinned him where he stood,
Before the Scaean Gates, outside the city.
Of all authors, Flavius preferred the Greek writers. And of all books, his personal favorite was Homer’s Iliad. The epic tale of the siege of Troy forced tears out of his eyes each time they read the small, Greek text. Strangely, he felt closer to the Trojans, the losers of the war, and admired the Trojan hero Hector for his courage and his noble heart. His Greek nemesis, Achilles, with his arrogance and his brutality, inspired him nothing but disdain.
In many ways, his education had differed from other Roman children. He’d been introduced to Homer at a very young age, and Cicero, Sophocles, Ovid, and other Greco-Roman luminaries of the past followed close behind. Rather than hunting, and swordplay, which would have been more common, he was taught history, Greek, natural sciences, eloquence and literature, subjects that were generally frowned upon or considered as out-of-date. The downside was that he was unprepared when the time of his military service came, and though he never truly experienced the heat of battle, the training sessions were extenuating.
It was late afternoon. The meeting would begin in a few hours from then. Flavius offered himself a few minutes of reading, lying on a couch and eating grapes, to disregard his anxiety at least for a while by stepping into the world of legend. If only things were simple like in myths he often thought quixotically. He recalled his first encounter with mythology: Actea constantly threatened him that the Minotaur would gobble him when he refused to sleep or when he bothered the sentinels. He dreaded even to hear the word, until he gathered enough courage to ask his mother what in the world a Minotaur was. Since then he dreamed of the tale of that deadly labyrinth in which the monstrous beast lurked. With time he asked to hear more myths and grew an everlasting fascination.
“Ah, if only I could read Greek” sighed a voice.
He yelled. That rough, raspy accent surprised him of course, yet that face peering over his shoulder while he believed to be perfectly alone left him appalled and dumbfounded. And no ordinary face it was: tattooed, bearded, bony, and with two deer antlers jutting out from a dark, furry hood. In his shock he tumbled off the couch, followed by the book and the fruit.
“A very nice room. Yet you should remove that marble statue. It takes up too much space for, what it is.”
The lord rose clumsily. His ‘guest’ chuckled croakily. Garbed with rags, he rested his elbow on his staff, his eyes wandering around the area.
“Who—who are you?”
The old man stepped up to him and took the Roman's cheeks in his hands, beaming. “Oh, it's so good to see you.” Flavius stared back at him, his mouth hanging. Before long he gathered his instincts, however, and violently shook him off with a shout.
He gasped. The stranger had vanished. He slowly picked up his surprise and surprisingly noticed it vibrated in his hands. He was trembling from toe to hair.
***
Dusk unfolded her red wings, covering the vast forestland. The Danube’s cold water slowly turned orange. The first night birds appeared whilst the day creatures hustled to their high nests or underground burrows. Not far from the peasants, who returned to their humble homes after a day of labor, was a throng of soldier tents.
In the heart of that multitude, Flavius strode, his mind still beleaguered by the words of that man. He'd already seen this antlered figure in his dream, yet this time he wondered whether it had been a hallucination. He passed by a few knights once in a while. Their allure had not changed one bit, and he conjectured that behind these helms were eyes full of hostility. He nonetheless saluted them and ignored their silence. Before long he found himself just before the main pavilion where the meeting was meant to transpire. He clearly wasn’t the first to arrive. The tent was illuminated from the inside and he distinguished mobile silhouettes. He advanced a few steps, yet something suddenly froze him to his feet. His breathing came to a halt. Guarding the entrance stood something that froze him on the spot.
The body held a torch with one hand and the other rested on a huge double-axe. The two were connected to colossal arms that could have strangled an elephant. Footed with black leather boots and wearing ample trousers, his torso was bare and impressively bulky. Flavius noticed that it was also scathed with hundreds of black whip slashes. Long, chestnut, greasy hair tangled down to his shoulders. At the top of a monstrous neck was a head essentially covered with hair and beard. But the most appalling were his hateful, flaming eyes.
After interminable instants of observation and bewilderment, Flavius straightened his back and took a few steps cautiously. You’re not afraid of a vulgar barbarian, are you?... Taking a deep breath, he drew nearer to the guard. To his surprise, he respectfully inclined his head and stepped away. His servile attitude almost made Flavius chuckle, both at himself and at man with the axe.
“Ah, here we are,” stated Priscus, standing up from his chair, “Hail, Flavius Acteus Scaeva. Take a seat, the meeting may now commence.”
About fifteen people sat around a round table with candles. Flavius took time to look at their visages: Priscus’ captains, the most numerous, showed stern, dull expressions. He realized he'd never seen their faces before. He recognized a few of his men, who put an end to their unsettled whispering at his arrival. He noticed Algar beckoning to him and he sat down between the mercenary and the head of the sentinels.
“Now,” spoke the general, satisfied, “Let us go straight to the important. You Pannonians are probably wondering why I and my men have been sent to travel all the way to your country in these dangerous times. Indeed, we have lost several valiant soldiers in the journey, this due to vicious barbarian attacks.
“Since a few months, strange, bewildering rumors permeate through the Empire, from Greece to Hispania, from Britannia to Palestine, and even in Rome, the glorious, eternal city. The Pope, at the sight of the odd fear that animates the people, answered to their call. That is the reason why we are here, where it all began.
“You must be getting impatient, for I have still not explained the rumor itself. Be prepared for grave news, men. A barbarian village was arbitrarily discovered by a hunter not far from here. They weren’t Goths, nor Franks, nor Gepids. The hunter was experienced and with great apprehension recognized their tongue. They were Huns.”
That last word provoked a wave of dread in the tent. All had heard tales of the Huns, these legendary, terrifying barbarians from a dark, distant land, that partly devastated the Roman Empire and who heated up their meat by sitting on it whilst riding. And all had heard the feats of the notorious Attila, who, according to the myth, left a barren, broken soil behind him wherever he went.
Flavius’ eyes narrowed. “Huns?” he interrupted, “In Pannonia? This can’t be possible! They’ve been driven out, and now dwell in the East.”
“As you know,” continued Priscus, “A few decades from now, the Huns swarmed in this province. Indeed, they slaughtered and plundered our lands, and Rome itself was threatened. After the death of their leader, a demon whose name I shall not pronounce, no man was strong enough to replace him and their empire was scattered into many tribes. A handful of these still barely survive around and beyond the Black Sea. Only Ernakh’s tribe caused us trouble for a while. We caught him and severed his head one night, near the Danube, ten years ago. Since then we believed our trouble with these abominations were over. Yet now, Roman scouts have seen the village as well. We have its exact location.”
Flavius sensed a wave of consternation in the tent, as though at this time the Huns were beleaguering the tent, awaiting but a word order to charge. Priscus alone remained impassive.
“Therefore,” he pursued, “Military intervention is crucial. Thus our presence here. We must destroy the nest before the wasps choose to attack. Tomorrow, we will set out and do so, after that we will return to Rome. Of course we shall benefit from your support, shan’t we, Scaeva?”
As every eye turned to him, Flavius stood up. He gulped and spoke. “You say you are sure there are Huns in the area?”
“Absolutely.”
The lord crossed his arms, his eyes lost in emptiness.
“I must say I am quite mitigated,” he affirmed after a few instants.
The papal soldiers’ eyes flashed with anger. Some trembled in irritation.
“A contradiction from someone as wise as you was unexpected,” coughed Priscus, still as emotionless as ever, “My plan will save you. Please tell me what is flawed in it.”
“Well,” he went on, “You might imagine how difficult it is to be a Roman lord in a province where Roman legions are gradually replaced by barbarian tribes. If so, I can only approve. The Goths caused us some problems a long time ago, but we ended up treating peacefully, in such a way that their leader is almost a friend. Apart from that, we and barbarians don’t necessarily appreciate each other but to the least show respect for one another. Naturally, nearby lords will tell you entirely different stories. We were frequently summoned to settle conflicts between Romans and Goths or Gepids. Apparently, these landowners still don’t understand that their arrogance will only make things worse. Tell me, Priscus: if we attack these Huns, won’t it arouse their anger? If we shed their blood and burn their huts, won’t they desire revenge?”
“You deer-hearted coward!” snarled a tall papal captain with medium-long black hair, piercing eyes, and two, sharp, glinting canines, leaving no time to Flavius to see his subjects’ advocating looks, “No wonder barbarian tribes are replacing Roman legions! People like you are responsible for the decline of Rome!”
“Fool!” snapped Priscus to the captain, “What image of us are you giving? Scaeva, I am nothing like captain Varus and I understand your feelings. Yet, it seems you forget that we speak not of Goths and Gepids. We speak of Huns.”
“Remember that the Huns would have been little more than nomadic riders if their king wasn’t Attila. And you said it yourself: After the death of the demon as you call him, he could not be replaced.”
“Flavius, we cannot take risks,” grunted Algar, “Think of your people.”
“I strongly disagree. To insult their pride would be an even greater risk.”
“I had not planned to speak in these terms, but you have little choice,” smiled Priscus, “My orders are yours to follow. Forgive me, did that sound like a threat?”
“You are wrong,” retorted the head of the sentinels, “Our land is no longer in the Roman Empire.”
“Oh don't be ridiculous,” sneered Priscus, “The Emperor refused to give us his support. He belies the truth of the rumor, claiming it as a simple hoax. Nonetheless, remember that as a Roman lord, Scaeva and all his people’s loyalty to the Pope is indisputable. He turned to his men: “Men, tomorrow we will avenge our ancestors on the battlefield. Tomorrow, the dreaded predators will flee like rabbits! Feel no pity; perform your duty with zeal.”
The captains all nodded in approval. “Aye!” snapped a few.
“This is madness, but you have said it, I have no choice,” let out Flavius with a powerless sigh, “Go to sleep, men. Tomorrow we head for the village.”
He noticed a certain deception in his followers. Embarrassed, he bid them goodnight and strode out of the tent.
***
A mild breeze blew across the land. Flavius felt it flow like water right through his body and every muscle beneath his skin relaxed. He stood on top of the fortified wall. This time he wasn’t dreamily admiring the landscape. His eyes shot straight up at the night sky. They jumped from one cold star to the other, almost begging. They scanned the freckled, black quilt, desperately searching for something irrational, something that would change what should be changed. Whether it settled everything or simply carried him off to an illogical world, that did not matter. The importance was not there. He needed it—not even knowing what it was—above anything. He felt frantically lost without his mother, and that feeling forced him to his knees. He felt a hand shake him gently. He didn’t care. He had to find it…soon. The shaking increased.
“Flavius! Wake up!”
He opened his eyes to see a blond man tugging his shoulder. He was still on the wall, and it was still night. The stars were still there, and the it was still absent.
“Algar…”
“If I hadn’t come to have a look at the stars, you would have stayed here all night,” he chuckled.
He wore no armor, which gave him a friendlier appearance. He pulled out a knife and played with it.
He nudged him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about tomorrow. After we’ve done it, you’ll be glad you came along. And it won’t last very long, I promise.”
“Algar, I fear vengeance. The Huns are proud, aren’t they?”
He shrugged. “You speak as though you knew them. If they’re all dead, how can they take vengeance?”
“You never know…By the way, who is that man in front of the tent?”
His eyes narrowed. “Eh?”
“The guard with the axe,” he precised.
“Oh, I see,” he chortled, “That one. Impressive, isn’t he?”
“Indeed.”
“Don’t worry about him. He’s a slave, quite scary-looking but very docile. Nobody really knows much about him. Some say he was a gladiator. Don't ask me why Priscus calls him thirty-two.”
“Thirty-two? That’s his name?”
“Yes, if you can call that a name.”
The knife gracefully spun in the air, landed back in his hand, and was tossed back up, the stars looking down at the frightening performance.
“Oh, how I miss these days when we were together on the field,” he exhaled, “The atmosphere, the camaraderie, everything.”
“Especially when you were whipped for being found in bed with the captain's wife,” chuckled Flavius, “Boy, was he angry.” They both laughed.
All of a sudden, loud, bloodcurdling howls were heard. Flavius froze. The noise came from the cruck houses near the forest. He tried to look in that direction, but it was too dark to see anything. Algar glanced at him. “What was that?” he breathed.
The two men dashed down the stone staircase, off the fortified wall and under the porticullis. Flavius could have fetched his horse, but in his fright he forgot and simply rain through the fields, towards the terrible sound. The Saxon ran alongside him, and his presence somewhat reassured him. After a time that seemed to take forever, they finally reached the house. Several peasants with torches had already gathered around, and flocked around their lord as they saw him coming. Flavius noticed Toran and his son Garret, knelt before his two hounds, trying to calm them down as they barked and howled continuously.
“What's going on?” he asked loudly, “What are these dogs baying at?”
“If only we knew, my lord,” said a woman uneasily, “They started making all this racket a few moments ago. Toran says he's never seen them this way.”
Flavius nodded, eyes wide, and stepped through the throng, up to the two crazed animals. Toran, a tall and strong man with a square chin, looked up at him with nervous eyes. “I don't know what got into them,” he growled, “They're simply terrified. I just don't understand...my lord?” Flavius stared into the depths of the woods, mouth open, his hands shaking. Algar took his shoulder. “Flavius?”
The man did not listen. Instead, he seized his gladius and raced into the darkness of the trees, his heart pounding. He ignored the aghast calls of the peasants. As he ran, he could hear Garret's voice in his mind, repeating 'That's when he saw the monster with antlers'. He clenched his teeth and ran on. By then he was in utter darkness and tripped over roots jutting out of the soil a couple times. He was truly afraid but determined to find this intruder that kept haunting his land.
After clumsily fraying himself a way through a bush, he came to a dead halt and shuddered. He found himself in a wide clearing, brightly illuminated by the crescent moon. And no more than a few feet away, his back turned to him, stood the old man with the antlers.
Flavius panted and cried. “Who are you? Stay away from us, or I'll kill you!”
Without turning back, he answered in a croaky voice. “A monster. A bear, to be more precise.” A low, but warm chuckle followed.
Flavius gritted his teeth. “A bear's head would be lovely by the fireplace, spy.”
“Spy?” This time he turned back, without a smile. “I do not spy. I overhear. The wind carries all sorts of unwelcome sounds to our ears, us, poor shamans.”
“And how did you get in my room?” he raged, taking a threatening step forward.
“Shamans have their ways,” he responded calmly.
Flavius took another step and placed the blade of his gladius under the elder's chin. “Master shaman,” he snarled, “Give me the reason of your intrusion.”
The stranger frowned and cocked his head, as if in indignation before rude language. He gently pushed the blade away with the tip of his finger. “Well, I still am pleased to meet you, Maarnakh.”
The young man's eyes narrowed. “What did you just call me?”
He grinned. “Greetings, my name is Kuldra. I knew your father pretty well, and I was there when your mother gave birth to you. In fact, it was I that gave you your first blessing, on your first day, before the whole tribe. Then I carried you into this clearing and prayed for your welfare, don't you remember?”
Flavius lowered his weapon. “What is this nonsense?” he uttered.
“Oh,” he went on, “your father would have loved to see you this day.” He seemed to examine his traits. “I'd say you look like him. Oh, Ernakh, why aren't you still with us?”
“What?” Flavius shouted, “Ernakh the Hun?”
“Why yes, that's how they called him.”
“You mean my fathere was the most hated barbarian in the Roman World back then?” he snapped.
He shrugged. “Now, no need to exaggerate...”
Flavius exploded. “My father was Julius Acteus Nerva, and he was a nobleman, not a barbarian! He was assassinated in Africa a few months after my birth; he didn’t vanish in thin air! He was respected and admired, not hated and despised!”
Kuldra rolled his eyes. “I am not familiar with any Nerva. All I can conjecture is that your mother has hidden the truth from you, after your father died, when you were two years of age, and she left us. She was very afraid for you, I recall. And she wanted you to be meddled with our affairs.”
“You lie!” he blurted.
“Yet all of this would be trivial, if the Phoenix hadn't come to confuse everything.” He spoke gravely.
Flavius' eyes narrowed. “Phoenix?”
He exhaled deeply and gazed at the moon. “An extremely powerful being, for whom I occasionally speak. The truth is, while she awaited you, your mother nearly died. And she would have, and you would never have been born.”
“But...”
“But your father forged a pact with the Phoenix, a pact he never fulfilled.” He looked at him. “You must do it in his place.”
Flavius nodded, with a bitter, sarcastic smile. He lifted his hands and inclined his head. “Alright, alright, bring me to him, so we can have a talk, and share grapes, and have a lovely time, and perhaps we can invite God to come along.”
“Maarnakh, this is more serious than it could ever be.”
“My name is Flavius!” he shouted, “I apologize, old man. I am no Hun. My place is here, in Pannonia. I have a duty. I cannot help you.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain…” He lifted a finger and sent him a malicious look.
“Enough! I must now ask you to stop bothering the peasants.”
“Your desires are orders for an old man, my lord. But don’t expect it to be the same for the Phoenix. Even I do not know his reasons, but he is stubborn and won’t leave you in peace until you set off. He won’t falter to beleaguer you with all kinds of troubles. Both your people and mine will suffer. Even the elements will turn against you.”
“So be it, I defy the elements!” retorted Flavius, standing straight and unsheathing his blade.
“Very well.” The shaman resignately shambled off to the other side of the clearing. Without turning back, he called, “You really are your father's son!”
Flavius opened his mouth to answer, but no word came. He started trembling once again, and sighed in frustration, thinking of all the time he'd wasted in fearing such a madman.
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